d. We followed to the door, and called after him, but only a
voice came to us out of the blackness, and the only words that we could
catch, shrieked back in terror, were: "The woman of the saeter--the
woman of the saeter."

"Some foolish superstition about the place, I suppose," said Michael.
"In these mountain solitudes men breed ghosts for company. Let us make a
fire. Perhaps, when he sees the light, his desire for food and shelter
may get the better of his fears."

We felt about in the small enclosure round the house, and gathered
juniper and birch-twigs, and kindled a fire upon the open stove built in
the corner of the room. Fortunately, we had some dried reindeer and
bread in our bag, and on that and the ryper, and the contents of our
flasks, we supped. Afterwards, to while away the time, we made an
inspection of the strange eyrie we had lighted on.

It was an old log-built saeter. Some of these mountain farmsteads are as
old as the stone ruins of other countries. Carvings of strange beasts
and demons were upon its blackened rafters, and on the lintel, in runic
letters, ran this legend: "Hund builded me in the days of Haarfager."
The house consisted of two large apartments. Originally, no doubt, these
had been separate dwellings standing beside one another, but they were
now connected by a long, low gallery. Most of the scanty furniture was
almost as ancient as the walls themselves, but many articles of a
comparatively recent date had been added. All was now, however, rotting
and falling into decay.

[Illustration: "BY THE DULL GLOW OF THE BURNING JUNIPER TWIGS."]

The place appeared to have been deserted suddenly by its last occupants.
Household utensils lay as they were left, rust and dirt encrusted on
them. An open book, limp and mildewed, lay face downwards on the table,
while many others were scattered about both rooms, together with much
paper, scored with faded ink. The curtains hung in shreds about the
windows; a woman's cloak, of an antiquated fashion, drooped from a nail
behind the door. In an oak chest we found a tumbled heap of yellow
letters. They were of various dates, extending over a period of four
months, and with them, apparently intended to receive them, lay a large
envelope, inscribed with an address in London that has since
disappeared.

Strong curiosity overcoming faint scruples, we read them by the dull
glow of the burning juniper twigs, and, as we lay aside the last of
them, there ros