he primeval forest, her whole being seemed to herself
a symphony of melodious whispers with a vague delicious sense of
remoteness and mystery in them, which she only felt and did not attempt
to explain. There, those weird legends which, in former days, still held
their sway in the fancy of every Norsewoman, breathed their secrets into
her ear, and she felt her nearness and kinship to nature, as at no other
time.

One night, as the sun was low, and a purple bluish smoke hung like a
thin veil over the tops of the forest, Brita had taken out her knitting
and seated herself on a large moss-grown stone, on the croft. Her eyes
wandered over the broad valley which was stretched out below, and she
could see the red roofs of the Blakstad mansion peeping forth between
the fir-trees. And she wondered what they were doing down there, whether
Grimhild had done milking, and whether her father had returned from the
ford, where it was his habit at this hour to ride with the footmen
to water the horses. As she sat thus wondering, she was startled by a
creaking in the dry branches hard by, and lifting her eye, she saw a
tall, rather clumsily built, young man emerging from the thicket. He
had a broad but low forehead, flaxen hair which hung down over a pair of
dull ox-like eyes; his mouth was rather large and, as it was half open,
displayed two massive rows of shining white teeth. His red peaked cap
hung on the back of his head and, although it was summer, his thick
wadmal vest was buttoned close up to his throat; over his right arm he
had flung his jacket, and in his hand he held a bridle.

"Good evening," said Brita, "and thanks for last meeting;" although she
was not sure that she had ever seen him before.

"It was that bay mare, you know," stammered the man in a half apologetic
tone, and shook the bridle, as if in further explanation.

"Ah, you have lost your mare," said the girl, and she could not help
smiling at his helplessness and his awkward manner.

"Yes, it was the bay mare," answered he, in the same diffident tone;
then, encouraged by her smile, he straightened himself a little and
continued rather more fluently: "She never was quite right since the
time the wolves were after her. And then since they took the colt away
from her the milk has been troubling her, and she hasn't been quite like
herself."

"I haven't seen her anywhere hereabouts," said Brita; "you may have to
wander far, before you get on the track of her."