w freely.

Before I left he played a beautiful little piece which he had composed
when he was twenty. It touched me deeply, because I felt as if it were
written about Susanna and me; it echoed long after in my mind, so that I
learnt it by heart.

"There is a continuation of it," said he, when he had ended, and
then--after a short pause as of sad recollection--"but it is not very
cheerful, and is not suitable for you!"

The next morning early, when the yacht sailed, a handkerchief was waved
from the drawing-room window in the parsonage, and, in answer, a glazed
hat was lifted on board.

CHAPTER VII

_TRONDENAES_

On a naze to the north of Hind Island in Sengen lies Trondenaes church
and parsonage. The latter was a royal palace in Saint Olaf's time, and
Thore Hund's brother Siver lived there. Bjark Island, where Thore Hund
had his castle, is only a few miles off.

The church itself is in many respects a remarkable historical monument.
Its two towers, of which one was square and covered with copper, and had
an iron spire, and the other octagonal, exist only in legends, and of
the famous "three wonderfully high, equal-sized statues" there are only
remains which are to be seen at the west doorway.

This church was once the most northern border-fortress of Christendom,
and stood grandly with its white towers, the far-echoing tones of its
bells and its sacred song, like a giant bishop in white surplice, who
bore St. Olaf's consecration and altar lights into the darkness among
the Finmark trolls. Its power over men's minds has been correspondingly
deep and great. Thither past generations for miles round have wended in
Sunday dress before other churches were built up there. If the soapstone
font which stands in the choir could enumerate the names of those
baptised at it, or the altar the bridal pairs that have been married
there, or the venerable church itself tell what it knew, we should hear
many a strange tale.

Protestantism has plundered the church there as elsewhere; remains of
its painted altar-shrines are found as doors to the peasants' cupboards,
and what was most imposing about the building is in ruins. But the work
of destruction could not be carried farther. The old Roman Catholic
church feeling surrounds it to a certain extent to this day, with the
old legends that float around it, and is kept up by the foreign
paintings in the choir, by the mystical vaults, and by all the ruins,
which the Nordla