ss of the piercing
cold, occupied themselves in staring languidly at a reindeer sledge
which stood outside one of the more distant huts, evidently waiting for
some person within. The hoofs of the animals made no impression on the
hardened snow--now and again they gently shook the tinkling bells on
their harness, but otherwise were very patient. The sledge was in charge
of a youthful Laplander--a hideous, stunted specimen of humanity, who
appeared to be literally sewed up from head to foot in skins.

This cortege was evidently an object of curiosity,--the on-lookers eyed
it askance, and with a sort of fear. For did it not belong to the
terrible _bonde_, Olaf Gueldmar?--and would not the Laplander,--a useful
boy, well known in Talvig,--come to some fatal harm by watching, even
for a few minutes, the property of an acknowledged pagan? Who could
tell? The very reindeer might be possessed by evil spirits,--they were
certainly much sleeker and finer than the ordinary run of such animals.
There was something uncanny in the very look of them! Thus the
stupefied, unreasoning Talvig folk muttered, one to another, leaning
drowsily out of their half-open doors.

"'Tis a strange thing," said one man, "that woman as strong in the fear
of the Lord as Lovisa Elsland should call for one of the wicked to visit
her on her death-bed."

"Strange enough!" answered his neighbor, blinking over his pipe, and
knocking down some of the icicles pendent from his roof. "But maybe it
is to curse him with the undying curse of the godly."

"She's done that all her life," said the first speaker.

"That's true! She's been a faithful servant of the Gospel. All's right
with her in the next world--she'll die easily."

"Was it for her the Death-Arch shone?" asked an old woman, suddenly
thrusting her head, wrapped in a red woollen hood, out of a low doorway,
through which the light of a fire sparkled from the background, sending
vivid flashes across the snow.

The man who had spoken last shook his head solemnly.

"The Death-Arch never shone for a Christian yet," he said gravely. "No!
There's something else in the wind. We can't see it--but it will
come--it must come! That sign never fails."

And presently, tired of watching the waiting sledge and the passive
Laplander, he retreated within his house, shutting his door against the
darkness and the bitter wind. His neighbors followed his example,--and,
save for two or three red glimmers of light here a