a large stone in the middle of the
stream the
youth thought he saw something white, like a
large
kerchief. Quick as thought he was at
its side, bowed down with his torch, and--fell
backward. It was Aasa, his
beloved, cold and
dead; but as the father stooped over his dead
child the same mad laugh echoed wildly throughout
the wide woods, but madder and louder
than ever before, and from the rocky wall came
a
fierce, broken voice:
"I came at last."
When, after an hour of vain search, the men
returned to the place
whence they had started,
they saw a faint light flickering between the
birches not fifty feet away; they formed a firm
column, and with
fearful hearts drew nearer.
There lay Lage Kvaerk, their master, still
bending down over his child's pale features, and
staring into her
sunken eyes as if he could not
believe that she were really dead. And at his
side stood Vigfusson, pale and
aghast, with the
burning torch in his hand. The footsteps of
the men awakened the father, but when he
turned his face on them they shuddered and
started back. Then Lage rose, lifted the maiden
from the stone, and
silently laid her in
Vigfusson's arms; her rich yellow hair flowed down
over his shoulder. The youth let his torch fall
into the waters, and with a sharp, serpent-like
hiss its flame was quenched. He crossed the
brook; the men followed, and the dark pine-trees
closed over the last
descendant of Lage Ulfson's
mighty race.
End