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guest entered； the flames of the candles flickered and twisted themselves
with the wind； struggling to keep erect。 And Borghild's courage； too；
rose and fell with the flickering motion of a flame which wrestles with the
wind。 Whenever the latch clicked she lifted her eyes and looked for
Truls； and one moment she wished that she might never see his face again；
and in the next she sent an eager glance toward the door。 Presently he
came； threw his fiddle on a bench； and with a reckless air walked up to her
and held out his hand。 She hesitated to return his greeting； but when she
saw the deep lines of suffering in his face； her heart went forward with a
great tenderness toward him； a tenderness such as one feels for a child
who is sick； and suffers without hope of healing。 She laid her hand in his；
and there it lay for a while listlessly； for neither dared trust the joy which
the sight of the other enkindled。 But when she tried to draw her hand
away； he caught it quickly； and with a sudden fervor of voice he said：
〃The sight of you； Borghild； stills the hunger which is raging in my
soul。 Beware that you do not play with a life； Borghild； even though it be
a worthless one。〃
There was something so hopelessly sad in his words； that they stung
her to the quick。 They laid bare a hidden deep in her heart； and she
shrank back st the sight of her own vileness。 How could she repair the
injury she had done him？ How could she heal the wound she had
inflicted？ A number of guests came up to greet her and among them
Syvert Stein； a bold…look… ing young man； who； during that summer； had
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led her frequently in the dance。 He had a square face； strong features；
and a huge crop of towy hair。 His race was far…famed for wit and daring。
〃Tardy is your welcome； Borghild of Skogli；〃 quoth he。 〃But what a
faint heart does not give a bold hand can grasp； and what I am not offered
I take unbidden。〃
So saying； he flung his arm about her waist； lifted her from the floor
and put her down in the middle of the room。 Truls stood and gazed at
them with large； bewildered eyes。 He tried hard to despise the braggart；
but ended with envying him。
〃Ha； fiddler； strike up a tune that shall ring through marrow and bone；〃
shouted Syvert Stein； who struck the floor with his heels and moved his
body to the measure of a spring…dance。
Truls still followed them with his eyes； suddenly he leaped up； and a
wild thought burned in his breast。 But with an effort he checked himself；
grasped his violin； and struck a wailing chord of lament。 Then he laid his
ear close to the instrument； as if he were listening to some living voice
hidden there within； ran wa… rily with the bow over the strings； and
warbled； and caroled； and sang with maddening glee； and still with a
shivering undercurrent of woe。 And the dusk which slept upon the black
rafters was quickened and shook with the weird sound； every pulse in the
wide hall beat more rapidly； and every eye kindled with a bolder fire。
Pressently｛sic｝ a Strong male voice sang out to the measure of the violin：
〃Come； fairest maid； tread the dance with me； O
heigh ho！〃
And a clear； tremulous treble answered：
〃So gladly tread I the dance with thee； O heigh
ho！〃
Truls knew the voices only too well； it was Syvert Stein and Borghild
who were singing a stave。＇8＇
＇8＇ A stave is an improvised responsive song。 It is an ancient
pastime in Norway； and is kept up until this day； especially among the
peasantry。 The students； also； at their social gatherings； throw
improvised rhymes to each other across the table； and the rest of the
company repeat the refrain。
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TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES。
SyvertLike brier…roses thy red cheeks blush； BorghildAnd thine
are rough like the thorny bush； BothAn' a heigho！
SyvertSo fresh and green is the sunny lea； O
heigh ho！ BorghildThe fiddle twangeth so merrily； O
heigh ho！ SyvertSo lightly goeth the lusty reel； BorghildAnd round we
whirl like a spinning…wheel； BothAn' a heigho！
SyvertThine eyes are bright like the sunny fjord；
O heigh ho！ BorghildAnd thine do flash like a Viking's sword；
O heigh ho！ SyvertSo lightly trippeth thy foot along； BorghildThe air is
teeming with joyful song； BothAn' a heigh ho！
SyvertThen fairest maid； while the woods are green；
O heigh ho！ BorghildAnd thrushes sing the fresh leaves between；
O heigh ho！ SyvertCome； let us dance in the gladsome day； Borghild
Dance hate； and sorrow； and care away； BothAn' a
heigh ho！
The stave was at an end。 The hot and flushed dancers straggled over
the floor by twos and threes； and the big beer…horns were passed from
hand to hand。 Truls sat in his corner hugging his violin tightly to his
bosom； only to do something； for he was vaguely afraid of himself afraid
of the thoughts that might riseafraid of the deed they might prompt。 He
ran his fingers over his forehead； but he hardly felt the touch of his own
hand。 It was as if something was dead within himas if a string had
snapped in his breast； and left it benumbed and voiceless。
Presently he looked up and saw Borghild standing before him； she
held her arms akimbo； her eyes shone with a strange light； and her features
wore an air of recklessness mingled with pity。
〃Ah； Borghild； is it you？〃 said he； in a hoarse voice。 〃What do you
want with me？ I thought you had done with me now。〃
〃You are a very unwitty fellow；〃 answered she； with a forced laugh。
〃The branch that does not bend must break。〃
She turned quickly on her heel and was lost in the crowd。 He sat
long pondering on her words； but their meaning remained hidden to him。
The branch that does not bend must break。 Was he the branch； and must
he bend or break？ By…and…by he put his hands on his knees； rose with a
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TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES。
slow； uncertain motion； and stalked heavily toward the door。 The fresh
night air would do him good。 The thought breathes more briskly in God's
free nature； under the broad canopy of heaven。 The white mist rose from
the fields； and made the valley below appear like a white sea whose
nearness you feel； even though you do not see it。 And out of the mist the
dark pines stretched their warning hands against the sky； and the moon
was swimming； large and placid； between silvery islands of cloud。 Truls
began to beat his arms against his sides； and felt the warm blood spreading
from his heart and thawing the numbness of his limbs。 Not caring
whither he went； he struck the path leading upward to the mountains。 He
took to humming an old air which happened to come into his head； only to
try if there was life enough left in him to sing。 It was the ballad of Young
Kirsten and the Merman：
〃The billows fall and the billows swell； In the night so lone；
In the billows blue doth the merman dwell； And strangely that harp
was sounding。〃
He walked on briskly for a while； and； looking back upon the pain he
had endured but a moment ago； he found it quite foolish and irrational。
An absurd merriment took possession of him； but all t