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of the horn into the mouth of the cannon。
〃Now may the devil care for his own；〃 roared he； and sprang up upon
the row…bench。 Then there came a low murmuring strain as of wavelets
that ripple against a sandy shore。 Borghild lifted her eyes； and they met
those of the fiddler。
〃Ah； I think I should rather be your bridegroom；〃 whispered she； and a
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ray of life stole into her stony visage。
And she saw herself as a little rosy…cheeked girl sitting at his side on
the beach fifteen years ago。 But the music gathered strength from her
glance； and onward it rushed through the noisy years of boyhood； shouting
with wanton voice in the lonely glen； lowing with the cattle on the
mountain pastures； and leaping like the trout at eventide in the brawling
rapids； but through it all there ran a warm strain of boyish loyalty and
strong devotion； and it thawed her frozen heart； for she knew that it was
all for her and for her only。 And it seemed such a beautiful thing； this
long faithful life； which through sorrow and joy； through sunshine and
gloom； for better for worse； had clung so fast to her。 The wedding guests
raised their heads； and a murmur of applause ran over the waters。
〃Bravo！〃 cried the bridegroom。 〃Now at last the tongues are loosed。〃
Truls's gaze dwelt with tender sadness on the bride。 Then came from
the strings some airy quivering chords； faintly flushed like the petals of the
rose； and fragrant like lilies of the valley； and they swelled with a strong；
awakening life； and rose with a stormy fullness until they seemed on the
point of bursting； when again they hushed themselves and sank into a low；
disconsolate whisper。 Once more the tones stretched out their arms
imploringly； and again they wrestled despairingly with themselves； fled
with a stern voice of warning； returned once more； wept； shuddered； and
were silent。
〃Beware that thou dost not play with a life！〃 sighed the bride； 〃even
though it be a worthless one。〃
The wedding guests clapped their hands and shouted wildly against the
sky。 The bride's countenance burned with a strange feverish glow。 The
fiddler arose in the prow of the boat； his eyes flamed； he struck the strings
madly； and the air trembled with melodious rapture。 The voice of that
music no living tongue can interpret。 But the bride fathomed its meaning；
her bosom labored vehemently； her lips quivered for an instant
convulsively； and she burst into tears。 A dark suspicion shot through the
bridegroom's mind。 He stared intently upon the weeping Borghild then
turned his gaze to the fiddler； who； still regarding her； stood playing； with
a half…frenzied look and motion。
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TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES。
〃You cursed wretch！〃 shrieked Syvert； and made a leap over two
benches to where Truls was standing。 It came so unexpectedly that Truls
had no time to prepare for defense； so he merely stretched out the hand in
which he held the violin to ward off the blow which he saw was coming；
but Syvert tore the instrument from his grasp and dashed it against the
cannon； and； as it happened； just against the touch…hole。 With a
tremendous crash something black darted through the air and a white
smoke brooded over the bridal boat。 The bridegroom stood pale and
stunned。 At his feet lay Borghild lay for a moment still； as if lifeless；
then rose on her elbows； and a dark red current broke from her breast。
The smoke scattered。 No one saw how it was done； but a moment later
Truls； the Nameless； lay kneeling at Borghild's side。
〃It WAS a worthless life； beloved；〃 whispered he； tenderly。 〃Now it
is at an end。〃
And he lifted her up in his arms as one lifts a beloved child； pressed a
kiss on her pale lips； and leaped into the water。 Like lead they fell into
the sea。 A throng of white bubbles whirled up to the surface。 A loud
wail rose from the bridal fleet； and before the day was at an end it filled
the valley； but the wail did not recall Truls； the Nameless； or Borghild his
bride。
What life denied them； would to God that death may yield them！
ASATHOR'S VENGEANCE。
I。
IT was right up under the steel mountain wall where the farm of
Kvaerk lay。 How any man of common sense could have hit upon the
idea of building a house there； where none but the goat and the hawk had
easy access； had been； and I am afraid would ever be； a matter of wonder
to the parish people。 However； it was not Lage Kvaerk who had built the
house； so he could hardly be made responsible for its situation。
Moreover； to move from a place where one's life has once struck deep root；
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TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES。
even if it be in the chinks and crevices of stones and rocks； is about the
same as to destroy it。 An old tree grows but poorly in a new soil。 So
Lage Kvaerk thought； and so he said； too； whenever his wife Elsie spoke
of her sunny home at the river。
Gloomy as Lage usually was； he had his brighter moments； and people
noticed that these were most likely to occur when Aasa； his daughter； was
near。 Lage was probably also the only being whom Aasa's presence
could cheer； on other people it seemed to have the very opposite effect； for
Aasa wasaccording to the testimony of those who knew herthe most
peculiar creature that ever was born。 But perhaps no one did know her； if
her father was right； no one really didat least no one but himself。
Aasa was all to her father； she was his past and she was his future； his
hope and his life； and withal it must be admitted that those who judged her
without knowing her had at least in one respect as just an opinion of her as
he； for there was no denying that she was strange； very strange。 She
spoke when she ought to be silent； and was silent when it was proper to
speak； wept when she ought to laugh； and laughed when it was proper to
weep