PAGE 23
The Bridal March
by
They came out of the wood–the last part had been big dark fir-trees, among which they had walked slowly, he quietly telling her about her great-grandfather’s wooing of his father’s sister, Aslaug; an old, strange story, which she only half heard, but which all the same helped her–came out of the wood into the open fields and meadows; and he became quiet too. Now she turned to him, and her look expressed such a great dread of what was before her that it made him feel wretched. He found no words of encouragement; the matter concerned him too nearly. They walked on a little farther, side by side, some bushes between them and the house concealing them from its inhabitants. When they got so near that he thought she must now go on alone, he whistled softly to the dog, and she took this as the sign that they must part. She stopped and looked utterly unhappy and forlorn; he whispered to her: “I’ll be praying for you here, Mildrid–and I’ll come when you need me.” She gave him a kind of distracted look of thanks; she was really unable either to think or to see clearly. Then she walked on.
As soon as she came out from the bushes she saw right into the big room of the main building–right through it–for it had windows at both ends, one looking up towards the wood and one down the valley. Hans had seated himself behind the nearest bush, with the dog at his side, and he too could see everything in the room; at this moment there was no one in it. Mildrid looked back once when she came to the barn, and he nodded to her. Then she went round the end of the barn, into the yard.
Everything stood in its old, accustomed order, and it was very quiet. Some hens were walking on the barn-steps. The wooden framework for the stacks had been brought out and set up against the storehouse wall since she was there last; that was the only change she saw. She turned to the right to go first into grandmother’s house, her fear tempting her to take this little respite before meeting her parents; when, just between the two houses, at the wood-block, she came on her father, fitting a handle to an axe. He was in his knitted jersey with the braces over it, bareheaded, his thin long hair blowing in the breeze that was beginning to come up from the valley. He looked well, and almost cheerful at his work, and she took courage at the sight. He did not notice her, she had come so quietly and cautiously over the flagstones.
“Good morning!” she said in a low voice.
He looked at her in surprise for a moment.
“Is that you, Mildrid? Is there anything the matter?” he added hastily, examining her face.
“No,” she said, and blushed a little. But he kept his eyes on hers, and she did not dare to look up.
Then he put down the axe, saying:
“Let us go in to mother!”
On the way he asked one or two questions about things up at the soeter, and got satisfactory answers.
“Now Hans sees us going in,” thought Mildrid, as they passed a gap between the barn and some of the smaller outhouses.
When they got into the living-room, her father went to the door leading into the kitchen, opened it, and called:
“Come here, mother! Mildrid has come down.”
“Why, Mildrid, has anything gone wrong?” was answered from the kitchen.
“No,” replied Mildrid from behind her father, and then coming to the door herself, she went into the kitchen and stood beside her mother, who was sitting by the hearth paring potatoes and putting them in the pot.
Her mother now looked as inquiringly at her as her father had done, with the same effect. Then Randi set away the potato dish, went to the outer door and spoke to some one there, came back again, took off her kitchen apron and washed her hands, and they went together into the room.