PAGE 12
Elsket
by
The old man’s breast heaved. It was evidently a painful narrative, but he kept on.
“I sat down in the snow and thought; for I could not think at once. Cnut had not wished to murder, or else he had flung the Englishman from the narrow ledge with one blow of his strong arm. He had waited until they had stood on the Devil’s Seat, and then he had thrown off his pack and faced him, man to man. The Englishman was strong and active, taller and heavier than Cnut. He had Harald’s name, but he had not Harald’s heart nor blood, and Cnut had carried him in his arms over the cliff, with his false heart like water in his body.
“I sat there all day and into the night; for I knew that he would betray no one more. I sorrowed for Cnut, for he was my very son. And after a time I would have gone back to her, but I thought of her at home waiting and watching for me with a letter, and I could not; and then I wept, and I wished that I were Cnut, for I knew that he had had one moment of joy when he took the Englishman in his arms. And then I took the scattered things from the snow and threw them over the cliff; for I would not let it be known that Cnut had flung the Englishman over. It would be talked about over the mountain, and Cnut would be thought a murderer by those who did not know, and some would say he had done it foully; and so I went on over the mountain, and told it there that Cnut and the Englishman had gone over the cliff together in the snow on their way, and it was thought that a slip of snow had carried them. And I came back and told her only that no letter had come.”
He was silent so long that I thought he had ended; but presently, in a voice so low that it was just like a whisper, he added: “I thought she would forget, but she has not, and every fortnight she begins to sew her dress and I go over the mountains to give her peace; for each time she draws nearer to the end, and wears away more and more; and some day the thin blade will snap.”
“The thin blade” was already snapping, and even while he was speaking the last fibres were giving way.
The silence which followed his words was broken by Elsket; I heard a strange sound, and Elsket called feebly, “Oh, father.”
Olaf went quickly to her bedside. I heard him say, “My God in Heaven!” and I sprang up and joined him. It was a hemorrhage.
Her life-blood was flowing from her lips. She could not last like that ten minutes.
Providentially the remedies provided by Doctor John were right at hand, and, thanks to them, the crimson tide was stayed before life went out; but it was soon apparent that her strength was gone and her power exhausted.
We worked over her, but her pulse was running down like a broken clock. There was no time to have got a physician, even had there been one to get. I mentioned it; Olaf shook his head. “She is in the hands of God,” he said.
Olaf never left the bedside except to heat water or get some stimulant for her.
But, notwithstanding every effort, she failed to rally. The overtaxed heart was giving out, and all day she sank steadily. I never saw such a desperate face as that old man’s. It haunts me now. He hung over her. He held her hand, now growing cold, against his cheek to keep it warm–stroked it and kissed it. As towards evening the short, quick breaths came, which precede dissolution, he sank on his knees. At first, he buried his face in his hands; then in the agony of his despair, he began to speak aloud. I never heard a more moving appeal. It was a man speaking face to face with God for one about to enter his presence. His eyes were wide open, as if he saw His face. He did not ask that she should be spared to him; it was all for his “Elska,” his “Darling,” that Jesus would be her “Herder,” and lead her beside the still waters; that she might be spared all suffering and sorrow, and have peace.