“But where is the stream which flows to the sea?” asked the king.
The stream which flowed to the sea was, at first, only a little brook. It ran out from the lake, beneath mosses and bending grass; hid itself, for a long way, among thick, overhanging bushes, but at length came dancing out into the sunshine, and went its way through meadow and wood singing its own happy song.
And soon it was joined by other little singing brooks, all going the same way. Thus it happened that, after travelling many miles, the small stream became a river, and flowed to the sea.
But by no means in a direct course, or always by pleasant ways. It ran here and there, doubling, curving, winding, now through tangled forests, now sweeping around the base of a mountain, now leaping a precipice or dashing itself against the ragged rocks, thus leading our travellers a tiresome and oftentimes a dangerous journey; for there were mountains to climb, roads to cut through the forest, and frequently a hasty bridge to be thrown across a stream.
And one night while resting in a small village they narrowly escaped a great danger; for, without the assistance of the king,—Bertha’s father,—they must have all been taken prisoners. This danger was from Magnus, King Brondé’s old enemy.
Having, by means of his great strength, escaped from prison, he had again rallied around him a powerful band. He then sent out spies, and, having learned from them of King Brondé’s journey, he resolved to surprise and attack him by night. It was Bertha who discovered their approach. She was sitting late at the window, looking at the moon and the hurrying clouds, and thinking of her true love away at the wars, when her eye caught from afar the gleaming of steel in the moonlight, and she presently saw armed men winding around the foot of a hill. She quickly gave the alarm, and all placed themselves in readiness for whatever might come.
Now Magnus had supposed that Brondé’s party would be easily taken. Intending a surprise, he was himself surprised at being so far outnumbered, and fled in dismay, with all his band.
But a shower of sharp-pointed arrows was sent in among them. Many of his men were seen to fall; and Magnus himself received wounds, of which a few years after he died.
And now, dreading another attack, a watch was set every night. They were not, however, again molested. All went well with them. Full of hope, they kept bravely on, and at length arrived, one beautiful morning, at the top of a high hill, from whence could be heard the distant moaning of the sea.