And now at last, as he promised it to Elsa, Dame Ulricborg thought sadly that the promise came too late; for how could he teach it to the little girl, when every breath was such weary effort? And she knew he was unable to write readily even if he had the strength.
But having rested a little, he motioned her to bend down, and then he whispered something to her. She listened with a look of surprise, and then hastened into the living room, and opening a little cupboard, searched, till in the farthest corner she found a small box, and this she brought to the bedside. As she opened it, out fluttered some thin old sheets of paper, closely written over and yellow with age.
The old man’s eyes kindled as he saw these, and as he marked the utter surprise of his wife.
“Ah, dear heart,” he said, “thou didst not know—the priest wrote down the words for me—long ago—I loved it—and wished to keep it—and I hid it away”—but here the dying peasant, too exhausted for further speech, paused, and then, turning to Elsa the blue eyes from which the light was swiftly fading, murmured to her:
“Take it, little one; ’tis the rune—do with it as thou wilt.”
Elsa was so overcome that she fell to crying bitterly, and neither she nor Dame Ulricborg noticed the sound of sleighbells, for the ground was covered with a light snow. In a few minutes, however, the cottage door opened, and in came Elsa’s father, all anxiety for the safety of his little girl. When Elsa, hearing him, came into the living room, he caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately, for he had been greatly alarmed on learning of her journey, and had set off in hot haste to find her.
Herr Lönnrot, too, who had grown much better, had insisted on coming with him, and was even then slowly walking toward the cottage door, for he was still feeble from his illness. He, too, was delighted to find Elsa safely cared for; but both he and Elsa’s father hushed their voices when she told them of the peasant Ulricborg. They stepped softly into the other room, and Herr Lönnrot’s practised eye, for you remember he was a physician, at once saw that his skill could do nothing to help the old man. As the Herr gently smoothed the coverlid the sick peasant gave a faint smile to the faithful old wife who still bent over him, and then, as Elsa stood reverently holding the yellow papers between her little palms, he turned to her a long lingering look that seemed to say:
“Farewell, little one! and farewell to the beloved song, that I have cherished so jealously all these years. I must leave thee now, but I leave thee in loving hands—farewell.” And then peacefully, as the wife laid her withered cheek close to his, his spirit passed away to find their little Aino.
Afterward, when Elsa gave to Herr Lönnrot the precious papers on which the rune was written, at first he looked at them in amazement; but his heart filled with delight when he learned what the papers contained. He drew Elsa to him, and kissing her forehead declared that she had not only pleased him beyond measure, but had done honor to old Finland in helping complete the immortal poem he was striving to save.