It took time, and it was late before his manuscript was finished. But as he contemplated it, noting with satisfaction the finishing touches, he felt assured that here at least was a masterpiece; he had only to deliver it with forceful and earnest eloquence, and it must have its effect. He had regained his self-control, and was ready to forget all the disappointment of the day in sleep.
Alma awoke early next morning.
She dressed in haste, and as quietly as possible, anxious not to awaken her husband, and with some difficulty found her way through the passages and out of the house.
She stood for a little outside. It was a quiet autumn day; the air seemed full of a strange peace and solemn calm. Being Sunday, there were none of the people astir, save those busy within doors in stables or kitchen, and of these she saw nothing.
Alma wandered round the place, making a survey of her surroundings. The buildings, with their turf roofs and solid walls of the same material, seemed pleasant enough to the eye, giving a sense of security in their massive solidity. They seemed as firmly rooted and immovable as if Nature and the Lord had planted them in the earth when earth was made.
She looked about for the church, but could see none. The tarred wooden structure yonder, with a turf wall round, could surely not be it—and yet, on closer inspection, she noticed a white cross rising from the roof. With a curious beating of the heart, she hurried across to the gate in the earthen wall. Reaching it, she found that the church stood in the middle of a modest little churchyard. She opened the gate and went in. Most of the graves were simply oblong mounds of earth, only here and there was there a headstone with the usual border round. And there were a few wooden crosses with lettering in black tar.
The church itself was locked. She walked round the outside, and looked in through one of the windows, of which there were three on either side. The interior was painted white. At one end stood the altar, on a small semicircular eminence, with a low rail round. Next to it were the choir stalls, consisting of a few benches along the walls and some loose ones arranged to allow of passage between. On the right, looking down the nave, was the pulpit, with painted figures of apostles on the panels, evidently older than the church itself. There was a small harmonium, polished and new-looking—the contrast made Alma smile. But she regretted it at once; the feeling of amusement at this primitive lack of taste which installed a brand-new cheap-line harmonium in an old church, disappeared. She felt that God’s all-seeing eye was on her as she stood there spying in through a window at His house.
Looking around for somewhere to sit down a little, she noticed that the churchyard wall on one side was low, and went across. On her way she passed a grave on which stood a small pillar of grey granite, the upper part broken off obliquely. She stopped, and half unconsciously read the inscription. Between the Christian name and surname stood the word skald. She passed on, wondering in her mind what the little word might mean, but gave it up, and soon forgot it.
Seating herself on the churchyard wall, she let her eyes wander over the country round, noting how the sun shone on the fjord and on the farther side of the valley, leaving a strip of shadow on the fjeld. And a feeling of longing rose in her breast. It was strange to see the sun shining on others, and herself be left in the shadow. It seemed as if there were joy there, beyond—joy in which she had no part, and which saddened her to watch. And it was not only today, not merely the shadow of a passing cloud that barred her from the sunlight; no, there stood the fjeld, the dark and massive, rocky height, that day after day was to steal the sunlight from her life. She felt that there was enmity between them—but a moment later she realized that the dark church and the gloomy fjeld were in harmony; and that God was in and over both.