“I do so very much want to fly abroad, just for once, over the fiord. If I could but look down into every nook and cove between Thor Islet and the sea, I would not be long in bringing you news. If I did not see Rolf, I would tell you plainly. Really, at such times it seems very odd that we have not wings.”
“Perhaps the time may come, dear.”
“I can never want them so much again.”
“My dear, you cannot want them as I do, if I dared to say such bold things as you do. You are not weary of the world, Frolich.”
“What! this beautiful world? Are you weary of it all, Erica?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What! of the airy mountains, and the silent forests, and the lonely lakes, and the blue glaciers, with flowers fringing them? Are you quite weary of all these?”
“O that I had wings like a dove! Then would I flee away, and be at rest.” Erica hardly murmured these words; but Frolich caught them.
“Do you know,” said she, softly, after a pause, “I doubt whether we can find rest by going to any place, in this world or out of it, unless—if— The truth is, Erica, I know my father and mother think that people who are afraid of selfish and revengeful spirits, such as demons and Nipen, can never have any peace of mind. Really religious people have their way straight before them;—they have only to do right, and God is their friend, and they can bear everything, and fear nothing. But the people about us are always in a fright about some selfish being or another not being properly humoured, and so being displeased. I would not be in such bondage, Erica,—no, not for the wings I was longing for just now. I should be freer if I were rooted like a tree, and without superstition, than if I had the wings of an eagle, with a belief in selfish demons.”
“Let us talk of something else,” said Erica, who was at the very moment considering where the mountain-demon would best like to have his Gammel cheese laid. “What is the quality of the cream, Frolich? Is it as good as it ought to be?”