“I am, dear. This is Midsummer Eve, you know,—when, as we think, all the spirits love to be abroad.”
“You will die before your time, Erica,” said the weary girl. “These spirits give you no rest of body or mind. What a day’s work we have done! And now you are going to watch till twelve, one, two o’clock! I could not keep awake,” she said, yawning, “if there was one demon at the head of the bed, and another at the foot, and the underground people running like mice all over the floor.”
“Then go and sleep, dear; I will fetch your comb, if you will just keep an eye on the cattle for the moment I am gone.”
As Erica combed Frolich’s long fair hair, and admired its shine in the sunlight, and twisted it up behind, and curled it on each side, the weary girl leaned her head against her, and dropped asleep. When all was done, she just opened her eyes to find her way to bed, and say, “You may as well go to bed comfortably, for you will certainly drop asleep here, if you don’t there.”
“Not with my pretty Spiel in sight. I would not lose my white heifer for seven nights’ sleep. You will thank me when you find your cow, and all the rest, safe in the morning. Good night, dear.”
And Erica closed the door after her young mistress, and sat down on the bench outside, with her face towards the sun, her lure by her side, and her knitting in her hands. She was glad that the herd lay so that by keeping her eye on them she could watch that wonder of Midsummer night within the Arctic Circle, the dipping of the sun below the horizon, to appear again immediately. She had never been far enough to the north to see the sun complete its circle without disappearing at all, but she did not wish it; she thought the softening of the light which she was about to witness, and the speedy renewing of day, more wonderful and beautiful. She sat soothed by her employment and by the tranquillity of the scene, and free from fear. She had done her duty by the spirits of the mountain and the wood; and in case of the appearance of any object that she did not like, she could slip into the house in an instant. Her thoughts were therefore wholly Rolf’s. She could endure now to contemplate a long life spent in doing honour to his memory by the industrious discharge of duty. She would watch over Peder, and receive his last breath,—an office which should have been Rolf’s. She would see another houseman arrive, and take possession of that house, and become betrothed and marry: and no one, not even her watchful mistress, should see a trace of repining in her countenance, or hear a tone of bitterness from her lips. It should be her part to see that others were happier than she had been. However weary her heart might be, she would dance at every wedding,—of fellow-servant or of young mistress. She would cloud nobody’s happiness, but would do all she could to make Rolf’s memory pleasant to those who had known him, and wished him well. She thought she could do all this in prospect of the day when her grave should be dug beside those of Peder and Ulla, and when her spirit should meet Rolf, and learn at length how he had died, and be assured that he had watched over her as faithfully as she had remembered him.
As these thoughts passed through her mind, making her future life appear shorter and less dreary than she could have imagined possible a few hours before, her fingers were busily at work, and her eyes rested on the lovely scene before her. From the elevation at which she was, it appeared as if the ocean swelled up into the very sky, so high was the horizon line: and between lay a vast region of rock and river, hill and dale, forest, fiord, and town, part in golden sunlight, part in deep shadow, but all, though bright as the skies could make it, silent as became the hour. As Erica found that she could glance at the sun itself without losing sight of the cattle, which still lay within her indirect vision, she carefully watched the descent of the orb, anxious to observe precisely when it should disappear, and how soon its golden spark would kindle up again from the waves. When its lower rim was just touching the waters, its circle seemed to be of an enormous size, and its whole mass to be flaming. Its appearance was very unlike that of the comparatively small, compact, brilliant luminary which rides the sky at noon. Erica was just thinking so, when a rustle in the thicket, within the pine grove, made her involuntarily turn her head in that direction. Instantly remembering that it was a common device of the underground people for one of them to make the watcher look away, in order that others might drive off the cattle, she resumed her duty, and gazed steadfastly at the herd. They were safe—neither reduced to the size of mice, nor wandering off, though she had let her eye glance away from them.
The sky, however, did not look like itself. There were two suns in it. Now, Erica really did quite forget the herd for some time, even her dear white heifer,—while she stared bewildered at the spectacle before her eyes. There was one sun,—the sun she had always known,—half sunk in the sea, while above it hung another, round and complete; somewhat less bright perhaps, but as distinct and plain before her eyes as any object in heaven or earth had ever been. Her work dropped from her hands, as she covered her eyes for a moment. She started to her feet, and then looked again. It was still there, though the lower sun was almost gone. As she stood gazing, she once more heard the rustle in the wood. Though it crossed her mind that the Wood-Demon was doubtless there making choice of his axe and his tree, she could not move, and had not even a wish to take refuge in the house, so wonderful was this spectacle,—the clearest instance of enchantment she had ever seen. Was it meant for good,—a token that the coming year was to be a doubly bright one? If not, how was she to understand it?
“Erica!” cried a voice at this moment from the wood,—a voice which thrilled her whole frame. “My Erica!”
She not only looked towards the wood now, but sprang forwards: but her eyes were so dazzled by having gazed at the sun that she could see nothing. Then she remembered how many forms the cunning demon could assume, and she turned back, thinking how cruel it was to delude her with her lover’s voice, when, instead of his form, she should doubtless see some horrid monster: most likely a hippopotamus, or, at best, an overgrown bear, showing its long, sharp, white teeth, to terrify her. She turned in haste, and laid her hand on the latch of the door, glancing once more at the horizon.