This cortege was evidently an object of curiosity,—the on-lookers eyed it askance, and with a sort of fear. For did it not belong to the terrible bonde, Olaf Güldmar?—and would not the Laplander,—a useful boy, well known in Talvig,—come to some fatal harm by watching, even for a few minutes, the property of an acknowledged pagan? Who could tell? The very reindeer might be possessed by evil spirits,—they were certainly much sleeker and finer than the ordinary run of such animals. There was something uncanny in the very look of them! Thus the stupefied, unreasoning Talvig folk muttered, one to another, leaning drowsily out of their half-open doors.
"'Tis a strange thing," said one man, "that woman as strong in the fear of the Lord as Lovisa Elsland should call for one of the wicked to visit her on her death-bed."
"Strange enough!" answered his neighbor, blinking over his pipe, and knocking down some of the icicles pendent from his roof. "But maybe it is to curse him with the undying curse of the godly."
"She's done that all her life," said the first speaker.
"That's true! She's been a faithful servant of the Gospel. All's right with her in the next world—she'll die easily."
"Was it for her the Death-Arch shone?" asked an old woman, suddenly thrusting her head, wrapped in a red woollen hood, out of a low doorway, through which the light of a fire sparkled from the background, sending vivid flashes across the snow.
The man who had spoken last shook his head solemnly.
"The Death-Arch never shone for a Christian yet," he said gravely. "No! There's something else in the wind. We can't see it—but it will come—it must come! That sign never fails."
And presently, tired of watching the waiting sledge and the passive Laplander, he retreated within his house, shutting his door against the darkness and the bitter wind. His neighbors followed his example,—and, save for two or three red glimmers of light here and there, the little village looked as though it had been deserted long ago—a picture of frost-bound silence and solitude.
Meanwhile, in Lovisa Elsland's close and comfortless dwelling, stood Olaf Güldmar. His strong, stately figure, wrapped in furs, seemed almost to fill the little place—he had thrown aside the thick scarf of wadmel in which he had been wrapped to the eyes while driving in the teeth of the wind,—and he now lifted his fur cap, thus displaying his silvery hair, ruddy features, and open, massive brow. At that moment a woman who was busying herself in putting fresh pine-logs on the smouldering fire, turned and regarded him intently.