The outcast

by Selma Lagerlöf

"She came to the right man at last," he thought. "She is dead, and he is an outcast, who dare not show himself among his fellows."

But again he was led from the agony of his thoughts by the recollection of his forefathers and their home.

Over the treeless wastes where he now drove, the west wind, the strong wind from the sea, whined sharp and biting. "It is very cold up here," he thought. "It must be better on the other side of the range. Hånger lies in shelter of the eastern slopes; it would be warm and spring-like on such an evening as this."

Once again he was thinking of his race.

All of them had been marked by some trait which distinguished them from those around them.

One of them had had a horse which he loved beyond all else, and he was rarely seen except in the saddle. He went to his work and to his pleasures on horseback, and had even one Sunday ridden into the church and demanded to receive the Holy Sacrament without dismounting.

A faint smile passed over the priest's face at the thought of that remarkable scene. It had often amused him in former days to imagine it to himself. But he had never thought such a thing could be true; he had always regarded it as invention and fable.

That same horseman had once had a quarrel with his wife. "Folks should use their wits at times," she had said, "and not trust only to their strength." But this had angered him, and he had hoisted her up and set her to ride astride of the roof-beam. "Now I've set you there by strength," he said. "Let's see if you can get down again by your wits."

It must have been no easy matter at times to be the wife of one of those Hånger folk. They had been violent, jealous, and obstinate. Strong and able men, indeed, hospitable and magnificent, but given to coarse jesting that might well prove more trying than many other faults.

One of them once took it into his head to have everything he owned in pairs. It was not sufficient to have one bell in his room; he must have two. One window was never enough for a room; there must be two or four or six. Two chimneys, two doors, two barns, two haylofts. Never one lad or girl, but always two or four of them. It might seem an innocent whim enough, but he had nearly brought Hånger to ruin with his alterations and rebuilding.