"The witch at Korsholm will have to pay for all this!" shouted the others.
And the whole raging mass rushed off at full speed towards the old castle.
CHAPTER VII.
THE SIEGE OF KORSHOLM.
As soon as Meri—for she was the lonely singer—understood the wild crowd's intention, she flew back to Korsholm. By the silver rays of the moonlight, which shone over the landscape, she plainly distinguished Regina's dark locks, which, blacker than the night, stood in relief from the room in the background, like a shadow in the midst of the shade. Under these locks shone two eyes, dreamy, deep, like the glimmer of the stars in the dusky mirror of a lake. The words died on Meri's lips; all the strange rumours rose like spectres in her mind. She who sat up there alone at the window, was she not, after all, a southern witch, weeping over her fate in being compelled to spend the seven years of her wondrous beauty within these walls, and then reassume her normal shape; a terrible monster, half-woman and half-serpent?
Meri stood as if petrified at the foot of the wall.
But nearer and nearer was heard the murmur of the wild crowd, and the light of the torches began to be reflected on the castle. Then the superstitious countrywoman gathered courage, and raised her voice to the window.
"Fly, your grace," she said rapidly in Swedish; "fly, a great danger threatens you; the soldiers are intoxicated and frantic; they say that you have tried to kill the king, and they demand your life."
Regina saw the pale form in the moonlight, and before her imagination rose all the stories she had heard about this land of witchcraft. During her ten months' stay in Sweden she had in some degree learned to understand the language; she did not immediately comprehend the other's meaning, but a single word sufficed to attract all her attention.
"The king?" she repeated in broken Swedish. "Who are you, and what can you tell me about the great Gustaf Adolf?"