Up in the north the summer nights are clear until the beginning of August, then a light veil spreads itself over land and sea as soon as the sun goes down. By the middle of August this veil has already become thicker, and casts a mild soft shade over the summer leaves and grass. When the moon rises upon this world of vanishing green, then there is nothing more sadly beautiful to be found in all nature than one of these lovely evenings in August. Then the eye accustomed to three months unbroken day, shrinks from the darkness and yet sees this darkness in its loveliest aspect, like a mild sorrow softened by a ray of heavenly glory. This impression would return every year even if one lived for centuries; it is light and darkness which at the same moment are struggling in the world and in the human heart.
The two lonely singers felt the power of this impression; they both sat fixed and mute, quietly regarding each other in the twilight; neither of them spoke, and yet they understood each other's inmost thoughts.
Then the pale woman suddenly rose and turned her face towards the town. She seemed to be listening to a noise which disturbed the holy peace of the evening.
Lady Regina followed every movement of the stranger, and leaned out of the window so as to be able to see better. All nature was calm and silent, only the strokes of oars were heard from the sea, or the melancholy prolonged note from some shepherd's horn. This stillness increased by the first darkness of the autumn, had something solemn and inviting to worship about it, and made the noise which now came from the distant town still more singular. It was not the surges of the sea, or the roar of the fors,* or the crackling of a fire in the wood. Although it resembled all these. It was more like the murmur of an enraged populace, at once actuated by rage and want. Directly afterwards the reflection of a fire was seen afar off in the northern portion of the town.
* Fors, a stream peculiar to the north, like rapids.
With the speed of the wind the lonely woman outside the wall hurried away in the direction of the sounds and light .... We will now precede her for a moment.
The arrival of the man-of-war, which was destined to transport the conscripts, had placed the latter in a state of excitement much augmented by sorrow, pride, and ale. With their under officers at their head, they had thronged around the ale-shops, and at this time, when the soldier was all important, one was often obliged to overlook his irregularities and keep him in a good humour. The superior officers consequently pretended not to notice that 200 young men, with the combative temperament of East Bothnia, were in a state of intoxication more or less; and it is possible that this policy might have been the right one at the time, had not a special circumstance detrimental to peace brought their unrestrained passions into full play.
The brave sergeant, Bengt Kristerson, did not neglect this opportunity to do himself every possible justice. Filled with a sense of his own great importance, he had jumped on a table and easily demonstrated to the crowd of conscripts: first, that he especially had conquered Germany; secondly, that long before this he would have driven the Emperor Ferdinand into the River Danube, had not the latter been in league with Satan and bewitched the whole Swedish army, and the king himself first of all; thirdly, that Bengt, on the night of the Frankfurt ball, was on guard outside the king's bed-chamber, and there he had plainly seen Beelzebub in the form of a young girl, who then made a terrible commotion; fourthly—this thought naturally struck him during his inspired address—that the weal or woe of the country, yes, of the whole world, depended upon the witch, who was a prisoner at Korsholm...
"You will see that the black-haired witch will bring the plague to the town," observed thoughtfully a Malax peasant, with very fair hair and shabby appearance.
"The wolf-cub!"