"And why not?" she pleaded, piteously.
"Ah, girl, you know not what you ask,"
cried he, with a sternness which startled her.
"If I had more than one life to waste--but you
caress with one hand and stab with the other.
Fare thee well, Borghild, for here our paths
separate."
He turned his back upon her and began to
descend the slope.
"For God's sake, stay, Truls," implored she,
and stretched her arms appealingly toward him;
"tell me, oh, tell me all."
With a leap he was again at her side, stooped
down over her, and, in a hoarse, passionate
whisper, spoke the secret of his life in her ear.
She gazed for a moment steadily into his face,
then, in a few hurried words, she pledged him
her love, her faith, her all. And in the stillness
of that summer night they planned together
their flight to a greater and freer land, where no
world-old prejudice frowned upon the union of
two kindred souls. They would wait in patience
and silence until spring; then come the fresh
winds from the ocean, and, with them, the birds
of passage which awake the longings in the
Norsernen's breasts, and the American vessels
which give courage to many a sinking spirit,
strength to the wearied arm, hope to the hopeless heart.
During that winter Truls and Borghild seldom
saw each other. The parish was filled
with rumors, and after the Christmas holiday
it was told for certain that the proud maiden of
Skogli had been promised in marriage to Syvert
Stein.
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