Here is a scoop. Come
on and help us bail the boats."
Truls took the scoop, and looked at it as if he
had never seen such a thing before; he moved
about heavily, hardly knowing what he did, but
conscious all the while of his own great misery.
His limbs seemed half frozen, and a dull pain
gathered about his head and in his breast--in
fact, everywhere and nowhere.
About ten o'clock the bridal procession
descended the slope to the fjord. Syvert Stein,
the bridegroom, trod the earth with a firm,
springy step, and spoke many a cheery word to
tho bride, who walked, silent and with downcast
eyes, at his side. She wore the ancestral
bridal crown on her head, and the little silver
disks around its edge tinkled and shook as she
walked. They hailed her with firing of guns
and loud hurrahs as she stepped into the boat;
still she did not raise her eyes, but remained
silent. A small cannon, also an heir-loom in the
family, was placed amidships, and Truls, with
his violin, took his seat in the prow. A large
solitary cloud, gold-rimmed but with thunder
in its breast, sailed across the sky and threw its
shadow over the bridal boat as it was pushed
out from the shore, and the shadow fell upon
the bride's countenance too; and when she
lifted it, the mother of the bridegroom, who sat
opposite her, shrank back, for the countenance
looked hard, as if carved in stone--in the eyes
a mute, hopeless appeal; on the lips a frozen
prayer. The shadow of thunder upon a life
that was opening--it was an ill omen, and its
gloom sank into the hearts of the wedding
guests.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190