She followed him
like his shadow on all his wanderings, and when
they sat down together by the wayside, she
would sing, in a clear, soft voice, an ancient lay
or ballad, and he would catch her words on his
paper, and smile at the happy prospect of
perpetuating what otherwise would have been lost.
Aasa's love, whether conscious or not, was to
him an everlasting source of strength, was a
revelation of himself to himself, and a clearing
and widening power which brought ever more
and more of the universe within the scope of
his vision. So they lived on from day to day
and from week to week, and, as old Lage
remarked, never had Kvaerk been the scene of so
much happiness. Not a single time during
Vigfusson's stay had Aasa fled to the forest, not a
meal had she missed, and at the hours for
family devotion she had taken her seat at the
big table with the rest and apparently listened
with as much attention and interest. Indeed,
all this time Aasa seemed purposely to avoid the
dark haunts of the woods, and, whenever she
could, chose the open highway; not even
Vigfusson's entreaties could induce her to tread the
tempting paths that led into the forest's gloom.
"And why not, Aasa?" he would say; "summer
is ten times summer there when the drowsy
noonday spreads its trembling maze of shadows
between those huge, venerable trunks. You can
feel the summer creeping into your very heart
and soul, there!"
"Oh, Vigfusson," she would answer, shaking
her head mournfully, "for a hundred paths that
lead in, there is only one that leads out again,
and sometimes even that one is nowhere to be found.
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