Vigfusson
shook hands with them all, thanked them for their
kindness to him, and promised to return;
he held Aasa's hand long in his, but when
he released it, it dropped helplessly at her side.
V.
Far up in the glen, about a mile from Kvaerk,
ran a little brook; that is, it was little in summer
and winter, but in the spring, while the snow
was melting up in the mountains, it overflowed
the nearest land and turned the whole glen into
a broad and shallow river. It was easy to cross,
however; a light foot might jump from stone to
stone, and be over in a minute. Not the hind
herself could be lighter on her foot than Aasa
was; and even in the spring-flood it was her
wont to cross and recross the brook, and to sit
dreaming on a large stone against which the
water broke incessantly, rushing in white
torrents over its edges.
Here she sat one fair summer day--the day
after Vigfusson's departure. It was noon, and
the sun stood high over the forest. The water
murmured and murmured, babbled and whispered,
until at length there came a sudden unceasing
tone into its murmur, then another, and
it sounded like a faint whispering song of small
airy beings. And as she tried to listen, to fix
the air in her mind, it all ceased again, and she
heard but the monotonous murmuring of the
brook. Everything seemed so empty and
worthless, as if that faint melody had been the
world of the moment. But there it was again;
it sung and sung, and the birch overhead took
up the melody and rustled it with its leaves, and
the grasshopper over in the grass caught it and
whirred it with her wings.
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