Aasa clung to the old man's hand and followed
him--she knew not whither.
At home in the large sitting-room at Kvaerk
sat Lage, brooding over the wreck of his hopes
and his happiness. Aasa had gone to the woods
again the very first day after Vigfusson's
departure. What would be the end of all this?
It was already late in the evening, and she had
not returned. The father cast anxious glances
toward the door, every time he heard the latch
moving. At last, when it was near midnight, he
roused all his men from their sleep, and
commanded them to follow him. Soon the dusky
forests resounded far and near with the blast
of horns, the report of guns, and the calling and
shouting of men. The affrighted stag crossed
and recrossed the path of the hunters, but not a
rifle was leveled at its head. Toward morning--
it was before the sun had yet risen--Lage,
weary and stunned, stood leaning up against a
huge fir. Then suddenly a fierce, wild laugh
rang through the forest. Lage shuddered,
raised his hand slowly and pressed it hard
against his forehead, vainly struggling to clear
his thoughts. The men clung fearfully
together; a few of the more courageous ones drew
their knives and made the sign of the cross with
them in the air. Again the same mad laugh
shook the air, and swept over the crowns of the
pine-trees. Then Lage lifted his eyes toward
heaven and wrung his hands: for the awful
truth stood before him. He remained a long
while leaning against that old fir as in a dead
stupor; and no one dared to arouse him.
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