"Nay, now, why hide thy face?" went on the old man cheerily. "Didst thou
think I would grudge my bird her summer-time? Not I! And little did I
hope for thee, my darling, that thou wouldst find a shelter worthy of
thee in this wild world!" He paused a moment, looking tenderly down upon
her, as she nestled in mute affection against his breast,--then
addressing himself to Errington, he went on--
"We have a story in our Norse religion, my lad, of two lovers who
declared their passion to each other, on one stormy night in the depth
of winter. They were together in a desolate hut on the mountains, and
around them lay unbroken tracts of frozen snow. They were descended from
the gods, and therefore the gods protected them--and it happened that
after they had sworn their troth, the doors of the snow-bound hut flew
suddenly open, and lo! the landscape had changed--the hills were gay
with grass and flowers,--the sky was blue and brilliant, the birds sang,
and everywhere was heard the ripple of waters let loose from their icy
fetters, and gamboling down the rocks in the joyous sun.
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