"Olaf, the wanderer over wild seas,--he comes and goes in his ship that
sails like a white bird on the sparkling waters--long and silent are the
days of his absence--mournful are the Fjelds and Fjords without the
smile of Olaf--Olaf the King!"
She paused, and Gueldmar regarded her in pitying wonder. Her face changed
to a new expression--one of wrath and fear.
"Stay, stay!" she cried in penetrating accents. "Who comes from the
South with Olaf? The clouds drive fast before the wind--clouds rest on
the edge of the dark Fjord--sails red as blood flash against the
sky--who comes with Olaf? Fair hair ripples against his breast like
streaming sunbeams; eyes blue as the glitter of the northern lights, are
looking upon him--lips crimson and heavy with kisses for Olaf--ah!" She
broke off with a cry, and beat the air with her hands as though to keep
some threatening thing away from her. "Back, back! Dead bride of Olaf,
torment me no more--back, I say! See,"--and she pointed into the
darkness before her--"The pale, pale face--the long glittering hair
twisted like a snake of gold,--she glides along the path across the
mountains,--the child follows!--the child! Why not kill the child as
well--why not?"
She stopped suddenly with a wild laugh.
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