"_Good_! By my soul! The folks of
Talvig take up murderers for saints and criminals for guides! 'Tis a
wild world! Yes--she has gone--where all such blessed ones
go--to--heaven!" He shook his clenched fist in the air--then hastily
gathering up the reins, prepared to start.
The Lapp, after the manner of his race, was easily frightened, and
cowered back, terrified at the _bonde's_ menacing gesture and fierce
tone,--but quickly bethinking himself of the liberal fee he clutched in
his palm, he volunteered a warning to this kingly old man with the
streaming white hair and beard, and his keen eyes that were already
fixed on the dark sweep of the rough, uneven road winding towards the
Altenfjord.
"There is a storm coming, Jarl Gueldmar!" he stammered.
Gueldmar turned his head. "Why call me Jarl?" he demanded half angrily.
"'Tis a name I wear not."
He touched the reindeer lightly with his long whip--the sensitive beast
started and sprang forward.
Once more the Lapp exclaimed, with increased excitement and uncouth
gestures--
"Storm is coming!--wide--dark, deep! See how the sky stoops with the
hidden snow!"
He pointed to the north, and there, low on the horizon, was a lurid red
gleam like a smouldering fire, while just above it a greenish blackness
of cloud hung heavy and motionless.
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