3. The Messenger

A week after his death Herr Arne was buried in Solberga church,

and on the same day an inquest was held upon the murder in the

assize house at Branehog.

Now Herr Arne's fame was such throughout Bohuslen, and so many

people came together on the day of his funeral, both from the

mainland and the islands, that it was as though an army had

assembled about its leader. And so great a concourse moved between

Solberga church and Branehog that toward evening not an inch of

snow could be seen that had not been trampled by men's feet.

But late in the evening, when all had gone their ways, came

Torarin the fish hawker driving along the road from Branehog to

Solberga.

Torarin had talked with many men in the course of the day; again

and again had he told the story of Herr Arne's death. He had been

well entertained too at the assize and had been made to empty many

a mug of ale with travellers from afar.

Torarin felt dull and heavy and lay down upon his load. It

saddened him to think that Herr Arne was gone, and as he

approached the parsonage a yet more grievous thought began to

torment him. "Grim, my dog," he said, "had I believed that warning

of the knives I might have warded off the whole disaster. I often

think of that, Grim, my dog. It disquiets my spirit, I feel as

though I had had a part in taking Herr Arne's life. Now remember

what I say--next time I hear such a thing I will hold it true and

be guided by it!"

Now while Torarin lay dozing upon his load with eyes half closed,

his horse went on as he pleased, and on coming to Solberga

parsonage he turned into the yard from old habit and went up to

the stable door, Torarin being all unwitting. Only with the

stopping of the sledge did he rise up and look about him; and then

he fell a-shuddering, when he saw that he was in the yard of a

house where so many people had been murdered no more than a week

before.

He seized the reins at once to turn his horse and drive into the

road again, but at that moment he felt a hand upon his shoulder

and looked round. Beside him stood old Olof the groom, who had

served at the parsonage as long as Torarin could remember.

"Have you such haste to leave our house tonight, Torarin?" said

the man. "Let be and come indoors! Herr Arne sits there waiting

for you."

A thousand thoughts came into Torarin's head. He knew not whether

he was dreaming or awake. Olof the groom, whom he saw standing

alive and well beside him, he had seen a week before lying dead

amongst the others with a great wound in his throat.

Torarin took a firmer hold of the reins. He thought the best thing

for him was to make off as soon as he could. But Olof the groom's

hand still lay upon his shoulder, and the old fellow gave him no

peace.

Torarin racked his brains to find an excuse. "I had no thought of

coming to disturb Herr Arne so late in the evening," said he. "My

horse turned in here whilst I was unaware. I will go now and find

a lodging for the night. If Herr Arne wishes to see me, I can well

come again tomorrow."

With this Torarin bent forward and struck his horse with the slack

of the reins to make him move off.

But at the same instant the parson's man was at the horse's head;

he caught him by the bridle and forced him to stand still. "Cease

your obstinacy, Torarin!" said the man. "Herr Arne is not yet gone

to bed, he sits waiting for you. And you should know full well

that you can have as good a night's lodging here as anywhere in

the parish."

Torarin was about to answer that he could not be served with

lodging in a roofless house. But before speaking he raised his

eyes to the dwelling house, and then he saw that the old timber

hall stood unharmed and stately as before the fire. And yet that

very morning Torarin had seen the naked rafters thrusting out into

the air.

He looked and looked and rubbed his eyes, but there was no doubt

of it, the parsonage stood there unharmed, with thatch and snow

upon its roof. He saw smoke and sparks streaming up through the

louver, and rays of light gleaming through the illclosed shutters

upon the snow.

A man who travels far and wide on the cold highway knows no better

sight than the gleam that steals out of a warm room. But the sight

made Torarin even more terrified than before. He whipped up his

horse till he reared and kicked, but not a step would he go from

the stable door.

"Come in with me, Torarin!" said the groom. "I thought you had

enough remorse already over this business."

Then Torarin remembered the promise he had made himself on the

road and, though a moment before he had stood up and lashed his

horse furiously, he was now meek as a lamb.

"Well, Olof groom, here am I!" he said, and sprang down from the

sledge. "It is true that I wish to have no more remorse over this

business. Take me in to Herr Arne!"

But it was with the heaviest steps he had ever known that Torarin

went across the yard to the house.

When the door was opened Torarin closed his eyes to avoid looking

into the room, but he tried to take heart by thinking of Herr

Arne. "He has given you many a good meal. He has bought your fish,

even when his own larder was full. He has always shown you

kindness in his lifetime, and assuredly he will not harm you after

death. Mayhap he has a service to ask of you. You must not forget,

Torarin, that we are to show gratitude to the dead as to the

living."

Torarin opened his eyes and looked down the room. He saw the great

hall just as he had seen it before. He recognized the high brick

stove and the woven tapestries that hung upon the walls. But he

glanced many times from wall to wall before daring to raise his

eyes to the table and the bench where Herr Arne had been wont to

sit.

At last he looked there, and then he saw Herr Arne himself sitting

in the flesh at the head of the table with his wife on one side

and his curate on the other, as he had seen him a week before. He

seemed to have just finished his meal, the dish was thrust away,

and his spoon lay on the table before him. All the old men and

women servants were sitting at the table, but only one of the

young maids.

Torarin stood still a long time by the door and watched them that

sat at table. They all looked anxious and mournful, and even Herr

Arne was gloomy as the rest and supported his head in his hand.

At last Torarin saw him raise his head.

"Have you brought a stranger into the house with you, Olof groom?"

"Yes," answered the man, "it is Torarin the fish hawker, who has

been this day at the assize at Branehog."

Herr Arne's looks seemed to grow more cheerful at this, and

Torarin heard him say: "Come forward then, Torarin, and give us

news of the assize! I have sat here and waited for half the

night."

All this had such a real and natural air that Torarin began to

feel more and more courageous. He walked quite boldly across the

room to Herr Arne, asking himself whether the murder was not an

evil dream and whether Herr Arne was not in truth alive.

But as Torarin crossed the room, his eyes from old habit sought

the four-post bed, beside which the great money chest used to

stand. But the ironbound chest was no longer in its place, and

when Torarin saw that a shudder again passed through him.

"Now Torarin is to tell us how things went at the assize today,"

said Herr Arne.

Torarin tried to do as he was bid and tell of the assize and the

inquest, but he could command neither his lips nor his tongue, and

his speech was faulty and stammering, so that Herr Arne stopped

him at once. "Tell me only the main thing, Torarin. Were our

murderers found and punished?"

"No, Herr Arne," Torarin had the boldness to answer. "Your

murderers lie at the bottom of Hakefjord. How would you have any

take revenge on them?"

When Torarin returned this answer Herr Arne's old temper seemed to

be kindled within him and he smote the table hard. "What is that

you say, Torarin? Has the Governor of Bohus been here with judges

and clerks and held assize and has no man had the wit to tell him

where he may find my murderers?"

"No, Herr Arne," answered Torarin. "None among the living can tell

him that."

Herr Arne sat awhile with a frown on his brow, staring dismally

before him. Then he turned once more to Torarin.

"I know that you bear me affection, Torarin. Can you tell me how I

may be revenged upon my murderers?"

"I can well understand, Herr Arne," said Torarin, "that you wish

to be revenged upon those who so cruelly have deprived you of your

life. But there is none amongst us who walk God's earth that can

help you in this."

Herr Arne fell into a deep brooding when he heard this answer.

There was a long silence. After a while Torarin ventured to put

forward a request. "I have now fulfilled your desire, Herr Arne,

and told you how it went at the assize. Have you aught else to ask

me, or will you now let me go?"

"You are not to go, Torarin," said Herr Arne, "until you have

answered me once more whether none of the living can give us

vengeance."

"Not if all the men in Bohuslen and Norway came together to be

revenged upon your murderers would they be able to find them,"

said Torarin.

Then said Herr Arne: "If the living cannot help us, we must help

ourselves."

With this Herr Arne began in a loud voice to say a paternoster,

not in Norse but in Latin, as had been the use of the country

before his time. And as he uttered each word of the prayer he

pointed with his finger at one of those who sat with him at the

table. He went through them all in this way many times, until he

came to Amen. And as he spoke this word his finger pointed at the

young maid who was his niece.

The young maid rose at once from the bench, and Herr Arne said to

her: "You know what you have to do."

Then the young maiden lamented and said: "Do not send me upon this

errand! It is too heavy a charge to lay upon so tender a maid as

I."

"You shall assuredly go," said Herr Arne. "It is right that you

go, since you have most to revenge. None of us has been robbed of

so many years of life as you, who are the youngest among us."

"I desire not to be revenged on any man," said the maiden.

"You are to go at once," said Herr Arne. "And you will not be

alone. You know that there are two among the living who sat with

us here at table a week ago."

But when Torarin heard these words he thought they meant that Herr

Arne charged him to contend with malefactors and murderers, and he

cried out: "By the mercy of God I conjure you, Herr Arne--"

At that moment it seemed to Torarin that both Herr Arne and the

parsonage vanished in a mist, and he himself sank down as though

he had fallen from a giddy height, and with that he lost

consciousness.

When he came to himself again dawn was breaking and he saw that he

was lying on the ground in the yard of Solberga parsonage. His

horse stood beside him with the sledge, and Grim barked and howled

over him.

"It was all but a dream," said Torarin; "now I see that. The house

is deserted and in ruin. I have seen neither Herr Arne nor any

other. But I was so startled by the dream that I fell off the

load."