Adalo had now recovered from his astonishment.

"I knew," he said, smiling, "that the elves of light dwell above our heads; but I was not aware that they had nests among the boughs of the oaks."

"And why not? If you reproach me with being an elf of light."

"It is no reproach, I should think. What says the elf-song? 'Fairest fair are not the ases, but the elves.'"

"'Sharp is the bite of the squirrel, but Bissula's is sharper still.' You yourself classed me with the biting animals, so do not wonder that I fled to my red, snarling, biting sisters when I heard in the distance the haughty footfall of the hated Adalo. I detected your approach even sooner than the long-practised ear of my blind grandmother. Hate is quick to hear."

"Do you hate me?" asked the youth. His voice sounded low and sad.

"Forgive her, Adalo! She is but a child."

"No, grandmother, I am a child no longer; I shall see my eighteenth winter when the next snow falls. The child tried to defend herself against superior strength. She was too weak; but now something within me struggles against your arrogance--I know not what it is; it glows here in my breast, and believe me, this thing within is stronger than my hands once were: you cannot conquer."

"I do not wish to conquer; I seek to protect you and your grandmother."

"The head of our clan will protect us--Suomar, her son, my uncle and guardian."

"Suomar thought that you would be safer on Odin's Mountain."

"Because my good uncle did not suspect that you were only trying to win fresh renown by new couplets. Something like this:

You hear--I too can make verses."

"Evil words," said Waldrun reprovingly, "which were not given to you by Odin the Wise, but by Loki! Why do you scorn the protection your neighbor offers? You grew up together like brother and sister, constant playfellows on the shore and the lake."

"Until the neighbor discovered that he was the rich, strong young noble, skilled in song; the 'handsome' Adalo--as all the silly girls whisper. He handsome? He is hideous. His name is forever ringing in one's ears throughout the whole region in every dwelling along the lake. Who is the boldest hero in the Roman war? The stoutest swimmer, the most successful hunter? The victor in wrestling, hurling stones, casting the spear? Who leaps highest in the sword dance? To whom do even the gray-beards listen in the Council? At whom do the maidens peep at the sun-festival? Adalo! Adalo! Adalo!--The arrogant fellow! It is unbearable."

The angry maiden pressed both little clenched hands over her eyes to shut out the sight of the foe she so fervently hated.

"Would arrogance bring me here with this entreaty?"

"Ay; sheer arrogance! When, during the spinning in the winter and the hay-making in the autumn, the girls talked about you, I said little; I only listened. It was rumored that Jetto, the rich lord of the manor, was beginning--he took the first step--to treat with Adalo concerning a marriage with his daughter, Jettaberga. Jettaberga is the handsomest girl in the lake region--"

"That is not true," said Adalo earnestly.

"Her kinsmen, next to your own family, have the largest number of spears and of cattle, are the richest in shields and in lands."

"That is true," he answered, nodding assent. "But Adalo refused the offer as soon as it was sufficiently well known in the neighborhood that Jetto himself had proposed to give him his daughter because both clans would have profited by the alliance--"

"Especially Jetto!" interrupted Waldrun. "And because Jettaberga thought the young nobleman was handsomer than any other man."

"That is probably not true!" remarked the latter, smiling pleasantly.

"Yes, it is true!" exclaimed Bissula vehemently. "Don't deny it. She told me so."

"I wish to hear nothing about it, Bissula--chatterer!" said the grandmother reproachfully.

The girl bit her lips.

"Pshaw, he knew it; or he believed he knew it, as he believes it of all girls. And so it must seem to him and his companions that Bissula also (who, it is true, is neither rich nor beautiful--only Bissula, who is defiant and tameless), that I, too, instead of going to the marshes would rather flee to the Holy Mountain--to Adalo! But"--and now her eyes blazed with an almost menacing light--"you shall never boast of that!"

"But if I command?" warned the old woman.

"Then I'll run off to the swamps alone. Forgive me, dear, dear grandmother; but Suomar is my guardian, not you. Did he command? Speak!"

"He only advised," replied Adalo reluctantly.

"Then I am free! Advice may be followed or not. But know this: If you had lied--"

Adalo's face blanched.

"Insolent girl!" said the grandmother reprovingly.

"Oh, I know--he never lies; but it is not from truthfulness, but pride. If you had pretended that my guardian had given a command--I would rather have leaped into the deepest part of the lake than have gone with you."

"What foolish defiance! He speaks only from anxiety."

"He speaks from arrogance. The vain fellow weaves a wreath composed of every flower to deck his curly head: Bissula, the red heather-blossom, must not be wanting."

"The red heather-blossom alone must adorn my life," said the youth earnestly.

Bissula started: every tinge of color faded from her face, and trembling violently she clasped her grandmother's arm for support.

The latter, however, with a keenly intent expression, turned her head toward Adalo. "What words were those you dared to utter?"

"Earnest ones. I am under no man's authority. I am old enough to lead a wife to my home, strong enough to protect her. Well then, Bissula, playmate of my childhood, come with me! I will give whatever Suomar demands. I love you better than any one else can do. Come with me to the Holy Mountain, that I may protect you there--my betrothed bride!"