by Mrs. Edward Kennard, author of "Straight as a Die," "The Girl in the Brown Habit," etc.
As published in Strange Doings in Strange Places (Cassell & Company, Ltd.; 1890), originally published in Cassell's Saturday Journal.
I.
In a narrow valley leading from a beautiful Norwegian fjord, and nestling at the base of enormous snow-crowned mountains, which hemmed it in on three sides, stood a small wooden house. It was painted a soft creamy yellow, picked out with bands of brown, after the fashion of the country.
Here lived old Peder Grundtvig and his grand-daughter Hansine, who filled the place of companion and servant. It was a wild, out-of-the-way spot; not even approached by a regular road. One had to scramble over a stony path, and through numerous little rivulets that trickled down from the roaring precipices above, in order to reach it. The nearest cottage was quite three English miles distant; for the inhabitants of the valley mostly preferred being closer to the fjord, and further away from the great frowning mountains. In the winter time they blocked out the sun, so that it never penetrated, and often huge boulders would come rolling down from the grim heights with a noise of thunder, carrying destruction in their train. Moreover, it was said that a band of robbers roamed among those snowy altitudes, carrying off the peasants' goats and cows.
But stout old Peder Grundtvig, in whose veins ran the blood of the mighty Yarls and Vikings, laughed at such women's tales as these, and declared them to be without foundation. Even when Ola Erichsen lost three fine fat sheep, he still refused to believe in the robbers.
"Nowadays we have none in our country," he said, quite seriously. "The Government does not allow them."
He spoke of the Government with great awe—perhaps because he knew so little about it: for often that institution inspires the most reverence with which we are the least acquainted.
Peder was a strange, solitary man. The simple peasants looked askance at him, because he never came to church, nor saluted them when they happened to meet; and they whispered among themselves that he was surely a little mad; for all day long Peder did nothing but dig , dig , dig. One hardly ever saw him without a spade in his hand, and the rumour became rife that he had formed a league with the devil, and was searching for something unholy. His deep-set black eyes, that gleamed like living coals from beneath his shaggy white eyebrows, confirmed this impression. So the peasants mumbled a prayer when they chanced to meet, and left him and Hansine to themselves. As for Hansine, they bore her no ill will.
During the long winter evenings Peder would sit crouching over the fire—or , more correctly speaking , the stove—thumbing a well-worn book, written in manuscript by one Niels Juel, a great naval hero in the olden time. This Niels Juel was an ancestor on the maternal side, and the book had been solemnly bequeathed to Peder by his mother on her death-bed.
"Yes, yes," Peder would mutter to himself, bending eagerly over the yellow parchment; "the treasure is hidden here: somewhere close to this spot. I cannot be mistaken in the directions. I have studied them so often. Niels Juel says: 'Go far up the valley until you come close to the foot of the mountains. Where the Sneevand river runs down, near to the old birch tree with the silver bark, there look if so be I am called away suddenly.' That is quite plain; nevertheless, for twenty years now I have been seeking diligently, and never found—never found"—dropping his voice to a kind of wail.
In the beginning Hansine looked up from her knitting with clear blue eyes, and said—
"What have you never found, grandfather?"
Then the old man told her about Niels Juel's victories, and how after one of them he had come to this secluded valley, and with his own hand buried under the earth a mighty treasure, consisting of gold and silver pieces, flagons, and chalices, intending to make provision for his old age, and spend his days here when he retired from the wars. But that time never came. He died as he had lived, fighting his country's enemies, and the secret of the treasure was handed down in this old book to his descendants, who for generations had vainly sought the spot indicated.
At first Hansine gave full credence to Peder's story; but when year after year passed, and, although he dug all day and every day, he seemed no nearer the great discovery, then she began to believe that what the peasants said was true. Her grandfather was wasting his time, and would do much better to attend to the crops, visit the salmon traps, and make nets, rather than wear himself out in the pursuit of an imaginary fortune, which might profit them nothing when found.
Like a wise girl, Hansine thought no more of the famous treasure, or how it would enable her to buy beautiful dresses, and turn her into a lady. She was quite content to trudge up to the "sæter" (hill farm) every day in summer, tend the cows, bring them home again at night, and look after the household generally. Hansine was both pretty and brave, and, for her part, she was not the least afraid of the robbers said to infest the mountains. Why need she be, when her handsome young lover contrived to meet her nearly every day, and vowed he would shoot like a fox the first man who dared to molest her in the smallest degree? He had given her a little whistle, too, where-with to call him in case of need, and taught her a peculiar note, which, in the event of danger, would, he averred, always bring him to her side. Once or twice Hansine had made use of the whistle just to try her power upon him, but he had warned her not to risk the experiment too often, for fear of the charm not working properly.
Hansine's lover came from far away. She knew none of his people; but that made no difference to her. He was goodly to look at, straight as an oak, with an eye like a hawk, and a natural air of command, which became him well. It signified little to the girl who he was or whence he hailed. She loved him, and that was enough: as it is for every fond and trustful woman. Sometimes they sat hand in hand on the hillside, whilst the hungry cows snatched at the scanty pasturage, and the blue-green fjord, kissed by the warm sun, shone in a myriad sparkles far below at their feet. Then, with a delicious sense of protection stealing over her, Hansine laughed at the silly stories afloat about the robber captain and his crew, and he laughed too. Yes, they were very gay and very happy up there on the hillside, with only the cows and the goats to interrupt their courtship.
II.
Thus the long summer days glided away, and the winter frosts and snows were approaching. Then one day Hansine's lover said to her—
"Hansine, I have wooed you now for many weeks. When will you marry me?"
The maiden trembled, and into her cheeks there stole a soft rose colour.
"Before I can marry you," she said, "you must get my grandfather's consent."
"Have you told him of our engagement?"
"No," answered Hansine, kicking away a pebble at her feet. "Not yet. I was afraid."
"Is he so very formidable, then?"
"It was not that; but my grandfather is too old to be left alone. However, you can come and hear what he says."
"I will. To-morrow afternoon, about six o'clock, when you are likely to be at home, I shall pay Herr Grundtvig a visit."
Upon this they kissed, and went their different ways.
On the following morning Hansine found the potatoes were running short. So she fetched a spade, and went to the potato field after a fresh supply. The river bubbled and gurgled close by, and an old birch tree—the one probably mentioned in Niels Juel's manuscript—bent its decrepit trunk before the wind. Hansine had scarcely begun to dig, when suddenly her spade struck against something hard, Exerting all her strength, she brought up a great shovelful of earth, mixed with potatoes. But, lo! to her surprise, amongst them shone a yellow coin. She stooped and picked up an old-fashioned gold piece, bearing a ship in full sail on one side, and a strange superscription, which she could not read, on the other. In a moment the thought of the buried treasure flashed across her mind. Could it be that after her grandfather's ceaseless toil she had really found it in this accidental manner? Strange, indeed, if such were the case. Once more she dug her spade deep in the soil, and again some solid substance opposed it.
A strange excitement crept over her frame. Her red lips parted. The pupils of her eyes dilated.
This time, giving a powerful upward heave to the spade, she brought forth a small but beautifully shaped flagon. It was tarnished and covered with mould, but all the same, there could be no doubt as to its being silver. Even Hansine, inexperienced as she was, recognised the value of her discovery. The whole thing seemed so wonderful that for a few seconds she lost her presence of mind. Then she thought of her grandfather and of the delight he would feel, and bearing the gold piece in one hand, the flagon in the other, flew towards the cottage.
"Grandfather! grandfather!" she cried; "where are you?" The old man was digging away about fifty yards from the house. The hot sun had made the perspiration stream from his brow. He looked tired, and bent, and infirm.
"The treasure!" she gasped. "Here it is! I—I have found it!"
He stared at her incredulously. Had the girl taken leave of her senses?
"Yes, yes. In the potato field," she went on, half laughing, half crying, for she was moved out of her ordinary calm. "If you don't believe me, see here!" And she thrust the gold piece into his lean, fleshless hand.
Peder turned it over in a dazed kind of way. Then his eye fell on the superscription, and a great cry escaped from him.
"Bless thee, Hansine!" he said, tremulously, for he, too, felt affected by the magnitude of his grand-daughter's discovery. "Thou hast indeed hit upon Niels Juel's treasure. We are rich! rich! rich!" And he tottered to the cottage.
"Hansine," called out a manly voice outside the door; "this is the third time I have knocked, and you give me no answer. Is your grandfather within?"
"Yes," cried Hansine, running to undo the latch, and flinging herself into her lover's arms. "He is here."
"Ah! that is good."
"You come at the right moment," she whispered, fondly. "My grandfather will listen to you to-day—perhaps even give his consent to our marriage, for a piece of great good luck has befallen us. We are no longer poor." And Hansine drew herself up with quite an air of importance.
"Eh!" said her lover, pricking his ears. "And pray what may have befallen you?"
"We have found the treasure," she explained, artlessly: "the treasure for which grandfather has been searching all his life. Look at this grand silver flagon which I have just dug up in our potato field. Ah! nobody knows how many beautiful things are buried there. And they are all ours—all ours—"
"Silence, girl!" interrupted the old man, sternly. "Thou talkest like a fool, and that tongue of thine runs away with thee. I have known how to guard my secret for many a year, and now thou blurtest it out to the first comer. Heaven knows what mischief thou mayest not have done. Pray, who is this man. who intrudes without an invitation?"
"He is the man to whom I am engaged, and whom I intend to marry," replied Hansine, stoutly. "You need not be afraid of him," she added, scornfully; "I answer for it that he will not steal your treasure."
"Surely, Herr Peder," interposed the stranger, mildly, "it is ungenerous that you should treat me as if I were the robber captain. I come but to ask your grand-daughter's hand."
"Then you come at an inconvenient moment," said the old fellow, shortly. "As for Hansine, when she marries, she'll want a gentleman. Times have changed—times have changed—and she's not for such as you."
The stranger flushed angrily.
"Ah!" he said, "this treasure has rendered you boastful. Take care that you don't lose it."
"Sir," said Peder, with great dignity, "it is nothing to you what I am. I beg you to withdraw." He spoke so authoritatively that the visitor, seeing there was little chance of gaining his point, left the cottage, followed by Hansine.
"Do not mind what my grandfather says," she murmured, soothingly. "He is excited, and not himself to-day. Some other time we will get his consent to our marriage."
"Hansine," said her lover, fiercely, "some other time won't do for me. I must have it now, or not at all. Herr Peder is an old man, judging from his appearance. I cannot bear the idea of you and he being left here by yourselves now you have found this treasure. If the robbers were to hear of it, your very lives would not be safe."
His grave tone frightened her.
"What am I to do, Sivert?" she asked, for it was by this name he had bidden her call him.
"Persuade your grandfather to hand the treasure over to me. I am young and strong. It will be safe in my keeping, whereas, in his, there is no knowing what may happen."
Hansine shook her head.
"He will not listen to such reasoning: of that I am convinced. I would trust you with my life, but my grandfather is not so confiding. For years he has sought this treasure. I could not ask him to part with it."
Sivert's handsome brows grew dark.
"You refuse?" he said.
"Only because I do not wish to anger my grandfather. Remember, he does not know you as I do."
"Hansine, I give you another chance. The old man has not treated me civilly. I care not for him. If we would wed, we must not wait for his consent. What say you?"
"She looked at him with a vague alarm in her blue eyes. His manner was rough and strange.
"I will marry you," she said, "but not until my grandfather is willing. He took care of me when I was young and motherless; now it is my turn to look after him."
Sivert made no answer, but strode hastily off up the narrow path leading to the "sæter."
Hansine sighed. She could not understand why he was vexed with her.
"Has the stranger gone?" inquired Peder, eagerly, the moment his grand-daughter re-entered the house.
"Yes," she said; "he has gone." And there was a curious sinking at her heart as she spoke the words.
"Good. Now fetch me my spade from the shed, and we will go to the potato field together. Ha, ha! Hansine," he continued, with a chuckle; "we have no potatoes in the house. I heard you say so this morning, and therefore I must work hard until it grows dark. That stranger has interrupted us as it is."
"He did not stay long," she answered, a trifle sadly.
"Too long for me. Please Heaven thy tongue has done no mischief. And now come along. Thou shalt watch if any creature stirs in the valley whilst I dig."
III.
The whole afternoon Peder worked with feverish haste, and before long there was quite a little mound of gold and silver flagons, church plate, and chalices lying by him. At last, when it was getting dark, he made Hansine carry them into the house. He could no longer see, and was therefore forced to desist from his labours. But the treasure had taken powerful hold of his imagination. He felt convinced that the earth still hid more valuables. Although his back ached, and the sweat ran from his wrinkled brow, he could not tear himself away from the spot.
"You are tired," said Hansine. "Come in and rest. To-morrow you can resume your work."
"No," answered the old man. "I must watch here all night. There are robbers in the neighbourhood."
"I thought you did not believe in them."
"Tut! girl; don't bandy words with me. When we were poor, then I did not trouble my head about the robbers. We had nothing worth stealing; but now"—looking uneasily around—"it is different. Go, bring me my thick sheepskin coat and the flint-lock that hangs behind the door; also a bottle of beer and something to eat. If the thieves come they shall find me prepared."
"And all the beautiful things inside the house?" asked Hansine. "What am I to do with them?"
"Lock them safely up in the old oak chest that stands just outside thy bedroom. And, Hansine—"
"Yes, grandfather; what is it?"
"Look under my pillow. Thou wilt find a loaded pistol. Take it; it may stand thee in good stead."
Hansine withdrew, little relishing the long, lonely vigil in prospect. The day had been full of turmoil, and now that the first excitement was beginning to subside, she questioned whether her discovery would conduce much to their happiness. They had been well enough without the treasure for many years, and now they had to sit up all night and arm themselves with firearms for fear of somebody stealing it. Sivert, too, was displeased, though why or wherefore she could not guess. She almost wished that Niels Juel's valuables had remained hidden in the earth. Hansine was very tired, and after first taking the precaution of bolting the door and fetching her grandfather's pistol, she fell fast asleep in his big wooden armchair that stood close to the stove.
Meanwhile, old Peder squatted silently down on the ground and lit his pipe. The night was very still and dark. After sundown, great tumbled masses of cloud had rolled up from the fjord, and were gradually spreading over the mountains like a black pall. Only now and again the moon peeped through a rent, as if curious to see what was going on down below. Far along the valley a corncrake made its harsh notes heard with regular monotony, and two wakeful magpies called to each other from a tree close by. The sound of the rushing river splashing over the stones and lapping against its flowery banks acted as a lullaby on the senses. Little by little Peder began to doze. At first his head bent down on his chest, and his breathing grew thick, and he woke up with a start, saying to himself, "This won't do—this won't do at all." But after a bit he could battle against the feeling of somnolence no longer, and fell into an uneasy sleep. And in his sleep he dreamed. He dreamed that he saw a dozen dark, shadowy forms stealing softly, swiftly down from the mountains, like evil spirits bent on some ungodly errand. He dreamed that they came nearer and nearer, crouching, crawling, twisting snake-like on the ground, until he was hemmed in on every side. And one taller, more agile than his companions, who carried a long knife in his hand, spake into his ear these words—
"Old man, thou hast allowed the love of greed to take possession of thee. Avarice has entered into thy heart. Niels Juel's treasure is not for such as thou."
Murder gleamed from the speaker's dark, glittering eyes. Peder's heart gave a great bound. Was it no dream after all, but a hideous reality?
With a smothered cry he awoke, but a powerful hand tightened its clasp on his throat, and the scream he would have sent forth was checked in its very utterance. A blade flashed before his startled eyes, and the next moment buried itself deep in his throat. Peder gave a convulsive shudder, followed by a long in-drawn sigh, and all was over.
The murderer wiped his knife on a patch of potato leaves, and looked calmly at the victim.
"It is well," he said, with a sinister smile. "Dead men want no fortunes." Then, addressing his companions, he added in a louder key, "Comrades, you may go back. Await my coming at the dawn of day, when, according to our custom, we will divide the booty. Only remember, I claim Hansine."
Hansine stirred in her sleep. She fancied she heard a noise, and it roused her from her slumbers in the old armchair. She started up, and listened attentively. All was dark, and at first she could distinguish nothing. But even as she gazed, the moon suddenly shot out. Not a dozen feet from her, it revealed a man getting in at the window—a man wrapped in a black cloak, and with a mask over his face. Instinct told her he had come after those precious flagons stored away upstairs. Brave girl! She seized the pistol, and advancing to the middle of the room, shouted, "Stop, or I will shoot you like a dog!"
The man gave a derisive laugh, and jumped right on to the floor. Hansine did not hesitate. Her grandfather had bidden her defend the treasure. She pointed the pistol, and pulled the trigger. There was a flash, a report, and with a loud cry the robber threw up his arms, and fell to the ground. Horrified at her own handiwork, Hansine rushed out in search of her grandfather. She found him—dead. Dazed and trembling, she re-entered the cottage, scarce knowing what she did.
Merciful powers! Who and what was that dead Thing lying there? Why did it suggest such painful and horrible suspicions? They drove her mad. The uncertainty was not endurable. An overwhelming terror seized her, and with a maniacal laugh she threw herself down beside the body. She turned its head—she looked at it; and as she did so an icy chill entered into her heart. It felt compressed by bands of iron. She uttered no sound; she did not cry; she was very calm and very still. Only a rigid look stole into her young face. The grey dawn began to creep ghost-like o'er the earth.
Then she stirred uneasily, and untied the white handkerchief that kept her fair tresses in order, and threw it over the corpse's head.
"Murderer and robber," she said, in a hoarse, unnatural voice, "my love is dead. You were not what I believed you to be. I will not let myself weep for such as you." And rising to her feet, she resolutely turned away.
But even as she spoke, two great slow tears rolled down her cheek, for although the proud blood of the Vikings ran in her veins, she was only a woman, and could not altogether conquer her woman's weakness.
And after that many sought the hand of Hansine in marriage, but Niels Juel's descendant would not wed.