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Meeting dead water like that out in the open sea generally meant that something was going to happen. Nils Buvaagen, like all fjord peasants, had a strong leaning towards every kind of superstition; and in his many voyages across the North Sea, he had had more than one experience of the kind in question. He had sat quite silent so far.
The other shades the eyes; for, even in this statue of him, Leif Ericsson is still the crosser of far seas, the finder of strange lands, the sleepless watcher forever gazing from beneath his shadowed brows into the golden west. Back at the fjord, what happened to Edith Fairhair while Ulf was on the ocean? Apparently nothing worth recording.
What wonder, then, that he started for Europe a few weeks before his presence was needed in the imperial city, and that he steered his course directly toward the fjord valley where Bertha had her home? It was she who had bidden him Godspeed when he fled from the land of his birth, and she, too, should receive his first greeting on his return.
This is reasonable and as it should be, though it surprised me at the time; for the great arm of the sea which is called the Gaboon is really a fjord, just like Bonny and Opobo rivers, with several rivers falling into it at its head, and this fjord brings the sea water further inland. As my brother would say, "It's perfectly simple if you think about it;" but thinking is not my strong point.
When I found a little fjord, I went up it to the end where stood a stretch of basalt columns, looking like a shattered temple of Antediluvians; and when my foot at last touched land, I sat down there a long, long time in the rubbly snow, and silently wept. My eyes that night were like a fountain of tears.
Under them the still fjord glowed in answer, silent and peaceful, as the fires burned up and faded. We went to the stockade gate, and down the little street to the wharf. Only a few men were about, but they were not armed, and the houses were dark now. There was no sign of unrest in all the place, as there well might have been had things gone awry for us. "Have a care, Asbiorn," said Bertric.
But Sigurd was my child born in an evil hour and I I strove to kill him at his birth." Thelma uttered a faint cry of horror. Ulrika turned an imploring gaze upon her. "Don't hate me!" she said, her voice trembling. "Don't, for God's sake, hate me! You don't know what I have suffered! I was mad, I think, at the time I flung the child in the Fjord to drown; your father, Olaf Gueldmar, rescued him.
Truls took the scoop, and looked at it as if he had never seen such a thing before; he moved about heavily, hardly knowing what he did, but conscious all the while of his own great misery. His limbs seemed half frozen, and a dull pain gathered about his head and in his breast in fact, everywhere and nowhere. About ten o'clock the bridal procession descended the slope to the fjord.
In the Varanger Fjord, we had pretty freely expressed our impressions of the desolate coast. Afterwards on returning past the grand cliff scenery of Nordkyn, we were admiring some bold formation of the rocks, when a Norwegian came up and said, in a tone of angry irony: "Ah, you find a little to admire at last, do you? You find some beauty in our country, after all?" So in regard to the government.
As the afternoon lengthened, and the sun lowered his glittering shield towards that part of the horizon where he rested a brief while without setting, the Eulalie, her white sails spread to the cool, refreshing breeze, swept gracefully and swiftly back to her old place on the Fjord, and her anchor dropped with musical clank and splash, just as Mr.
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