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Updated: May 22, 2025
"We'll fire a gun," he added in a louder voice. Again, I raised my hand aloft; and then applying myself to the oars, soon reached the land. I made the boat fast to a tree's stump, and commenced my ascent of the mountain. No Gunilda, as yesterday, stood near the stone. Musing, I sat, watching the crew on board the yacht making preparations for our departure, should the wind shift fair.
Mid-day came, and brought with it the sultriness and cheerful brightness of a Norwegian summer's day. Through the fir-trees I could see the waters of the Fiord sparkling, like liquid silver, in the glare of noon; and far away, the clouds, like pieces of white wool, resting half-way up the mountains. Gunilda, perceiving my pensive mood, observed,
"Farväl!" and covering her face with her hands, fell, sobbing violently, on her mother's grave. I hurried from the spot; and hardly knew that I had left Gunilda, until the boat ran against the cutter's bow, and roused me as from a dream.
"Indeed, Gunilda," I continued, "I believe in that heart's faith which, in England, is called 'love at first sight." "And so do I," she exclaimed, sidling closer to my feet, "and so did my father.
Applying herself again to the cultivation of the flowers planted around her mother's grave, the beautiful Norwegian informed me, while engaged in her affectionate office, that, her mother survived the intelligence of her husband's death but a short time; and on her death-bed, committed Gunilda to the care of an old friend.
She raised her eyes, and, with a smile, turned them towards the bay, when observing that the sailors were painting the cutter's hull, and scraping the spars, she appeared pleased with the sight; and dropping her eyes towards the ground again, her tiny foot dallied with a blade of grass, and, almost inaudibly, "Call me Gunilda," she said.
The tears followed each other down her face, and the intensity of her grief was too great to allow Gunilda, for some moments, to speak. Looking up into my face, her eyes still filled with tears, she said, "My condition is one of extreme sorrow and loneliness; and if you could hear it all, you would confess that I have cause to weep as well as others. But think me not ungrateful."
Even Gunilda, sister to the King of Denmark, who had married Earl Paling, and had embraced Christianity, was, by the advice of Edric, Earl of Wilts, seized and condemned to death by Ethelred, after seeing her husband and children butchered before her face.
Gunilda held up her hand before her for some minutes, without the utterance of a word, and gazed on the brilliant jewel, then allowing her hand to fall by her side, burst into a passionate flood of tears.
I saw them running, like mice, up the shrouds, as they boused up the mainsail, and heard them chaunt a cheering chorus, as they heaved in the slack of the cable. It was mid-day. I rose, and turning to the left hand, took my way through the fir forest. I had proceeded about half a mile, when I discerned the kneeling figure of a woman through the closely-planted trees. I approached. It was Gunilda.
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