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Updated: June 20, 2025
Many meals in a lifetime people eat, and few are remembered; but when they are "eventful," how sweet or bitter is that bread-breaking! This night Liot's cake and fish and cup of tea were as angels' food. Karen broke her cake with him, and she sweetened his cup, and smiled at him and talked to him as he ate and drank with her.
In a few weeks she could not pay the price, and the heat of the summer prostrated her. She had drooped in the spring; in the autumn she faded away. When Christmas came again there was no longer any hope left in Liot's broken heart; he knew she was dying.
"It is the flitting," he said with a great awe; and he stood up with bowed head until a feeling of indescribable loneliness testified that the soul which had hitherto dwelt with him was gone away forever. He went then to the body. Death had given it dignity and grandeur. It was evident that in Liot's case the great change had meant victory and not defeat.
He stood at the table, and after a prayer and a hymn he said: "We have come together this afternoon to hear what David Borson has to say in regard to the charge which Matilda Sabiston has made for twenty-six years against his father Liot Borson." "That question was decided long ago," said an old man, rising slowly. "I heard Minister Ridlon give verdict concerning it at the funeral of Liot's wife."
They talked of Liot's hard life and hard death for an hour, and then the woman said: "Paul Borson was of the same kind silent, but full of deeds; and his daughter Nanna, she also has a great heart." "Show me now where she lives, and I will go and see her. Also, tell me your name." "I am Barbara Traill.
Did she, then, doubt her husband? Did she believe Matilda's accusations to be true? Karen asked herself these questions very often, and always answered them with strong assurances of Liot's innocence; but nevertheless they became part of her existence. No mental decisions, nor even actual words, could drive them from the citadel they had entered.
She did not realize that the wind blew them backward, that her gray hairs were dripping and disarranged, and her clothing storm-draggled and unsuitable for the occasion; her one thought was to reach Liot's house about the time when the funeral guests were all assembled. She lifted the latch and entered the crowded room like a bad fate. Every one ceased whispering and looked at her.
"I will put my luck to his, and you will learn to think better of Liot for my sake, aunt." "Not while my life-days last! That is a naked say, and there's no more to it." Matilda's dislike, however, did not seriously interfere with Liot's and Karen's happiness.
Forward!......They fly!......They fly!" The voice died away, and Osla was left alone. The story must now come back to Norway. Though Estein had returned with neither spoil nor captives, the tale of Liot's capture and the combat on the holm added much to his renown, and no fewer than six skalds composed lengthy poems on the adventure.
And at these questions Liot's countenance would glow as he answered gladly, "So far He has helped me." From this catechism, and the clasp and look that gave it living sympathy, Liot always turned homeward full of such strength that he longed to meet his enemy on the road, just that he might show him that "noble not caring," which was gall and wormwood to Bele's touchy self-conceit.
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