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Updated: June 18, 2025
It came so unexpectedly that Truls had no time to prepare for defense; so he merely stretched out the hand in which he held the violin to ward off the blow which he saw was coming; but Syvert tore the instrument from his grasp and dashed it against the cannon, and, as it happened, just against the touch-hole.
No one saw how it was done; but a moment later Truls, the Nameless, lay kneeling at Borghild's side. "It WAS a worthless life, beloved," whispered he, tenderly. "Now it is at an end." And he lifted her up in his arms as one lifts a beloved child, pressed a kiss on her pale lips, and leaped into the water. Like lead they fell into the sea. A throng of white bubbles whirled up to the surface.
And the dusk which slept upon the black rafters was quickened and shook with the weird sound; every pulse in the wide hall beat more rapidly, and every eye kindled with a bolder fire. And a clear, tremulous treble answered: "So gladly tread I the dance with thee; O heigh ho!" Truls knew the voices only too well; it was Syvert Stein and Borghild who were singing a stave.
Truls stood long, vacantly staring out upon the scene of the conflict, and many strange thoughts whirled through his head. "Halloo, fiddler!" cried a couple of lads who had come to clear the wedding boats, "you are early on foot to-day. Here is a scoop. Come on and help us bail the boats."
Still there could be no doubt that it was Borghild one hour ago so merry, reckless, and defiant, now cowering at his feet and weeping like a broken-hearted child. "Borghild," he said, at last, putting his arm gently about her waist, "you and I, I think, played together when we were children." "So we did, Truls," answered she, struggling with her tears.
About midway between the forest and the mansion, where the field sloped more steeply, grew a clump of birch-trees, whose slender stems glimmered ghostly white in the moonlight. Something drove Truls to leave the beaten road, and, obeying the impulse, he steered toward the birches. A strange sound fell upon his ear, like the moan of one in distress.
Methinks I see but sullen airs and ill-boding glances. Ha, fiddler, now move your strings lustily! None of your funeral airs, my lad, but a merry tune that shall sing through marrow and bone, and make the heart leap in the bosom." Truls heard the words, and in a slow, mechanical way he took the violin out of its case and raised it to his chin.
Truls still followed them with his eyes; suddenly he leaped up, and a wild thought burned in his breast. But with an effort he checked himself, grasped his violin, and struck a wailing chord of lament.
They hailed her with firing of guns and loud hurrahs as she stepped into the boat; still she did not raise her eyes, but remained silent. A small cannon, also an heir-loom in the family, was placed amidships, and Truls, with his violin, took his seat in the prow.
They were carried to baptism on the same day, and he was called Truls, because they had to call him something; she received the name of Borghild, because that had been the name of every eldest born daughter in the family for thirty generations.
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