Short Fiction Selma Lagerlöf (best book club books of all time .txt) 📖

He walked over to his betrothed and put out his hand. She sat perfectly still and seemed not to see him. “Won’t you say farewell to me, Hildur?”

Then she looked up, and her large eyes stared coldly at him. “Was it with that hand you guided the knife?” she asked.

Gudmund did not answer her, but turned to the Juryman. “Now I am sure of my case,” he said. “It is useless to talk of a wedding.”

With this the conference was ended, and Gudmund and Erland went their way.

They had to pass through a number of rooms and corridors before they came out, and everywhere they saw preparations for the wedding. The door leading to the kitchen was open, and they saw many bustling about in eager haste. The smell of roasts and of baking penetrated the air; the whole fireplace was covered with large and small pots and pans, and the copper saucepans, which usually decorated the walls, were down and in use. “Fancy, it is for my wedding that they are puttering like this!” thought Gudmund, as he was passing.

He caught a glimpse, so to speak, of all the wealth of this old peasant estate as he wandered through the house. He saw the dining-hall, where the long tables were set with a long row of silver goblets and decanters. He passed by the clothespress, where the floor was covered with great chests and where the walls were hung with an endless array of wearing apparel. When he came out in the yard, he saw many vehicles, old and new, and fine horses being led out from the stable, and gorgeous carriage robes placed in the carriages. He looked out across a couple of farms with cowsheds, barns, sheepfolds, storehouses, sheds, larders, and many other buildings. “All this might have been mine,” he thought, as he seated himself in the cart.

Suddenly he was seized with a sense of bitter regret. He would have liked to throw himself out of the cart and go in and say that what he had told them was not true. He had only wished to joke with them and frighten them. It was awfully stupid of him to confess. Of what use had it been to him to confess? The dead was dead. No, this confession carried nothing with it save his ruin.

These last weeks he had not been very enthusiastic over this marriage. But now, when he must renounce it, he realized what it was worth to him. It meant much to lose Hildur Ericsdotter and all that went with her. What did it matter that she was domineering and opinionated? She was still the peer of all in these regions, and through her he would have come by great power and honor.

It was not only Hildur and her possessions he was missing, but minor things as well. At this moment he should have been driving to the church, and all who looked upon him would have envied him. And it was today that he should have sat at the head of the wedding table and been in the thick of the dancing and the gayety. It was his great luck-day that was going from him.

Erland turned time and again to his son and looked at him. Now he was not so handsome or transfigured as he had been in the morning, but sat there listless and heavy and dull-eyed. The father wondered if the son regretted having confessed and meant to question him about it, but thought it best to be silent.

“Where are we driving to now?” asked Gudmund presently. “Wouldn’t it be as well to go at once to the sheriff?”

“You had better go home first and have a good sleep,” said the father. “You have not had much sleep these last nights, I dare say.”

“Mother will be frightened when she sees us.”

“She won’t be surprised,” answered the father, “for she knows quite as much as I do. She will be glad, of course, that you have confessed.”

“I believe mother and the rest of you at home are glad to get me into prison,” snarled Gudmund.

“We know that you are losing a good deal in acting rightly,” said the father. “We can’t help but be glad because you have conquered yourself.”

Gudmund felt that he could not endure going home and having to listen to all who would commend him because he had spoiled his future. He sought some excuse that he might escape meeting anyone until he had recovered his poise. Then they drove by the place where the path led to Big Marsh. “Will you stop here, father? I think I’ll run up to see Helga and have a talk with her.”

Willingly the father reined in the horse. “Only come home as quickly as you can, that you may rest yourself,” said he.

Gudmund went into the woods and was soon out of sight. He did not think of seeking Helga; he was only thinking of being alone, so that he wouldn’t have to control himself. He felt an unreasonable anger toward everything, kicked at stones that lay in his path, and paused sometimes to break off a big branch only because a leaf had brushed his cheek.

He followed the path to Big Marsh, but walked past the croft and up the hill which lay above it. He had wandered off the path, and in order to reach the hilltop he must cross a broad ridge of sharp, jagged rocks. It was a hazardous tramp over the sharp rock edges. He might have broken both arms and legs had he made a misstep. He understood this perfectly, but went on as if it amused him to run into danger. “If I were to fall and hurt myself, no one can find me up here,” thought he. “What of it? I may as well die here as to sit for years within prison walls.”

All went well, however, and a few moments later he was up on High Peak. Once a forest fire