Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VIII
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Karen; I’ll never forsake you, and you must never
forsake me,”—his voice grew weepy,—“we’ll never part,
my dear, dear heart, never in the world! Silver and gold
and honor and glory and precious noble blood—begone!
I curse you! Begone! I say. You’re a hundred heavens
high above them, the thing of beauty you are! Though
they’ve scutcheons and emblems—would that make ’em
any better? You’ve got an emblem, too—the red mark on
your white shoulder that Master Anders burned with his
hot iron, that’s your coat-of-arms! I spit on my scutcheon
to kiss that mark—that’s all I think of scutcheons—
that’s all! For there isn’t in all the land of Sjælland a
high-born lady as lovely as you are—is there, huh? No,
there isn’t — not a bit of one!”
“That’s—that’s a lie!” he cried in a new voice, jumped
up, and shook his fist over the table. “My Mistress Ide, you
blockhead, she’s got a shape—as a man may say—she’s
got limbs—as a man may say—limbs, I tell you, you
slubberdegulleon!”
At this point Daniel was about to let himself fall into
the chair again, but at that moment Ulrik Frederik pulled
it away, and he rolled on the floor. Ulrik Frederik laughed
uproariously, but Marie ran to him with hands outstretched
as though to help him up. The little man, half rising on
his knees, caught her hand and gazed at her with an
expression so full of gratitude and devotion that it haunted
her for a long time. Presently they rode home, and none of
them thought that this chance meeting in the Bide-a-Wee
Tavern would lead to anything further.
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