Ljot. We are so frightened, father —all of us.

Enter Jorunn from the tent.

Sveinungi. Why are you coming out again, Jorunn? Can't you sleep?

Jorunn. No, I can't sleep.

Sveinungi. Do you remember the night you thought I was lost in the snowstorm? A light was burning in the upper window. To see it was better than meeting a human being, and when the dogs began to bark behind the door, it was just as if the house itself were speaking—calling out its joy. It sounded better to me than a human voice, and when I stepped into the hall, the darkness seemed to put its arms around me. Never have I had so sweet a welcome, not even when my daughter was a little child.

Jorunn. Ought we not to go in, Sveinungi? It's getting late. You too must go in now, Ljot.

Ljot. I am only waiting for father.

you,

Jorunn. Do you hear that, Sveinungi? Ljot is waiting for and the servants can't sleep either before you go in. Sveinungi. I am not going to stay in the tent to-night. I am going home.

Jorunn. You don't mean that!

Ljot. But, father dear!

Sveinungi. I won't let any foolish fear drive me out of my house, and it is nothing but a foolish fear. The earthquake will not come so suddenly but that I shall have time to get out. It's impossible. Besides, the badstofa will hold. It's well built, though it's old.

Jorunn. Do you think the badstofa will hold if there should come a big earthquake? You cannot mean that!

Sveinungi. It is not at all sure there will be another shock. It's only a fancy that the earthquake must needs keep on once it has begun. I believe it is over; I feel it. (During the last speeches the Servants have been coming out of the tent.) What are you running out for? Go in, all of

you.

Jakobina. I must tell master about the dream I had. It was last night. I thought I was standing out in the yard and saw a giant coming across the hraun. He walked with long, unsteady strides (she takes a few steps forward; her voice sounds distant and threatening), and seemed to grope as if he were blind. Then I saw him standing right by the house with arms stretched out; he bent down over the farm and stood there like a stone cross. (Makes the sign of the cross with her arms.)

Sveinungi. Did I ask you to tell me about your dream? Jorunn. I beg of you, Sveinungi, that you do not stay at the house to-night. It would be tempting God.

Sveinungi. It's rather He who is tempting me. If I ran away, it would serve me right to have the house fall down. (Pointing to the house.) There it has stood waiting for me every evening as far back as I can remember. I have seen the windows flaming in the sun. I have seen them wet with rain. I have seen them white with frost. I've been with it ever since I was a child. I have climbed on the roof as I climbed on my father's shoulders. When I stood on the ridge, it seemed it had lifted me up to let me see better. No, Jorunn, even if I knew the earthquake to be coming, I should go home. Nor is it any wonder that I long to get into my own bed. I am old now, and I have

waked up there almost every morning of my life. I have gone to bed so tired and worn that I could barely stand on my feet and have waked up young and strong. I have been ill and have lain there watching the sunbeams flitting across the floor. [Sveinungi walks homeward. Jorunn. Are you going home? (Following him hurriedly.) Whatever happens, your fate shall be mine.

Sveinungi (stops and looks back). Do you hear that? She is not afraid, my wife.

[Sveinungi and Jorunn walk homeward. Ljot. How can you do it, father? (Walks a few steps away from the others and remains standing there.)

Jakobina. God be with you, Jorunn, and with you, Sveinungi. You have been good to me, these nineteen years. [Goes into the tent.

(Silence.)

Helgi. There, they went in.

Bjørg. Yes, they are in there now.

fon. I think we had better go and lie down, since there

is nothing we can do.

Indridi. No, we can do nothing.

Thora. It will be a long night.

Rannveig. Poor Ljot!

[The Servants walk slowly into the tent.

(Einar and Ljot remain. Silence.)

Einar (goes to Ljot). I wish I could make you happy as easily now as when you were a little girl.

Ljot (struggling with her tears). Father does not care for

me at all. He does not think of me for a moment.

Einar. Your father cares for you, no doubt of that, but he is beside himself with the earthquake.

Ljot. You don't know what I am talking about. (In

sudden fear.) If only something dreadful does not happen!

Einar. We must trust to the Lord to keep us all. Won't you too try to lie down?

Ljot. I can't sleep.

Einar. Perhaps you would rather stay here a little while. Let me bring a shawl for you; it is getting cold.

[Goes into the tent. (Ljot stands motionless looking out over the "hraun.")

Einar (coming from the tent). They are asleep in there already. Won't you put the shawl around your shoulders? Ljot. I am not cold.

Einar. Then I'll spread it over one of the rocks for you to sit on. They are wet with dew. (Spreads it over the stone.) There! What did you have in mind when you stood there looking out over the hraun?

Ljot. I was thinking of an old tale Jakobina once told me. It was about a young girl. She went out on the hraun with bare feet to meet her sweetheart, and wherever she stepped the moss grew under her foot.

Einar. That's a pretty story. I can tell you one too, if you care to hear it. It might help to quiet you a little. Ljot (takes his hand). You are so good.

Einar (sits down; relates). In olden times, they say, there was an underground stream that ran straight through the country from south to north and was meant as a sign of truce between land and sea. It happened that a cross-eyed, ill-natured shark was trying to tempt a young whale to swim that stream from end to end. The whale's name was Spraytail. He was the handsomest of all the young whales and could shoot three jets of water at once. The shark boasted that he had swum through the stream himself, but of course

it was only real fishes that could do it. Spray-tail felt stung on behalf of his kin, and as the shark had told him that there were openings here and there in the roof of this underground way, he made up his mind to try his luck, trusting that he could hold his breath from one opening to another. But it fell out otherwise. Spray-tail never came back. The last ever heard of him was that some swans, in their flight over the hills, had seen a jet of blood spurting out of the ground.

The whales were in a rage and, as they thought in their grief that the land had broken truce, they goaded the sea to wreak vengeance upon it. Are you listening?

(Ljot nods her head.)

One night a dreadful storm broke. The sea came rushing in over the land, fell upon the rocks like a monster, and tore them to pieces. The next morning thousands of sea fowls' nests were wrecked, and where green fields had been there were black sands. Now there was sore need of wise counsel. A shrewd old raven said that the fire should be roused. All the birds agreed that the raven had spoken well, but none dared do the deed. The raven was made judge, and decided that the spider should undertake the ticklish task, and that the eagle should carry her to the

crater.

They gave the spider ten fat blue-flies to take with her. She spun herself well and firmly under some strong feathers, and off they went. They flew over deep dales, over dreary wastes, and over glaciers. In the evening they came to the fire-mountain, and there they rested overnight, but they did not sleep much, for the fire was snoring like a giant down below in the earth. Early the next morning the eagle flew to the top of the mountain. The spider made fast her thread