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Rh and thoughts confused themselves most intolerably, and, willy nilly, I must speak of it. Perhaps it really belongs here, and is right in forcing itself into my scribbling. Ah, yes! now I begin to understand it, and also to understand the mysterious tone in which Klas Hinrichson sang it. He was a Jutlander, and served as our groom. He sang it the very evening before he hung himself in our stable. At the refrain—

he often laughed bitterly, the horses neighed in alarm, and the great dog in the courtyard howled as though some one were dying. It is the old Danish song of Sir Vonved, who rides out into the world, and adventures about till all his riddles are answered, and he in vexed mood returns home. The harp sings in it as refrain from beginning to end. But what did he sing first and last? I have often thought thereon. Klas Hinrichson's voice was many a time subdued by tears when he began the ballad, and then became gradually as rough and growling as the sea when a storm is rising. It begins: