The old dame will also sing for thee of the beautiful Ogda and Oluf Tyste; and at once the cloister is revived in its splendour, the bells ring, stone houses arise—­they even rise from the waters of the Vettern:  the little town becomes churches and towers.  The streets are crowded with great, with sober, well-dressed persons.  Down the stairs of the town hall descends with a sword by his side and in fur-lined cloak, the most wealthy citizen of Vadstene, the merchant Michael.  By his side is his young, beautiful daughter Agda, richly-dressed and happy; youth in beauty, youth in mind.  All eyes are turned on the rich man—­and yet forget him for her, the beautiful.  Life’s best blessings await her; her thoughts soar upwards, her mind aspires; her future is happiness!  These were the thoughts of the many—­and amongst the many there was one who saw her as Romeo saw Juliet, as Adam saw Eve in the garden of Paradise.  That one was Oluf, the handsomest young man, but poor as Agda was rich.  And he must conceal his love; but as only he lived in it, only he knew of it; so he became mute and still, and after months had passed away, the town’s folk called him Oluf Tyste (Oluf the silent).

Nights and days he combated his love; nights and days he suffered inexpressible torment; but at last—­one dew-drop or one sunbeam alone is necessary for the ripe rose to open its leaves—­he must tell it to Agda.  And she listened to his words, was terrified, and sprang away; but the thought remained with him, and the heart went after the thought and stayed there; she returned his love strongly and truly, but in modesty and honour; and therefore poor Oluf came to the rich merchant and sought his daughter’s hand.  But Michael shut the bolts of his door and his heart too.  He would neither listen to tears nor supplications, but only to his own will; and as little Agda also kept firm to her will, her father placed her in Vadstene cloister.  And Oluf was obliged to submit, as it is recorded in the old song, that they cast

    “——­den svarta Muld
     Alt oefver skoen Agdas arm."[B]

[Footnote B:  The black mould over the beautiful Agda’s arm.]

She was dead to him and the world.  But one night, in tempestuous weather, whilst the rain streamed down, Oluf Tyste came to the cloister wall, threw his rope-ladder over it, and however high the Vettern lifted its waves, Oluf and little Agda flew away over its fathomless depths that autumn night.

Early in the morning the nuns missed little Agda.  What a screaming and shouting—­the cloister is disgraced!  The Abbess and Michael the merchant swore that vengeance and death should reach the fugitives.  Lindkjoeping’s severe bishop, Hans Brask, fulminated his ban over them, but they were already across the waters of the Vettern; they had reached the shores of the Venern, they were on Kinnakulla, with one of Oluf’s friends, who owned the delightful Hellekis.

Here their marriage was to be celebrated.  The guests were invited, and a monk from the neighbouring cloister of Husaby, was fetched to marry them.  Then came the messenger with the bishop’s excommunication, and this—­but not the marriage ceremony—­was read to them.