It was past Skagen that our troubles began, with a furious wind from the north-east against which there was no contending, so that we ran from it and were driven for two days and a night into the wide sea.  Even when it lessened, the wind held in the east; and we, who could handle the ship, but knew little of reckoning, crept northward again in the hope to sight the coast of Norway.  For two days we held on at this, lying close by the wind, and in good spirits, although our progress was not much; but on the third blew another gale—­this time from the south-east—­and for a week gale followed gale, and we went in deadly peril, yet never losing hope.  The worst was the darkness, for the year was now drawing towards Yule, and as we pressed farther north we lost almost all sight of the sun.

At length, with the darkness and the bitter cold and our stores running low, we resolved to let the wind take us with what swiftness it might to whatsoever land it listed; and so ran westward, with darkness closing upon us, and famine and a great despair.

But the lady Mette did not lose heart, and the worst of all (our failing cupboard) we kept from her, so that she never lacked for plenty.  Truly her cheerfulness paid us back, and her love for my master, the like of which I had not seen in this world; no, nor dreamed of.  Hand in hand this pair would sit, watching the ice which was our prison and the great North Lights, she close against Ebbe’s side for warmth, and (I believe) as happy us a bird; he trembling for the end.  The worst was to see her at table, pressing food to his mouth and wondering at his little hunger; while his whole body cried out for the meat, only it could not be spared.

Though she must know soon, none of us had the heart to tell her; and not out of pity alone, but because with her must die out the last spark by which we warmed ourselves.

But there came a morning—­I write it as of a time long ago, and yet it was but yesterday, praise be unto God!—­there came a morning when I awoke and found that two of our men had died in the plight, of frost and famine.  They must be hidden before my mistress discovered aught; and so before her hour of waking we weighted and dropped the bodies overside into deep water; for the ice had not yet wholly closed about us.  Now as I stooped, I suppose that my legs gave way beneath me.  At any rate, I fell; and in falling struck my head against the bulwarks, and opened my eyes in that unending dusk to find the lady Mette stooping over me.

Then somehow I was aware that she had called for wine to force down my throat, and had been told that there was no wine; and also that with this answer had come to her the knowledge, full and sudden, of our case.  Better had we done to trust her than to hide it all this while, for she turned to Ebbe, who stood at her shoulder, and “Is not this the feast of Yule?” she asked.  My master bent his head, but without answering.