Gertrude straightway started in search of the strayed cattle, following the track which their hoofs had made in the soft earth of the forest.  It was plain that they had turned in on a road leading to a remote Saeter.  “Ah!” she said, “now I know where they are.  I remember that the folks down at Luck Farm were going to drive their cattle to the Saeter this morning.  Our cows, on hearing the tinkle of their cowbells, must have broken loose and followed the others.”

Gertrude’s anxiety had for the moment made her wide awake.  So she determined to go up to the Saeter, and fetch the cows herself; otherwise there was no telling when they would come back.  Now she walked briskly along the steep and rocky road.

After going uphill for a time there was an abrupt turn in the road, and she suddenly came upon smooth and even ground that was thick with pine needles.  She recognized it as the road of her dream.  There stood the selfsame towering pines, and on the moss were the selfsame yellow sun spots.

At sight of the road Gertrude lapsed into the dreamy state in which she had been most of the day.  She moved along, half expecting that something wonderful would happen to her.  She looked under the fir trees to see if any of the mysterious beings who wander about in the depths of the forest would suddenly appear to her.  However, none appeared.  But in her mind new thoughts were awakened.  “What if I should really take revenge on Ingmar, would that still my fears?  Would I then escape the horrors of insanity?  If he were to suffer what I am suffering, would that be any relief to me?”

The beautiful road seemed interminably long.  She walked there a whole hour, astonished that nothing unusual had happened.  The road finally ended in a forest meadow.  It was a lovely spot, covered with fresh green grass and many wild flowers.  On one side rose a steep mountain; the other sides were covered with high trees—­mostly mountain ash, with thick clusters of white blossoms, and here and there was a group of birches and alders.  A rather broad stream gushed down the mountainside and wound its way through the meadow, then went hurling down into a gap that was covered with dwarfed trees and bushes.

Gertrude stood stock still; she knew the place at once.  That stream was Blackwater Brook, and strange tales were told of it.  Sometimes, when crossing this stream, people had clear visions of events that were taking place elsewhere.  A little lad, in crossing, once saw a bridal procession which happened just then to be moving toward the church far down in the village, and a charcoal burner once saw a king, with crown and sceptre, ride to his coronation.

Gertrude’s heart was in her mouth “God have mercy on me for what I may see here!” she gasped, half tempted to turn back.  “Poor little me!” she wailed, feeling sorry for herself.  “But I must—­I must cross here to fetch my cows.”

“Dear Lord, don’t let me see anything dreadful or bad!” she prayed, her hands tightly clasped, and shaking from fright.  “And don’t let me fall into temptation.”