The Story of an Outcast by Hjalmar Hjorth Boysen

The winter was half gone; and in all this time Brita had hardly once / seen Halvard. Yes, once, -- it was Christmas-day, -- she had ventured to / peep over to his pew in the church, and had seen him, sitting at his / father's side, and gazing vacantly out into the empty space; but as he / had caught her glance, he had blushed, and began eagerly to turn the / leaves of his hymn-book. It troubled her that he made no effort to see / her; many an evening she had walked alone down at the river-side, hoping / that he might come; but it was all in vain. She could not but believe / that his father must have made some discovery, and that he was watched. / In the mean time the black cloud thickened over her head; for a secret / gnawed at the very roots of her heart. It was a time of terrible / suspense and suffering -- such as a man never knows, such as only a woman / can endure. It was almost a relief when the cloud burst, and the storm / broke loose, as presently it did.

One Sunday, early in April, Bjarne did not return at the usual hour from / church. His daughters waited in vain for him with the dinner, and at / last began to grow uneasy. It was not his habit to keep irregular hours. / There was a great excitement in the valley just then; the America-fever / had broken out. A large vessel was lying out in the fjord, ready to take / the emigrants away; and there was hardly a family that did not mourn the / loss of some brave-hearted son, or of some fair and cherished daughter. / The old folks, of course, had to remain behind; and when the children / were gone, what was there left for them but to lie down and die? America / was to them as distant as if it were on another planet. The family / feeling, too, has ever been strong in the Norseman's breast; he lives / for his children, and seems to live his life over again in them. It is / his greatest pride to be able to trace his blood back into the days of / Sverre and St. Olaf, and with the same confidence he expects to see his / race spread into the future in the same soil where once it has struck / root. Then comes the storm from the Western seas, wrestles with the / sturdy trunk, and breaks it; and the shattered branches fly to all the / four corners of the heavens. No wonder, then, like a tree that has lost / its crown, his strength is broken and he expects but to smoulder into / the earth and die.