"Then up spake Erik Erikson, Little though he mot be: From Denmark thou'rt outlawed, as sure As the crown belongs to me." The marsk became irritated, and reined in his steed; whilst the prisoner on the wall laughed aloud. "Pray be not angry, stern sir marsk," he muttered: "only hear the ballad out. There is not a word of falsehood in it." The peasant-girl seemed to concern herself only with her bandages and her song, which went on to relate how the marsk went home to Lady Ingeborg, at Möllerup, and how she advised him to fortify Hielm. With deep grief, Stig Andersen heard some of the last words of his unhappy wife, as the girl continued her song:-- "For nine long winters have I pined-- In secret borne the blight; My heart is now laid in the grave-- Good night, my lord, good night!" The anger of the marsk changed to a deep melancholy. He sat on his horse motionless as a statue, listening to the two last verses of the ballad, which the girl sang with such an expression of sadness, that it pierced his heart, and he felt as if, in these tones of sorrow, the whole grief of the country had united to penetrate his bosom with reproaches, as with a sharp two-edged sword. The words were simple and touching:-- "The sturdy oaks in the greenwood stand, When the storm comes down amain, But the hazel and the birchen tree Are rooted from the plain. "What kings and courtiers do amiss Upon the poor doth fall; Then pity us wretched peasants, God! Have mercy on us all!" "My Aasé, my Aasé!" suddenly exclaimed the old prisoner on the wall, springing up and extending his arms towards the dark-eyed country-girl, who, with the delighted cry of "Grandfather, dear grandfather, have I at last found you?" dropped her bandages, and with outstretched hands ran towards him as eagerly as if she would have crossed the deep ditch and sealed the wall that separated them. "What now, child?" exclaimed the marsk, riding up to her. "Wilt thou be the first to carry Marsk Stig's fortress by storm? Is this thy daughter, old graybeard?" "My grandchild--my blessed little Aasé she is, stern sir marsk!" cried old Henner Friser, so deeply affected that, for a moment, he forgot his feeling of defiance. "She has sought for me the whole country round. Ah, if you have a human heart, sir marsk, deny me not the pleasure of clasping her again to my old bosom, and blessing her once more, before I drag myself to death on your accursed wall." "Thou art an intractable and audacious carl," replied the marsk: "even when thou beggest a favour, thou defiest me, and cursest my work."