It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships， and soon will icy winter come.
the sea rolled wine-tubs to the shore for the bishop's cellar. In the kitchen the deerroasted on the spit before the fire. At Borglum it was warm and cheerful in the heated rooms，while cold winter raged without， when a piece of news was brought to the bishop. “JensGlob， of Thyland， has come back， and his mother with him.” Jens Glob laid a complaintagainst the bishop， and summoned him before the temporal and the spiritual court.
“That will avail him little，” said the bishop. “Best leave off thy efforts， knight Jens.”
Again it is the time of falling leaves and stranded ships. Icy winter comes again， and the“white bees” are swarming， and sting the traveller's face till they melt.
“Keen weather to-day!” say the people， as they step in.
Jens Glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought， that he singes the skirt of his widegarment.
“Thou Borglum bishop，” he exclaims， “I shall subdue thee after all! Under the shield ofthe Pope， the law cannot reach thee; but Jens Glob shall reach thee!”
then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law， Olaf Hase， in Sallingland， and prays thatknight to meet him on Christmas eve， at mass， in the church at Widberg. The bishophimself is to read the mass， and consequently will journey from Borglum to Thyland; andthis is known to Jens Glob.
Moorland and meadow are covered with ice and snow. the marsh will bear horse andrider， the bishop with his priests and armed men. They ride the shortest way， through thewaving reeds， where the wind moans sadly.
Blow thy brazen trumpet， thou trumpeter clad in fox-skin! it sounds merrily in the clearair. So they ride on over heath and moorland—over what is the garden of Fata Morgana in thehot summer， though now icy， like all the country—towards the church of Widberg.
the wind is blowing his trumpet too—blowing it harder and harder. He blows up a storm—aterrible storm—that increases more and more. Towards the church they ride， as fast as theymay through the storm. The church stands firm， but the storm careers on over field andmoorland， over land and sea.
Borglum's bishop reaches the church; but Olaf Hase will scarce do so， however hard hemay ride. He journeys with his warriors on the farther side of the bay， in order that he mayhelp Jens Glob， now that the bishop is to be summoned before the judgment seat of theHighest.
the church is the judgment hall; the altar is the council table. The lights burn clear in theheavy brass candelabra. The storm reads out the accusation and the sentence， roaming inthe air over moor and heath， and over the rolling waters. No ferry-boat can sail over the bay insuch weather as this.
Olaf Hase makes halt at Ottesworde. there he dismisses his warriors， presents them withtheir horses and harness， and gives them leave to ride home and GREet his wife. He intendsto risk his life alone in the roaring waters; but they are to bear witness for him that it is nothis fault if Jens Glob stands without reinforcement in the church at Widberg. The faithfulwarriors will not leave him， but follow him out into the deep waters. Ten of them are carriedaway; but Olaf Hase and two of the youngest men reach the farther side. They have still fourmiles to ride.
It is past midnight. It is Christmas. the wind has abated. The church is lighted up; thegleaming radiance shines through the window-frames， and pours out over meadow andheath. The mass has long been finished， silence reigns in the church， and the wax is hearddropping from the candles to the stone pavement. And now Olaf Hase arrives.
In the forecourt Jens Glob GREets him kindly， and says，
“I have just made an aGREement with the bishop.”
“Sayest thou so?” replied Olaf Hase. “then neither thou nor the bishop shall quit thischurch alive.”
And the sword leaps from the scabbard， and Olaf Hase deals a blow that makes thepanel of the church door， which Jens Glob hastily closes between them， fly in fragments.
“Hold， brother! First hear what the aGREement was that I made. I have slain the bishopand his warriors and priests. They will have no word more to say in the matter， nor will I speakagain of all the wrong that my mother has endured.”
the long wicks of the altar lights glimmer red; but there is a redder gleam upon thepavement， where the bishop lies with cloven skull， and his dead warriors around him， in thequiet of the holy Christmas night.