Jutland - The Deep Rolling

How eagerly he listened to the deep rolling! How remembrances hurried
through his mind! "Free—free—how delightful to be free, even without
soles to one's shoes, and in a coarse patched garment!" The very idea
brought the warm blood rushing into his cheeks, and he struck the wall
with his fist in his vain impatience. Weeks, months, a whole year had
elapsed, when a gipsy named Niels Tyv—"the horse-dealer," as he was
also called—was arrested, and then came better times: it was
ascertained what injustice had been done to Jörgen.

To the north of Ringkjöbing Fiord, at a small country inn, on the
evening of the day previous to Jörgen's leaving home, and the
committal of the murder, Niels Tyv and Morten had met each other. They
drank a little together, not enough certainly to get into any man's
head, but enough to set Morten talking too freely. He went on
chattering, as he was fond of doing, and he mentioned that he had
bought a house and some ground, and was going to be married. Niels
thereupon asked him where was the money which was to pay it, and
Morten struck his pocket pompously, exclaiming in a vaunting manner,—

"Here, where it should be!"

That foolish bragging answer cost him his life; for when he left the
little inn Niels followed him, and stabbed him in the[32] neck with his
knife, in order to rob him of the money, which, after all, was not to
be found.