TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES

By Hjalmar Hjorth Boysen

1877

CONTENTS

 THE MAN WHO LOST HIS NAME THE STORY OF AN OUTCAST A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING A SCIENTIFIC VAGABOND TRULS, THE NAMELESS ASATHOR'S VENGEANCE

TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES. 

THE MAN WHO LOST HIS NAME. 

ON the second day of June, 186--, a young Norseman, Halfdan Bjerkby name, landed on the pier at Castle Garden. He passed through thestraight and narrow gate where he was asked his name, birthplace, andhow much money he had, --at which he grew very much frightened. 

"And your destination?"--demanded the gruff-looking functionary at thedesk. 

"America, " said the youth, and touched his hat politely. 

"Do you think I have time for joking?" roared the official, with anoath. 

The Norseman ran his hand through his hair, smiled his timidlyconciliatory smile, and tried his best to look brave; but his handtrembled and his heart thumped away at an alarmingly quickened tempo. 

"Put him down for Nebraska!" cried a stout red-cheeked individual(inwrapped in the mingled fumes of tobacco and whisky) whose function itwas to open and shut the gate. 

"There ain't many as go to Nebraska. "

"All right, Nebraska. "

The gate swung open and the pressure from behind urged the timidtraveler on, while an extra push from the gate-keeper sent him flying inthe direction of a board fence, where he sat down and tried to realizethat he was now in the land of liberty. 

Halfdan Bjerk was a tall, slender-limbed youth of very delicate frame;he had a pair of wonderfully candid, unreflecting blue eyes, a smooth, clear, beardless face, and soft, wavy light hair, which was pushed backfrom his forehead without parting. His mouth and chin were well cut, buttheir lines were, perhaps, rather weak for a man. When in repose, theensemble of his features was exceedingly pleasing and somehow remindedone of Correggio's St. John. He had left his native land because he wasan ardent republican and was abstractly convinced that man, genericallyand individually, lives more happily in a republic than in a monarchy. He had anticipated with keen pleasure the large, freely breathing lifehe was to lead in a land where every man was his neighbor's brother, where no senseless traditions kept a jealous watch over obsoletesystems and shrines, and no chilling prejudice blighted the spontaneousblossoming of the soul. 

Halfdan was an only child. His father, a poor government official, haddied during his infancy, and his mother had given music lessons, andkept boarders, in order to gain the means to give her son what iscalled a learned education. In the Latin school Halfdan had enjoyed thereputation of being a bright youth, and at the age of eighteen, he hadentered the university under the most promising auspices. He could makevery fair verses, and play all imaginable instruments with equal ease, which made him a favorite in society. Moreover, he possessed that veryold-fashioned accomplishment of cutting silhouettes; and what was more, he could draw the most charmingly fantastic arabesques for embroiderypatterns, and he even dabbled in portrait and landscape painting. Whatever he turned his hand to, he did well, in fact, astonishinglywell for a dilettante, and yet not well enough to claim the title of anartist. Nor did it ever occur to him to make such a claim. As one ofhis fellow-students remarked in a fit of jealousy, "Once when Nature hadmade three geniuses, a poet, a musician, and a painter, she took all theremaining odds and ends and shook them together at random and the resultwas Halfdan Bjerk. " This agreeable melange of accomplishments, however, proved very attractive to the ladies, who invited the possessor toinnumerable afternoon tea-parties, where they drew heavy drafts on hisunflagging patience, and kept him steadily engaged with patterns anddesigns for embroidery, leather flowers, and other dainty knickknacks. And in return for all his exertions they called him "sweet" and"beautiful, " and applied to him many other enthusiastic adjectivesseldom heard in connection with masculine names. In the university, talents of this order gained but slight recognition, and when Halfdanhad for three years been preparing himself in vain for the examenphilosophicum, he found himself slowly and imperceptibly drifting intothe ranks of the so-called studiosi perpetui, who preserve a solemnsilence at the examination tables, fraternize with every new generationof freshmen, and at last become part of the fixed furniture of theirAlma Mater. In the larger American colleges, such men are mercilesslydropped or sent to a Divinity School; but the European universities, whose tempers the centuries have mellowed, harbor in their spaciousGothic bosoms a tenderer heart for their unfortunate sons. There theprofessors greet them at the green tables with a good-humored smile ofrecognition; they are treated with gentle forbearance, and are allowedto linger on, until they die or become tutors in the families of remoteclergymen, where they invariably fall in love with the handsomestdaughter, and thus lounge into a modest prosperity. 

If this had been the fate of our friend Bjerk, we should have dismissedhim here with a confident "vale" on his life's pilgrimage. But, unfortunately, Bjerk was inclined to hold the government in someway responsible for his own poor success as a student, and this, inconnection with an aesthetic enthusiasm for ancient Greece, graduallyconvinced him that the republic was the only form of government underwhich men of his tastes and temperament were apt to flourish. It was, like everything that pertained to him, a cheerful, genial conviction, without the slightest tinge of bitterness. The old institutions wereobsolete, rotten to the core, he said, and needed a radical renovation. He could sit for hours of an evening in the Students' Union, anddiscourse over a glass of mild toddy, on the benefits of universalsuffrage and trial by jury, while the picturesqueness of his language, his genial sarcasms, or occasional witty allusions would call forthuproarious applause from throngs of admiring freshmen. These were thesunny days in Halfdan's career, days long to be remembered. They came toan abrupt end when old Mrs. Bjerk died, leaving nothing behind her buther furniture and some trifling debts. The son, who was not an eminentlypractical man, underwent long hours of misery in trying to settle up heraffairs, and finally in a moment of extreme dejection sold his entireinheritance in a lump to a pawnbroker (reserving for himself a few ringsand trinkets) for the modest sum of 250 dollars specie. He then tookformal leave of the Students' Union in a brilliant speech, in whichhe traced the parallelisms between the lives of Pericles andWashington, --in his opinion the two greatest men the world had everseen, --expounded his theory of democratic government, and explained thecauses of the rapid rise of the American Republic. The next morning heexchanged half of his worldly possessions for a ticket to New York, andwithin a few days set sail for the land of promise, in the far West. 

II. 

From Castle Garden, Halfdan made his way up through Greenwich street, pursued by a clamorous troop of confidence men and hotel runners. 

"Kommen Sie mit mir. Ich bin auch Deutsch, " cried one. "Voila, voila, je parle Francais, " shouted another, seizing hold of his valise. "Jeger Dansk. Tale Dansk, " [1] roared a third, with an accent which seriouslyimpeached his truthfulness. In order to escape from these importunaterascals, who were every moment getting bolder, he threw himself into thefirst street-car which happened to pass; he sat down, gazed out of thewindows and soon became so thoroughly absorbed in the animated sceneswhich moved as in a panorama before his eyes, that he quite forgot wherehe was going. The conductor called for fares, and received an Englishshilling, which, after some ineffectual expostulation, he pocketed, butgave no change. At last after about an hour's journey, the car stopped, the conductor called out "Central Park, " and Halfdan woke up witha start. He dismounted with a timid, deliberate step, stared in dimbewilderment at the long rows of palatial residences, and a chill senseof loneliness crept over him. The hopeless strangeness of everythinghe saw, instead of filling him with rapture as he had once anticipated, Sent a cold shiver to his heart. It is a very large affair, this worldof ours--a good deal larger than it appeared to him gazing out uponit from his snug little corner up under the Pole; and it was asunsympathetic as it was large; he suddenly felt what he had never beenaware of before--that he was a very small part of it and of very littleaccount after all. He staggered over to a bench at the entrance to thepark, and sat long watching the fine carriages as they dashed past him;he saw the handsome women in brilliant costumes laughing and chattinggayly; the apathetic policemen promenading in stoic dignity up and downupon the smooth pavements; the jauntily attired nurses, whom in hisNorse innocence he took for mothers or aunts of the children, wheelingbaby-carriages which to Norse eyes seemed miracles of dainty ingenuity, under the shady crowns of the elm-trees. He did not know how long hehad been sitting there, when a little bright-eyed girl with light kidgloves, a small blue parasol and a blue polonaise, quite a lady offashion en miniature, stopped in front of him and stared at him in shywonder. He had always been fond of children, and often rejoiced in theiraffectionate ways and confidential prattle, and now it suddenly touchedhim with a warm sense of human fellowship to have this little daintilybefrilled and crisply starched beauty single him out for notice amongthe hundreds who reclined in the arbors, or sauntered to and fro underthe great trees. 

"What is your name, my little girl?" he asked, in a tone of friendlyinterest. 

"Clara, " answered the child, hesitatingly; then, having by another lookassured herself of his harmlessness, she added: "How very funny youspeak!"

"Yes, " he said, stooping down to take he tiny begloved hand. "I do notspeak as well as you do, yet; but I shall soon learn. "

Clara looked puzzled. 

"How old are you?" she asked, raising her parasol, and throwing back herhead with an air of superiority. 

"I am twenty-four years old. "

She began to count half aloud on her fingers: "One, two, three, four, "but, before she reached twenty, she lost her patience. 

"Twenty-four, " she exclaimed, "that is a great deal. I am only seven, and papa gave me a pony on my birthday. Have you got a pony?"

"No; I have nothing but what is in this valise, and you know I could notvery well get a pony into it. "

Clara glanced curiously at the valise and laughed; then suddenly shegrew serious again, put her hand into her pocket and seemed to besearching eagerly for something. Presently she hauled out a smallporcelain doll's head, then a red-painted block with letters on it, andat last a penny. 

"Do you want them?" she said, reaching him her treasures in both hands. "You may have them all. "

Before he had time to answer, a shrill, penetrating voice cried out:

"Why, gracious! child, what are you doing?"

And the nurse, who had been deeply absorbed in "The New York Ledger, "came rushing up, snatched the child away, and retreated as hastily asshe had come. 

Halfdan rose and wandered for hours aimlessly along the intertwiningroads and footpaths. He visited the menageries, admired the statues, took a very light dinner, consisting of coffee, sandwiches, and ice, atthe Chinese Pavilion, and, toward evening, discovered an inviting leafyarbor, where he could withdraw into the privacy of his own thoughts, and ponder upon the still unsolved problem of his destiny. The littleincident with the child had taken the edge off his unhappiness andturned him into a more conciliatory mood toward himself and the greatpitiless world, which seemed to take so little notice of him. And he, who had come here with so warm a heart and so ardent a will to joinin the great work of human advancement--to find himself thus harshlyignored and buffeted about, as if he were a hostile intruder! Beforehim lay the huge unknown city where human life pulsated with large, full heart-throbs, where a breathless, weird intensity, a cold, fiercepassion seemed to be hurrying everything onward in a maddening whirl, where a gentle, warm-blooded enthusiast like himself had no place andcould expect naught but a speedy destruction. A strange, unconquerabledread took possession of him, as if he had been caught in a swift, strong whirlpool, from which he vainly struggled to escape. He croucheddown among the foliage and shuddered. He could not return to the city. No, no: he never would return. He would remain here hidden and unseenuntil morning, and then he would seek a vessel bound for his dear nativeland, where the great mountains loomed up in serene majesty toward theblue sky, where the pine-forests whispered their dreamily sympatheticlegends, in the long summer twilights, where human existence flowedon in calm beauty with the modest aims, small virtues, and small viceswhich were the happiness of modest, idyllic souls. He even saw himselfin spirit recounting to his astonished countrymen the wonderful thingshe had heard and seen during his foreign pilgrimage, and smiled tohimself as he imagined their wonder when he should tell them about thebeautiful little girl who had been the first and only one to offer him afriendly greeting in the strange land. During these reflections he fellasleep, and slept soundly for two or three hours. Once, he seemed tohear footsteps and whispers among the trees, and made an effort to rousehimself, but weariness again overmastered him and he slept on. At last, he felt himself seized violently by the shoulders, and a gruff voiceshouted in his ear:

"Get up, you sleepy dog. "

He rubbed his eyes, and, by the dim light of the moon, saw a Herculeanpoliceman lifting a stout stick over his head. His former terror cameupon him with increased violence, and his heart stood for a momentstill, then, again, hammered away as if it would burst his sides. 

"Come along!" roared the policeman, shaking him vehemently by the collarof his coat. 

In his bewilderment he quite forgot where he was, and, in hurriedNorse sentences, assured his persecutor that he was a harmless, honesttraveler, and implored him to release him. But the official Hercules wasinexorable. 

"My valise, my valise;" cried Halfdan. "Pray let me get my valise. "

They returned to the place where he had slept, but the valise wasnowhere to be found. Then, with dumb despair he resigned himself to hisfate, and after a brief ride on a street-car, found himself standing ina large, low-ceiled room; he covered his face with his hands and burstinto tears. 

"The grand-the happy republic, " he murmured, "spontaneous blossoming ofthe soul. Alas! I have rooted up my life; I fear it will never blossom. "

All the high-flown adjectives he had employed in his parting speech inthe Students' Union, when he paid his enthusiastic tribute to the GrandRepublic, now kept recurring to him, and in this moment the paradoxseemed cruel. The Grand Republic, what did it care for such as he? Apair of brawny arms fit to wield the pick-axe and to steer the plow itreceived with an eager welcome; for a child-like, loving heart and agenerously fantastic brain, it had but the stern greeting of the law. 

III. 

The next morning, Halfdan was released from the Police Station, havingfirst been fined five dollars for vagrancy. All his money, with theexception of a few pounds which he had exchanged in Liverpool, hehad lost with his valise, and he had to his knowledge not a singleacquaintance in the city or on the whole continent. In order to increasehis capital he bought some fifty "Tribunes, " but, as it was alreadylate in the day, he hardly succeeded in selling a single copy. The nextmorning, he once more stationed himself on the corner of Murray streetand Broadway, hoping in his innocence to dispose of the papers hehad still on hand from the previous day, and actually did find a fewcustomers among the people who were jumping in and out of the omnibusesthat passed up and down the great thoroughfare. To his surprise, however, one of these gentlemen returned to him with a very wrathfulcountenance, shook his fist at him, and vociferated with excitedgestures something which to Halfdan's ears had a very unintelligiblesound. He made a vain effort to defend himself; the situation appearedso utterly incomprehensible to him, and in his dumb helplessness helooked pitiful enough to move the heart of a stone. No English phrasesuggested itself to him, only a few Norse interjections rose to hislips. The man's anger suddenly abated; he picked up the paper whichhe had thrown on the sidewalk, and stood for a while regarding Halfdancuriously. 

"Are you a Norwegian?" he asked. 

"Yes, I came from Norway yesterday. "

"What's your name?"

"Halfdan Bjerk. "

"Halfdan Bjerk! My stars! Who would have thought of meeting you here!You do not recognize me, I suppose. "

Halfdan declared with a timid tremor in his voice that he could not atthe moment recall his features. 

"No, I imagine I must have changed a good deal since you saw me, " saidthe man, suddenly dropping into Norwegian. "I am Gustav Olson, I used tolive in the same house with you once, but that is long ago now. "

Gustav Olson--to be sure, he was the porter's son in the house, where his mother had once during his childhood, taken a flat. He wellremembered having clandestinely traded jack-knives and buttons with him, in spite of the frequent warnings he had received to have nothing todo with him; for Gustav, with his broad freckled face and red hair, waslooked upon by the genteel inhabitants of the upper flats as rather adisreputable character. He had once whipped the son of a colonel whohad been impudent to him, and thrown a snow-ball at the head of anew-fledged lieutenant, which offenses he had duly expiated at a houseof correction. Since that time he had vanished from Halfdan's horizon. He had still the same broad freckled face, now covered with a lustygrowth of coarse red beard, the same rebellious head of hair, whichrefused to yield to the subduing influences of the comb, the sameplebeian hands and feet, and uncouth clumsiness of form. But his linenwas irreproachable, and a certain dash in his manner, and theloud fashionableness of his attire, gave unmistakable evidences ofprosperity. 

"Come, Bjerk, " said he in a tone of good-fellowship, which was notwithout its sting to the idealistic republican, "you must take up abetter business than selling yesterday's `Tribune. ' That won't pay here, you know. Come along to our office and I will see if something can't bedone for you. "

"But I should be sorry to give you trouble, " stammered Halfdan, whosenative pride, even in his present wretchedness, protested againstaccepting a favor from one whom he had been wont to regard as hisinferior. 

"Nonsense, my boy. Hurry up, I haven't much time to spare. The officeis only two blocks from here. You don't look as if you could afford tothrow away a friendly offer. "

The last words suddenly roused Halfdan from his apathy; for he feltthat they were true. A drowning man cannot afford to make nicedistinctions--cannot afford to ask whether the helping hand that isextended to him be that of an equal or an inferior. So he swallowedhis humiliation and threaded his way through the bewildering turmoil ofBroadway, by the side of his officious friend. 

They entered a large, elegantly furnished office, where clerks withsleek and severely apathetic countenances stood scribbling at theirdesks. 

"You will have to amuse yourself as best you can, " said Olson. "Mr. VanKirk will be here in twenty minutes. I haven't time to entertain you. "

A dreary half hour passed. Then the door opened and a tall, handsomeman, with a full grayish beard, and a commanding presence, entered andtook his seat at a desk in a smaller adjoining office. He opened, withgreat dispatch, a pile of letters which lay on the desk before him, called out in a sharp, ringing tone for a clerk, who promptly appeared, handed him half-a-dozen letters, accompanying each with a briefdirection, took some clean paper from a drawer and fell to writing. There was something brisk, determined, and business-like in his manner, which made it seem very hopeless to Halfdan to appear before him as apetitioner. Presently Olson entered the private office, closing the doorbehind him, and a few minutes later re-appeared and summoned Halfdaninto the chief's presence. 

"You are a Norwegian, I hear, " said the merchant, looking around overhis shoulder at the supplicant, with a preoccupied air. "You want work. What can you do?"

What can you do? A fatal question. But here was clearly no opportunityfor mental debate. So, summoning all his courage, but feelingnevertheless very faint, he answered:

"I have passed both examen artium and philosophicum, [2] and got my laudclear in the former, but in the latter haud on the first point. "

Mr. Van Kirk wheeled round on his chair and faced the speaker:

"That is all Greek to me, " he said, in a severe tone. "Can you keepaccounts?"

"No. I am afraid not. "

Keeping accounts was not deemed a classical accomplishment in Norway. Itwas only "trade-rats" who troubled themselves about such gross things, and if our Norseman had not been too absorbed with the problem of hisdestiny, he would have been justly indignant at having such a questionput to him. 

"Then you don't know book-keeping?"

"I think not. I never tried it. "

"Then you may be sure you don't know it. But you must certainly havetried your hand at something. Is there nothing you can think of whichmight help you to get a living?"

"I can play the piano--and--and the violin. "

"Very well, then. You may come this afternoon to my house. Mr. Olsonwill tell you the address. I will give you a note to Mrs. Van Kirk. Perhaps she will engage you as a music teacher for the children. Goodmorning. "

IV. 

At half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, Halfdan found himselfstanding in a large, dimly lighted drawing-room, whose brilliantupholstery, luxurious carpets, and fantastically twisted furnituredazzled and bewildered his senses. All was so strange, so strange;nowhere a familiar object to give rest to the wearied eye. Wherever helooked he saw his shabbily attired figure repeated in the long crystalmirrors, and he became uncomfortably conscious of his threadbare coat, his uncouth boots, and the general incongruity of his appearance. Withevery moment his uneasiness grew; and he was vaguely considering thepropriety of a precipitate flight, when the rustle of a dress at thefarther end of the room startled him, and a small, plump lady, of adaintily exquisite form, swept up toward him, gave a slight inclinationof her head, and sank down into an easy-chair:

"You are Mr. ----, the Norwegian, who wishes to give music lessons?"she said, holding a pair of gold-framed eyeglasses up to her eyes, andrunning over the note which she held in her hand. It read as follows:

DEAR MARTHA, --The bearer of this note is a young Norwegian, I forgot toascertain his name, a friend of Olson's. He wishes to teach music. If you can help the poor devil and give him something to do, you willoblige, Yours, H. V. K. 

Mrs. Van Kirk was evidently, by at least twelve years, her husband'sjunior, and apparently not very far advanced in the forties. Her blondehair, which was freshly crimped, fell lightly over her smooth, narrowforehead; her nose, mouth and chin had a neat distinctness of outline;her complexion was either naturally or artificially perfect, andher eyes, which were of the purest blue, had, owing to theirnear-sightedness, a certain pinched and scrutinizing look. This look, which was without the slightest touch of severity, indicating merelya lively degree of interest, was further emphasized by three smallperpendicular wrinkles, which deepened and again relaxed according tothe varying intensity of observation she bestowed upon the object whichfor the time engaged her attention. 

"Your name, if you please?" said Mrs. Van Kirk, having for awhilemeasured her visitor with a glance of mild scrutiny. 

"Halfdan Bjerk. "

"Half-dan B----, how do you spell that?"

"B-j-e-r-k. "

"B-jerk. Well, but I mean, what is your name in English?"

Halfdan looked blank, and blushed to his ears. 

"I wish to know, " continued the lady energetically, evidently anxiousto help him out, "what your name would mean in plain English. Bjerk, itcertainly must mean something. "

"Bjerk is a tree--a birch-tree. "

"Very well, Birch, --that is a very respectable name. And your firstname? What did you say that was?

"H-a-l-f-d-a-n. "

"Half Dan. Why not a whole Dan and be done with it? Dan Birch, or ratherDaniel Birch. Indeed, that sounds quite Christian. "

"As you please, madam, " faltered the victim, looking very unhappy. 

"You will pardon my straightforwardness, won't you? B-jerk. I couldnever pronounce that, you know. "

"Whatever may be agreeable to you, madam, will be sure to please me. "

"That is very well said. And you will find that it always pays to try toplease me. And you wish to teach music? If you have no objection I willcall my oldest daughter. She is an excellent judge of music, and ifyour playing meets with her approval, I will engage you, as my husbandsuggests, not to teach Edith, you understand, but my youngest child, Clara. "

Halfdan bowed assent, and Mrs. Van Kirk rustled out into the hall whereshe rang a bell, and re-entered. A servant in dress-coat appeared, andagain vanished as noiselessly as he had come. To our Norseman there wassome thing weird and uncanny about these silent entrances and exits;he could hardly suppress a shudder. He had been accustomed to hear theclatter of people's heels upon the bare floors, as they approached, andthe audible crescendo of their footsteps gave one warning, and preventedone from being taken by surprise. While absorbed in these reflections, his senses must have been dormant; for just then Miss Edith Van Kirkentered, unheralded by anything but a hovering perfume, the effect ofwhich was to lull him still deeper into his wondering abstraction. 

"Mr. Birch, " said Mrs. Van Kirk, "this is my daughter Miss Edith, " andas Halfdan sprang to his feet and bowed with visible embarrassment, shecontinued:

"Edith, this is Mr. Daniel Birch, whom your father has sent here to knowif he would be serviceable as a music teacher for Clara. And now, dear, you will have to decide about the merits of Mr. Birch. I don't knowenough about music to be anything of a judge. "

"If Mr. Birch will be kind enough to play, " said Miss Edith with alanguidly musical intonation, " I shall be happy to listen to him. "

Halfdan silently signified his willingness and followed the ladies to asmaller apartment which was separated from the drawing-room by foldingdoors. The apparition of the beautiful young girl who was walking athis side had suddenly filled him with a strange burning and shudderinghappiness; he could not tear his eyes away from her; she held him asby a powerful spell. And still, all the while he had a painfulsub-consciousness of his own unfortunate appearance, which was throwninto cruel relief by her splendor. The tall, lithe magnificence of herform, the airy elegance of her toilet, which seemed the perfection ofself-concealing art, the elastic deliberateness of her step--all wroughtlike a gentle, deliciously soothing opiate upon the Norseman's fancy andlifted him into hitherto unknown regions of mingled misery and bliss. She seemed a combination of the most divine contradictions, one momentsupremely conscious, and in the next adorably child-like and simple, nowfull of arts and coquettish innuendoes, then again naïve, unthinkingand almost boyishly blunt and direct; in a word, one of those miraculousNew York girls whom abstractly one may disapprove of, but in theconcrete must abjectly adore. This easy predominance of the masculineheart over the masculine reason in the presence of an impressive woman, has been the motif of a thousand tragedies in times past, and willinspire a thousand more in times to come. 

Halfdan sat down at the grand piano and played Chopin's Nocturne in Gmajor, flinging out that elaborate filigree of sound with an impetuosityand superb ABANDON which caused the ladies to exchange astonishedglances behind his back. The transitions from the light and etherealtexture of melody to the simple, more concrete theme, which he renderedwith delicate shadings of articulation, were sufficiently startling toimpress even a less cultivated ear than that of Edith Van Kirk, who had, indeed, exhausted whatever musical resources New York has to offer. Andshe was most profoundly impressed. As he glided over the last pianissimonotes toward the two concluding chords (an ending so characteristicof Chopin) she rose and hurried to his side with a heedless eagerness, which was more eloquent than emphatic words of praise. 

"Won't you please repeat this passage?" she said, humming the air withsoft modulations; "I have always regarded the monotonous repetition ofthis strain" (and she indicated it lightly by a few touches of the keys)"as rather a blemish of an otherwise perfect composition. But as youplay it, it is anything but monotonous. You put into this single phrasea more intense meaning and a greater variety of thought than I eversuspected it was capable of expressing. "

"It is my favorite composition, " answered he, modestly. "I have bestowedmore thought upon it than upon anything I have ever played, unlessperhaps it be the one in G minor, which, with all its difference of moodand phraseology, expresses an essentially kindred thought. "

"My dear Mr. Birch, " exclaimed Mrs. Van Kirk, whom his skillfulemployment of technical terms (in spite of his indifferent accent)had impressed even more than his rendering of the music, --"you are acomsummate{sic} artist, and we shall deem it a great privilege ifyou will undertake to instruct our child. I have listened to you withprofound satisfaction. "

Halfdan acknowledged the compliment by a bow and a blush, and repeatedthe latter part of the nocturne according to Edith's request. 

"And now, " resumed Edith, "may I trouble you to play the G minor, whichhas even puzzled me more than the one you have just played. "

"It ought really to have been played first, " replied Halfdan. "It isfar intenser in its coloring and has a more passionate ring, but itsconclusion does not seem to be final. There is no rest in it, and itseems oddly enough to be a mere transition into the major, which is itsproper supplement and completes the fragmentary thought. "

Mother and daughter once more telegraphed wondering looks at eachother, while Halfdan plunged into the impetuous movements of the minornocturne, which he played to the end with ever-increasing fervor andanimation. 

"Mr. Birch, " said Edith, as he arose from the piano with a flushed face, and the agitation of the music still tingling through his nerves. "Youare a far greater musician than you seem to be aware of. I have notbeen taking lessons for some time, but you have aroused all my musicalambition, and if you will accept me too, as a pupil, I shall deem it afavor. "

"I hardly know if I can teach you anything, " answered he, while hiseyes dwelt with keen delight on her beautiful form. "But in my presentposition I can hardly afford to decline so flattering an offer. "

"You mean to say that you would decline it if you were in a position todo so, " said she, smiling. 

"No, only that I should question my convenience more closely. "

"Ah, never mind. I take all the responsibility. I shall cheerfullyconsent to being imposed upon by you. "

Mrs. Van Kirk in the mean while had been examining the contents of afragrant Russia-leather pocket-book, and she now drew out two crispten-dollar notes, and held them out toward him. 

"I prefer to make sure of you by paying you in advance, " said she, witha cheerfully familiar nod, and a critical glance at his attire, themeaning of which he did not fail to detect. "Somebody else might makethe same discovery that we have made to-day, and outbid us. And we donot want to be cheated out of our good fortune in having been the firstto secure so valuable a prize. "

"You need have no fear on that score, madam, " retorted Halfdan, with avivid blush, and purposely misinterpreting the polite subterfuge. "Youmay rely upon my promise. I shall be here again, as soon as you wish meto return. "

"Then, if you please, we shall look for you to-morrow morning at teno'clock. "

And Mrs. Van Kirk hesitatingly folded up her notes and replaced them inher pocket-book. 

To our idealist there was something extremely odious in this suddenoffer of money. It was the first time any one had offered to pay him, and it seemed to put him on a level with a common day-laborer. His firstimpulse was to resent it as a gratuitous humiliation, but a glanceat Mrs. Van Kirk's countenance, which was all aglow with officiousbenevolence, re-assured him, and his indignation died away. 

That same afternoon Olson, having been informed of his friend's goodfortune, volunteered a loan of a hundred dollars, and accompanied him toa fashionable tailor, where he underwent a pleasing metamorphosis. 

V. 

In Norway the ladies dress with the innocent purpose of protectingthemselves against the weather; if this purpose is still remotelypresent in the toilets of American women of to-day, it is, at allevents, sufficiently disguised to challenge detection, very much like aprimitive Sanscrit root in its French and English derivatives. This wasthe reflection which was uppermost in Halfdan's mind as Edith, ravishingto behold in the airy grace of her fragrant morning toilet, at theappointed time took her seat at his side before the piano. Her presenceseemed so intense, so all-absorbing, that it left no thought forthe music. A woman, with all the spiritual mysteries which that nameimplies, had always appeared to him rather a composite phenomenon, even apart from those varied accessories of dress, in which as by aninevitable analogy, she sees fit to express the inner multiformity ofher being. Nevertheless, this former conception of his, when comparedto that wonderful complexity of ethereal lines, colors, tints andhalf-tints which go to make up the modern New York girl, seemedinexpressibly simple, almost what plain arithmetic must appear to a manwho has mastered calculus. 

Edith had opened one of those small red-covered volumes of Chopin wherethe rich, wondrous melodies lie peacefully folded up like strange exoticflowers in an herbarium. She began to play the fantasia impromtu, whichought to be dashed off at a single "heat, " whose passionate impulsehurries it on breathlessly toward its abrupt finale. But Edith toiledconsiderably with her fingering, and blurred the keen edges of eachswift phrase by her indistinct articulation. And still there was asufficiently ardent intention in her play to save it from being afailure. She made a gesture of disgust when she had finished, shut thebook, and let her hands drop crosswise in her lap. 

"I only wanted to give you a proof of my incapacity, " she said, turningher large luminous gaze upon her instructor, "in order to make you dulyappreciate what you have undertaken. Now, tell me truly and honestly, are you not discouraged?"

"Not by any means, " replied he, while the rapture of her presencerippled through his nerves, "you have fire enough in you to make anadmirable musician. But your fingers, as yet, refuse to carry out yourfine intentions. They only need discipline. "

"And do you suppose you can discipline them? They are a fearfullyobstinate set, and cause me infinite mortification. "

"Would you allow me to look at your hand?"

She raised her right hand, and with a sort of impulsive heedlessness letit drop into his. An exclamation of surprise escaped him. 

"If you will pardon me, " he said, "it is a superb hand--a hand capableof performing miracles--musical miracles I mean. Only look here"--(andhe drew the fore and second fingers apart)--"so firmly set in the jointand still so flexible. I doubt if Liszt himself can boast a finer row offingers. Your hands will surely not prevent you from becoming a secondVon Bulow, which to my mind means a good deal more than a second Liszt. "

"Thank you, that is quite enough, " she exclaimed, with an incredulouslaugh; "you have done bravely. That at all events throws the wholeburden of responsibility upon myself, if I do not become a secondsomebody. I shall be perfectly satisfied, however, if you can only makeme as good a musician as you are yourself, so that I can render a nottoo difficult piece without feeling all the while that I am committingsacrilege in mutilating the fine thoughts of some great composer. "

"You are too modest; you do not--"

"No, no, I am not modest, " she interrupted him with an impetuosity whichstartled him. "I beg of you not to persist in paying me compliments. Iget too much of that cheap article elsewhere. I hate to be told thatI am better than I know I am. If you are to do me any good by yourinstruction, you must be perfectly sincere toward me, and tell meplainly of my short-comings. I promise you beforehand that I shall neverbe offended. There is my hand. Now, is it a bargain?"

His fingers closed involuntarily over the soft beautiful hand, and oncemore the luxury of her touch sent a thrill of delight through him. 

"I have not been insincere, " he murmured, "but I shall be on my guard infuture, even against the appearance of insincerity. "

"And when I play detestably, you will say so, and not smooth it overwith unmeaning flatteries?"

"I will try. "

"Very well, then we shall get on well together. Do not imagine that thisis a mere feminine whim of mine. I never was more in earnest. Men, andI believe foreigners, to a greater degree than Americans, have the ideathat women must be treated with gentle forbearance; that their follies, if they are foolish, must be glossed over with some polite name. Theyexert themselves to the utmost to make us mere playthings, and, as such, contemptible both in our own eyes and in theirs. No sincere respect canexist where the truth has to be avoided. But the majority of Americanwomen are made of too stern a stuff to be dealt with in that way. Theyfeel the lurking insincerity even where politeness forbids them toshow it, and it makes them disgusted both with themselves, and with theflatterer. And now you must pardon me for having spoken so plainly toyou on so short an acquaintance; but you are a foreigner, and it may bean act of friendship to initiate you as soon as possible into our waysand customs. "

He hardly knew what to answer. Her vehemence was so sudden, andthe sentiments she had uttered so different from those which he hadhabitually ascribed to women, that he could only sit and gaze at herin mute astonishment. He could not but admit that in the main she hadjudged him rightly, and that his own attitude and that of other mentoward her sex, were based upon an implied assumption of superiority. 

"I am afraid I have shocked you, " she resumed, noticing the startledexpression of his countenance. "But really it was quite inevitable, if we were at all to understand each other. You will forgive me, won'tyou?"

"Forgive!" stammered he, "I have nothing to forgive. It was only yourmerciless truthfulness which startled me. I rather owe you thanks, if you will allow me to be grateful to you. It seems an enviableprivilege. "

"Now, " interrupted Edith, raising her forefinger in playful threat, "remember your promise. "

The lesson was now continued without further interruption. When it wasfinished, a little girl, with her hair done up in curl-papers, anda very stiffly starched dress, which stood out on all sides almosthorizontally, entered, accompanied by Mrs. Van Kirk. Halfdan immediatelyrecognized his acquaintance from the park, and it appeared to him agood omen that this child, whose friendly interest in him had warmed hisheart in a moment when his fortunes seemed so desperate, shouldcontinue to be associated with his life on this new continent. Clara wasevidently greatly impressed by the change in his appearance, and couldwith difficulty be restrained from commenting upon it. 

She proved a very apt scholar in music, and enjoyed the lessons the morefor her cordial liking of her teacher. 

It will be necessary henceforth to omit the less significant details inthe career of our friend "Mr. Birch. " Before a month was past, he hadfirmly established himself in the favor of the different members of theVan Kirk family. Mrs. Van Kirk spoke of him to her lady visitors as "aperfect jewel, " frequently leaving them in doubt as to whether he was acook or a coachman. Edith apostrophized him to her fashionable friendsas "a real genius, " leaving a dim impression upon their minds of flowinglocks, a shiny velvet jacket, slouched hat, defiant neck-tie and ageneral air of disreputable pretentiousness. Geniuses of the foreigntype were never, in the estimation of fashionable New York society, whatyou would call "exactly nice, " and against prejudices of this orderno amount of argument will ever prevail. Clara, who had by this timediscovered that her teacher possessed an inexhaustible fund of fairystories, assured her playmates across the street that he was "justsplendid, " and frequently invited them over to listen to his wonderfultales. Mr. Van Kirk himself, of course, was non-committal, but paid thebills unmurmuringly. 

Halfdan in the meanwhile was vainly struggling against his growingpassion for Edith; but the more he rebelled the more hopelessly he foundhimself entangled in its inextricable net. The fly, as long as it keepsquiet in the spider's web, may for a moment forget its situation; butthe least effort to escape is apt to frustrate itself and again revealthe imminent peril. Thus he too "kicked against the pricks, " hoped, feared, rebelled against his destiny, and again, from sheer weariness, relapsed into a dull, benumbed apathy. In spite of her friendlysympathy, he never felt so keenly his alienism as in her presence. Sheaccepted the spontaneous homage he paid her, sometimes with impatience, as something that was really beneath her notice; at other times shefrankly recognized it, bantered him with his "Old World chivalry, " whichwould soon evaporate in the practical American atmosphere, and calledhim her Viking, her knight and her faithful squire. But it neveroccurred to her to regard his devotion in a serious light, and to lookupon him as a possible lover had evidently never entered her head. Astheir intercourse grew more intimate, he had volunteered to read hisfavorite poets with her, and had gradually succeeded in imparting to hersomething of his own passionate liking for Heine and Björnson. Shehad in return called his attention to the works of American authorswho had hitherto been little more than names to him, and they had thusmanaged to be of mutual benefit to each other, and to spend many apleasant hour during the long winter afternoons in each other's company. But Edith had a very keen sense of humor, and could hardly restrain hersecret amusement when she heard him reading Longfellow's "Psalm of Life"and Poe's "Raven" (which had been familiar to her from her babyhood), often with false accent, but always with intense enthusiasm. Thereflection that he had had no part of his life in common with her, --thathe did not love the things which she loved, --could not share herprejudices (and women have a feeling akin to contempt for a man who doesnot respond to their prejudices)--removed him at times almost beyondthe reach of her sympathy. It was interesting enough as long as theexperience was novel, to be thus unconsciously exploring anotherperson's mind and finding so many strange objects there; but after awhile the thing began to assume an uncomfortably serious aspect, andthen there seemed to be something almost terrible about it. At suchtimes a call from a gentleman of her own nation, even though he wereone of the placidly stupid type, would be a positive relief; she couldabandon herself to the secure sense of being at home; she need fearno surprises, and in the smooth shallows of their talk there were nounsuspected depths to excite and to baffle her ingenuity. And, again, reverting in her thought to Halfdan, his conversational brilliancy wouldalmost repel her, as something odious and un-American, the cheap resultof outlandish birth and unrepublican education. Not that she had evervalued republicanism very highly; she was one of those who associatedpolitics with noisy vulgarity in speech and dress, and therefore thankedfortune that women were permitted to keep aloof from it. But in thepresence of this alien she found herself growing patriotic; thatmuch-discussed abstraction, which we call our country (and which isnothing but the aggregate of all the slow and invisible influences whichgo toward making up our own being), became by degrees a very palpableand intelligible fact to her. 

Frequently while her American self was thus loudly asserting itself, Edith inflicted many a cruel wound upon her foreign adorer. Once, --itwas the Fourth of July, more than a year after Halfdan's arrival, a number of young ladies and gentlemen, after having listened to apatriotic oration, were invited in to an informal luncheon. Whilewaiting, they naturally enough spent their time in singing nationalsongs, and Halfdan's clear tenor did good service in keeping thestraggling voices together. When they had finished, Edith went up to himand was quite effusive in her expressions of gratitude. 

"I am sure we ought all to be very grateful to you, Mr. Birch, " shesaid, "and I, for my part, can assure you that I am. "

"Grateful? Why?" demanded Halfdan, looking quite unhappy. 

"For singing OUR national songs, of course. Now, won't you sing oneof your own, please? We should all be so delighted to hear how aSwedish--or Norwegian, is it?--national song sounds. "

"Yes, Mr. Birch, DO sing a Swedish song, " echoed several voices. 

They, of course, did not even remotely suspect their own cruelty. Hehad, in his enthusiasm for the day allowed himself to forget that hewas not made of the same clay as they were, that he was an exile and astranger, and must ever remain so, that he had no right to share theirjoy in the blessing of liberty. Edith had taken pains to dispel thehappy illusion, and had sent him once more whirling toward his coldnative Pole. His passion came near choking him, and, to conceal hisimpetuous emotion, he flung himself down on the piano-stool, and strucksome introductory chords with perhaps a little superfluous emphasis. Suddenly his voice burst out into the Swedish national anthem, "OurLand, our Land, our Fatherland, " and the air shook and palpitatedwith strong martial melody. His indignation, his love and his misery, imparted strength to his voice, and its occasional tremble in the PIANOpassages was something more than an artistic intention. He was loudlyapplauded as he arose, and the young ladies thronged about him to ask ifhe "wouldn't please write out the music for them. "

Thus month after month passed by, and every day brought its own misery. Mrs. Van Kirk's patronizing manners, and ostentatious kindness, oftentested his patience to the utmost. If he was guilty of an innocentwitticism or a little quaintness of expression, she always assumed itto be a mistake of terms and corrected him with an air of benignsuperiority. At times, of course, her corrections were legitimate, asfor instance, when he spoke of WEARING a cane, instead of CARRYINGone, but in nine cases out of ten the fault lay in her own lack ofimagination and not in his ignorance of English. On such occasions Edithoften took pity on him, defended him against her mother's criticism, andinsisted that if this or that expression was not in common vogue, that was no reason why it should not be used, as it was perfectlygrammatical, and, moreover, in keeping with the spirit of the language. And he, listening passively in admiring silence to her argument, thankedher even for the momentary pain because it was followed by so great ahappiness. For it was so sweet to be defended by Edith, to feel thathe and she were standing together side by side against the outer world. Could he only show her in the old heroic manner how much he lovedher! Would only some one that was dear to her die, so that he, in thatbreaking down of social barriers which follows a great calamity, mightcomfort her in her sorrow. Would she then, perhaps, weeping, lean herwonderful head upon his breast, feeling but that he was a fellow-mortal, who had a heart that was loyal and true, and forgetting, for onebrief instant, that he was a foreigner. Then, to touch that delicateElizabethan frill which wound itself so daintily about Edith'sneck--what inconceivable rapture! But it was quite impossible. It couldnever be. These were selfish thoughts, no doubt, but they were a lover'sselfishness, and, as such, bore a close kinship to all that is purestand best in human nature. 

It is one of the tragic facts of this life, that a relation so unequalas that which existed between Halfdan and Edith, is at all possible. Asfor Edith, I must admit that she was well aware that her teacher was inlove with her. Women have wonderfully keen senses for phenomena of thatkind, and it is an illusion if any one imagines, as our Norseman did, that he has locked his secret securely in the hidden chamber of hisheart. In fleeting intonations, unconscious glances and attitudes, and through a hundred other channels it will make its way out, and thebereaved jailer may still clasp his key in fierce triumph, never knowingthat he has been robbed. It was of course no fault of Edith's that shehad become possessed of Halfdan's heart-secret. She regarded it as onthe whole rather an absurd affair, and prized it very lightly. Thata love so strong and yet so humble, so destitute of hope and still sounchanging, reverent and faithful, had something grand and touching init, had never occurred to her. It is a truism to say that in our socialcode the value of a man's character is determined by his position; andfine traits in a foreigner (unless he should happen to be something verygreat) strike us rather as part of a supposed mental alienism, and assuch, naturally suspicious. It is rather disgraceful than otherwiseto have your music teacher in love with you, and critical friends willnever quite banish the suspicion that you have encouraged him. 

Edith had, in her first delight at the discovery of Halfdan's talent, frankly admitted him to a relation of apparent equality. He was a manof culture, had the manners and bearing of a gentleman, and had noneof those theatrical airs which so often raise a sort of invisible wallbetween foreigners and Americans. Her mother, who loved to play thepatron, especially to young men, had invited him to dinner-parties andintroduced him to their friends, until almost every one looked upon himas a protege of the family. He appeared so well in a parlor, and hadreally such a distinguished presence, that it was a pleasure to lookat him. He was remarkably free from those obnoxious traits whichgeneralizing American travelers have led us to believe were inseparablefrom foreign birth; his finger-nails were in no way conspicuous; he didnot, as a French count, a former adorer of Edith's, had done, indulge anunmasculine taste for diamond rings (possibly because he had none); hispoliteness was unobtrusive and subdued, and of his accent there was justenough left to give an agreeable color of individuality to his speech. But, for all that, Edith could never quite rid herself of the impressionthat he was intensely un-American. There was a certain idyllicquiescence about him, a child-like directness and simplicity, and atotal absence of "push, " which were startlingly at variance with thespirit of American life. An American could never have been content toremain in an inferior position without trying, in some way, to betterhis fortunes. But Halfdan could stand still and see, without thefaintest stirring of envy, his plebeian friend Olson, whose educationand talents could bear no comparison with his own, rise rapidly abovehim, and apparently have no desire to emulate him. He could sit on acricket in a corner, with Clara on his lap, and two or three littlegirls nestling about him, and tell them fairy stories by the hour, whilehis kindly face beamed with innocent happiness. And if Clara, to coaxhim into continuing the entertainment, offered to kiss him, his measureof joy was full. This fair child, with her affectionate ways, and herconfiding prattle, wound herself ever more closely about his homelessheart, and he clung to her with a touching devotion. For she was theonly one who seemed to be unconscious of the difference of blood, whohad not yet learned that she was an American and he--a foreigner. 

VI. 

Three years had passed by and still the situation was unchanged. Halfdanstill taught music and told fairy stories to the children. He had agood many more pupils now than three years ago, although he had made noeffort to solicit patronage, and had never tried to advertise his talentby what he regarded as vulgar and inartistic display. But Mrs. Van Kirk, who had by this time discovered his disinclination to asserthimself, had been only the more active; had "talked him up" among heraristocratic friends; had given musical soirees, at which she had coaxedhim to play the principal role, and had in various other ways exertedherself in his behalf. It was getting to be quite fashionable to admirehis quiet, unostentatious style of playing, which was so far removedfrom the noisy bravado and clap-trap then commonly in vogue. Evenprofessional musicians began to indorse him, and some, who haddiscovered that "there was money in him, " made him tempting offers for apublic engagement. But, with characteristic modesty, he distrustedtheir verdict; his sensitive nature shrank from anything which had theappearance of self-assertion or display. 

But Edith--ah, if it had not been for Edith he might have found courageto enter at the door of fortune, which was now opened ajar. That fame, if he should gain it, would bring him any nearer to her, was a thoughtthat was alien to so unworldly a temperament as his. And any action thathad no bearing upon his relation to her, left him cold--seemed unworthyof the effort. If she had asked him to play in public; if she hadrequired of him to go to the North Pole, or to cut his own throat, Iverily believe he would have done it. And at last Edith did ask him toplay. She and Olson had plotted together, and from the very friendliestmotives agreed to play into each other's hands. 

"If you only WOULD consent to play, " said she, in her own persuasiveway, one day as they had finished their lesson, "we should all be sohappy. Only think how proud we should be of your success, for you knowthere is nothing you can't do in the way of music if you really wantto. "

"Do you really think so?" exclaimed he, while his eyes suddenly grewlarge and luminous. 

"Indeed I do, " said Edith, emphatically. 

"And if--if I played well, " faltered he, "would it really please you?"

"Of course it would, " cried Edith, laughing; "how can you ask such afoolish question?"

"Because I hardly dared to believe it. "

"Now listen to me, " continued the girl, leaning forward in her chair, and beaming all over with kindly officiousness; "now for once you mustbe rational and do just what I tell you. I shall never like you again ifyou oppose me in this, for I have set my heart upon it; you must promisebeforehand that you will be good and not make any objection. Do youhear?"

When Edith assumed this tone toward him, she might well have made himpromise to perform miracles. She was too intent upon her benevolentscheme to heed the possible inferences which he might draw from hersudden display of interest. 

"Then you promise?" repeated she, eagerly, as he hesitated to answer. 

"Yes, I promise. "

"Now, you must not be surprised; but mamma and I have made arrangementswith Mr. S---- that you are to appear under his auspices at a concertwhich is to be given a week from to-night. All our friends are going, and we shall take up all the front seats, and I have already told mygentlemen friends to scatter through the audience, and if they careanything for my favor, they will have to applaud vigorously. "

Halfdan reddened up to his temples, and began to twist his watch-chainnervously. 

"You must have small confidence in my ability, " he murmured, "since youresort to precautions like these. "

"But my dear Mr. Birch, " cried Edith, who was quick to discover that shehad made a mistake, "it is not kind in you to mistrust me in that way. If a New York audience were as highly cultivated in music as you are, I admit that my precautions would be superfluous. But the papers, youknow, will take their tone from the audience, and therefore we must makeuse of a little innocent artifice to make sure of it. Everything dependsupon the success of your first public appearance, and if your friendscan in this way help you to establish the reputation which is nothingbut your right, I am sure you ought not to bind their hands by yourfoolish sensitiveness. You don't know the American way of doing thingsas well as I do, therefore you must stand by your promise, and leaveeverything to me. "

It was impossible not to believe that anything Edith chose to do wasabove reproach. She looked so bewitching in her excited eagerness forhis welfare that it would have been inhuman to oppose her. So he meeklysuccumbed, and began to discuss with her the programme for the concert. 

During the next week there was hardly a day that he did not read somestartling paragraph in the newspapers about "the celebrated Scandinavianpianist, " whose appearance at S---- Hall was looked forward to as theprincipal event of the coming season. He inwardly rebelled againstthe well-meant exaggerations; but as he suspected that it was Edith'sinfluence which was in this way asserting itself in his behalf, he sethis conscience at rest and remained silent. 

The evening of the concert came at last, and, as the papers stated thenext morning, "the large hall was crowded to its utmost capacity witha select and highly appreciative audience. " Edith must have played herpart of the performance skillfully, for as he walked out upon the stage, he was welcomed with an enthusiastic burst of applause, as if he hadbeen a world-renowned artist. At Edith's suggestion, her two favoritenocturnes had been placed first upon the programme; then followed oneof those ballads of Chopin, whose rhythmic din and rush sweep onward, beleaguering the ear like eager, melodious hosts, charging in thickeningranks and columns, beating impetuous retreats, and again unitingwith one grand emotion the wide-spreading army of sound for thefinal victory. Besides these, there was one of Liszt's "RhapsodiesHongroises, " an impromptu by Schubert, and several orchestral pieces;but the greater part of the programme was devoted to Chopin, becauseHalfdan, with his great, hopeless passion laboring in his breast, feltthat he could interpret Chopin better than he could any other composer. He carried his audience by storm. As he retired to the dressing-room, after having finished the last piece, his friends, among whom Edith andMrs. Van Kirk were the most conspicuous, thronged about him, showeringtheir praises and congratulations upon him. They insisted with muchfriendly urging upon taking him home in their carriage; Clara kissedhim, Mrs. Van Kirk introduced him to her lady acquaintances as "ourfriend, Mr. Birch, " and Edith held his hand so long in hers that he camenear losing his presence of mind and telling her then and there that heloved her. As his eyes rested on her, they became suddenly suffused withtears, and a vast bewildering happiness vibrated through his frame. At last he tore himself away and wandered aimlessly through the long, lonely streets. Why could he not tell Edith that he loved her? Was thereany disgrace in loving? This heavenly passion which so suddenly hadtransfused his being, and year by year deadened the substance of his oldself, creating in its stead something new and wild and strange which henever could know, but still held infinitely dear--had it been sent tohim merely as a scourge to test his capacity for suffering?

Once, while he was a child, his mother had told him that somewhere inthis wide world there lived a maiden whom God had created for him, andfor him alone, and when he should see her, he should love her, and hislife should thenceforth be all for her. It had hardly occurred to him, then, to question whether she would love him in return, it had appearedso very natural that she should. Now he had found this maiden, and shehad been very kind to him; but her kindness had been little better thancruelty, because he had demanded something more than kindness. And stillhe had never told her of his love. He must tell her even this very nightwhile the moon rode high in the heavens and all the small differencesbetween human beings seemed lost in the vast starlit stillness. He knewwell that by the relentless glare of the daylight his own insignificancewould be cruelly conspicuous in the presence of her splendor; hisscruples would revive, and his courage fade. 

The night was clear and still. A clock struck eleven in some churchtower near by. The Van Kirk mansion rose tall and stately in themoonlight, flinging a dense mass of shadow across the street. Up in thethird story he saw two windows lighted; the curtains were drawn, but theblinds were not closed. All the rest of the house was dark. He raisedhis voice and sang a Swedish serenade which seemed in perfect concordwith his own mood. His clear tenor rose through the silence of thenight, and a feeble echo flung it back from the mansion opposite:

 [3] "Star, sweet star, that brightly beamest, Glittering on the skies nocturnal, Hide thine eye no more from me, Hide thine eye no more from me!"

The curtain was drawn aside, the window cautiously raised, and theoutline of Edith's beautiful head appeared dark and distinct against thelight within. She instantly recognized him. 

"You must go away, Mr. Birch, " came her voice in an anxious whisper outof the shadow. "Pray go away. You will wake up the people. "

Her words were audible enough, but they failed to convey any meaningto his excited mind. Once more his voice floated upward to her openedwindow:

 "And I yearn to reach thy dwelling, Yearn to rise from earth's fierce turmoil; Sweetest star upward to thee, Yearn to rise, bright star to thee. "

"Dear Mr. Birch, " she whispered once more in tones of distress. "Pray DOgo away. Or perhaps, " she interrupted herself "--wait one moment and Iwill come down. "

Presently the front door was noiselessly opened, and Edith's tall, litheform, dressed in a white flowing dress, and with her blonde hair rollingloosely over her shoulders, appeared for an instant, and then againvanished. With one leap Halfdan sprang up the stairs and pushed throughthe half-opened door. Edith closed the door behind him, then with rapidsteps led the way to the back parlor where the moon broke feebly throughthe bars of the closed shutters. 

"Now Mr. Birch, " she said, seating herself upon a lounge, "you mayexplain to me what this unaccountable behavior of yours means. I shouldhardly think I had deserved to be treated in this way by you. "

Halfdan was utterly bewildered; a nervous fit of trembling ran throughhim, and he endeavored in vain to speak. He had been prepared forpassionate reproaches, but this calm severity chilled him through, andhe could only gasp and tremble, but could utter no word in his defense. 

"I suppose you are aware, " continued Edith, in the same imperturbablemanner, "that if I had not interrupted you, the policeman would haveheard you, and you would have been arrested for street disturbance. Then to-morrow we should have seen it in all the newspapers, and Ishould have been the laughing-stock of the whole town. "

No, surely he had never thought of it in that light; the idea struckhim as entirely new. There was a long pause. A cock crowed with adrowsy remoteness in some neighboring yard, and the little clock on themantel-piece ticked on patiently in the moonlit dusk. 

"If you have nothing to say, " resumed Edith, while the sternindifference in her voice perceptibly relaxed, "then I will bid yougood-night. "

She arose, and with a grand sweep of her drapery, moved toward the door. 

"Miss Edith, " cried he, stretching his hands despairingly after her, "you must not leave me. "

She paused, tossed her hair back with her hands, and gazed at him overher shoulder. He threw himself on his knees, seized the hem ofher dress, and pressed it to his lips. It was a gesture of suchinexpressible humility that even a stone would have relented. 

"Do not be foolish, Mr. Birch, " she said, trying to pull her dress awayfrom him. "Get up, and if you have anything rational to say to me, Iwill stay and listen. "

"Yes, yes, " he whispered, hoarsely, "I shall be rational. Only do notleave me. "

She again sank down wearily upon the lounge, and looked at him inexpectant silence. 

"Miss Edith, " pleaded he in the same hoarse, passionate undertone, "havepity on me, and do not despise me. I love you--oh--if you would butallow me to die for you, I should be the happiest of men. "

Again he shuddered, and stood long gazing at her with a mute, pitifulappeal. A tear stole into Edith's eye and trickled down over her cheek. 

"Ah, Mr. Birch, " she murmured, while a sigh shook her bosom, "I amsorry--very sorry that this misfortune has happened to you. You havedeserved a better fate than to love me--to love a woman who can nevergive you anything in return for what you give her. "

"Never?" he repeated mournfully, "never?"

"No, never! You have been a good friend to me, and as such I value youhighly, and I had hoped that you would always remain so. But I see thatit cannot be. It will perhaps be best for you henceforth not to seeme, at least not until--pardon the expression--you have outlived thisgenerous folly. And now, you know, you will need me no more. You havemade a splendid reputation, and if you choose to avail yourself of it, your fortune is already made. I shall always rejoice to hear of yoursuccess, and--and if you should ever need a FRIEND, you must come to noone but me. I know that these are feeble words, Mr. Birch, and if theyseem cold to you, you must pardon me. I can say nothing more. "

They were indeed feeble words, although most cordially spoken. Hetried to weigh them, to measure their meaning, but his mind was as ifbenumbed, and utterly incapable of thought. He walked across the floor, perhaps only to do something, not feeling where he trod, but still withan absurd sensation that he was taking immoderately long steps. Thenhe stopped abruptly, wrung his hands, and gazed at Edith. And suddenly, like a flash in a vacuum, the thought shot through his brain that he hadseen this very scene somewhere--in a dream, in a remote childhood, in aprevious existence, he did not know when or where. It seemed strangelyfamiliar, and in the next instant strangely meaningless and unreal. The walls, the floor--everything began to move, to whirl about him;he struck his hands against his forehead, and sank down into adamask-covered easy-chair. With a faint cry of alarm, Edith sprang up, seized a bottle of cologne which happened to be within reach, and kneltdown at his side. She put her arm around his neck, and raised his head. 

"Mr. Birch, dear Mr. Birch, " she cried, in a frightened whisper, "forGod's sake come to yourself! O God, what have I done?"

She blew the eau-de-cologne into his face, and, as he languidly openedhis eyes, he felt the touch of her warm hand upon his cheeks and hisforehead. 

"Thank heaven! he is better, " she murmured, still continuing to bathehis temples. "How do you feel now, Mr. Birch?" she added, in a tone ofanxious inquiry. 

"Thank you, it was an unpardonable weakness, " he muttered, withoutchanging his attitude. "Do not trouble yourself about me. I shall soonbe well. "

It was so sweet to be conscious of her gentle ministry, that it requireda great effort, an effort of conscience, to rouse him once more, as hisstrength returned. 

"Had you not better stay?" she asked, as he rose to put on his overcoat. "I will call one of the servants and have him show you a room. We willsay to-morrow morning that you were taken ill, and nobody will wonder. "

"No, no, " he responded, energetically. "I am perfectly strong now. " Buthe still had to lean on a chair, and his face was deathly pale. 

"Farewell, Miss Edith, " he said; and a tender sadness trembled in hisvoice. "Farewell. We shall--probably--never meet again. "

"Do not speak so, " she answered, seizing his hand. "You will try toforget this, and you will still be great and happy. And when fortuneshall again smile upon you, and--and--you will be content to be myfriend, then we shall see each other as before. "

"No, no, " he broke forth, with a sudden hoarseness. "It will never be. "

He walked toward the door with the motions of one who feels death in hislimbs; then stopped once more and his eyes lingered with inexpressiblesadness on the wonderful, beloved form which stood dimly outlined beforehim in the twilight. Then Edith's measure of misery, too, seemed full. With the divine heedlessness which belongs to her sex, she rushed uptoward him, and remembering only that he was weak and unhappy, and thathe suffered for her sake, she took his face between her hands and kissedhim. He was too generous a man to misinterpret the act; so he whisperedbut once more: "Farewell, " and hastened away. 

VII. 

After that eventful December night, America was no more what it had beento Halfdan Bjerk. A strange torpidity had come over him; every risingday gazed into his eyes with a fierce unmeaning glare. The noise of thestreet annoyed him and made him childishly fretful, and the solitudeof his own room seemed still more dreary and depressing. He wentmechanically through the daily routine of his duties as if the soulhad been taken out of his work, and left his life all barrenness anddesolation. He moved restlessly from place to place, roamed at all timesof the day and night through the city and its suburbs, trying vainly toexhaust his physical strength; gradually, as his lethargy deepenedinto a numb, helpless despair, it seemed somehow to impart a certaintoughness to his otherwise delicate frame. Olson, who was now a juniorpartner in the firm of Remsen, Van Kirk and Co. , stood by him faithfullyin these days of sorrow. He was never effusive in his sympathy, but waspatiently forbearing with his friend's whims and moods, and humoredhim as if he had been a sick child intrusted to his custody. That Edithmight be the moving cause of Olson's kindness was a thought which, strangely enough, had never occurred to Halfdan. 

At last, when spring came, the vacancy of his mind was suddenly invadedwith a strong desire to revisit his native land. He disclosed his planto Olson, who, after due deliberation and several visits to the Van Kirkmansion, decided that the pleasure of seeing his old friends and thescenes of his childhood might push the painful memories out of sight, and renew his interest in life. So, one morning, while the May sunshone with a soft radiance upon the beautiful harbor, our Norseman foundhimself standing on the deck of a huge black-hulled Cunarder, shiveringin spite of the warmth, and feeling a chill loneliness creeping over himat the sight of the kissing and affectionate leave-takings which weregoing on all around him. Olson was running back and forth, attendingto his baggage; but he himself took no thought, and felt no moreresponsibility than if he had been a helpless child. He half regrettedthat his own wish had prevailed, and was inclined to hold his friendresponsible for it; and still he had not energy enough to protest nowwhen the journey seemed inevitable. His heart still clung to the placewhich held the corpse of his ruined life, as a man may cling to the spotwhich hides his beloved dead. 

About two weeks later Halfdan landed in Norway. He was half reluctant toleave the steamer, and the land of his birth excited no emotion in hisbreast. He was but conscious of a dim regret that he was so far awayfrom Edith. At last, however, he betook himself to a hotel, where hespent the afternoon sitting with half-closed eyes at a window, watchinglistlessly the drowsy slow-pulsed life which dribbled languidly throughthe narrow thoroughfare. The noisy uproar of Broadway chimed remotelyin his ears, like the distant roar of a tempest-tossed sea, and what hadonce been a perpetual annoyance was now a sweet memory. How often withEdith at his side had he threaded his way through the surging crowdsthat pour, on a fine afternoon, in an unceasing current up and down thestreet between Union and Madison Squares. How friendly, and sweet, andgracious, Edith had been at such times; how fresh her voice, how wittyand animated her chance remarks when they stopped to greet a passingacquaintance; and, above all, how inspiring the sight of her heavenlybeauty. Now that was all past. Perhaps he should never see Edith again. 

The next day he sauntered through the city, meeting some old friends, who all seemed changed and singularly uninteresting. They were allengaged or married, and could talk of nothing but matrimony, andtheir prospects of advancement in the Government service. One hadan influential uncle who had been a chum of the present minister offinance; another based his hopes of future prosperity upon the familyconnections of his betrothed, and a third was waiting with a patientperseverance, worthy of a better cause, for the death or resignation ofan antiquated chef-de-bureau, which, according to the promise of somemighty man, would open a position for him in the Department of Justice. All had the most absurd theories about American democracy, and indulgedfreely in prophecies of coming disasters; but about their own governmentthey had no opinion whatever. If Halfdan attempted to set them right, they at once grew excited and declamatory; their opinions were basedupon conviction and a charming ignorance of facts, and they were not tobe moved. They knew all about Tweed and the Tammany Ring, and believedthem to be representative citizens of New York, if not of the UnitedStates; but of Charles Sumner and Carl Schurz they had never heard. Halfdan, who, in spite of his misfortunes in the land of his adoption, cherished a very tender feeling for it, was often so thoroughly arousedat the foolish prejudices which everywhere met him, that his torpiditygradually thawed away, and he began to look more like his former self. 

Toward autumn he received an invitation to visit a country clergyman inthe North, a distant relative of his father's, and there whiled awayhis time, fishing and shooting, until winter came. But as Christmas drewnear, and the day wrestled feebly with the all-conquering night, the oldsorrow revived. In the darkness which now brooded over land and sea, the thoughts needed no longer be on guard against themselves; they couldroam far and wide as they listed. Where was Edith now, the sweet, thewonderful Edith? Was there yet the same dancing light in her beautifuleyes, the same golden sheen in her hair, the same merry ring in hervoice? And had she not said that when he was content to be only herfriend, he might return to her, and she would receive him in the oldjoyous and confiding way? Surely there was no life to him apart fromher: why should he not be her friend? Only a glimpse of her lovelyface--ah, it was worth a lifetime; it would consecrate an age of misery, a glimpse of Edith's face. Thus ran his fancies day by day, and thenight only lent a deeper intensity to the yearnings of the day. Hewalked about as in a dream, seeing nothing, heeding nothing, while thisone strong desire--to see Edith once more--throbbed and throbbed with aslow, feverish perseverance within him. Edith--Edith, the very name hada strange, potent fascination. Every thought whispered "Edith, "--hispulse beat "Edith, "--and his heart repeated the beloved name. It was hispulse-beat, --his heartbeat, --his life-beat. 

And one morning as he stood absently looking at his fingers against thelight--and they seemed strangely wan and transparent--the thought atlast took shape. It rushed upon him with such vehemence, that he couldno more resist it. So he bade the clergyman good-bye, gathered his fewworldly goods together and set out for Bergen. There he found an Englishsteamer which carried him to Hull, and a few weeks later, he was oncemore in New York. 

It was late one evening in January that a tug-boat arrived and took thecabin passengers ashore. The moon sailed tranquilly over the deep bluedome of the sky, the stars traced their glittering paths of light fromthe zenith downward, and it was sharp, bitter cold. Northward over theriver lay a great bank of cloud, dense, gray and massive, the spectreof the coming snow-storm. There it lay so huge and fantastically human, ruffling itself up, as fowls do, in defense against the cold. Halfdanwalked on at a brisk rate--strange to say, all the street-cars he metwent the wrong way--startling every now and then some precious memory, some word or look or gesture of Edith's which had hovered longover those scenes, waiting for his recognition. There was the greatjewel-store where Edith had taken him so often to consult his tastewhenever a friend of hers was to be married. It was there that they hadhad an amicable quarrel over that bronze statue of Faust which shehad found beautiful, while he, with a rudeness which seemed now quiteincomprehensible, had insisted that it was not. And when he hadfailed to convince her, she had given him her hand in token ofreconciliation--and Edith had a wonderful way of giving her hand, whichmade any one feel that it was a peculiar privilege to press it--and theyhad walked out arm in arm into the animated, gas-lighted streets, witha delicious sense of snugness and security, being all the more closelyunited for their quarrel. Here, farther up the avenue, they had oncebeen to a party, and he had danced for the first time in his lifewith Edith. Here was Delmonico's, where they had had such fascinatingluncheons together; where she had got a stain on her dress, and he hadbeen forced to observe that her dress was then not really a part ofherself, since it was a thing that could not be stained. Her dress hadalways seemed to him as something absolute and final, exalted abovecriticism, incapable of improvement. 

As I have said, Halfdan walked briskly up the avenue, and it wassomething after eleven when he reached the house which he sought. Thegreat cloud-bank in the north had then begun to expand and stretched itslong misty arms eastward and westward over the heavens. The windows onthe ground-floor were dark, but the sleeping apartments in the upperstories were lighted. In Edith's room the inside shutters were closed, but one of the windows was a little down at the top. And as he stoodgazing with tremulous happiness up to that window, a stanza from Heinewhich he and Edith had often read together, came into his head. It wasthe story of the youth who goes to the Madonna at Kevlar and brings heras a votive offering a heart of wax, that she may heal him of his loveand his sorrow. 

 "I bring this waxen image, The image of my heart, Heal thou my bitter sorrow, And cure my deadly smart!" [4]

Then came the thought that for him, too, as for the poor youth ofCologne, there was healing only in death. And still in this momenthe was so near Edith, should see her perhaps, and the joy at this wasstronger than all else, stronger even than death. So he sat down besidethe steps of the mansion opposite, where there was some shelter from thewind, and waited patiently till Edith should close her window. He wascold, perhaps, but, if so, he hardly knew it, for the near joy of seeingher throbbed warmly in his veins. Ah, there--the blinds were thrownopen; Edith, in all the lithe magnificence of her wonderful form, stoodout clear and beautiful against the light within; she pushed up thelower window in order to reach the upper one, and for a moment leanedout over the sill. Once more her wondrous profile traced itself instrong relief against the outer gloom. There came a cry from the streetbelow, a feeble involuntary one, but still distinctly audible. Edithpeered anxiously out into the darkness, but the darkness had growndenser and she could see nothing. The window was fastened, the shuttersclosed, and the broad pathway of light which she had flung out upon thenight had vanished. 

Halfdan closed his eyes trying to retain the happy vision. Yes, thereshe stood still, and there was a heavenly smile upon her lips--ugh, heshivered--the snow swept in a wild whirl up the street. He wrapped hisplaid more closely about him, and strained his eyes to catch one moreglimpse of the beloved Edith. Ah, yes; there she was again; she camenearer and nearer, and she touched his cheek, gently, warily smilingall the while with a strange wistful smile which was surely not Edith's. There, she bent over him, --touched him again, --how cold her hands were;the touch chilled him to the heart. The snow had now begun to fall inlarge scattered flakes, whirling fitfully through the air, followingevery chance gust of wind, but still falling, falling, and covering theearth with its white, death-like shroud. 

But surely--there was Edith again, --how wonderful!--in a long snow-whiterobe, grave and gracious, still with the wistful smile on her lips. See, she beckons to him with her hand, and he rises to follow, but somethingheavy clings to his feet and he cannot stir from the spot. He tries tocry for help, but he cannot, --can only stretch out his hands to her, andfeel very unhappy that he cannot follow her. But now she pauses in herflight, turns about, and he sees that she wears a myrtle garland in herhair like a bride. She comes toward him, her countenance all radiantwith love and happiness, and she stoops down over him and speaks:

"Come; they are waiting for us. I will follow thee in life and in death, wherever thou goest. Come, " repeats Edith, "they have long been waiting. They are all here. "

And he imagines he knows who they all are, although he has never heardof them, nor can he recall their names. 

"But--but, " he stammers, "I--I--am a foreigner "

It appeared then that for some reason this was an insurmountableobjection. And Edith's happiness dies out of her beautiful face, and sheturns away weeping. 

"Edith, beloved!"

Then she is once more at his side. 

"Thou art no more a foreigner to me, beloved. Whatever thou art, I am. "

And she presses her lips to his--it was the sweetest kiss of hislife--the kiss of death. 

The next morning, as Edith, after having put the last touch to hertoilet, threw the shutters open, a great glare of sun-smitten snow burstupon her and for a moment blinded her eyes. On the sidewalk opposite, half a dozen men with snow-shovels in their hands and a couple ofpoliceman had congregated, and, judging by their manner, were discussingsome object of interest. Presently they were joined by her father, whohad just finished his breakfast and was on his way to the office. Nowhe stooped down and gazed at something half concealed in the snow, thensuddenly started back, and as she caught a glimpse of his face, she sawthat it was ghastly white. A terrible foreboding seized her. She threwa shawl about her shoulders and rushed down-stairs. In the hall she wasmet by her father, who was just entering, followed by four men, carryingsomething between them. She well knew what it was. She would fain haveturned away, but she could not: grasping her father's arm and pressingit hard, she gazed with blank, frightened eyes at the white face, thelines of which Death had so strangely emphasized. The snow-flakes whichhung in his hair had touched him with their sudden age, as if to bridgethe gulf between youth and death. And still he was beautiful--the clearbrow, the peaceful, happy indolence, the frozen smile which death hadperpetuated. Smiling, he had departed from the earth which had no placefor him, and smiling entered the realm where, among the many mansions, there is, perhaps, also one for a gentle, simple-hearted enthusiast. 

THE STORY OF AN OUTCAST. 

THERE was an ancient feud between the families; and Bjarne Blakstadwas not the man to make it up, neither was Hedin Ullern. So they lookedaskance at each other whenever they met on the highway, and the onetook care not to cross the other's path. But on Sundays, when thechurch-bells called the parishioners together, they could not very wellavoid seeing each other on the church-yard; and then, one day, manyyears ago, when the sermon had happened to touch Bjarne's heart, he hadnodded to Hedin and said: "Fine weather to-day;" and Hedin had returnedthe nod and answered: "True is that. " "Now I have done my duty beforeGod and men, " thought Bjarne, "and it is his turn to take the nextstep. " "The fellow is proud, " said Hedin to himself, "and he wants toshow off his generosity. But I know the wolf by his skin, even if he haslearned to bleat like a ewe-lamb. "

What the feud really was about, they had both nearly forgotten. All theyknew was that some thirty years ago there had been a quarrel between thepastor and the parish about the right of carrying arms to the church. And then Bjarne's father had been the spokesman of the parish, whileHedin's grandsire had been a staunch defender of the pastor. There was arumor, too, that they had had a fierce encounter somewhere in the woods, and that the one had stabbed the other with a knife; but whether thatwas really true, no one could tell. 

Bjarne was tall and grave, like the weather-beaten fir-trees in hismast-forest. He had a large clean-shaven face, narrow lips, and smallfierce eyes. He seldom laughed, and when he did, his laugh seemed evenfiercer than his frown. He wore his hair long, as his fathers haddone, and dressed in the styles of two centuries ago; his breeches wereclasped with large silver buckles at the knees, and his red jerkin wasgathered about his waist with a leathern girdle. He loved everythingthat was old, in dress as well as in manners, took no newspapers, andregarded railroads and steamboats as inventions of the devil. Bjarne hadmarried late in life, and his marriage had brought him two daughters, Brita and Grimhild. 

Hedin Ullern was looked upon as an upstart. He could only count threegenerations back, and he hardly knew himself how his grandfather hadearned the money that had enabled him to buy a farm and settle downin the valley. He had read a great deal, and was well informed onthe politics of the day; his name had even been mentioned forstorthingsmand, or member of parliament from the district, and itwas the common opinion, that if Bjarne Blakstad had not so vigorouslyopposed him, he would have been elected, being the only "cultivated"peasant in the valley. Hedin was no unwelcome guest in the houses ofgentlefolks, and he was often seen at the judge's and the pastor'somber parties. And for all this Bjarne Blakstad only hated him the more. Hedin's wife, Thorgerda, was fair-haired, tall and stout, and it wasshe who managed the farm, while her husband read his books, and studiedpolitics in the newspapers; but she had a sharp tongue and her neighborswere afraid of her. They had one son, whose name was Halvard. 

Brita Blakstad, Bjarne's eldest daughter, was a maid whom it was a joyto look upon. They called her "Glitter-Brita, " because she was fond ofrings and brooches, and everything that was bright; while she wasstill a child, she once took the old family bridal-crown out from thestorehouse and carried it about on her head. "Beware of that crown, child, " her father had said to her, "and wear it not before the time. There is not always blessing in the bridal silver. " And she lookedwonderingly up into his eyes and answered: "But it glitters, father;"and from that time forth they had named her Glitter-Brita. 

And Glitter-Brita grew up to be a fair and winsome maiden, and wherevershe went the wooers flocked on her path. Bjarne shook his head ather, and often had harsh words upon his lips, when he saw her braidingfield-flowers into her yellow tresses or clasping the shining broochesto her bodice; but a look of hers or a smile would completely disarmhim. She had a merry way of doing things which made it all seem likeplay; but work went rapidly from her hands, while her ringing laughterechoed through the house, and her sunny presence made it bright in thedusky ancestral halls. In her kitchen the long rows of copper pots andpolished kettles shone upon the walls, and the neatly scoured milk-pailsstood like soldiers on parade about the shelves under the ceiling. Bjarne would often sit for hours watching her, and a strangespring-feeling would steal into his heart. He felt a father's pride inher stately growth and her rich womanly beauty. "Ah!" he would say tohimself, "she has the pure blood in her veins and, as true as I live, the farm shall be hers. " And then, quite contrary to his habits, hewould indulge in a little reverie, imagining the time when he, as anaged man, should have given the estate over into her hands, and seeingher as a worthy matron preside at the table, and himself rocking hisgrandchildren on his knee. No wonder, then, that he eyed closely theyoung lads who were beginning to hover about the house, and that helooked with suspicion upon those who selected Saturday nights for theirvisits. [5] When Brita was twenty years old, however, her father thoughtthat it was time for her to make her choice. There were many fine, bravelads in the valley, and, as Bjarne thought, Brita would have the goodsense to choose the finest and the bravest. So, when the winter came, hesuddenly flung his doors open to the youth of the parish, and began togive parties with ale and mead in the grand old style. He even talkedwith the young men, at times, encouraged them to manly sports, and urgedthem to taste of his home-brewed drinks and to tread the spring-dancebriskly. And Brita danced and laughed so that her hair flew around herand the silver brooches tinkled and rang on her bosom. But when themerriment was at an end, and any one of the lads remained behind tooffer her his hand, she suddenly grew grave, told him she was too young, that she did not know herself, and that she had had no time as yet todecide so serious a question. Thus the winter passed and the summer drewnear. 

In the middle of June, Brita went to the saeter [6] with the cattle; andher sister, Grimhild, remained at home to keep house on the farm. Sheloved the life in the mountains; the great solitude sometimes made herfeel sad, but it was not an unpleasant sadness, it was rather a gentletoning down of all the shrill and noisy feelings of the soul. Up there, in the heart of the primeval forest, her whole being seemed to herselfa symphony of melodious whispers with a vague delicious sense ofremoteness and mystery in them, which she only felt and did not attemptto explain. There, those weird legends which, in former days, still heldtheir sway in the fancy of every Norsewoman, breathed their secrets intoher ear, and she felt her nearness and kinship to nature, as at no othertime. 

One night, as the sun was low, and a purple bluish smoke hung like athin veil over the tops of the forest, Brita had taken out her knittingand seated herself on a large moss-grown stone, on the croft. Her eyeswandered over the broad valley which was stretched out below, and shecould see the red roofs of the Blakstad mansion peeping forth betweenthe fir-trees. And she wondered what they were doing down there, whetherGrimhild had done milking, and whether her father had returned from theford, where it was his habit at this hour to ride with the footmento water the horses. As she sat thus wondering, she was startled by acreaking in the dry branches hard by, and lifting her eye, she saw atall, rather clumsily built, young man emerging from the thicket. Hehad a broad but low forehead, flaxen hair which hung down over a pair ofdull ox-like eyes; his mouth was rather large and, as it was half open, displayed two massive rows of shining white teeth. His red peaked caphung on the back of his head and, although it was summer, his thickwadmal vest was buttoned close up to his throat; over his right arm hehad flung his jacket, and in his hand he held a bridle. 

"Good evening, " said Brita, "and thanks for last meeting;" although shewas not sure that she had ever seen him before. 

"It was that bay mare, you know, " stammered the man in a half apologetictone, and shook the bridle, as if in further explanation. 

"Ah, you have lost your mare, " said the girl, and she could not helpsmiling at his helplessness and his awkward manner. 

"Yes, it was the bay mare, " answered he, in the same diffident tone;then, encouraged by her smile, he straightened himself a little andcontinued rather more fluently: "She never was quite right since thetime the wolves were after her. And then since they took the colt awayfrom her the milk has been troubling her, and she hasn't been quite likeherself. "

"I haven't seen her anywhere hereabouts, " said Brita; "you may have towander far, before you get on the track of her. "

"Yes, that is very likely. And I am tired already. "

"Won't you sit down and rest yourself?"

He deliberately seated himself in the grass, and gradually gainedcourage to look her straight in the face; and his dull eye remainedsteadfastly fixed on her in a way which bespoke unfeigned surprise andadmiration. Slowly his mouth broadened into a smile; but his smile hadmore of sadness than of joy in it. She had, from the moment she saw him, been possessed of a strangely patronizing feeling toward him. She couldnot but treat him as if he had been a girl or some person inferior toher in station. In spite of his large body, the impression he made uponher was that of weakness; but she liked the sincerity and kindness whichexpressed themselves in his sad smile and large, honest blue eyes. His gaze reminded her of that of an ox, but it had not only the ox'sdullness, but also its simplicity and good-nature. 

They sat talking on for a while about the weather, the cattle, and theprospects of the crops. 

"What is your name?" she asked, at last. 

"Halvard Hedinson Ullern. "

A sudden shock ran through her at the sound of that name; in the nextmoment a deep blush stole over her countenance. 

"And my name, " she said, slowly, "is Brita Bjarne's daughter Blakstad. "

She fixed her eyes upon him, as if to see what effect her wordsproduced. But his features wore the same sad and placid expression; andno line in his face seemed to betray either surprise or ill-will. Thenher sense of patronage grew into one of sympathy and pity. "He musteither be weak-minded or very unhappy, " thought she, "and what righthave I then to treat him harshly. " And she continued her simple, straightforward talk with the young man, until he, too, grew almosttalkative, and the sadness of his smile began to give way to somethingwhich almost resembled happiness. She noticed the change and rejoiced. At last, when the sun had sunk behind the western mountain tops, she rose and bade him good-night; in another moment the door of thesaeter-cottage closed behind her, and he heard her bolting it on theinside. But for a long time he remained sitting on the grass, andstrange thoughts passed through his head. He had quite forgotten his baymare. 

The next evening when the milking was done, and the cattle were gatheredwithin the saeter enclosure, Brita was again sitting on the large stone, looking out over the valley. She felt a kind of companionship with thepeople when she saw the smoke whirling up from their chimneys, and shecould guess what they were going to have for supper. As she sat there, she again heard a creaking in the branches, and Halvard Ullern stoodagain before her, with his jacket on his arm, and the same bridle in hishand. 

"You have not found your bay mare yet?" she exclaimed, laughingly. "Andyou think she is likely to be in this neighborhood?"

"I don't know, " he answered; "and I don't care if she isn't. "

He spread his jacket on the grass, and sat down on the spot where hehad sat the night before. Brita looked at him in surprise and remainedsilent; she didn't know how to interpret this second visit. 

"You are very handsome, " he said, suddenly, with a gravity which left nodoubt as to his sincerity. 

"Do you think so?" she answered, with a merry laugh. He appeared to heralmost a child, and it never entered her mind to feel offended. On thecontrary, she was not sure but that she felt pleased. 

"I have thought of you ever since yesterday, " he continued, with thesame imperturbable manner. "And if you were not angry with me, I thoughtI would like to look at you once more. You are so different from otherfolks. "

"God bless your foolish talk, " cried Brita, with a fresh burst ofmerriment. "No, indeed I am not angry with you; I should just as soonthink of being angry with--with that calf, " she added for want ofanother comparison. 

"You think I don't know much, " he stammered. "And I don't. " The sadsmile again settled on his countenance. 

A feeling of guilt sent the blood throbbing through her veins. She sawthat she had done him injustice. He evidently possessed more sense, orat least a finer instinct, than she had given him credit for. 

"Halvard, " she faltered, "if I have offended you, I assure you I didn'tmean to do it; and a thousand times I beg your pardon. "

"You haven't offended me, Brita, " answered he, blushing like a girl. "You are the first one who doesn't make me feel that I am not so wise asother folks. "

She felt it her duty to be open and confiding with him in return; and inorder not to seem ungenerous, or rather to put them on an equal footingby giving him also a peep into her heart, she told him about her dailywork, about the merry parties at her father's house, and about thelusty lads who gathered in their halls to dance the Halling and thespring-dance. He listened attentively while she spoke, gazing earnestlyinto her face, but never interrupting her. In his turn he described toher in his slow deliberate way, how his father constantly scolded himbecause he was not bright, and did not care for politics and newspapers, and how his mother wounded him with her sharp tongue by making merrywith him, even in the presence of the servants and strangers. He did notseem to imagine that there was anything wrong in what he said, or thathe placed himself in a ludicrous light; nor did he seem to speakfrom any unmanly craving for sympathy. His manner was so simple andstraightforward that what Brita probably would have found strange inanother, she found perfectly natural in him. 

It was nearly midnight when they parted{. } She hardly slept at all thatnight, and she was half vexed with herself for the interest she tookin this simple youth. The next morning her father came up to pay her avisit and to see how the flocks were thriving. She understood that itwould be dangerous to say anything to him about Halvard, for she knewhis temper and feared the result, if he should ever discover her secret. Therefore, she shunned an opportunity to talk with him, and only busiedherself the more with the cattle and the cooking. Bjarne soon noticedher distraction, but, of course, never suspected the cause. Before heleft her, he asked her if she did not find it too lonely on the saeter, and if it would not be well if he sent her one of the maids for acompanion. She hastened to assure him that that was quite unnecessary;the cattle-boy who was there to help her was all the company she wanted. Toward evening, Bjarne Blakstad loaded his horses with buckets, filledwith cheese and butter, and started for the valley. Brita stood longlooking after him as he descended the rocky slope, and she could hardlyconceal from herself that she felt relieved, when, at last, the foresthid him from her sight. All day she had been walking about with a heavyheart; there seemed to be something weighing on her breast, and shecould not throw it off. Who was this who had come between her and herfather? Had she ever been afraid of him before, had she been glad tohave him leave her? A sudden bitterness took possession of her, for inher distress, she gave Halvard the blame for all that had happened. She threw herself down on the grass and burst into a passionate fit ofweeping; she was guilty, wretchedly miserable, and all for the sake ofone whom she had hardly known for two days. If he should come in thismoment, she would tell him what he had done toward her; and her wishmust have been heard, for as she raised her eyes, he stood there at herside, the sad feature about his mouth and his great honest eyes gazingwonderingly at her. She felt her purpose melt within her; he looked sogood and so unhappy. Then again came the thought of her father and ofher own wrong, and the bitterness again revived. 

"Go away, " cried she, in a voice half reluctantly tender and halfdefiant. "Go away, I say; I don't want to see you any more. "

"I will go to the end of the world if you wish it, " he answered, with astrange firmness. 

He picked up his jacket which he had dropped on the ground, then turnedslowly, gave her mother long look, an infinitely sad and hopeless one, and went. Her bosom heaved violently--remorse, affection and filial dutywrestled desperately in her heart. 

"No, no, " she cried, "why do you go? I did not mean it so. I onlywanted--"

He paused and returned as deliberately as he had gone. 

Why should I dwell upon the days that followed--how her heart grew evermore restless, how she would suddenly wake up at nights and see thoselarge blue eyes sadly gazing at her, how by turns she would condemnherself and him, and how she felt with bitter pain that she was growingaway from those who had hitherto been nearest and dearest to her. Andstrange to say, this very isolation from her father made her clingonly the more desperately to him. It seemed to her as if Bjarne haddeliberately thrown her off; that she herself had been the one whotook the first step had hardly occurred to her. Alas, her grief was asirrational as her love. By what strange devious process of reasoningthese convictions became settled in her mind, it is difficult to tell. It is sufficient to know that she was a woman and that she loved. Sheeven knew herself that she was irrational, and this very sense drew hermore hopelessly into the maze of the labyrinth from which she saw noescape. 

His visits were as regular as those of the sun. She knew that there wasonly a word of hers needed to banish him from her presence forever. Andhow many times did she not resolve to speak that word? But the word wasnever spoken. At times a company of the lads from the valley would cometo spend a merry evening at the saeter; but she heeded them not, andthey soon disappeared. Thus the summer went amid passing moods of joyand sorrow. She had long known that he loved her, and when at lasthis slow confession came, it added nothing to her happiness; it onlyincreased her fears for the future. They laid many plans together inthose days; but winter came as a surprise to both, the cattle wereremoved from the mountains, and they were again separated. 

Bjarne Blakstad looked long and wistfully at his daughter that morning, when he came to bring her home. She wore no more rings and brooches, and it was this which excited Bjarne's suspicion that everything was notright with her. Formerly he was displeased because she wore too many;now he grumbled because she wore none. 

II. 

The winter was half gone; and in all this time Brita had hardly onceseen Halvard. Yes, once, --it was Christmas-day, --she had ventured topeep over to his pew in the church, and had seen him, sitting at hisfather's side, and gazing vacantly out into the empty space; but as hehad caught her glance, he had blushed, and began eagerly to turn theleaves of his hymn-book. It troubled her that he made no effort to seeher; many an evening she had walked alone down at the river-side, hopingthat he might come; but it was all in vain. She could not but believethat 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 secretgnawed at the very roots of her heart. It was a time of terriblesuspense and suffering--such as a man never knows, such as only a womancan endure. It was almost a relief when the cloud burst, and the stormbroke loose, as presently it did. 

One Sunday, early in April, Bjarne did not return at the usual hour fromchurch. His daughters waited in vain for him with the dinner, and atlast 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-feverhad broken out. A large vessel was lying out in the fjord, ready to takethe emigrants away; and there was hardly a family that did not mourn theloss of some brave-hearted son, or of some fair and cherished daughter. The old folks, of course, had to remain behind; and when the childrenwere gone, what was there left for them but to lie down and die? Americawas to them as distant as if it were on another planet. The familyfeeling, too, has ever been strong in the Norseman's breast; he livesfor his children, and seems to live his life over again in them. It ishis greatest pride to be able to trace his blood back into the days ofSverre and St. Olaf, and with the same confidence he expects to see hisrace spread into the future in the same soil where once it has struckroot. Then comes the storm from the Western seas, wrestles with thesturdy trunk, and breaks it; and the shattered branches fly to all thefour corners of the heavens. No wonder, then, like a tree that has lostits crown, his strength is broken and he expects but to smoulder intothe earth and die. 

Bjarne Blakstad, like the sturdy old patriot that he was, had alwaysfiercely denounced the America rage; and it was now the hope of hisdaughters that, perhaps, he had stayed behind to remind the restlessones among the youth of their duty toward their land, or to frightensome bold emigration agent who might have been too loud in hisdeclamations. But it was already eight o'clock and Bjarne was not yet tobe seen. The night was dark and stormy; a cold sleet fiercely lashed thewindow-panes, and the wind roared in the chimney. Grimhild, the youngersister, ran restlessly out and in and slammed the doors after her. Britasat tightly pressed up against the wall in the darkest corner of theroom. Every time the wind shook the house she started up; then againseated herself and shuddered. Dark forebodings filled her soul. 

At last, --the clock had just struck ten, --there was a noise heard inthe outer hall. Grimhild sprang to the door and tore it open. A tall, stooping figure entered, and by the dress she at once recognized herfather. 

"Good God, " cried she, and ran up to him. 

"Go away, child, " muttered he, in a voice that sounded strangelyunfamiliar, and he pushed her roughly away. For a moment he stood still, then stalked up to the table, and, with a heavy thump, dropped down intoa chair. There he remained with his elbows resting on his knees, andabsently staring on the floor. His long hair hung in wet tangles downover his face, and the wrinkles about his mouth seemed deeper andfiercer than usual. Now and then he sighed, or gave vent to a deepgroan. In a while his eyes began to wander uneasily about the room; andas they reached the corner where Brita was sitting, he suddenly dartedup, as if stung by something poisonous, seized a brand from the hearth, and rushed toward her. 

"Tell me I did not see it, " he broke forth, in a hoarse whisper, seizingher by the arm and thrusting the burning brand close up to her face. "Tell me it is a lie--a black, poisonous lie. "

She raised her eyes slowly to his and gazed steadfastly into his face. "Ah, " he continued in the same terrible voice, "it was what I toldthem down there at the church--a lie--an infernal lie. And I drewblood--blood, I say--I did--from the slanderer. Ha, ha, ha! What a lustysprawl that was!"

The color came and departed from Brita's cheeks. And still she wasstrangely self possessed. She even wondered at her own calmness. Alas, she did not know that it was a calmness that is more terrible than pain, the corpse of a forlorn and hopeless heart. 

"Child, " continued Bjarne, and his voice assumed a more natural tone, "why dost thou not speak? They have lied about thee, child, because thouart fair, they have envied thee. " Then, almost imploringly, "Open thymouth, Brita, and tell thy father that thou art pure--pure as the snow, child--my own--my beautiful child. "

There was a long and painful pause, in which the crackling of the brand, and the heavy breathing of the old man were the only sounds to breakthe silence. Pale like a marble image stood she before him; no wordof excuse, no prayer for forgiveness escaped her; only a convulsivequivering of the lips betrayed the life that struggled within her. Withevery moment the hope died in Bjarne's bosom. His visage was fearful tobehold. Terror and fierce indomitable hatred had grimly distorted hisfeatures, and his eyes burned like fire-coals beneath his bushy brows. 

"Harlot, " he shrieked, "harlot!"

A cold gust of wind swept through the room. The windows shook, the doorsflew open, as if touched by a strong invisible hand--and the old manstood alone, holding the flickering brand above his head. 

It was after midnight, the wind had abated, but the snow still fell, thick and silent, burying paths and fences under its cold white mantle. Onward she fled--onward and ever onward. And whither, she knew not. A cold numbness had chilled her senses, but still her feet drove herirresistibly onward. A dark current seemed to have seized her, she onlyfelt that she was adrift, and she cared not whither it bore her. Inspite of the stifling dullness which oppressed her, her body seemed aslight as air. At last, --she knew not where, --she heard the roar of thesea resounding in her ears, a genial warmth thawed the numbness ofher senses, and she floated joyfully among the clouds--among golden, sun-bathed clouds. When she opened her eyes, she found herself lyingin a comfortable bed, and a young woman with a kind motherly face wassitting at her side. It was all like a dream, and she made no effort toaccount for what appeared so strange and unaccountable. 

What she afterward heard was that a fisherman had found her in asnow-drift on the strand, and that he had carried her home to hiscottage and had given her over to the charge of his wife. This was thesecond day since her arrival. They knew who she was, but had kept thedoors locked and had told no one that she was there. She heard the storyof the good woman without emotion; it seemed an intolerable effortto think. But on the third day, when her child was born, her mind wassuddenly aroused from its lethargy, and she calmly matured her plans;and for the child's sake she resolved to live and to act. That sameevening there came a little boy with a bundle for her. She opened it andfound therein the clothes she had left behind, and--her brooches. Sheknew that it was her sister who had sent them; then there was one whostill thought of her with affection. And yet her first impulse was tosend it all back, or to throw it into the ocean; but she looked at herchild and forbore. 

A week passed, and Brita recovered. Of Halvard she had heard nothing. One night, as she lay in a half doze, she thought she had Seen a pale, frightened face pressed up against the window-pane, and staring fixedlyat her and her child; but, after all, it might have been merely a dream. For her fevered fancy had in these last days frequently beguiled herinto similar visions. She often thought of him, but, strangely enough, no more with bitterness, but with pity. Had he been strong enough to bewicked, she could have hated him, but he was weak, and she pitied him. Then it was that; one evening, as she heard that the American vessel wasto sail at daybreak, she took her little boy and wrapped him carefullyin her own clothes, bade farewell to the good fisherman and his wife, and walked alone down to the strand. Huge clouds of fantastic shapeschased each other desperately along the horizon, and now and then theslender new moon glanced forth from the deep blue gulfs between. Shechose a boat at random and was about to unmoor it, when she saw thefigure of a man tread carefully over the stones and hesitatinglyapproach her. 

"Brita, " came in a whisper from the strand. 

"Who's there?"

"It is I. Father knows it all, and he has nearly killed me; and mother, too. "

"Is that what you have come to tell me?"

"No, I would like to help you some. I have been trying to see you thesemany days. " And he stepped close up to the boat. 

"Thank you; I need no help. "

"But, Brita, " implored he, "I have sold my gun and my dog, andeverything I had, and this is what I have got for it. " He stretched outhis hand and reached her a red handkerchief with something heavy boundup in a corner. She took it mechanically, held it in her hand fora moment, then flung it far out into the water. A smile of profoundcontempt and pity passed over her countenance. 

"Farewell, Halvard, " said she, calmly, and pushed the boat into thewater. 

"But, Brita, " cried he, in despair, "what would you have me do?"

She lifted the child in her arms, then pointed to the vacant seat ather side. He understood what she meant, and stood for a moment wavering. Suddenly, he covered his face with his hands and burst into tears. Within half an hour, Brita boarded the vessel, and as the first redstripe of the dawn illumined the horizon, the wind filled the sails, andthe ship glided westward toward that land where there is a home for themwhom love and misfortune have exiled. 

It was a long and wearisome voyage. There was an old English clergymanon board, who collected curiosities; to him she sold her rings andbrooches, and thereby obtained more than sufficient money to pay herpassage. She hardly spoke to any one except her child. Those of herfellow-parishioners who knew her, and perhaps guessed her history, keptaloof from her, and she was grateful to them that they did. From morningtill night, she sat in a corner between a pile of deck freight and thekitchen skylight, and gazed at her little boy who was lying in her lap. All her hopes, her future, and her life were in him. For herself, shehad ceased to hope. 

"I can give thee no fatherland, my child, " she said to him. "Thou shaltnever know the name of him who gave thee life. Thou and I, we shallstruggle together, and, as true as there is a God above, who sees us, He will not leave either of us to perish. But let us ask no questions, child, about that which is past. Thou shalt grow and be strong, and thymother must grow with thee. "

During the third week of the voyage, the English clergyman baptized theboy, and she called him Thomas, after the day in the almanac on which hewas born. He should never know that Norway had been his mother's home;therefore she would give him no name which might betray his race. Onemorning, early in the month of June, they hailed land, and the great NewWorld lay before them. 

III. 

Why should I speak of the ceaseless care, the suffering, and the hardtoil, which made the first few months of Brita's life on this continenta mere continued struggle for existence? They are familiar to everyemigrant who has come here with a brave heart and an empty purse. Suffice it to say that at the end of the second month, she succeeded inobtaining service as milkmaid with a family in the neighborhood ofNew York. With the linguistic talent peculiar to her people, shesoon learned the English language and even spoke it well. From hercountrymen, she kept as far away as possible, not for her own sake, but for that of her boy; for he was to grow great and strong, and theknowledge of his birth might shatter his strength and break his courage. For the same reason she also exchanged her picturesque Norse costume forthat of the people among whom she was living. She went commonly by thename of Mrs. Brita, which pronounced in the English way, sounded verymuch like Mrs. Bright, and this at last became the name by which she wasknown in the neighborhood. 

Thus five years passed; then there was a great rage for emigrating tothe far West, and Brita, with many others, started for Chicago. Thereshe arrived in the year 1852, and took up her lodgings with an Irishwidow, who was living in a little cottage in what was then termed theoutskirts of the city. Those who saw her in those days, going about thelumber-yards and doing a man's work, would hardly have recognized in herthe merry Glitter-Brita, who in times of old trod the spring-dance sogayly in the well-lighted halls of the Blakstad mansion. And, indeed, she was sadly changed! Her features had become sharper, and the firmlines about her mouth expressed severity, almost sternness. Her clearblue eyes seemed to have grown larger, and their glance betrayed secret, ever-watchful care. Only her yellow hair had resisted the force of timeand sorrow; for it still fell in rich and wavy folds over a smooth whiteforehead. She was, indeed, half ashamed of it, and often took pains toforce it into a sober, matronly hood. Only at nights, when she sat alonetalking with her boy, she would allow it to escape from its prison; andhe would laugh and play with it, and in his child's way even wonder atthe contrast between her stern face and her youthful maidenly tresses. 

This Thomas, her son, was a strange child. He had a Norseman's taste forthe fabulous and fantastic, and although he never heard a tale of Neckenor the Hulder, he would often startle his mother by the most fancifulcombinations of imagined events, and by bolder personifications thanever sprung from the legendary soil of the Norseland. She always tookcare to check him whenever he indulged in these imaginary flights, andhe at last came to look upon them as something wrong and sinful. Theboy, as he grew up, often strikingly reminded her of her father, as, indeed, he seemed to have inherited more from her own than fromHalvard's race. Only the bright flaxen hair and his square, somewhatclumsy stature might have told him to be the latter's child. He had ahot temper, and often distressed his mother by his stubbornness; andthen there would come a great burst of repentance afterwards, whichdistressed her still more. For she was afraid it might be a sign ofweakness. "And strong he must be, " said she to herself, "strong enoughto overcome all resistance, and to conquer a great name for himself, strong enough to bless a mother who brought him into the worldnameless. "

Strange to say, much as she loved this child, she seldom caressed him. It was a penance she had imposed upon herself to atone for her guilt. Only at times, when she had been sitting up late, and her eyes wouldfall, as it were, by accident upon the little face on the pillow, with the sweet unconsciousness of sleep resting upon it like a soft, invisible veil, would she suddenly throw herself down over him, kisshim, and whisper tender names in his ear, while her tears fell hot andfast on his yellow hair and his rosy countenance. Then the child woulddream that he was sailing aloft over shining forests, and that hismother, beaming with all the beauty of her lost youth, flew before him, showering golden flowers on his path. These were the happiest moments ofBrita's joyless life, and even these were not unmixed with bitterness;for into the midst of her joy would steal a shy anxious thought whichwas the more terrible because it came so stealthily, so soft-footedand unbidden. Had not this child been given her as a punishment for herguilt? Had she then a right to turn God's scourge into a blessing? Didshe give to God "that which belongeth unto God, " as long as all herhopes, her thoughts, and her whole being revolved about this one earthlything, her son, the child of her sorrow? She was not a nature to shrinkfrom grave questions; no, she met them boldly, when once they werethere, wrestled fiercely with them, was defeated, and again with amartyr's zeal rose to renew the combat. God had Himself sent her thisperplexing doubt and it was her duty to bear His burden. Thus ranBrita's reasoning. In the mean while the years slipped by, and greatchanges were wrought in the world about her. 

The few hundred dollars which Brita had been able to save, during thefirst three years of her stay in Chicago, she had invested in a piece ofland. In the mean while the city had grown, and in the year 1859 she wasoffered five thousand dollars for her lot; this offer she accepted andagain bought a small piece of property at a short distance from thecity. The boy had since his eighth year attended the public school, andhad made astonishing progress. Every day when school was out, she wouldmeet him at the gate, take him by the hand and lead him home. If anyof the other boys dared to make sport of her, or to tease him for hisdependence upon her, it was sure to cost that boy a black eye{. } He soonsucceeded in establishing himself in the respect of his school-mates, for he was the strongest boy of his own age, and ever ready to protectand defend the weak and defenseless. When Thomas Bright (for that wasthe name by which he was known) was fifteen years old he was offereda position as clerk in the office of a lumber-merchant, and with hismother's consent he accepted it. He was a fine young lad now, large andwell-knit, and with a clear earnest countenance. In the evening he wouldbring home books to read, and as it had always been Brita's habit tointerest herself in whatever interested him, she soon found herselfstudying and discussing with him things which had in former years beenfar beyond the horizon of her mind. She had at his request reluctantlygiven up her work in the lumber-yards, and now spent her days at home, busying herself with sewing and reading and such other things as womenfind to fill up a vacant hour. 

One evening, when Thomas was in his nineteenth year, he returnedfrom his office with a graver face than usual. His mother's quick eyeimmediately saw that something had agitated him, but she forbore to ask. 

"Mother, " said he at last, "who is my father? Is he dead or alive?"

"God is your father, my son, " answered she, tremblingly. "If you loveme, ask me no more. "

"I do love you, mother, " he said, and gave her a grave look, in whichshe thought she detected a mingling of tenderness and reproach. "And itshall be as you have said. "

It was the first time she had had reason to blush before him, andher emotion came near overwhelming her; but with a violent effort shestifled it, and remained outwardly calm. He began pacing up and down thefloor with his head bent and his hands on his back. It suddenly occurredto her that he was a grown man, and that she could no longer hold thesame relation to him as his supporter and protector. "Alas, " thoughtshe, "if God will but let me remain his mother, I shall bless and thankHim. "

It was the first time this subject had been broached, and it gave riseto many a doubt and many a question in the anxious mother's mind. Hadshe been right in concealing from him that which he might justly claimto know? What had been her motive in keeping him ignorant of his originand of the land of his birth? She had wished him to grow to the strengthof manhood, unconscious of guilt, so that he might bear his headupright, and look the world fearlessly in the face. And still, had therenot in all this been a lurking thought of herself, a fear of losing hislove, a desire to stand pure and perfect in his eye? She hardly daredto answer these questions, for, alas, she knew not that even our purestmotives are but poorly able to bear a searching scrutiny. She began tosuspect that her whole course with her son had been wrong from the verybeginning. Why had she not told him the stern truth, even if he shoulddespise her for it, even if she should have to stand a blushing culpritin his presence? Often, when she heard his footsteps in the hall, ashe returned from the work of the day, she would man herself up and thewords hovered upon her lips: "Son, thou art a bastard born, a child ofguilt, and thy mother is an outcast upon the earth. " But when she metthose calm blue eyes of his, saw the unsuspecting frankness of hismanner and the hopefulness with which he looked to the future, herwomanly heart shrank from its duty, and she hastened out of the room, threw herself on her bed, and wept. Fiercely she wrestled with God inprayer, until she thought that even God had deserted her. Thus monthspassed and years, and the constant care and anxiety began to affect herhealth. She grew pale and nervous, and the slightest noise would annoyher. In the mean while, her manner toward the young man had becomestrangely altered, and he soon noticed it, although he forbore to speak. She was scrupulously mindful of his comfort, anxiously anticipated hiswants, and observed toward him an ever vigilant consideration, as if hehad been her master instead of her son. 

When Thomas was twenty-two years of age, he was offered a partnership inhis employer's business, and with every year his prospects brightened. The sale of his mother's property brought him a very handsome littlefortune, which enabled him to build a fine and comfortable house in oneof the best portions of the city. Thus their outward circumstances weregreatly improved, and of comfort and luxury Brita had all and more thanshe had ever desired; but her health was broken down, and the physiciansdeclared that a year of foreign travel and a continued residence inItaly might possibly restore her. At last, Thomas, too, began to urgeher, until she finally yielded. It was on a bright morning in May thatthey both started for New York, and three days later they took the boatfor Europe. What countries they were to visit they had hardly decided, but after a brief stay in England we find them again on a steamer boundfor Norway. 

IV. 

Warm and gentle as it is, June often comes to the fjord-valleys ofNorway with the voice and the strength of a giant. The glacierstotter and groan, as if in anger at their own weakness, and send hugeavalanches of stones and ice down into the valleys. The rivers swell andrush with vociferous brawl out over the mountainsides, and a thousandtiny brooks join in the general clamor, and dance with noisy chatterover the moss-grown birch-roots. But later, when the struggle is at anend, and June has victoriously seated herself upon her throne, her voicebecomes more richly subdued and brings rest and comfort to the ear andto the troubled heart. It was while the month was in this latter moodthat Brita and her son entered once more the valley whence, twenty-fiveyears ago, they had fled. Many strange, turbulent emotions stirred themother's bosom, as she saw again the great snow-capped mountains, andthe calm, green valley, her childhood's home, lying so snugly shelteredin their mighty embrace. Even Thomas's breast was moved with vaguelysympathetic throbs, as this wondrous scene spread itself before him. They soon succeeded in hiring a farm-house, about half an hour's walkfrom Blakstad, and, according to Brita's wish, established themselvesthere for the summer. She had known the people well, when she was young, but they never thought of identifying her with the merry maid, who hadonce startled the parish by her sudden flight; and she, although shelonged to open her heart to them, let no word fall to betray her realcharacter. Her conscience accused her of playing a false part, but forher son's sake she kept silent. 

Then, one day, --it was the second Sunday after their arrival, --she roseearly in the morning, and asked Thomas to accompany her on a walk upthrough the valley. There was Sabbath in the air; the soft breath ofsummer, laden with the perfume of fresh leaves and field-flowers, gently wafted into their faces. The sun glittered in the dewy grass, thecrickets sung with a remote voice of wonder, and the air seemed to behalf visible, and moved in trembling wavelets on the path before them. Resting on her son's arm, Brita walked slowly up through the floweringmeadows; she hardly knew whither her feet bore her, but her heartbeat violently, and she often was obliged to pause and press her handsagainst her bosom, as if to stay the turbulent emotions. 

"You are not well, mother, " said the son. "It was imprudent in me toallow you to exert yourself in this way. "

"Let us sit down on this stone, " answered she. "I shall soon be better. Do not look so anxiously at me. Indeed, I am not sick. "

He spread his light summer coat on the stone and carefully seated her. She lifted her veil and raised her eyes to the large red-roofed mansion, whose dark outlines drew themselves dimly on the dusky background of thepine forest. Was he still alive, he whose life-hope she had wrecked, hewho had once driven her out into the night with all but a curse upon hislips? How would he receive her, if she were to return? Ah, she knew him, and she trembled at the very thought of meeting him. But was not theguilt hers? Could she depart from this valley, could she die in peace, without having thrown herself at his feet and implored his forgiveness?And there, on the opposite side of the valley, lay the home of him whohad been the cause of all her misery. What had been his fate, and did hestill remember those long happy summer days, ah! so long, long ago? Shehad dared to ask no questions of the people with whom she lived, butnow a sudden weakness had overtaken her, and she felt that to-day mustdecide her fate; she could no longer bear this torture of uncertainty. Thomas remained standing at her side and looked at her with anxietyand wonder. He knew that she had concealed many things from him, butwhatever her reasons might be, he was confident that they were just andweighty. It was not for him to question her about what he might have noright to know. He felt as if he had never loved her as in thismoment, when she seemed to be most in need of him, and an overwhelmingtenderness took possession of his heart. He suddenly stooped down, tookher pale, thin face between his hands and kissed her. The long pent-upemotion burst forth in a flood of tears; she buried her face in her lapand wept long and silently. Then the church-bells began to peal down inthe valley, and the slow mighty sound floated calmly and solemnly up tothem. How many long-forgotten memories of childhood and youth didthey not wake in her bosom--memories of the time when the merryGlitter-Brita, decked with her shining brooches, wended her way to thechurch among the gayly-dressed lads and maidens of the parish?

A cluster of white-stemmed birches threw its shadow over the stone wherethe penitent mother was sitting, and the tall grass on both sides ofthe path nearly hid her from sight. Presently the church-folk began toappear, and Brita raised her head and drew her veil down over her face. No one passed without greeting the strangers, and the women and maidens, according to old fashion, stopped and courtesied. At last, there camean old white-haired man, leaning on the arm of a middle-aged woman. Hiswhole figure was bent forward, and he often stopped and drew his breathheavily. 

"Oh, yes, yes, " he said, ill a hoarse, broken voice, as he passed beforethem, "age is gaining on me fast. I can't move about any more as of old. But to church I must this day. God help me! I have done much wrong andneed to pray for forgiveness. "

"You had better sit down and rest, father, " said the woman. "Here is astone, and the fine lady, I am sure, will allow a weak old man to sitdown beside her. "

Thomas rose and made a sign to the old man to take his seat. 

"O yes, yes, " he went on murmuring, as if talking to himself. "Muchwrong--much forgiveness. God help us all--miserable sinners. He whohateth not father and mother--and daughter is not worthy of me. O, yes--yes--God comfort us all. Help me up, Grimhild. I think I can moveon again, now. "

Thomas, of course, did not understand a word of what he said, but seeingthat he wished to rise, he willingly offered his assistance, supportedhis arm and raised him. 

"Thanks to you, young man, " said the peasant. "And may God reward yourkindness. "

And the two, father and daughter, moved on, slowly and laboriously, asthey had come. Thomas stood following them with his eyes, until a low, half-stifled moan suddenly called him to his mother's side. Her frametrembled violently. 

"Mother, mother, " implored he, stooping over her, "what has happened?Why are you no more yourself?"

"Ah, my son, I can bear it no longer, " sobbed she. "God forgive me--thoumust know it all. "

He sat down at her side and drew her closely up to him and she hid herface on his bosom. There was a long silence, only broken by the loudchirruping of the crickets. 

"My son, " she began at last, still hiding her face, "thou art a child ofguilt. "

"That has been no secret to me, mother, " answered he, gravely andtenderly, "since I was old enough to know what guilt was. "

She quickly raised her head, and a look of amazement, of joyoussurprise, shone through the tears that veiled her eyes. She could readnothing but filial love and confidence in those grave, manly features, and she saw in that moment that all her doubts had been groundless, thather long prayerful struggle had been for naught. 

"I brought thee into the world nameless, " she whispered, "and thou hastno word of reproach for me?"

"With God's help, I am strong enough to conquer a name for myself, mother, " was his answer. 

It was the very words of her own secret wish, and upon his lips theysounded like a blessed assurance, like a miraculous fulfillment of hermotherly prayer. 

"Still, another thing, my child, " she went on in a more confident voice. "This is thy native land, --and the old man who was just sitting here atmy side was--my father. "

And there, in the shadow of the birch-trees, in the summer stillness ofthat hour, she told him the story of her love, of her flight, and of themisery of these long, toilsome five and twenty years. 

Late in the afternoon, Brita and her son were seen returning tothe farm-house. A calm, subdued happiness beamed from the mother'scountenance; she was again at peace with the world and herself, and herheart was as light as in the days of her early youth. But her bodilystrength had given out, and her limbs almost refused to support her. Thestrain upon her nerves and the constant effort had hitherto enabledher to keep up, but now, when that strain was removed, exhausted natureclaimed its right. The next day--she could not leave her bed, andwith every hour her strength failed. A physician was sent for. He gavemedicine, but no hope. He shook his head gravely, as he went, and bothmother and son knew what that meant. 

Toward evening, Bjarne Blakstad was summoned, and came at once. Thomasleft the room, as the old man entered, and what passed in that hourbetween father and daughter, only God knows. When the door was againopened, Brita's eyes shone with a strange brilliancy, and Bjarne lay onhis knees before the bed, pressing her hand convulsively between both ofhis. 

"This is my son, father, " said she, in a language which her son did notunderstand; and a faint smile of motherly pride and happiness flittedover her pale features. "I would give him to thee in return for whatthou hast lost; but God has laid his future in another land. "

Bjarne rose, grasped his grandson's hand, and pressed it; and two heavytears ran down his furrowed cheeks. "Alas, " murmured he, "my son, thatwe should meet thus. "

There they stood, bound together by the bonds of blood, but, alas, therelay a world between them. 

All night they sat together at the dying woman's bedside. Not a wordwas spoken. Toward morning, as the sun stole into the darkened chamber, Brita murmured their names, and they laid their hands in hers. 

"God be praised, " whispered she, scarcely audibly, "I have found youboth--my father and my son. " A deep pallor spread over her countenance. She was dead. 

Two days later, when the body was laid out, Thomas stood alone in theroom. The windows were covered with white sheets, and a subdued lightfell upon the pale, lifeless countenance. Death had dealt gently withher, she seemed younger than before, and her light wavy hair fell softlyover the white forehead. Then there came a middle-aged man, with a dulleye, and a broad forehead, and timidly approached the lonely mourner. He walked on tip-toe and his figure stooped heavily. For a long whilehe stood gazing at the dead body, then he knelt down at the foot of thecoffin, and began to sob violently. At last he arose, took two stepstoward the young man, paused again, and departed silently as he hadcome. It was Halvard. 

Close under the wall of the little red-painted church, they dug thegrave; and a week later her father was laid to rest at his daughter'sside. 

But the fresh winds blew over the Atlantic and beckoned the son to newfields of labor in the great land of the future. 

A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. 

RALPH GRIM was born a gentleman. He had the misfortune of coming intothe world some ten years later than might reasonably have been expected. Colonel Grim and his lady had celebrated twelve anniversaries of theirwedding-day, and had given up all hopes of ever having a son and heir, when this late-comer startled them by his unexpected appearance. Theonly previous addition to the family had been a daughter, and she wasthen ten summers old. 

Ralph was a very feeble child, and could only with great difficulty bepersuaded to retain his hold of the slender thread which bound him toexistence. He was rubbed with whisky, and wrapped in cotton, and givenmare's milk to drink, and God knows what not, and the Colonel swore around oath of paternal delight when at last the infant stopped gaspingin that distressing way and began to breathe like other human beings. The mother, who, in spite of her anxiety for the child's life, had foundtime to plot for him a career of future magnificence, now suddenly sethim apart for literature, because that was the easiest road to fame, anddisposed of him in marriage to one of the most distinguished families ofthe land. She cautiously suggested this to her husband when he came totake his seat at her bedside; but to her utter astonishment she foundthat he had been indulging a similar train of thought, and had alreadydestined the infant prodigy for the army. She, however, could not giveup her predilection for literature, and the Colonel, who could not bearto be contradicted in his own house, as he used to say, was gettingevery minute louder and more flushed, when, happily, the doctor'sarrival interrupted the dispute. 

As Ralph grew up from infancy to childhood, he began to give decidedpromise of future distinction. He was fond of sitting down in a cornerand sucking his thumb, which his mother interpreted as the sign of thatbrooding disposition peculiar to poets and men of lofty genius. At theage of five, he had become sole master in the house. He slapped hissister Hilda in the face, or pulled her hair, when she hesitated toobey him, tyrannized over his nurse, and sternly refused to go to bed inspite of his mother's entreaties. On such occasions, the Colonel wouldhide his face behind his newspaper, and chuckle with delight; it wasevident that nature had intended his son for a great military commander. As soon as Ralph himself was old enough to have any thoughts about hisfuture destiny, he made up his mind that he would like to be a pirate. A few months later, having contracted an immoderate taste for candy, hecontented himself with the comparatively humble position of a baker; butwhen he had read "Robinson Crusoe, " he manifested a strong desire to goto sea in the hope of being wrecked on some desolate island. The parentsspent long evenings gravely discussing these indications of uncommongenius, and each interpreted them in his or her own way. 

"He is not like any other child I ever knew, " said the mother. 

"To be sure, " responded the father, earnestly. "He is a mostextraordinary child. I was a very remarkable child too, even if I do sayit myself; but, as far as I remember, I never aspired to being wreckedon an uninhabited is land. "

The Colonel probably spoke the truth; but he forgot to take into accountthat he had never read "Robinson Crusoe. "

Of Ralph's school-days there is but little to report, for, to tell thetruth, he did not fancy going to school, as the discipline annoyed him. The day after his having entered the gymnasium, which was to preparehim for the Military Academy, the principal saw him waiting at the gateafter his class had been dismissed. He approached him, and asked why hedid not go home with the rest. 

"I am waiting for the servant to carry my books, " was the boy's answer. 

"Give me your books, " said the teacher. 

Ralph reluctantly obeyed. That day the Colonel was not a littlesurprised to see his son marching up the street, and every now and thenglancing behind him with a look of discomfort at the principal, whowas following quietly in his train, carrying a parcel of school-books. Colonel Grim and his wife, divining the teacher's intention, agreed thatit was a great outrage, but they did not mention the matter to Ralph. Henceforth, however, the boy refused to be accompanied by his servant. Aweek later he was impudent to the teacher of gymnastics, who whipped himin return. The Colonel's rage knew no bounds; he rode in great haste tothe gymnasium, reviled the teacher for presuming to chastise HIS son, and committed the boy to the care of a private tutor. 

At the age of sixteen, Ralph went to the capital with the intention ofentering the Military Academy. He was a tall, handsome youth, slender ofstature, and carried himself as erect as a candle. He had a light, clearcomplexion of almost feminine delicacy; blonde, curly hair, which healways kept carefully brushed; a low forehead, and a straight, finelymodeled nose. There was an expression of extreme sensitiveness aboutthe nostrils, and a look of indolence in the dark-blue eyes. But theensemble of his features was pleasing, his dress irreproachable, and hismanners bore no trace of the awkward self-consciousness peculiar to hisage. Immediately on his arrival in the capital he hired a suite ofrooms in the aristocratic part of the city, and furnished them ratherexpensively, but in excellent taste. From a bosom friend, whom he metby accident in the restaurant's pavilion in the park, he learned thata pair of antlers, a stuffed eagle, or falcon, and a couple of swords, were indispensable to a well-appointed apartment. He accordingly boughtthese articles at a curiosity-shop. During the first weeks of hisresidence in the city he made some feeble efforts to perfect himself inmathematics, in which he suspected he was somewhat deficient. But whenthe same officious friend laughed at him, and called him "green, " hedetermined to trust to fortune, and henceforth devoted himself themore assiduously to the French ballet, where he had already made someinteresting acquaintances. 

The time for the examination came; the French ballet did not prove agood preparation; Ralph failed. It quite shook him for the time, andhe felt humiliated. He had not the courage to tell his father; so helingered on from day to day, sat vacantly gazing out of his window, andtried vainly to interest himself in the busy bustle down on the street. It provoked him that everybody else should be so light-hearted, whenhe was, or at least fancied himself, in trouble. The parlor grewintolerable; he sought refuge in his bedroom. There he sat one evening(it was the third day after the examination), and stared out upon thegray stone walls which on all sides enclosed the narrow court-yard. The round stupid face of the moon stood tranquilly dozing like a greatLimburger cheese suspended under the sky. 

Ralph, at least, could think of a no more fitting simile. But thebright-eyed young girl in the window hard by sent a longing look up tothe same moon, and thought of her distant home on the fjords, where theglaciers stood like hoary giants, and caught the yellow moonbeams ontheir glittering shields of snow. She had been reading "Ivanhoe" all theafternoon, until the twilight had overtaken her quite unaware, andnow she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to write her Germanexercise. She lifted her face and saw a pair of sad, vacant eyes, gazingat her from the next window in the angle of the court. She was a littlestartled at first, but in the next moment she thought of her Germanexercise and took heart. 

"Do you know German?" she said; then immediately repented that she hadsaid it. 

"I do, " was the answer. 

She took up her apron and began to twist it with an air ofembarrassment. 

"I didn't mean anything, " she whispered, at last. "I only wanted toknow. "

"You are very kind. "

That answer roused her; he was evidently making sport of her. 

"Well, then, if you do, you may write my exercise for me. I have markedthe place in the book. "

And she flung her book over to his window, and he caught it on the edgeof the sill, just as it was falling. 

"You are a very strange girl, " he remarked, turning over the leaves ofthe book, although it was too dark to read. "How old are you?"

"I shall be fourteen six weeks before Christmas, " answered she, frankly. 

"Then I excuse you. "

"No, indeed, " cried she, vehemently. "You needn't excuse me at all. Ifyou don't want to write my exercise, you may send the book back again. Iam very sorry I spoke to you, and I shall never do it again. "

"But you will not get the book back again without the exercise, " repliedhe, quietly. "Good-night. "

The girl stood long looking after him, hoping that he would return. Then, with a great burst of repentance, she hid her face in her lap, andbegan to cry. 

"Oh, dear, I didn't mean to be rude, " she sobbed. "But it was Ivanhoeand Rebecca who upset me. "

The next morning she was up before daylight, and waited for two longhours in great suspense before the curtain of his window was raised. Hegreeted her politely; threw a hasty glance around the court to see if hewas observed, and then tossed her book dexterously over into her hands. 

"I have pinned the written exercise to the fly-leaf, " he said. "You willprobably have time to copy it before breakfast. "

"I am ever so much obliged to you, " she managed to stammer. 

He looked so tall and handsome, and grown-up, and her remorse stuck inher throat, and threatened to choke her. She had taken him for a boy ashe sat there in his window the evening before. 

"By the way, what is your name?" he asked, carelessly, as he turned togo. 

"Bertha. "

"Well, my dear Bertha, I am happy to have made your acquaintance. "

And he again made her a polite bow, and entered his parlor. 

"How provokingly familiar he is, " thought she; "but no one can deny thathe is handsome. "

The bright roguish face of the young girl haunted Ralph during the wholenext week. He had been in love at least ten times before, of course;but, like most boys, with young ladies far older than himself. He foundhimself frequently glancing over to her window in the hope of catchinganother glimpse of her face; but the curtain was always drawn down, and Bertha remained invisible. During the second week, however, sherelented, and they had many a pleasant chat together. He now volunteeredto write all her exercises, and she made no objections. He learned thatshe was the daughter of a well-to-do peasant in the sea-districts ofNorway (and it gave him quite a shock to hear it), and that she wasgoing to school in the city, and boarded with an old lady who kept apension in the house adjoining the one in which he lived. 

One day in the autumn Ralph was surprised by the sudden arrival of hisfather, and the fact of his failure in the examination could no longerbe kept a secret. The old Colonel flared up at once when Ralph madehis confession; the large veins upon his forehead swelled; he grewcoppery-red in his face, and stormed up and down the floor, until hisson became seriously alarmed; but, to his great relief, he was soon madeaware that his father's wrath was not turned against him personally, butagainst the officials of the Military Academy who had rejected him. TheColonel took it as an insult to his own good name and irreproachablestanding as an officer; he promptly refused any other explanation, andvainly racked his brain to remember if any youthful folly of his couldpossibly have made him enemies among the teachers of the Academy. Heat last felt satisfied that it was envy of his own greatness and rapidadvancement which had induced the rascals to take vengeance on his son. Ralph reluctantly followed his father back to the country town wherethe latter was stationed, and the fair-haired Bertha vanished from hishorizon. His mother's wish now prevailed, and he began, in his own easyway, to prepare himself for the University. He had little taste forCicero, and still less for Virgil, but with the use of a "pony" he soongained sufficient knowledge of these authors to be able to talk in asort of patronizing way about them, to the great delight of his fondparents. He took quite a fancy, however, to the ode in Horace endingwith the lines:

 Dulce ridentem, Dulce loquentem, Lalagen amabo. 

And in his thought he substituted for Lalage the fair-haired Bertha, quite regardless of the requirements of the metre. 

To make a long story short, three years later Ralph returned to thecapital, and, after having worn out several tutors, actually succeededin entering the University. 

The first year of college life is a happy time to every young man, andRalph enjoyed its processions, its parliamentary gatherings, andits leisure, as well as the rest. He was certainly not the man to besentimental over the loss of a young girl whom, moreover, he had onlyknown for a few weeks. Nevertheless, he thought of her at odd times, butnot enough to disturb his pleasure. The standing of his family, his ownhandsome appearance, and his immaculate linen opened to him the besthouses of the city, and he became a great favorite in society. Atlectures he was seldom seen, but more frequently in the theatres, wherehe used to come in during the middle of the first act, take his stationin front of the orchestra box, and eye, through his lorgnettes, byturns, the actresses and the ladies of the parquet. 

II. 

Two months passed, and then came the great annual ball which thestudents give at the opening of the second semester. Ralph was a man ofimportance that evening; first, because he belonged to a great family;secondly, because he was the handsomest man of his year. He wore a largegolden star on his breast (for his fellow-students had made him a Knightof the Golden Boar), and a badge of colored ribbons in his button-hole. 

The ball was a brilliant affair, and everybody was in excellent spirits, especially the ladies. Ralph danced incessantly, twirled his softmustache, and uttered amiable platitudes. It was toward midnight, justas the company was moving out to supper, that he caught the glance of apair of dark-blue eyes, which suddenly drove the blood to his cheeksand hastened the beating of his heart. But when he looked once more thedark-blue eyes were gone, and his unruly heart went on hammering againsthis side. He laid his hand on his breast and glanced furtively at hisfair neighbor, but she looked happy and unconcerned, for the flavor ofthe ice-cream was delicious. It seemed an endless meal, but, when itwas done, Ralph rose, led his partner back to the ball-room, and hastilyexcused himself. His glance wandered round the wide hall, seeking thewell-remembered eyes once more, and, at length, finding them in a remotecorner, half hid behind a moving wall of promenaders. In another momenthe was at Bertha's side. 

"You must have been purposely hiding yourself, Miss Bertha, " said he, when the usual greetings were exchanged. "I have not caught a glimpse ofyou all this evening, until a few moments ago. "

"But I have seen you all the while, " answered the girl, frankly. "I knewyou at once as I entered the hall. "

"If I had but known that you were here, " resumed Ralph, as it were, invisibly expanding with an agreeable sense of dignity, "I assure you, you would have been the very first one I should have sought. "

She raised her large grave eyes to his, as if questioning his sincerity;but she made no answer. 

"Good gracious!" thought Ralph. "She takes things terribly in earnest. "

"You look so serious, Miss Bertha, " said he, after a moment's pause. "Iremember you as a bright-eyed, flaxen-haired little girl, who threw herGerman exercise-book to me across the yard, and whose merry laughterstill rings pleasantly in my memory. I confess I don't find it quiteeasy to identify this grave young lady with my merry friend of threeyears ago. "

"In other words, you are disappointed at not finding me the same as Iused to be. "

"No, not exactly that; but--"

Ralph paused and looked puzzled. There was something in the earnestnessof her manner which made a facetious compliment seem grosslyinappropriate, and in the moment no other escape suggested itself. 

"But what?" demanded Bertha, mercilessly. 

"Have you ever lost an old friend?" asked he, abruptly. 

"Yes; how so?"

"Then, " answered he, while his features lighted up with a happyinspiration--"then you will appreciate my situation. I fondly cherishedmy old picture of you in my memory. Now I have lost it, and I cannothelp regretting the loss. I do not mean, however, to imply that this newacquaintance--this second edition of yourself, so to speak--will proveless interesting. "

She again sent him a grave, questioning look, and began to gaze intentlyupon the stone in her bracelet. 

"I suppose you will laugh at me, " began she, while a sudden blushflitted over her countenance. "But this is my first ball, and I feelas if I had rushed into a whirlpool, from which I have, since the firstrash plunge was made, been vainly trying to escape. I feel so dreadfullyforlorn. I hardly know anybody here except my cousin, who invited me, and I hardly think I know him either. "

"Well, since you are irredeemably committed, " replied Ralph, as themusic, after some prefatory flourishes, broke into the delicious rhythmof a Strauss waltz, "then it is no use struggling against fate. Come, let us make the plunge together. Misery loves company. "

He offered her his arm, and she arose, somewhat hesitatingly, andfollowed. 

"I am afraid, " she whispered, as they fell into line with the processionthat was moving down the long hall, "that you have asked me to dancemerely because I said I felt forlorn. If that is the case, I shouldprefer to be led back to my seat. "

"What a base imputation!" cried Ralph. 

There was something so charmingly naïve in this self-depreciation--something so altogether novel in his experience, and, he could not helpadding, just a little bit countrified. His spirits rose; he began torelish keenly his position as an experienced man of the world, and, inthe agreeable glow of patronage and conscious superiority, chatted withhearty ABANDON with his little rustic beauty. 

"If your dancing is as perfect as your German exercises were, " said she, laughing, as they swung out upon the floor, "then I promise myself agood deal of pleasure from our meeting. "

"Never fear, " answered he, quickly reversing his step, and whirling withmany a capricious turn away among the thronging couples. 

When Ralph drove home in his carriage toward morning he briefly summedup his impressions of Bertha in the following adjectives: intelligent, delightfully unsophisticated, a little bit verdant, but devilish pretty. 

Some weeks later Colonel Grim received an appointment at the fortress ofAggershuus, and immediately took up his residence in the capital. He sawthat his son cut a fine figure in the highest circles of society, andexpressed his gratification in the most emphatic terms. If he hadknown, however, that Ralph was in the habit of visiting, with alarmingregularity, at the house of a plebeian merchant in a somewhat obscurestreet, he would, no doubt, have been more chary of his praise. But theColonel suspected nothing, and it was well for the peace of the familythat he did not. It may have been cowardice in Ralph that henever mentioned Bertha's name to his family or to his aristocraticacquaintances; for, to be candid, he himself felt ashamed of the powershe exerted over him, and by turns pitied and ridiculed himself forpursuing so inglorious a conquest. Nevertheless it wounded his egotismthat she never showed any surprise at seeing him, that she receivedhim with a certain frank unceremoniousness, which, however, was verybecoming to her; that she invariably went on with her work heedlessof his presence, and in everything treated him as if she had been hisequal. She persisted in talking with him in a half sisterly fashionabout his studies and his future career, warned him with greatsolicitude against some of his reprobate friends, of whose merryadventures he had told her; and if he ventured to compliment her onher beauty or her accomplishments, she would look up gravely fromher sewing, or answer him in a way which seemed to banish the idea oflove-making into the land of the impossible. He was constantly tormentedby the suspicion that she secretly disapproved of him, and that from amere moral interest in his welfare she was conscientiously laboringto make him a better man. Day after day he parted from her feelinghumiliated, faint-hearted, and secretly indignant both at himself andher, and day after day he returned only to renew the same experience. At last it became too intolerable, he could endure it no longer. Let itmake or break, certainty, at all risks, was at least preferable to thissickening suspense. That he loved her, he could no longer doubt; let hisparents foam and fret as much as they pleased; for once he was going tostand on his own legs. And in the end, he thought, they would have toyield, for they had no son but him. 

Bertha was going to return to her home on the sea-coast in a week. Ralph stood in the little low-ceiled parlor, as she imagined, to bid hergood-bye. They had been speaking of her father, her brothers, and thefarm, and she had expressed the wish that if he ever should come to thatpart of the country he might pay them a visit. Her words had kindleda vague hope in his breast, but in their very frankness and friendlyregard there was something which slew the hope they had begotten. Heheld her hand in his, and her large confiding eyes shone with an emotionwhich was beautiful, but was yet not love. 

"If you were but a peasant born like myself, " said she, in a voice whichsounded almost tender, "then I should like to talk to you as I would tomy own brother; but--"

"No, not brother, Bertha, " cried he, with sudden vehemence; "I love youbetter than I ever loved any earthly being, and if you knew how firmlythis love has clutched at the roots of my heart, you would perhaps--youwould at least not look so reproachfully at me. "

She dropped his hand, and stood for a moment silent. 

"I am sorry that it should have come to this, Mr. Grim, " said she, visibly struggling for calmness. "And I am perhaps more to blame thanyou. "

"Blame, " muttered he, "why are you to blame?"

"Because I do not love you; although I sometimes feared that this mightcome. But then again I persuaded myself that it could not be so. "

He took a step toward the door, laid his hand on the knob, and gazeddown before him. 

"Bertha, " began he, slowly, raising his head, "you have alwaysdisapproved of me, you have despised me in your heart, but you thoughtyou would be doing a good work if you succeeded in making a man of me. "

"You use strong language, " answered she, hesitatingly; "but there istruth in what you say. "

Again there was a long pause, in which the ticking of the old parlorclock grew louder and louder. 

"Then, " he broke out at last, "tell me before we part if I can donothing to gain--I will not say your love--but only your regard? Whatwould you do if you were in my place?"

"My advice you will hardly heed, and I do not even know that it wouldbe well if you did. But if I were a man in your position, I should breakwith my whole past, start out into the world where nobody knew me, andwhere I should be dependent only upon my own strength, and there I wouldconquer a place for myself, if it were only for the satisfaction ofknowing that I was really a man. Here cushions are sewed under yourarms, a hundred invisible threads bind you to a life of idleness andvanity, everybody is ready to carry you on his hands, the road issmoothed for you, every stone carefully moved out of your path, and youwill probably go to your grave without having ever harbored one earnestthought, without having done one manly deed. "

Ralph stood transfixed, gazing at her with open mouth; he felt a kind ofstupid fright, as if some one had suddenly seized him by the shouldersand shaken him violently. He tried vainly to remove his eyes fromBertha. She held him as by a powerful spell. He saw that her face waslighted with an altogether new beauty; he noticed the deep glow upon hercheek, the brilliancy of her eye, the slight quiver of her lip. But hesaw all this as one sees things in a half-trance, without attempting toaccount for them; the door between his soul and his senses was closed. 

"I know that I have been bold in speaking to you in this way, " she saidat last, seating herself in a chair at the window. "But it was yourselfwho asked me. And I have felt all the time that I should have to tellyou this before we parted. "

"And, " answered he, making a strong effort to appear calm, "if I followyour advice, will you allow me to see you once more before you go?"

"I shall remain here another week, and shall, during that time, alwaysbe ready to receive you. "

"Thank you. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye. "

Ralph carefully avoided all the fashionable thoroughfares; he feltdegraded before himself, and he had an idea that every man could readhis humiliation in his countenance. Now he walked on quickly, strikingthe sidewalk with his heels; now, again, he fell into an uneasy, reckless saunter, according as the changing moods inspired defianceof his sentence, or a qualified surrender. And, as he walked on, thebitterness grew within him, and he pitilessly reviled himself for havingallowed himself to be made a fool of by "that little country goose, "when he was well aware that there were hundreds of women of the bestfamilies of the land who would feel honored at receiving his attentions. But this sort of reasoning he knew to be both weak and contemptible, andhis better self soon rose in loud rebellion. 

"After all, " he muttered, "in the main thing she was right. I am amiserable good-for-nothing, a hot-house plant, a poor stick, and if Iwere a woman myself, I don't think I should waste my affections on a manof that calibre. "

Then he unconsciously fell to analyzing Bertha's character, wonderingvaguely that a person who moved so timidly in social life, appearingso diffident, from an ever-present fear of blundering against theestablished forms of etiquette, could judge so quickly, and with such amerciless certainty, whenever a moral question, a question of rightand wrong, was at issue. And, pursuing the same train of thought, hecontrasted her with himself, who moved in the highest spheres of societyas in his native element, heedless of moral scruples, and conscious ofno loftier motive for his actions than the immediate pleasure of themoment. 

As Ralph turned the corner of a street, he heard himself hailed from theother sidewalk by a chorus of merry voices. 

"Ah, my dear Baroness, " cried a young man, springing across the streetand grasping Ralph's hand (all his student friends called him theBaroness), "in the name of this illustrious company, allow me to saluteyou. But why the deuce--what is the matter with you? If you have theKatzenjammer, [7] soda-water is the thing. Come along, --it's my treat!"

The students instantly thronged around Ralph, who stood distractedlyswinging his cane and smiling idiotically. 

"I am not quite well, " said he; "leave me alone. "

"No, to be sure, you don't look well, " cried a jolly youth, againstwhom Bertha had frequently warned him; "but a glass of sherry will soonrestore you. It would be highly immoral to leave you in this conditionwithout taking care of you. "

Ralph again vainly tried to remonstrate; but the end was, that hereluctantly followed. 

He had always been a conspicuous figure in the student world; but thatnight he astonished his friends by his eloquence, his reckless humor, and his capacity for drinking. He made a speech for "Woman, " whichbristled with wit, cynicism, and sarcastic epigrams. One young man, named Vinter, who was engaged, undertook to protest against his sweepingcondemnation, and declared that Ralph, who was a Universal favoriteamong the ladies, ought to be the last to revile them. 

"If, " he went on, "the Baroness should propose to six well-knownladies here in this city whom I could mention, I would wager sixJohannisbergers, and an equal amount of champagne, that every one ofthem would accept him. "

The others loudly applauded this proposal, and Ralph accepted the wager. The letters were written on the spot, and immediately dispatched. Towardmorning, the merry carousal broke up, and Ralph was conducted in triumphto his home. 

III. 

Two days later, Ralph again knocked on Bertha's door. He looked palerthan usual, almost haggard; his immaculate linen was a little crumpled, and he carried no cane; his lips were tightly compressed, and his facewore an air of desperate resolution. 

"It is done, " he said, as he seated himself opposite her. "I am going. "

"Going!" cried she, startled at his unusual appearance. "How, where?"

"To America. I sail to-night. I have followed your advice, you see. Ihave cut off the last bridge behind me. "

"But, Ralph, " she exclaimed, in a voice of alarm. "Something dreadfulmust have happened. Tell me quick; I must know it. "

"No; nothing dreadful, " muttered he, smiling bitterly. "I have madea little scandal, that is all. My father told me to-day to go to thedevil, if I chose, and my mother gave me five hundred dollars to help mealong on the way. If you wish to know, here is the explanation. "

And he pulled from his pocket six perfumed and carefully folded notes, and threw them into her lap. 

"Do you wish me to read them?" she asked, with growing surprise. 

"Certainly. Why not?"

She hastily opened one note after the other, and read. 

"But, Ralph, " she cried, springing up from her seat, while her eyesflamed with indignation, "what does this mean? What have you done?"

"I didn't think it needed any explanation, " replied he, with feignedindifference. "I proposed to them all, and, you see, they all acceptedme. I received all these letters to-day. I only wished to know whetherthe whole world regarded me as such a worthless scamp as you told me Iwas. "

She did not answer, but sat mutely staring at him, fiercely crumpling arose-colored note in her hand. He began to feel uncomfortable under hergaze, and threw himself about uneasily in his chair. 

"Well, " said he, at length, rising, "I suppose there is nothing more. Good-bye. "

"One moment, Mr. Grim, " demanded she, sternly. "Since I have alreadysaid so much, and you have obligingly revealed to me a new side of yourcharacter, I claim the right to correct the opinion I expressed of youat our last meeting. "

"I am all attention. "

"I did think, Mr. Grim, " began she, breathing hard, and steadyingherself against the table at which she stood, "that you were a veryselfish man--an embodiment of selfishness, absolute and supreme, but Idid not believe that you were wicked. "

"And what convinced you that I was selfish, if I may ask?"

"What convinced me?" repeated she, in a tone of inexpressible contempt. "When did you ever act from any generous regard for others? What gooddid you ever do to anybody?"

"You might ask, with equal justice, what good I ever did to myself. "

"In a certain sense, yes; because to gratify a mere momentary wish ishardly doing one's self good. "

"Then I have, at all events, followed the Biblical precept, and treatedmy neighbor very much as I treat myself. "

"I did think, " continued Bertha, without heeding the remark, "that youwere at bottom kind-hearted, but too hopelessly well-bred ever to commitan act of any decided complexion, either good or bad. Now I see thatI have misjudged you, and that you are capable of outraging the mostsacred feelings of a woman's heart in mere wantonness, or for the sakeof satisfying a base curiosity, which never could have entered the mindof an upright and generous man. "

The hard, benumbed look in Ralph's face thawed in the warmth of herpresence, and her words, though stern, touched a secret spring in hisheart. He made two or three vain attempts to speak, then suddenly brokedown, and cried:

"Bertha, Bertha, even if you scorn me, have patience with me, andlisten. "

And he told her, in rapid, broken sentences, how his love for her hadgrown from day to day, until he could no longer master it; and how, inan unguarded moment, when his pride rose in fierce conflict againsthis love, he had done this reckless deed of which he was now heartilyashamed. The fervor of his words touched her, for she felt that theywere sincere. Large mute tears trembled in her eyelashes as she satgazing tenderly at him, and in the depth of her soul the wish awoke thatshe might have been able to return this great and strong love of his;for she felt that in this love lay the germ of a new, of a stronger andbetter man. She noticed, with a half-regretful pleasure, his handsomefigure, his delicately shaped hands, and the noble cast of his features;an overwhelming pity for him rose within her, and she began to reproachherself for having spoken so harshly, and, as she now thought, sounjustly. Perhaps he read in her eyes the unspoken wish. He seized herhand, and his words fell with a warm and alluring cadence upon her ear. 

"I shall not see you for a long time to come, Bertha, " said he, "but if, at the end of five or six years your hand is still free, and Ireturn another man--a man to whom you could safely intrust yourhappiness--would you then listen to what I may have to say to you? For Ipromise, by all that we both hold sacred--"

"No, no, " interrupted she, hastily. "Promise nothing. It would be unjustto--yourself, and perhaps also to me; for a sacred promise is a terriblething, Ralph. Let us both remain free; and, if you return and still loveme, then come, and I shall receive you and listen to you. And even ifyou have outgrown your love, which is, indeed, more probable, come stillto visit me wherever I may be, and we shall meet as friends and rejoicein the meeting. "

"You know best, " he murmured. "Let it be as you have said. "

He arose, took her face between his hands, gazed long and tenderly intoher eyes, pressed a kiss upon her forehead, and hastened away. 

That night Ralph boarded the steamer for Hull, and three weeks laterlanded in New York. 

IV. 

The first three months of Ralph's sojourn in America were spent in vainattempts to obtain a situation. Day after day he walked down Broadway, calling at various places of business and night after night he returnedto his cheerless room with a faint heart and declining spirits. It was, after all, a more serious thing than he had imagined, to cut the cablewhich binds one to the land of one's birth. There a hundred subtileinfluences, the existence of which no one suspects until the moment theyare withdrawn, unite to keep one in the straight path of rectitude, orat least of external respectability; and Ralph's life had been all insociety; the opinion of his fellow-men had been the one force to whichhe implicitly deferred, and the conscience by which he had been wontto test his actions had been nothing but the aggregate judgment of hisfriends. To such a man the isolation and the utter irresponsibility of alife among strangers was tenfold more dangerous; and Ralph found, to hishorror, that his character contained innumerable latent possibilitieswhich the easygoing life in his home probably never would have revealedto him. It often cut him to the quick, when, on entering an office inhis daily search for employment, he was met by hostile or suspiciousglances, or when, as it occasionally happened, the door was slammed inhis face, as if he were a vagabond or an impostor. Then the wolf wasoften roused within him, and he felt a momentary wild desire to becomewhat the people here evidently believed him to be. Many a night hesauntered irresolutely about the gambling places in obscure streets, and the glare of light, the rude shouts and clamors in the same momentrepelled and attracted him. If he went to the devil, who would care? Hisfather had himself pointed out the way to him; and nobody could blamehim if he followed the advice. But then again a memory emerged from thatchamber of his soul which still he held sacred; and Bertha's deep-blueeyes gazed upon him with their earnest look of tender warning andregret. 

When the summer was half gone, Ralph had gained many a hard victory overhimself, and learned many a useful lesson; and at length he swallowedhis pride, divested himself of his fine clothes, and accepted aposition as assistant gardener at a villa on the Hudson. And as he stoodperspiring with a spade in his hand, and a cheap broad-brimmed straw haton his head, he often took a grim pleasure in picturing to himselfhow his aristocratic friends at home would receive him, if he shouldintroduce himself to them in this new costume. 

"After all, it was only my position they cared for, " he reflected, bitterly; "without my father's name what would I be to them?"

Then, again, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that, forhis present situation, humble as it was, he was indebted to nobody buthimself; and the thought that Bertha's eyes, if they could have seen himnow would have dwelt upon him with pleasure and approbation, went far toconsole him for his aching back, his sunburned face, and his swollen andblistered hands. 

One day, as Ralph was raking the gravel-walks in the garden, hisemployer's daughter, a young lady of seventeen, came out and spoke tohim. His culture and refinement of manner struck her with wonder, andshe asked him to tell her his history; but then he suddenly grew verygrave, and she forbore pressing him. From that time she attached a kindof romantic interest to him, and finally induced her father to obtainhim a situation that would be more to his taste. And, before wintercame, Ralph saw the dawn of a new future glimmering before him. He hadwrestled bravely with fate, and had once more gained a victory. He beganthe career in which success and distinction awaited him, as proof-readeron a newspaper in the city. He had fortunately been familiar with theEnglish language before he left home, and by the strength of his will heconquered all difficulties. At the end of two years he became attachedto the editorial staff; new ambitious hopes, hitherto foreign to hismind, awoke within him; and with joyous tumult of heart he saw lifeopening its wide vistas before him, and he labored on manfully to repairthe losses of the past, and to prepare himself for greater usefulness intimes to come. He felt in himself a stronger and fuller manhood, as ifthe great arteries of the vast universal world-life pulsed in his ownbeing. The drowsy, indolent existence at home appeared like a dullremote dream from which he had awaked, and he blessed the destiny which, by its very sternness, had mercifully saved him; he blessed her, too, who, from the very want of love for him, had, perhaps, made him worthierof love. 

The years flew rapidly. Society had flung its doors open to him, andwhat was more, he had found some warm friends, in whose houses hecould come and go at pleasure. He enjoyed keenly the privilege of dailyassociation with high-minded and refined women; their eager activityof intellect stimulated him, their exquisite ethereal grace and theirdelicately chiseled beauty satisfied his aesthetic cravings, and theresponsive vivacity of their nature prepared him ever new surprises. He felt a strange fascination in the presence of these women, and theconviction grew upon him that their type of womanhood was superior toany he had hitherto known. And by way of refuting his own argument, hewould draw from his pocket-book the photograph of Bertha, which hada secret compartment there all to itself, and, gazing tenderly at it, would eagerly defend her against the disparaging reflections which theinvoluntary comparison had provoked. And still, how could he help seeingthat her features, though well molded, lacked animation; that her eye, with its deep, trustful glance, was not brilliant, and that the calmearnestness of her face, when compared with the bright, intellectualbeauty of his present friends, appeared pale and simple, like a violetin a bouquet of vividly colored roses? It gave him a quick pang, when, at times, he was forced to admit this; nevertheless, it was the truth. 

After six years of residence in America, Ralph had gained a very highreputation as a journalist of rare culture and ability, and, in 1867he was sent to the World's Exhibition in Paris, as correspondent of thepaper on which he had during all these years been employed. What wonder, then, that he started for Europe a few weeks before his presence wasneeded in the imperial city, and that he steered his course directlytoward the fjord valley where Bertha had her home? It was she who hadbidden him Godspeed when he fled from the land of his birth, and she, too, should receive his first greeting on his return. 

V. 

The sun had fortified itself behind a citadel of flaming clouds, and theupper forest region shone with a strange ethereal glow, while thelower plains were wrapped in shadow; but the shadow itself had astrong suffusion of color. The mountain peaks rose cold and blue in thedistance. 

Ralph, having inquired his way of the boatman who had landed him at thepier, walked rapidly along the beach, with a small valise in his hand, and a light summer overcoat flung over his shoulder. Many half-thoughtsgrazed his mind, and ere the first had taken shape, the second, and thethird came and chased it away. And still they all in some fashion hadreference to Bertha; for in a misty, abstract way, she filled his wholemind; but for some indefinable reason, he was afraid to give free reinto the sentiment which lurked in the remoter corners of his soul. 

Onward he hastened, while his heart throbbed with the quickening tempoof mingled expectation and fear. Now and then one of those chill gustsof air which seem to be careering about aimlessly in the atmosphereduring early summer, would strike into his face, and recall him to akeener self-consciousness. 

Ralph concluded, from his increasing agitation, that he must be verynear Bertha's home. He stopped and looked around him. He saw a largemaple at the roadside, some thirty steps from where he was standing, and the girl who was sitting under it, resting her head in her hand andgazing out over the sea, he recognized in an instant to be Bertha. Hesprang up on the road, not crossing, however, her line of vision, andapproached her noiselessly from behind. 

"Bertha, " he whispered. 

She gave a little joyous cry, sprang up, and made a gesture as ifto throw herself in his arms; then suddenly checked herself, blushedcrimson, and moved a step backward. 

"You came so suddenly, " she murmured. 

"But, Bertha, " cried he (and the full bass of his voice rang through hervery soul), "have I gone into exile and waited these many years for socold a welcome?"

"You have changed so much, Ralph, " she answered, with that old gravesmile which he knew so well, and stretched out both her hands towardhim. "And I have thought of you so much since you went away, and blamedmyself because I had judged you so harshly, and wondered that you couldlisten to me so patiently, and never bear me any malice for what Isaid. "

"If you had said a word less, " declared Ralph, seating himself ather side on the greensward, "or if you had varnished it over withpoliteness, then you would probably have failed to produce any effectand I should not have been burdened with that heavy debt of gratitudewhich I now owe you. I was a pretty thick-skinned animal in those days, Bertha. You said the right word at the right moment; you gave me a holdand a good piece of advice, which my own ingenuity would never havesuggested to me. I will not thank you, because, in so grave a case asthis, spoken thanks sound like a mere mockery. Whatever I am, Bertha, and whatever I may hope to be, I owe it all to that hour. "

She listened with rapture to the manly assurance of his voice; her eyesdwelt with unspeakable joy upon his strong, bronzed features, his fullthick blonde beard, and the vigorous proportions of his frame. Many andmany a time during his absence had she wondered how he would look ifhe ever came back, and with that minute conscientiousness which, as itwere, pervaded her whole character, she had held herself responsiblebefore God for his fate, prayed for him, and trembled lest evil powersshould gain the ascendency over his soul. 

On their way to the house they talked together of many things, but ina guarded, cautious fashion, and without the cheerful abandonment offormer years. They both, as it were, groped their way carefully in eachother's minds, and each vaguely felt that there was something in theother's thought which it was not well to touch unbidden. Bertha sawthat all her fears for him had been groundless, and his very appearancelifted the whole weight of responsibility from her breast; and still, did she rejoice at her deliverance from her burden? Ah, no, in thismoment she knew that that which she had foolishly cherished as the bestand noblest part of herself, had been but a selfish need of her ownheart. She feared that she had only taken that interest in him which onefeels in a thing of one's own making; and now, when she saw that he hadrisen quite above her; that he was free and strong, and could have nomore need of her, she had, instead of generous pleasure at his success, but a painful sense of emptiness, as if something very dear had beentaken from her. 

Ralph, too, was loath to analyze the impression his old love made uponhim. His feelings were of so complex a nature, he was anxious to keephis more magnanimous impulses active, and he strove hard to convincehimself that she was still the same to him as she had been before theyhad ever parted. But, alas! though the heart be warm and generous, theeye is a merciless critic. And the man who had moved on the wide arenaof the world, whose mind had housed the large thoughts of this century, and expanded with its invigorating breath, --was he to blame because hehad unconsciously outgrown his old provincial self, and could no morejudge by its standards?

Bertha's father was a peasant, but he had, by his lumber trade, acquiredwhat in Norway was called a very handsome fortune. He received his guestwith dignified reserve, and Ralph thought he detected in his eyes alurking look of distrust. "I know your errand, " that look seemed to say, "but you had better give it up at once. It will be of no use for you totry. "

And after supper, as Ralph and Bertha sat talking confidingly with eachother at the window, he sent his daughter a quick, sharp glance, andthen, without ceremony, commanded her to go to bed. Ralph's heart gavea great thump within him; not because he feared the old man, but becausehis words, as well as his glances, revealed to him the sad history ofthese long, patient years. He doubted no longer that the love which hehad once so ardently desired was his at last; and he made a silent vowthat, come what might, he would remain faithful. 

As he came down to breakfast the next morning, he found Bertha sittingat the window, engaged in hemming what appeared to be a rough kitchentowel. She bent eagerly over her work, and only a vivid flush upon hercheek told him that she had noticed his coming. He took a chair, seatedhimself opposite her, and bade her "good-morning. " She raised her head, and showed him a sweet, troubled countenance, which the early sunlightillumined with a high spiritual beauty. It reminded him forcibly ofthose pale, sweet-faced saints of Fra Angelico, with whom the frailflesh seems ever on the point of yielding to the ardent aspirations ofthe spirit. And still, even in this moment he could not prevent his eyesfrom observing that one side of her forefinger was rough from sewing, and that the whiteness of her arm, which the loose sleeves displayed, contrasted strongly with the browned and sun-burned complexion of herhands. 

After breakfast they again walked together on the beach, and Ralph, having once formed his resolution, now talked freely of the NewWorld--of his sphere of activity there; of his friends and of his plansfor the future; and she listened to him with a mild, perplexed look inher eyes, as if trying vainly to follow the flight of his thoughts. Andhe wondered, with secret dismay, whether she was still the same strong, brave-hearted girl whom he had once accounted almost bold; whether thelife in this narrow valley, amid a hundred petty and depressing cares, had not cramped her spiritual growth, and narrowed the sphere of herthought. Or was she still the same, and was it only he who had changed?At last he gave utterance to his wonder, and she answered him in thosegrave, earnest tones which seemed in themselves to be half a refutationof his doubts. 

"It was easy for me to give you daring advice, then, Ralph, " she said. "Like most school-girls, I thought that life was a great and gloriousthing, and that happiness was a fruit which hung within reach of everyhand. Now I have lived for six years trying single-handed to relieve thewant and suffering of the needy people with whom I come in contact, and their squalor and wretchedness have sickened me, and, what is stillworse, I feel that all I can do is as a drop in the ocean, and afterall, amounts to nothing. I know I am no longer the same reckless girl, who, with the very best intention, sent you wandering through the wideworld; and I thank God that it proved to be for your good, although thewhole now appears quite incredible to me. My thoughts have moved so longwithin the narrow circle of these mountains that they have lost theiryouthful elasticity, and can no more rise above them. "

Ralph detected, in the midst of her despondency, a spark of her formerfire, and grew eloquent in his endeavors to persuade her that she wasunjust to herself, and that there was but a wider sphere of life neededto develop all the latent powers of her rich nature. 

At the dinner-table, her father again sat eyeing his guest with thatsame cold look of distrust and suspicion. And when the meal was atan end, he rose abruptly and called his daughter into another room. Presently Ralph heard his angry voice resounding through the house, interrupted now and then by a woman's sobs, and a subdued, passionatepleading. When Bertha again entered the room, her eyes were veryred, and he saw that she had been weeping. She threw a shawl over hershoulders, beckoned to him with her hand, and he arose and followed her. She led the way silently until they reached a thick copse of birch andalder near the strand. She dropped down upon a bench between two trees, and he took his seat at her side. 

"Ralph, " began she, with a visible effort, "I hardly know what to say toyou; but there is something which I must tell you--my father wishes youto leave us at once. "

"And YOU, Bertha?"

"Well--yes--I wish it too. "

She saw the painful shock which her words gave him, and she strove hardto speak. Her lips trembled, her eyes became suffused with tears, whichgrew and grew, but never fell; she could not utter a word. 

"Well, Bertha, " answered he, with a little quiver in his voice, "if you, too, wish me to go, I shall not tarry. Good-bye. "

He rose quickly, and, with averted face, held out his hand to her; butas she made no motion to grasp the hand, he began distractedly to buttonhis coat, and moved slowly away. 

"Ralph. "

He turned sharply, and, before he knew it, she lay sobbing upon hisbreast. 

"Ralph, " she murmured, while the tears almost choked her words, "I couldnot have you leave me thus. It is hard enough--it is hard enough--"

"What is hard, beloved?"

She raised her head abruptly, and turned upon him a gaze full of hopeand doubt, and sweet perplexity. 

"Ah, no, you do not love me, " she whispered, sadly. 

"Why should I come to seek you, after these many years, dearest, if Idid not wish to make you my wife before God and men? Why should I--"

"Ah, yes, I know, " she interrupted him with a fresh fit of weeping, "youare too good and honest to wish to throw me away, now when you have seenhow my soul has hungered for the sight of you these many years, how evennow I cling to you with a despairing clutch. But you cannot disguiseyourself, Ralph, and I saw from the first moment that you loved me nomore. "

"Do not be such an unreasonable child, " he remonstrated, feebly. "I donot love you with the wild, irrational passion of former years; but Ihave the tenderest regard for you, and my heart warms at the sight ofyour sweet face, and I shall do all in my power to make you as happy asany man can make you who--"

"Who does not love me, " she finished. 

A sudden shudder seemed to shake her whole frame, and she drew herselfmore tightly up to him. 

"Ah, no, " she continued, after a while, sinking back upon her seat. "It is a hopeless thing to compel a reluctant heart. I will accept nosacrifice from you. You owe me nothing, for you have acted toward mehonestly and uprightly, and I shall be a stronger, or--at least--abetter woman for what you gave me--and--for what you could not give me, even though you would. "

"But, Bertha, " exclaimed he, looking mournfully at her, "it is not truewhen you say that I owe you nothing. Six years ago, when first I wooedyou, you could not return my love, and you sent me out into the world, and even refused to accept any pledge or promise for the future. "

"And you returned, " she responded, "a man, such as my hope had picturedyou; but, while I had almost been standing still, you had outgrown me, and outgrown your old self, and, with your old self, outgrown its lovefor me, for your love was not of your new self, but of the old. Alas! itis a sad tale, but it is true. "

She spoke gravely now, and with a steadier voice, but her eyes hung uponhis face with an eager look of expectation, as if yearning to detectthere some gleam of hope, some contradiction of the dismal truth. Heread that look aright, and it pierced him like a sharp sword. He made abrave effort to respond to its appeal, but his features seemed hard asstone, and he could only cry out against his destiny, and bewail hismisfortune and hers. 

Toward evening, Ralph was sitting in an open boat, listening to themeasured oar-strokes of the boatmen who were rowing him out to thenearest stopping-place of the steamer. The mountains lifted their greatplacid heads up among the sun-bathed clouds, and the fjord opened itscool depths as if to make room for their vast reflections. Ralph felt asif he were floating in the midst of the blue infinite space, and, withthe strength which this feeling inspired, he tried to face boldly thethought from which he had but a moment ago shrunk as from somethinghopelessly sad and perplexing. 

And in that hour he looked fearlessly into the gulf which separates theNew World from the Old. He had hoped to bridge it; but, alas! it cannotbe bridged. 

A SCIENTIFIC VAGABOND. 

I. 

THE steamer which as far back as 1860 passed every week on its northwardway up along the coast of Norway, was of a very sociable turn of mind. It ran with much shrieking and needless bluster in and out the calm, winding fjords, paid unceremonious little visits in every out-of-the-waynook and bay, dropped now and then a black heap of coal into theshining water, and sent thick volleys of smoke and shrill little echoescareering aimlessly among the mountains. It seemed, on the whole, froman aesthetic point of view, an objectionable phenomenon--a blot upon theperfect summer day. By the inhabitants, however, of these remote regions(with the exception of a few obstinate individuals, who had at firstlooked upon it as the sure herald of dooms-day, and still were vaguelywondering what the world was coming to, ) it was regarded in a verydifferent light. This choleric little monster was to them a friendlyand welcome visitor, which established their connection with the outsideworld, and gave them a proud consciousness of living in the very heartof civilization. Therefore, on steamboat days they flocked en massedown on the piers, and, with an ever-fresh sense of novelty, greeted theapproaching boat with lively cheers, with firing of muskets and wavingof handkerchiefs. The men of condition, as the judge, the sheriff, andthe parson, whose dignity forbade them to receive the steamer in person, contented themselves with watching it through an opera-glass from theirbalconies; and if a high official was known to be on board, they perhapsdisplayed the national banner from their flag-poles, as a delicatecompliment to their superior. 

But the Rev. Mr. Oddson, the parson of whom I have to speak, had thisday yielded to the gentle urgings of his daughters (as, indeed, healways did), and had with them boarded the steamer to receive hisnephew, Arnfinn Vording, who was returning from the university forhis summer vacation. And now they had him between them in their prettywhite-painted parsonage boat, with the blue line along the gunwale, beleaguering him with eager questions about friends and relatives inthe capital, chums, university sports, and a medley of other thingsinteresting to young ladies who have a collegian for a cousin. His unclewas charitable enough to check his own curiosity about the nephew'sprogress in the arts and sciences, and the result of his recentexaminations, till he should have become fairly settled under his roof;and Arnfinn, who, in spite of his natural brightness and ready humor, was anything but a "dig, " was grateful for the respite. 

The parsonage lay snugly nestled at the end of the bay, shiningcontentedly through the green foliage from a multitude of smallsun-smitten windows. Its pinkish whitewash, which was peeling off fromlong exposure to the weather, was in cheerful contrast to the broadblack surface of the roof, with its glazed tiles, and the starlings'nests under the chimney-tops. The thick-leaved maples and walnut-treeswhich grew in random clusters about the walls seemed loftily consciousof standing there for purposes of protection; for, wherever theirlong-fingered branches happened to graze the roof, it was always with atouch, light, graceful, and airily caressing. The irregularly paved yardwas inclosed on two sides by the main building, and on the third bya species of log cabin, which, in Norway, is called a brew-house; buttoward the west the view was but slightly obscured by an elevatedpigeon cot and a clump of birches, through whose sparse leaves thefjord beneath sent its rapid jets and gleams of light, and its strangesuggestions of distance, peace and unaccountable gladness. 

Arnfinn Vording's career had presented that subtle combination of farceand tragedy which most human lives are apt to be; and if the tragicelement had during his early years been preponderating, he was hardlyhimself aware of it; for he had been too young at the death of hisparents to feel that keenness of grief which the same privation wouldhave given him at a later period of his life. It might have beenhumiliating to confess it, but it was nevertheless true that the terrorhe had once sustained on being pursued by a furious bull was much morevivid in his memory than the vague wonder and depression which hadfilled his mind at seeing his mother so suddenly stricken with age, asshe lay motionless in her white robes in the front parlor. Since thenhis uncle, who was his guardian and nearest relative, had taken him intohis family, had instructed him with his own daughters, and finally senthim to the University, leaving the little fortune which he hadinherited to accumulate for future use. Arnfinn had a painfully distinctrecollection of his early hardships in trying to acquire that softpronunciation of the r which is peculiar to the western fjord districtsof Norway, and which he admired so much in his cousins; for themerry-eyed Inga, who was less scrupulous by a good deal than her oldersister, Augusta, had from the beginning persisted in interpreting theirrelation of cousinship as an unbounded privilege on her part to ridiculehim for his personal peculiarities, and especially for his harsh r andhis broad eastern accent. Her ridicule was always very good-natured, tobe sure, but therefore no less annoying. 

But--such is the perverseness of human nature--in spite of a seriesof apparent rebuffs, interrupted now and then by fits of violentattachment, Arnfinn had early selected this dimpled and yellow-hairedyoung girl, with her piquant little nose, for his favorite cousin. It was the prospect of seeing her which, above all else, had lent, in anticipation, an altogether new radiance to the day when he shouldpresent himself in his home with the long-tasseled student cap onhis head, the unnecessary "pinchers" on his nose, and with the othertraditional paraphernalia of the Norwegian student. That great day hadnow come; Arnfinn sat at Inga's side playing with her white fingers, which lay resting on his knee, and covering the depth of his feelingwith harmless banter about her "amusingly unclassical little nose. "He had once detected her, when a child, standing before a mirror, andpinching this unhappy feature in the middle, in the hope of makingit "like Augusta's;" and since then he had no longer felt so utterlydefenseless whenever his own foibles were attacked. 

"But what of your friend, Arnfinn?" exclaimed Inga, as she ran up thestairs of the pier. "He of whom you have written so much. I have beenbusy all the morning making the blue guest-chamber ready for him. "

"Please, cousin, " answered the student, in a tone of mock entreaty, "only an hour's respite! If we are to talk about Strand we must make aday of it, you know. And just now it seems so grand to be at home, andwith you, that I would rather not admit even so genial a subject asStrand to share my selfish happiness. "

"Ah, yes, you are right. Happiness is too often selfish. But tell meonly why he didn't come and I'll release you. "

"He IS coming. "

"Ah! And when?"

"That I don't know. He preferred to take the journey on foot, and hemay be here at almost any time. But, as I have told you, he is veryuncertain. If he should happen to make the acquaintance of someinteresting snipe, or crane, or plover, he may prefer its company toours, and then there is no counting on him any longer. He may be aslikely to turn up at the North Pole as at the Gran Parsonage. "

"How very singular. You don't know how curious I am to see him. "

And Inga walked on in silence under the sunny birches which grew alongthe road, trying vainly to picture to herself this strange phenomenon ofa man. 

"I brought his book, " remarked Arnfinn, making a gigantic effort to begenerous, for he felt dim stirrings of jealousy within him. "If you careto read it, I think it will explain him to you better than anything Icould say. "

II. 

The Oddsons were certainly a happy family though not by any means aharmonious one. The excellent pastor, who was himself neutrally good, orthodox, and kind-hearted, had often, in the privacy of his ownthought, wondered what hidden ancestral influences there might havebeen at work in giving a man so peaceable and inoffensive as himself twodaughters of such strongly defined individuality. There was Augusta, theelder, who was what Arnfinn called "indiscriminately reformatory, " andhad a universal desire to improve everything, from the Government downto agricultural implements and preserve jars. As long as she was contentto expend the surplus energy, which seemed to accumulate within herthrough the long eventless winters, upon the Zulu Mission, and otherlegitimate objects, the pastor thought it all harmless enough; although, to be sure, her enthusiasm for those naked and howling savages did attimes strike him as being somewhat extravagant. But when occasionally, in her own innocent way, she put both his patience and his orthodoxy tothe test by her exceedingly puzzling questions, then he could not, inthe depth of his heart, restrain the wish that she might have been morelike other young girls, and less ardently solicitous about the fate ofher kind. Affectionate and indulgent, however, as the pastor was, he would often, in the next moment, do penance for his unregeneratethought, and thank God for having made her so fair to behold, so pure, and so noble-hearted. 

Toward Arnfinn, Augusta had, although of his own age, early assumed akind of elder-sisterly relation; she had been his comforter during allthe trials of his boyhood; had yielded him her sympathy with that eagerimpulse which lay so deep in her nature, and had felt forlorn when lifehad called him away to where her words of comfort could not reach him. But when once she had hinted this to her father, he had pedanticallyconvinced her that her feeling was unchristian, and Inga had playfullyremarked that the hope that some one might soon find the open Polar Seawould go far toward consoling her for her loss; for Augusta had gloriousvisions at that time of the open Polar Sea. Now, the Polar Sea, andmany other things, far nearer and dearer, had been forced into uneasyforgetfulness; and Arnfinn was once more with her, no longer a child, and no longer appealing to her for aid and sympathy; man enough, apparently, to have outgrown his boyish needs and still boy enough to beashamed of having ever had them. 

It was the third Sunday after Arnfinn's return. He and Augusta wereclimbing the hillside to the "Giant's Hood, " from whence they had a wideview of the fjord, and could see the sun trailing its long bridge offlame upon the water. It was Inga's week in the kitchen, therefore hersister was Arnfinn's companion. As they reached the crest of the "Hood, "Augusta seated herself on a flat bowlder, and the young student flunghimself on a patch of greensward at her feet. The intense light of thelate sun fell upon the girl's unconscious face, and Arnfinn lay, gazingup into it, and wondering at its rare beauty; but he saw only the cleancut of its features and the purity of its form, being too shallow torecognize the strong and heroic soul which had struggled so longfor utterance in the life of which he had been a blind and unmindfulwitness. 

"Gracious, how beautiful you are, cousin!" he broke forth, heedlessly, striking his leg with his slender cane; "pity you were not born a queen;you would be equal to almost anything, even if it were to discover thePolar Sea. "

"I thought you were looking at the sun, Arnfinn, " answered she, smilingreluctantly. 

"And so I am, cousin, " laughed he, with an other-emphatic slap of hisboot. 

"That compliment is rather stale. "

"But the opportunity was too tempting. "

"Never mind, I will excuse you from further efforts. Turn around andnotice that wonderful purple halo which is hovering over the forestsbelow. Isn't it glorious?"

"No, don't let us be solemn, pray. The sun I have seen a thousandtimes before, but you I have seen very seldom of late. Somehow, sinceI returned this time, you seem to keep me at a distance. You no longerconfide to me your great plans for the abolishment of war, and theimprovement of mankind generally. Why don't you tell me whether youhave as yet succeeded in convincing the peasants that cleanliness isa cardinal virtue, that hawthorn hedges are more picturesque than railfences, and that salt meat is a very indigestible article?"

"You know the fate of my reforms, from long experience, " she answered, with the same sad, sweet smile. "I am afraid there must be some thingradically wrong about my methods; and, moreover, I know that youraspirations and mine are no longer the same, if they ever have been, andI am not ungenerous enough to force you to feign an interest which youdo not feel. "

"Yes, I know you think me flippant and boyish, " retorted he, with suddenenergy, and tossing a stone down into the gulf below. "But, by the way, my friend Strand, if he ever comes, would be just the man for you. He has quite as many hobbies as you have, and, what is more, he has aprofound respect for hobbies in general, and is universally charitabletoward those of others. "

"Your friend is a great man, " said the girl, earnestly. "I have read hisbook on `The Wading Birds of the Norwegian Highlands, ' and none but agreat man could have written it. "

"He is an odd stick, but, for all that, a capital fellow; and I have nodoubt you would get on admirably with him. "

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of thepastor's man, Hans, who came to tell the "young miss" that there wasa big tramp hovering about the barns in the "out-fields, " where hehad been sleeping during the last three nights. He was a dangerouscharacter, Hans thought, at least judging from his looks, and it washardly safe for the young miss to be roaming about the fields at nightas long as he was in the neighborhood. 

"Why don't you speak to the pastor, and have him arrested?" saidArnfinn, impatient of Hans's long-winded recital. 

"No, no, say nothing to father, " demanded Augusta, eagerly. "Why shouldyou arrest a poor man as long as he does nothing worse than sleep in thebarns in the out-fields?"

"As you say, miss, " retorted Hans, and departed. 

The moon came up pale and mist-like over the eastern mountain ridges, struggled for a few brief moments feebly with the sunlight, and thenvanished. 

"It is strange, " said Arnfinn, "how everything reminds me of Strandto-night. What gloriously absurd apostrophes to the moon he could make!I have not told you, cousin, of a very singular gift which he possesses. He can attract all kinds of birds and wild animals to himself; he canimitate their voices, and they flock around him, as if he were one ofthem, without fear of harm. "

"How delightful, " cried Augusta, with sudden animation. "What a gloriousman your friend must be!"

"Because the snipes and the wild ducks like him? You seem to havegreater confidence in their judgment than in mine. "

"Of course I have--at least as long as you persist in joking. But, jesting aside, what a wondrously beautiful life he must lead whomNature takes thus into her confidence; who has, as it were, an inner andsubtler sense, corresponding to each grosser and external one; who iskeen-sighted enough to read the character of every individual beast, andhas ears sensitive to the full pathos of joy or sorrow in the song ofthe birds that inhabit our woodlands. "

"Whether he has any such second set of senses as you speak of, Idon't know; but there can be no doubt that his familiarity, not tosay intimacy, with birds and beasts gives him a great advantage as anaturalist. I suppose you know that his little book has been translatedinto French, and rewarded with the gold medal of the Academy. "

"Hush! What is that?" Augusta sprang up, and held her hand to her ear. 

"Some love-lorn mountain-cock playing yonder in the pine copse, "suggested Arnfinn, amused at his cousin's eagerness. 

"You silly boy! Don't you know the mountain-cock never plays except atsunrise?"

"He would have a sorry time of it now, then, when there IS no sunrise. "

"And so he has; he does not play except in early spring. "

The noise, at first faint, now grew louder. It began with a series ofmellow, plaintive clucks that followed thickly one upon another, likesmooth pearls of sound that rolled through the throat in a continuouscurrent; then came a few sharp notes as of a large bird that snaps hisbill; then a long, half-melodious rumbling, intermingled with cacklingsand snaps, and at last, a sort of diminuendo movement of the same round, pearly clucks. There was a whizzing of wing-beats in the air; two largebirds swept over their heads and struck down into the copse whence thesound had issued. 

"This is indeed a most singular thing, " said Augusta, under her breath, and with wide-eyed wonder. "Let us go nearer, and see what it can be. "

"I am sure I can go if you can, " responded Arnfinn, not any too eagerly. "Give me your hand, and we can climb the better. "

As they approached the pine copse, which projected like a promontoryfrom the line of the denser forest, the noise ceased, and only theplaintive whistling of a mountain-hen, calling her scattered youngtogether, and now and then the shrill response of a snipe to the cry ofits lonely mate, fell upon the summer night, not as an interruption, butas an outgrowth of the very silence. Augusta stole with soundless treadthrough the transparent gloom which lingered under those huge blackcrowns, and Arnfinn followed impatiently after. Suddenly she motioned tohim to stand still, and herself bent forward in an attitude of surpriseand eager observation. On the ground, some fifty steps from where shewas stationed, she saw a man stretched out full length, with a knapsackunder his head, and surrounded by a flock of downy, half-grown birds, which responded with a low, anxious piping to his alluring cluck, thenscattered with sudden alarm, only to return again in the same curious, cautious fashion as before. Now and then there was a great flapping ofwings in the trees overhead, and a heavy brown and black speckledmountain-hen alighted close to the man's head, stretched out her necktoward him, cocked her head, called her scattered brood together, anddeparted with slow and deliberate wing-beats. 

Again there was a frightened flutter overhead, a shrill anxious whistlerose in the air, and all was silence. Augusta had stepped on a drybranch--it had broken under her weight--hence the sudden confusion andflight. The unknown man had sprung up, and his eye, after a moment'ssearch, had found the dark, beautiful face peering forth behind the redfir-trunk. He did not speak or salute her; he greeted her with silentjoy, as one greets a wondrous vision which is too frail and bright forconsciousness to grasp, which is lost the very instant one is consciousof seeing. But, while to the girl the sight, as it were, hung tremblingin the range of mere physical perception, while its suddenness held italoof from moral reflection, there came a great shout from behind, andArnfinn, whom in her surprise she had quite forgotten, came boundingforward, grasping the stranger by the hand with much vigor, laughing heartily, and pouring forth a confused stream of delightedinterjections, borrowed from all manner of classical and unclassicaltongues. 

"Strand! Strand!" he cried, when the first tumult of excitement hadsubsided; "you most marvelous and incomprehensible Strand! Fromwhat region of heaven or earth did you jump down into our prosaicneighborhood? And what in the world possessed you to choose our barnsas the centre of your operations, and nearly put me to the necessity ofhaving you arrested for vagrancy? How I do regret that Cousin Augusta'sentreaties mollified my heart toward you. Pardon me, I have notintroduced you. This is my cousin, Miss Oddson, and this is mymiraculous friend, the world-renowned author, vagrant, and naturalist, Mr. Marcus Strand. "

Strand stepped forward, made a deep but somewhat awkward bow, and wasdimly aware that a small soft hand was extended to him, and, in the nextmoment, was enclosed in his own broad and voluminous palm. He grasped itfirmly, and, in one of those profound abstractions into which he wasapt to fall when under the sway of a strong impression, pressed it withincreasing cordiality, while he endeavored to find fitting answers toArnfinn's multifarious questions. 

"To tell the truth, Vording, " he said, in a deep, full-ringing bass, "I didn't know that these were your cousin's barns--I mean that youruncle"--giving the unhappy hand an emphatic shake--"inhabited thesebarns. "

"No, thank heaven, we are not quite reduced to that, " cried Arnfinn, gayly; "we still boast a parsonage, as you will presently discover, and a very bright and cozy one, to boot. But, whatever you do, have thegoodness to release Augusta's hand. Don't you see how desperately she isstruggling, poor thing?"

Strand dropped the hand as if it had been a hot coal, blushed to theedge of his hair, and made another profound reverence. He was a tall, huge-limbed youth, with a frame of gigantic mold, and a large, blonde, shaggy head, like that of some good-natured antediluvian animal, whichmight feel the disadvantages of its size amid the puny beings of thislater stage of creation. There was a frank directness in his gaze, andan unconsciousness of self, which made him very winning, and which couldnot fail of its effect upon a girl who, like Augusta, was fond of theuncommon, and hated smooth, facile and well-tailored young men, withthe labels of society and fashion upon their coats, their mustaches, and their speech. And Strand, with his large sun-burned face, hiswild-growing beard, blue woolen shirt, top boots, and unkempt appearancegenerally, was a sufficiently startling phenomenon to satisfy even soexacting a fancy as hers; for, after reading his book about theWading Birds, she had made up her mind that he must have few points ofresemblance to the men who had hitherto formed part of her own smallworld, although she had not until now decided just in what way he was todiffer. 

"Suppose I help you carry your knapsack, " said Arnfinn, who was flittingabout like a small nimble spaniel trying to make friends with somelarge, good-natured Newfoundland. "You must be very tired, having roamedabout in this Quixotic fashion!"

"No, I thank you, " responded Strand, with an incredulous laugh, glancingalternately from Arnfinn to the knapsack, as if estimating theirproportionate weight. "I am afraid you would rue your bargain if Iaccepted it. "

"I suppose you have a great many stuffed birds at home, " remarked thegirl, looking with self-forgetful admiration at the large brawny figure. 

"No, I have hardly any, " answered he, seating himself on the ground, and pulling a thick note-book from his pocket. "I prefer live creatures. Their anatomical and physiological peculiarities have been studiedby others, and volumes have been written about them. It is theirpsychological traits, ii you will allow the expression, which interestme, and those I can only get at while they are alive. "

"How delightful!"

Some minutes later they were all on their way to the Parsonage. The sun, in spite of its mid-summer wakefulness, was getting red-eyed and drowsy, and the purple mists which hung in scattered fragments upon the forestbelow had lost something of their deep-tinged brilliancy. But Augusta, quite blind to the weakened light effects, looked out upon the broadlandscape in ecstasy, and, appealing to her more apathetic companions, invited them to share her joy at the beauty of the faint-flushed summernight. 

"You are getting quite dithyrambic, my dear, " remarked Arnfinn, withan air of cousinly superiority, which he felt was eminently becoming tohim; and Augusta looked up with quick surprise, then smiled in an absentway, and forgot what she had been saying. She had no suspicion but thather enthusiasm had been all for the sunset. 

III. 

In a life so outwardly barren and monotonous as Augusta's--a life inwhich the small external events were so firmly interwoven with thesubtler threads of yearnings, wants, and desires--the introduction ofso large and novel a fact as Marcus Strand would naturally produce someperceptible result. It was that deplorable inward restlessness of hers, she reasoned, which had hitherto made her existence seem so empty andunsatisfactory; but now his presence filled the hours, and the newnessof his words, his manner, and his whole person afforded inexhaustiblematerial for thought. It was now a week since his arrival, and whileArnfinn and Inga chatted at leisure, drew caricatures, or read aloud toeach other in some shady nook of the garden, she and Strand would roamalong the beach, filling the vast unclouded horizon with largeglowing images of the future of the human race. He always listenedin sympathetic silence while she unfolded to him her often childishlydaring schemes for the amelioration of suffering and the righting ofsocial wrongs; and when she had finished, and he met the earnest appealof her dark eye, there would often be a pause, during which each, witha half unconscious lapse from the impersonal, would feel more keenly thejoy of this new and delicious mental companionship. And when at lengthhe answered, sometimes gently refuting and sometimes assenting to herproposition, it was always with a slow, deliberate earnestness, as ifhe felt but her deep sincerity, and forgot for the moment her sex, heryouth, and her inexperience. It was just this kind of fellowship forwhich she had hungered so long, and her heart went out with a greatgratitude toward this strong and generous man, who was willing torecognize her humanity, and to respond with an ever-ready frankness, unmixed with petty suspicions and second thoughts, to the eager needs ofher half-starved nature. It is quite characteristic, too, of the type ofwomanhood which Augusta represents (and with which this broad continentof ours abounds), that, with her habitual disregard of appearances, shewould have scorned the notion that their intercourse had any ultimateend beyond that of mutual pleasure and instruction. 

It was early in the morning in the third week of Strand's stay atthe Parsonage. A heavy dew had fallen during the night, and each tinygrass-blade glistened in the sun, bending under the weight of its liquiddiamond. The birds were improvising a miniature symphony in thebirches at the end of the garden; the song-thrush warbled with a sweetmelancholy his long-drawn contralto notes; the lark, like a prima donna, hovering conspicuously in mid air, poured forth her joyous soprano solo;and the robin, quite unmindful of the tempo, filled out the pauses withhis thoughtless staccato chirp. Augusta, who was herself the early birdof the pastor's family, had paid a visit to the little bath-housedown at the brook, and was now hurrying homeward, her heavy black hairconfined in a delicate muslin hood, and her lithe form hastily wrappedin a loose morning gown. She had paused for a moment under the birchesto listen to the song of the lark, when suddenly a low, half articulatesound, very unlike the voice of a bird, arrested her attention; sheraised her eyes, and saw Strand sitting in the top of a tree, apparentlyconversing with himself, or with some tiny thing which he held in hishands. 

"Ah, yes, you poor little sickly thing!" she heard him mutter. "Don'tyou make such an ado now. You shall soon be quite well, if you will onlymind what I tell you. Stop, stop! Take it easy. It is all for your owngood, you know. If you had only been prudent, and not stepped on yourlame leg, you might have been spared this affliction. But, after all, itwas not your fault--it was that foolish little mother of yours. She willremember now that a skein of hemp thread is not the thing to line hernest with. If she doesn't, you may tell her that it was I who said so. "

Augusta stood gazing on in mute astonishment; then, suddenly rememberingher hasty toilet, she started to run; but, as chance would have it, adry branch, which hung rather low, caught at her hood, and her hair fellin a black wavy stream down over her shoulders. She gave a littlecry, the tree shook violently, and Strand was at her side. She blushedcrimson over neck and face, and, in her utter bewilderment, stood like aculprit before him, unable to move, unable to speak, and only returningwith a silent bow his cordial greeting. It seemed to her that she hadungenerously intruded upon his privacy, watching him, while he thoughthimself unobserved. And Augusta was quite unskilled in those socialaccomplishments which enable young ladies to hide their inward emotionsunder a show of polite indifference, for, however hard she strove, she could not suppress a slight quivering of her lips, and her intenseself-reproach made Strand's words fall dimly on her ears, and preventedher from gathering the meaning of what he was saying. He held in hishands a young bird with a yellow line along the edge of its bill (andthere was something beautifully soft and tender in the way those largepalms of his handled any living thing), and he looked pityingly at itwhile he spoke. 

"The mother of this little linnet, " he said, smiling, "did whatmany foolish young mothers are apt to do. She took upon her theresponsibility of raising offspring without having acquired thenecessary knowledge of housekeeping. So she lined her nest with hemp, and the consequence was, that her first-born got his legs entangled, andwas obliged to remain in the nest long after his wings had reached theirfull development. I saw her feeding him about a week ago, and, as mycuriosity prompted me to look into the case, I released the littlecripple, cleansed the deep wound which the threads had cut in his flesh, and have since been watching him during his convalescence. Now he isquite in a fair way, but I had to apply some salve, and to cut off thefeathers about the wound, and the little fool squirmed under the pain, and grew rebellious. Only notice this scar, if you please, Miss Oddson, and you may imagine what the poor thing must have suffered. "

Augusta gave a start; she timidly raised her eyes, and saw Strand'sgrave gaze fixed upon her. She felt as if some intolerable spell hadcome over her, and, as her agitation increased, her power of speechseemed utterly to desert her. 

"Ah, you have not been listening to me?" said Strand, in a tone ofwondering inquiry. "Pardon me for presuming to believe that my littleinvalid could be as interesting to you as he is to me. "

"Mr. Strand, " stammered the girl, while the invisible tears came nearchoking her voice. "Mr. Strand--I didn't mean--really--"

She knew that if she said another word she should burst into tears. Witha violent effort, she gathered up her wrapper, which somehow had gotunbuttoned at the neck, and, with heedlessly hurrying steps, darted awaytoward the house. 

Strand stood looking after her, quite unmindful of his featheredpatient, which flew chirping about him in the grass. Two hours laterArnfinn found him sitting under the birches with his hands claspedover the top of his head, and his surgical instruments scattered on theground around him. 

"Corpo di Baccho, " exclaimed the student, stooping to pick up theprecious tools; "have you been amputating your own head, or is it I whoam dreaming?"

"Ah, " murmured Strand, lifting a large, strange gaze upon his friend, "is it you?"

"Who else should it be? I come to call you to breakfast. "

IV. 

"I wonder what is up between Strand and Augusta?" said Arnfinn to hiscousin Inga. The questioner was lying in the grass at her feet, restinghis chin on his palms, and gazing with roguishly tender eyes up intoher fresh, blooming face; but Inga, who was reading aloud from "DavidCopperfield, " and was deep in the matrimonial tribulations of that noblehero, only said "hush, " and continued reading. Arnfinn, after a minute'ssilence, repeated his remark, whereupon his fair cousin wrenched hiscane out of his hand, and held it threateningly over his head. 

"Will you be a good boy and listen?" she exclaimed, playfullyemphasizing each word with a light rap on his curly pate. 

"Ouch! that hurts, " cried Arnfinn, and dodged. 

"It was meant to hurt, " replied Inga, with mock severity, and returnedto "Copperfield. "

Presently the seed of a corn-flower struck the tip of her nose, andagain the cane was lifted; but Dora's housekeeping experiences weretoo absorbingly interesting, and the blue eyes could not resist theirfascination. 

"Cousin Inga, " said Arnfinn, and this time with as near an approachto earnestness as he was capable of at that moment, "I do believe thatStrand is in love with Augusta. "

Inga dropped the book, and sent him what was meant to be a glance ofsevere rebuke, and then said, in her own amusingly emphatic way:

"I do wish you wouldn't joke with such things, Arnfinn. "

"Joke! Indeed I am not joking. I wish to heaven that I were. What a pityit is that she has taken such a dislike to him!"

"Dislike! Oh, you are a profound philosopher, you are! You think thatbecause she avoids--"

Here Inga abruptly clapped her hand over her mouth, and, with suddenchange of voice and expression, said:

"I am as silent as the grave. "

"Yes, you are wonderfully discreet, " cried Arnfinn, laughing, while thegirl bit her under lip with an air of penitence and mortification which, in any other bosom than a cousin's would have aroused compassion. 

"Aha! So steht's!" he broke forth, with another burst of merriment;then, softened by the sight of a tear that was slowly gathering beneathher eyelashes, he checked his laughter, crept up to her side, and in ahalf childishly coaxing, half caressing tone, he whispered:

"Dear little cousin, indeed I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You arenot angry with me, are you? And if you will only promise me not to tell, I have something here which I should like to show you. "

He well knew that there was nothing which would sooner soothe Inga'swrath than confiding a secret to her; and while he was a boy, he had, in cases of sore need, invented secrets lest his life should be mademiserable by the sense that she was displeased with him. In thisinstance her anger was not strong enough to resist the anticipation ofa secret, probably relating to that little drama which had, duringthe last weeks, been in progress under her very eyes. With a resolutemovement, she brushed her tears away, bent eagerly forward, and, in thenext moment, her face was all expectancy and animation. 

Arnfinn pulled a thick black note-book from his breast pocket, opened itin his lap, and read:

"August 3, 5 A. M. --My little invalid is doing finely; he seemed torelish much a few dozen flies which I brought him in my hand. His pulseis to-day, for the first time, normal. He is beginning to step on theinjured leg without apparent pain. 

"10 A. M. --Miss Augusta's eyes have a strange, lustrous brilliancywhenever she speaks of subjects which seem to agitate the depths ofher being. How and why is it that an excessive amount of feeling alwaysfinds its first expression in the eye? One kind of emotion seems towiden the pupil, another kind to contract it. TO be noticed in future, how particular emotions affect the eye. 

"6 P. M. --I met a plover on the beach this afternoon. By imitating hiscry, I induced him to come within a few feet of me. The plover, ashis cry indicates, is a very melancholy bird. In fact I believe themelancholy temperament to be prevailing among the wading birds, asthe phlegmatic among birds of prey. The singing birds are cholericor sanguine. Tease a thrush, or even a lark, and you will soon beconvinced. A snipe, or plover, as far as my experience goes, seldomshows anger; you cannot tease them. To be considered, how far the voiceof a bird may be indicative of its temperament. 

"August 5, 9 P. M. --Since the unfortunate meeting yesterday morning, when my intense pre-occupation with my linnet, which had torn its woundopen again, probably made me commit some breach of etiquette, MissAugusta avoids me. 

"August 7--I am in a most singular state. My pulse beats 85, which isa most unheard-of thing for me, as my pulse is naturally full and slow. And, strangely enough, I do not feel at all unwell. On the contrary, myphysical well-being is rather heightened than otherwise. The life of awhole week is crowded into a day, and that of a day into an hour. "

Inga, who, at several points of this narrative, had been struggling hardto preserve her gravity, here burst into a ringing laugh. 

"That is what I call scientific love-making, " said Arnfinn, looking upfrom the book with an expression of subdued amusement. 

"But Arnfinn, " cried the girl, while the laughter quickly died out ofher face, "does Mr. Strand know that you are reading this?"

"To be sure he does. And that is just what to my mind makes thesituation so excessively comical. He has himself no suspicion that thisbook contains anything but scientific notes. He appears to prefer theempiric method in love as in philosophy. I verily believe that he isinnocently experimenting with himself, with a view to making some greatphysiological discovery. "

"And so he will, perhaps, " rejoined the girl, the mixture of gayety andgrave solicitude making her face, as her cousin thought, particularlycharming. 

"Only not a physiological, but possibly a psychological one, " remarkedArnfinn. "But listen to this. Here is something rich:

"August 9--Miss Augusta once said something about the possibility ofanimals being immortal. Her eyes shone with a beautiful animation as shespoke. I am longing to continue the subject with her. It haunts methe whole day long. There may be more in the idea than appears to asuperficial observer. "

"Oh, how charmingly he understands how to deceive himself, " cried Inga. 

"Merely a quid pro quo, " said Arnfinn. 

"I know what I shall do!"

"And so do I. "

"Won't you tell me, please?"

"No. "

"Then I sha'n't tell you either. "

And they flew apart like two thoughtless little birds ("sanguine, " asStrand would have called them), each to ponder on some formidable plotfor the reconciliation of the estranged lovers. 

V. 

During the week that ensued, the multifarious sub-currents of Strand'spassion seemed slowly to gather themselves into one clearly definedstream, and, after much scientific speculation, he came to theconclusion that he loved Augusta. In a moment of extreme discouragement, he made a clean breast of it to Arnfinn, at the same time informing himthat he had packed his knapsack, and would start on his wanderings againthe next morning. All his friend's entreaties were in vain; he would andmust go. Strand was an exasperatingly headstrong fellow, and persuasionsnever prevailed with him. He had confirmed himself in the belief that hewas very unattractive to women, and that Augusta, of all women, forsome reason which was not quite clear to him, hated and abhorred him. Inexperienced as he was, he could see no reason why she should avoidhim, if she did not hate him. They sat talking until midnight, eachentangling himself in those passionate paradoxes and contradictionspeculiar to passionate and impulsive youth. Strand paced the floor withlarge steps, pouring out his long pent-up emotion in violent tiradesof self-accusation and regret; while Arnfinn sat on the bed, trying tosoothe his excitement by assuring him that he was not such a monster as, for the moment, he had believed himself to be, but only succeeding, in spite of all his efforts, in pouring oil on the flames. Strandwas scientifically convinced that Nature, in accordance with someinscrutable law of equilibrium, had found it necessary to make himphysically unattractive, perhaps to indemnify mankind for that excess ofintellectual gifts which, at the expense of the race at large, she hadbestowed upon him. 

Early the next morning, as a kind of etherealized sunshine brokethrough the white muslin curtains of Arnfinn's room, and long streaksof sun-illumined dust stole through the air toward the sleeper's pillow, there was a sharp rap at the door, and Strand entered. His knapsack wasstrapped over his shoulders, his long staff was in his hand, and therewas an expression of conscious martyrdom in his features. Arnfinnraised himself on his elbows, and rubbed his eyes with a desperatedetermination to get awake, but only succeeded in gaining a very dimimpression of a beard, a blue woolen shirt, and a disproportionatelylarge shoe buckle. The figure advanced to the bed, extended a broad, sun-burned hand, and a deep bass voice was heard to say:

"Good-bye, brother. "

Arnfinn, who was a hard sleeper, gave another rub, and, in a querulouslysleepy tone, managed to mutter:

"Why, --is it as late as that--already?"

The words of parting were more remotely repeated, the hand closed aboutArnfinn's half-unfeeling fingers, the lock on the door gave a littlesharp click, and all was still. But the sunshine drove the dust in adumb, confused dance through the room. 

Some four hours later, Arnfinn woke up with a vague feeling as if somegreat calamity had happened; he was not sure but that he had slept afortnight or more. He dressed with a sleepy, reckless haste, being butdimly conscious of the logic of the various processes of ablution whichhe underwent. He hurried up to Strand's room, but, as he had expected, found it empty. 

During all the afternoon, the reading of "David Copperfield" wasinterrupted by frequent mutual condolences, and at times Inga's handwould steal up to her eye to brush away a treacherous tear. But then sheonly read the faster, and David and Agnes were already safe in thehaven of matrimony before either she or Arnfinn was aware that theyhad struggled successfully through the perilous reefs and quicksands ofcourtship. 

Augusta excused herself from supper, Inga's forced devices at merrimentwere too transparent, Arnfinn's table-talk was of a rambling, incoherentsort, and he answered dreadfully malapropos, if a chance word wasaddressed to him, and even the good-natured pastor began, at last, togrumble; for the inmates of the Gran Parsonage seemed to have but onelife and one soul in common, and any individual disturbance immediatelydisturbed the peace and happiness of the whole household. Now gloomhad, in some unaccountable fashion, obscured the common atmosphere. Ingashook her small wise head, and tried to extract some little consolationfrom the consciousness that she knew at least some things which Arnfinndid not know, and which it would be very unsafe to confide to him. 

VI. 

Four weeks after Strand's departure, as the summer had already assumedthat tinge of sadness which impresses one as a foreboding of comingdeath, Augusta was walking along the beach, watching the flight ofthe sea-birds. Her latest "aberration, " as Arnfinn called it, was anextraordinary interest in the habits of the eider-ducks, auks, andsea-gulls, the noisy monotony of whose existence had, but a few monthsago, appeared to her the symbol of all that was vulgar and coarsein human and animal life. Now she had even provided herself with anote-book, and (to use once more the language of her unbelieving cousin)affected a half-scientific interest in their clamorous pursuits. She hadmade many vain attempts to imitate their voices and to beguile theminto closer intimacy, and had found it hard at times to suppress herindignation when they persisted in viewing her in the light of anintruder, and in returning her amiable approaches with shy suspicion, asif they doubted the sincerity of her intentions. 

She was a little paler now, perhaps, than before, but her eyes had stillthe same lustrous depth, and the same sweet serenity was still diffusedover her features, and softened, like a pervading tinge of warm color, the grand simplicity of her presence. She sat down on a large rock, picked up a curiously twisted shell, and seeing a plover wading in thesurf, gave a soft, low whistle, which made the bird turn round and gazeat her with startled distrust. She repeated the call, but perhaps alittle too eagerly, and the bird spread its wings with a frightened cry, and skimmed, half flying, half running, out over the glittering surfaceof the fjord. But from the rocks close by came a long melancholy whistlelike that of a bird in distress, and the girl rose and hastened witheager steps toward the spot. She climbed up on a stone, fringed allaround with green slimy seaweeds, in order to gain a wider view of thebeach. Then suddenly some huge figure started up between the rocks ather feet; she gave a little scream, her foot slipped, and in the nextmoment she lay--in Strand's arms. He offered no apology, but silentlycarried her over the slippery stones, and deposited her tenderly uponthe smooth white sand. There it occurred to her that his attentionwas quite needless, but at the moment she was too startled to make anyremonstrance. 

"But how in the world, Mr. Strand, did you come here?" she managed atlast to stammer. "We all thought that you had gone away. "

"I hardly know myself, " said Strand, in a beseeching undertone, quitedifferent from his usual confident bass. "I only know that--that I wasvery wretched, and that I had to come back. "

Then there was a pause, which to both seemed quite interminable, and, inorder to fill it out in some way, Strand began to move his head and armsuneasily, and at length seated himself at Augusta's side. The blood wasbeating with feverish vehemence in her temples, and for the first timein her life she felt something akin to pity for this large, strong man, whose strength and cheerful self-reliance had hitherto seemed toraise him above the need of a woman's aid and sympathy. Now the veryshabbiness of his appearance, and the look of appealing misery in hisfeatures, opened in her bosom the gate through which compassion couldenter, and, with that generous self-forgetfulness which was the chieffactor of her character, she leaned over toward him, and said:

"You must have been very sick, Mr. Strand. Why did you not come to usand allow us to take care of you, instead of roaming about here in thisstony wilderness?"

"Yes; I have been sick, " cried Strand, with sudden vehemence, seizingher hand; "but it is a sickness of which I shall never, never behealed. "

And with that world-old eloquence which is yet ever new, he poured forthhis passionate confession in her ear, and she listened, hungrily atfirst, then with serene, wide-eyed happiness. He told her how, driven byhis inward restlessness, he had wandered about in the mountains, untilone evening at a saeter, he had heard a peasant lad singing a song, inwhich this stanza occurred:

 "A woman's frown, a woman's smile, Nor hate nor fondness prove; For maidens smile on him they hate, And fly from him they love. "

Then it had occurred to him for the first time in his life that awoman's behavior need not be the logical indicator of her deepestfeelings, and, enriched with this joyful discovery, inspired with newhope, he had returned, but had not dared at once to seek the Parsonage, until he could invent some plausible reason for his return; but hisimagination was very poor, and he had found none, except that he lovedthe pastor's beautiful daughter. 

The evening wore on. The broad mountain-guarded valley, flooded now tothe brim with a soft misty light, spread out about them, and filledthem with a delicious sense of security. The fjord lifted its grave gazetoward the sky, and deepened responsively with a bright, ever-recedingimmensity. The young girl felt this blessed peace gently stealing overher; doubt and struggle were all past, and the sun shone ever serene andunobscured upon the widening expanses of the future. And in his breast, too, that mood reigned in which life looks boundless and radiant, humanwoes small or impossible, and one's own self large and all-conquering. In that hour they remodeled this old and obstinate world of ours, neverdoubting that, if each united his faith and strength with the other's, they could together lift its burden. 

That night was the happiest and most memorable night in the history ofthe Gran Parsonage. The pastor walked up and down on the floor, rubbing his hands in quiet contentment. Inga, to whom an engagement wasessentially a solemn affair, sat in a corner and gazed at her sister andStrand with tearful radiance. Arnfinn gave vent to his joy by bestowingembraces promiscuously upon whomsoever chanced to come in his way. 

This story, however, has a brief but not unimportant sequel. It was notmany weeks after this happy evening that Arnfinn and the maiden with the"amusingly unclassical nose" presented themselves in the pastor's studyand asked for his paternal and unofficial blessing. But the pastor, Iam told, grew very wroth, and demanded that his nephew should firsttake his second and third degrees, attaching, besides, some very odiousstipulations regarding average in study and college standing, beforethere could be any talk about engagement or matrimony. So, at present, Arnfinn is still studying, and the fair-haired Inga is still waiting. 

TRULS, THE NAMELESS. 

HE was born in the houseman's lodge; she in the great mansion. He didnot know who his father was; she was the daughter of Grim of Skogli, andshe was the only daughter he had. They were carried to baptism onthe same day, and he was called Truls, because they had to call himsomething; she received the name of Borghild, because that had been thename of every eldest born daughter in the family for thirty generations. They both cried when the pastor poured the water on their heads; hismother hushed him, blushed, and looked timidly around her; but the womanwho carried Borghild lifted her high up in her arms so that everybodycould see her, and the pastor smiled benignly, and the parishioners saidthat they had never seen so beautiful a child. That was the way in whichthey began life--he as a child of sin, she as the daughter of a mightyrace. 

They grew up together. She had round cheeks and merry eyes, and her lipswere redder than the red rose. He was of slender growth, his face wasthin and pale, and his eyes had a strange, benumbed gaze, as if theywere puzzling themselves with some sad, life-long riddle which theynever hoped to solve. On the strand where they played the billows cameand went, and they murmured faintly with a sound of infinite remoteness. Borghild laughed aloud, clapped her hands and threw stones out intothe water, while he sat pale and silent, and saw the great white-wingedsea-birds sailing through the blue ocean of the sky. 

"How would you like to live down there in the deep green water?" sheasked him one day, as they sat watching the eider-ducks which swam anddived, and stood on their heads among the sea-weeds. 

"I should like it very well, " he answered, "if you would follow me. "

"No, I won't follow you, " she cried. "It is cold and wet down in thewater. And I should spoil the ribbons on my new bodice. But when I growup and get big and can braid my hair, then I shall row with the younglads to the church yonder on the headland, and there the old pastor willmarry me, and I shall wear the big silver crown which my mother worewhen she was married. "

"And may I go with you?" asked he, timidly. 

"Yes, you may steer my boat and be my helmsman, or--you may be mybridegroom, if you would like that better. "

"Yes, I think I should rather be your bridegroom, " and he gave her along, strange look which almost frightened her. 

The years slipped by, and before Borghild knew it, she had grown intowomanhood. The down on Truls's cheeks became rougher, and he, too, beganto suspect that he was no longer a boy. When the sun was late and thebreeze murmured in the great, dark-crowned pines, they often met bychance, at the well, on the strand, or on the saeter-green. And theoftener they met the more they found to talk about; to be sure, it wasshe who did the talking, and he looked at her with his large wonderingeyes and listened. She told him of the lamb which had tumbled downover a steep precipice and still was unhurt, of the baby who pulledthe pastor's hair last Sunday during the baptismal ceremony, or of thelumberman, Lars, who drank the kerosene his wife gave him for brandy, and never knew the difference. But, when the milkmaids passed by, shewould suddenly forget what she had been saying, and then they sat gazingat each other in silence. Once she told him of the lads who danced withher at the party at Houg; and she thought she noticed a deeper color onhis face, and that he clinched both his fists and--thrust them intohis pockets. That set her thinking, and the more she thought, the morecurious she grew. He played the violin well; suppose she should ask himto come and fiddle at the party her father was to give at the end of theharvest. She resolved to do it, and he, not knowing what moved her, gave his promise eagerly. It struck her, afterward, that she had donea wicked thing, but, like most girls, she had not the heart to wrestlewith an uncomfortable thought; she shook it off and began to hum asnatch of an old song. 

 "O'er the billows the fleet-footed storm-wind rode, The billows blue are the merman's abode, So strangely that harp was sounding. "

The memory of old times came back to her, the memory of the morning longyears ago, when they sat together on the strand, and he said; "I think Iwould rather be your bridegroom, Borghild. " The memory was sweet but itwas bitter too; and the bitterness rose and filled her heart. She threwher head back proudly, and laughed a strange, hollow laugh. "A bastard'sbride, ha, ha! A fine tale were that for the parish gossips. " A yellowbutterfly lighted on her arm, and with a fierce frown on her face shecaught it between her fingers. Then she looked pityingly on the deadwings, as they lay in her hand, and murmured between her teeth: "Poorthing! Why did you come in my way, unbidden?"

The harvest was rich, and the harvest party was to keep pace with theharvest. The broad Skogli mansion was festively lighted (for it wasalready late in September); the tall, straight tallow candles, stuck inmany-armed candlesticks, shone dimly through a sort of misty halo, andonly suffused the dusk with a faint glimmering of light. And everytime a guest entered, the flames of the candles flickered and twistedthemselves with the wind, struggling to keep erect. And Borghild'scourage, too, rose and fell with the flickering motion of a flame whichwrestles with the wind. Whenever the latch clicked she lifted her eyesand looked for Truls, and one moment she wished that she might neversee his face again, and in the next she sent an eager glance towardthe door. Presently he came, threw his fiddle on a bench, and with areckless air walked up to her and held out his hand. She hesitated toreturn his greeting, but when she saw the deep lines of suffering inhis face, her heart went forward with a great tenderness toward him, a tenderness such as one feels for a child who is sick, and sufferswithout hope of healing. She laid her hand in his, and there it lay fora while listlessly; for neither dared trust the joy which the sight ofthe other enkindled. But when she tried to draw her hand away, he caughtit quickly, and with a sudden fervor of voice he said:

"The sight of you, Borghild, stills the hunger which is raging in mysoul. Beware that you do not play with a life, Borghild, even though itbe a worthless one. "

There was something so hopelessly sad in his words, that they stung herto the quick. They laid bare a hidden deep in her heart, and she shrankback st the sight of her own vileness. How could she repair the injuryshe had done him? How could she heal the wound she had inflicted? Anumber of guests came up to greet her and among them Syvert Stein, abold-looking young man, who, during that summer, had led her frequentlyin the dance. He had a square face, strong features, and a huge crop oftowy hair. His race was far-famed for wit and daring. 

"Tardy is your welcome, Borghild of Skogli, " quoth he. "But what a faintheart does not give a bold hand can grasp, and what I am not offered Itake unbidden. "

So saying, he flung his arm about her waist, lifted her from the floorand put her down in the middle of the room. Truls stood and gazed atthem with large, bewildered eyes. He tried hard to despise the braggart, but ended with envying him. 

"Ha, fiddler, strike up a tune that shall ring through marrow and bone, "shouted Syvert Stein, who struck the floor with his heels and moved hisbody to the measure of a spring-dance. 

Truls still followed them with his eyes; suddenly he leaped up, anda wild thought burned in his breast. But with an effort he checkedhimself, grasped his violin, and struck a wailing chord of lament. Thenhe laid his ear close to the instrument, as if he were listening tosome living voice hidden there within, ran warily with the bow over thestrings, and warbled, and caroled, and sang with maddening glee, andstill with a shivering undercurrent of woe. And the dusk which sleptupon the black rafters was quickened and shook with the weird sound;every pulse in the wide hall beat more rapidly, and every eye kindledwith a bolder fire. Pressently{sic} a Strong male voice sang out to themeasure of the violin:

 "Come, fairest maid, tread the dance with me; O heigh ho!"

 And a clear, tremulous treble answered:

 "So gladly tread I the dance with thee; O heigh ho!"

Truls knew the voices only too well; it was Syvert Stein and Borghildwho were singing a stave. [8]

 Syvert--Like brier-roses thy red cheeks blush, Borghild--And thine are rough like the thorny bush; Both--An' a heigho!

 Syvert--So fresh and green is the sunny lea; O heigh ho! Borghild--The fiddle twangeth so merrily; O heigh ho! Syvert--So lightly goeth the lusty reel, Borghild--And round we whirl like a spinning-wheel; Both--An' a heigho!

 Syvert--Thine eyes are bright like the sunny fjord; O heigh ho! Borghild--And thine do flash like a Viking's sword; O heigh ho! Syvert--So lightly trippeth thy foot along, Borghild--The air is teeming with joyful song; Both--An' a heigh ho!

 Syvert--Then fairest maid, while the woods are green, O heigh ho! Borghild--And thrushes sing the fresh leaves between; O heigh ho! Syvert--Come, let us dance in the gladsome day, Borghild--Dance hate, and sorrow, and care away; Both--An' a heigh ho!

The stave was at an end. The hot and flushed dancers straggled over thefloor by twos and threes, and the big beer-horns were passed from handto hand. Truls sat in his corner hugging his violin tightly tohis bosom, only to do something, for he was vaguely afraid ofhimself--afraid of the thoughts that might rise--afraid of the deed theymight prompt. He ran his fingers over his forehead, but he hardlyfelt the touch of his own hand. It was as if something was dead withinhim--as if a string had snapped in his breast, and left it benumbed andvoiceless. 

Presently he looked up and saw Borghild standing before him; she heldher arms akimbo, her eyes shone with a strange light, and her featureswore an air of recklessness mingled with pity. 

"Ah, Borghild, is it you?" said he, in a hoarse voice. "What do you wantwith me? I thought you had done with me now. "

"You are a very unwitty fellow, " answered she, with a forced laugh. "Thebranch that does not bend must break. "

She turned quickly on her heel and was lost in the crowd. He sat longpondering on her words, but their meaning remained hidden to him. Thebranch that does not bend must break. Was he the branch, and must hebend or break? By-and-by he put his hands on his knees, rose with aslow, uncertain motion, and stalked heavily toward the door. The freshnight air would do him good. The thought breathes more briskly in God'sfree nature, under the broad canopy of heaven. The white mist rose fromthe fields, and made the valley below appear like a white sea whosenearness you feel, even though you do not see it. And out of the mistthe dark pines stretched their warning hands against the sky, and themoon was swimming, large and placid, between silvery islands of cloud. Truls began to beat his arms against his sides, and felt the warm bloodspreading from his heart and thawing the numbness of his limbs. Notcaring whither he went, he struck the path leading upward to themountains. He took to humming an old air which happened to come into hishead, only to try if there was life enough left in him to sing. It wasthe ballad of Young Kirsten and the Merman:

 "The billows fall and the billows swell, In the night so lone, In the billows blue doth the merman dwell, And strangely that harp was sounding. "

He walked on briskly for a while, and, looking back upon the pain he hadendured but a moment ago, he found it quite foolish and irrational. Anabsurd merriment took possession of him; but all the while he didnot know where his foot stepped; his head swam, and his pulse beatfeverishly. About midway between the forest and the mansion, where thefield sloped more steeply, grew a clump of birch-trees, whose slenderstems glimmered ghostly white in the moonlight. Something drove Truls toleave the beaten road, and, obeying the impulse, he steered toward thebirches. A strange sound fell upon his ear, like the moan of one indistress. It did not startle him; indeed, he was in a mood when nothingcould have caused him wonder. If the sky had suddenly tumbled down uponhim, with moon and all, he would have taken it as a matter of course. Peering for a moment through the mist, he discerned the outline of ahuman figure. With three great strides he reached the birch-tree; athis feet sat Borghild rocking herself to and fro and weeping piteously. Without a word he seated himself at her side and tried to catch aglimpse of her face; but she hid it from him and went on sobbing. Stillthere could be no doubt that it was Borghild--one hour ago so merry, reckless, and defiant, now cowering at his feet and weeping like abroken-hearted child. 

"Borghild, " he said, at last, putting his arm gently about her waist, "you and I, I think, played together when we were children. "

"So we did, Truls, " answered she, struggling with her tears. 

"And as we grew up, we spent many a pleasant hour with each other. "

"Many a pleasant hour. "

She raised her head, and he drew her more closely to him. 

"But since then I have done you a great wrong, " began she, after awhile. 

"Nothing done that cannot yet be undone, " he took heart to answer. 

It was long before her thoughts took shape, and, when at length theydid, she dared not give them utterance. Nevertheless, she was all thetime conscious of one strong desire, from which her conscience shrank asfrom a crime; and she wrestled ineffectually with her weakness until herweakness prevailed. 

"I am glad you came, " she faltered. "I knew you would come. There wassomething I wished to say to you. "

"And what was it, Borghild?"

"I wanted to ask you to forgive me--"

"Forgive you--"

He sprang up as if something had stung him. 

"And why not?" she pleaded, piteously. 

"Ah, girl, you know not what you ask, " cried he, with a sternness whichstartled her. "If I had more than one life to waste--but you caress withone hand and stab with the other. Fare thee well, Borghild, for here ourpaths separate. "

He turned his back upon her and began to descend the slope. 

"For God's sake, stay, Truls, " implored she, and stretched her armsappealingly toward him; "tell me, oh, tell me all. "

With a leap he was again at her side, stooped down over her, and, in ahoarse, passionate whisper, spoke the secret of his life in her ear. Shegazed for a moment steadily into his face, then, in a few hurried words, she pledged him her love, her faith, her all. And in the stillness ofthat summer night they planned together their flight to a greater andfreer land, where no world-old prejudice frowned upon the union of twokindred souls. They would wait in patience and silence until spring;then come the fresh winds from the ocean, and, with them, the birds ofpassage which awake the longings in the Norsemen's breasts, and theAmerican vessels which give courage to many a sinking spirit, strengthto the wearied arm, hope to the hopeless heart. 

During that winter Truls and Borghild seldom saw each other. The parishwas filled with rumors, and after the Christmas holiday it was told forcertain that the proud maiden of Skogli had been promised in marriage toSyvert Stein. It was the general belief that the families had made thematch, and that Borghild, at least, had hardly had any voice in thematter. Another report was that she had flatly refused to listen to anyproposal from that quarter, and that, when she found that resistance wasvain, she had cried three days and three nights, and refused to take anyfood. When this rumor reached the pastor's ear, he pronounced it anidle tale; "for, " said he, "Borghild has always been a proper andwell-behaved maiden, and she knows that she must honor father andmother, that it may be well with her, and she live long upon the land. "

But Borghild sat alone in her gable window and looked longingly towardthe ocean. The glaciers glittered, the rivers swelled, the buds of theforest burst, and great white sails began to glimmer on the far westernhorizon. 

If Truls, the Nameless, as scoffers were wont to call him, had been agreater personage in the valley, it would, no doubt, have shocked thegossips to know that one fine morning he sold his cow, his gun and hisdog, and wrapped sixty silver dollars in a leathern bag, which he sewedfast to the girdle he wore about his waist. That same night some one washeard playing wildly up in the birch copse above the Skogli mansion; nowit sounded like a wail of distress, then like a fierce, defiant laugh, and now again the music seemed to hush itself into a heart-broken, sorrowful moan, and the people crossed themselves, and whispered: "OurFather;" but Borghild sat at her gable window and listened long to theweird strain. The midnight came, but she stirred not. With the hourof midnight the music ceased. From the windows of hall and kitchen thelight streamed out into the damp air, and the darkness stood like a wallon either side; within, maids and lads were busy brewing, baking, andwashing, for in a week there was to be a wedding on the farm. 

The week went and the wedding came. Truls had not closed his eyes allthat night, and before daybreak he sauntered down along the beach andgazed out upon the calm fjord, where the white-winged sea-birds whirledin great airy surges around the bare crags. Far up above the noisythrong an ospray sailed on the blue expanse of the sky, and quick asthought swooped down upon a halibut which had ventured to take a peepat the rising sun. The huge fish struggled for a moment at the water'sedge, then, with a powerful stroke of its tail, which sent the sprayhissing through the air, dived below the surface. The bird of prey gavea loud scream, flapped fiercely with its broad wings, and for severalminutes a thickening cloud of applauding ducks and seagulls andshowers of spray hid the combat from the observer's eye. When the birdsscattered, the ospray had vanished, and the waters again glitteredcalmly in the morning sun. Truls stood long, vacantly staring out uponthe scene of the conflict, and many strange thoughts whirled through hishead. 

"Halloo, fiddler!" cried a couple of lads who had come to clear thewedding boats, "you are early on foot to-day. Here is a scoop. Come onand help us bail the boats. "

Truls took the scoop, and looked at it as if he had never seen such athing before; he moved about heavily, hardly knowing what he did, butconscious all the while of his own great misery. His limbs seemed halffrozen, and a dull pain gathered about his head and in his breast--infact, everywhere and nowhere. 

About ten o'clock the bridal procession descended the slope to thefjord. Syvert Stein, the bridegroom, trod the earth with a firm, springystep, and spoke many a cheery word to the bride, who walked, silent andwith downcast eyes, at his side. She wore the ancestral bridal crown onher head, and the little silver disks around its edge tinkled and shookas she walked. They hailed her with firing of guns and loud hurrahsas she stepped into the boat; still she did not raise her eyes, butremained silent. A small cannon, also an heir-loom in the family, wasplaced amidships, and Truls, with his violin, took his seat in the prow. A large solitary cloud, gold-rimmed but with thunder in its breast, sailed across the sky and threw its shadow over the bridal boat as itwas pushed out from the shore, and the shadow fell upon the bride'scountenance too; and when she lifted it, the mother of the bridegroom, who sat opposite her, shrank back, for the countenance looked hard, asif carved in stone--in the eyes a mute, hopeless appeal; on the lips afrozen prayer. The shadow of thunder upon a life that was opening--itwas an ill omen, and its gloom sank into the hearts of the weddingguests. They spoke in undertones and threw pitying glances at the bride. Then at length Syvert Stein lost his patience. 

"In sooth, " cried he, springing up from his seat, "where is to-day thecheer that is wont to abide in the Norseman's breast? Methinks I see butsullen airs and ill-boding glances. Ha, fiddler, now move your stringslustily! None of your funeral airs, my lad, but a merry tune that shallsing through marrow and bone, and make the heart leap in the bosom. "

Truls heard the words, and in a slow, mechanical way he took the violinout of its case and raised it to his chin. Syvert in the mean while puta huge silver beer-jug to his mouth, and, pledging his guests, emptiedit even to the dregs. But the bride's cheek was pale; and it was sostill in the boat that every man could hear his own breathing. 

"Ha, to-day is Syvert Stein's wedding-day!" shouted the bridegroom, growing hot with wrath. "Let us try if the iron voice of the cannon canwake my guests from their slumber. "

He struck a match and put it to the touch-hole of the cannon; a longboom rolled away over the surface of the waters and startled the echoesof the distant glaciers. A faint hurrah sounded from the nearest craft, but there came no response from the bridal boat. Syvert pulled thepowder-horn from his pocket, laughed a wild laugh, and poured the wholecontents of the horn into the mouth of the cannon. 

"Now may the devil care for his own, " roared he, and sprang up upon therow-bench. Then there came a low murmuring strain as of wavelets thatripple against a sandy shore. Borghild lifted her eyes, and they metthose of the fiddler. 

"Ah, I think I should rather be your bridegroom, " whispered she, and aray of life stole into her stony visage. 

And she saw herself as a little rosy-cheeked girl sitting at his sideon the beach fifteen years ago. But the music gathered strength fromher glance, and onward it rushed through the noisy years of boyhood, shouting with wanton voice in the lonely glen, lowing with the cattleon the mountain pastures, and leaping like the trout at eventide in thebrawling rapids; but through it all there ran a warm strain of boyishloyalty and strong devotion, and it thawed her frozen heart; for sheknew that it was all for her and for her only. And it seemed such abeautiful thing, this long faithful life, which through sorrow and joy, through sunshine and gloom, for better for worse, had clung so fast toher. The wedding guests raised their heads, and a murmur of applause ranover the waters. 

"Bravo!" cried the bridegroom. "Now at last the tongues are loosed. "

Truls's gaze dwelt with tender sadness on the bride. Then came from thestrings some airy quivering chords, faintly flushed like the petals ofthe rose, and fragrant like lilies of the valley; and they swelled witha strong, awakening life, and rose with a stormy fullness until theyseemed on the point of bursting, when again they hushed themselves andsank into a low, disconsolate whisper. Once more the tones stretchedout their arms imploringly, and again they wrestled despairingly withthemselves, fled with a stern voice of warning, returned once more, wept, shuddered, and were silent. 

"Beware that thou dost not play with a life!" sighed the bride, "eventhough it be a worthless one. "

The wedding guests clapped their hands and shouted wildly against thesky. The bride's countenance burned with a strange feverish glow. Thefiddler arose in the prow of the boat, his eyes flamed, he struck thestrings madly, and the air trembled with melodious rapture. The voiceof that music no living tongue can interpret. But the bride fathomed itsmeaning; her bosom labored vehemently, her lips quivered for an instantconvulsively, and she burst into tears. A dark suspicion shot throughthe bridegroom's mind. He stared intently upon the weeping Borghild thenturned his gaze to the fiddler, who, still regarding her, stood playing, with a half-frenzied look and motion. 

"You cursed wretch!" shrieked Syvert, and made a leap over two benchesto where Truls was standing. It came so unexpectedly that Truls hadno time to prepare for defense; so he merely stretched out the hand inwhich he held the violin to ward off the blow which he saw was coming;but Syvert tore the instrument from his grasp and dashed it againstthe cannon, and, as it happened, just against the touch-hole. With atremendous crash something black darted through the air and a whitesmoke brooded over the bridal boat. The bridegroom stood pale andstunned. At his feet lay Borghild--lay for a moment still, as iflifeless, then rose on her elbows, and a dark red current broke from herbreast. The smoke scattered. No one saw how it was done; but a momentlater Truls, the Nameless, lay kneeling at Borghild's side. 

"It WAS a worthless life, beloved, " whispered he, tenderly. "Now it isat an end. "

And he lifted her up in his arms as one lifts a beloved child, presseda kiss on her pale lips, and leaped into the water. Like lead they fellinto the sea. A throng of white bubbles whirled up to the surface. Aloud wail rose from the bridal fleet, and before the day was at an endit filled the valley; but the wail did not recall Truls, the Nameless, or Borghild his bride. 

What life denied them, would to God that death may yield them!

ASATHOR'S VENGEANCE. 

I. 

IT was right up under the steel mountain wall where the farm of Kvaerklay. How any man of common sense could have hit upon the idea ofbuilding a house there, where none but the goat and the hawk had easyaccess, had been, and I am afraid would ever be, a matter of wonder tothe parish people. However, it was not Lage Kvaerk who had builtthe house, so he could hardly be made responsible for its situation. Moreover, to move from a place where one's life has once struck deeproot, even if it be in the chinks and crevices of stones and rocks, isabout the same as to destroy it. An old tree grows but poorly in a newsoil. So Lage Kvaerk thought, and so he said, too, whenever his wifeElsie spoke of her sunny home at the river. 

Gloomy as Lage usually was, he had his brighter moments, and peoplenoticed that these were most likely to occur when Aasa, his daughter, was near. Lage was probably also the only being whom Aasa's presencecould cheer; on other people it seemed to have the very opposite effect;for Aasa was--according to the testimony of those who knew her--the mostpeculiar creature that ever was born. But perhaps no one did know her;if her father was right, no one really did--at least no one but himself. 

Aasa was all to her father; she was his past and she was his future, hishope and his life; and withal it must be admitted that those who judgedher without knowing her had at least in one respect as just an opinionof her as he; for there was no denying that she was strange, verystrange. She spoke when she ought to be silent, and was silent when itwas proper to speak; wept when she ought to laugh, and laughed when itwas proper to weep; but her laughter as well as her tears, her speechlike her silence, seemed to have their source from within her own soul, to be occasioned, as it were, by something which no one else could seeor hear. It made little difference where she was; if the tears came, sheyielded to them as if they were something she had long desired in vain. Few could weep like her, and "weep like Aasa Kvaerk, " was soon alsoadded to the stock of parish proverbs. And then her laugh! Tears maybe inopportune enough, when they come out of time, but laughter is farworse; and when poor Aasa once burst out into a ringing laughter inchurch, and that while the minister was pronouncing the benediction, itwas only with the greatest difficulty that her father could preventthe indignant congregation from seizing her and carrying her before thesheriff for violation of the church-peace. Had she been poor and homely, then of course nothing could have saved her; but she happened to be bothrich and beautiful, and to wealth and beauty much is pardoned. Aasa'sbeauty, however, was also of a very unusual kind; not the tame sweetnessso common in her sex, but something of the beauty of the falcon, when itswoops down upon the unwatchful sparrow or soars round the lonelycrags; something of the mystic depth of the dark tarn, when with bodefultrembling you gaze down into it, and see its weird traditions rise fromits depth and hover over the pine-tops in the morning fog. Yet, Aasa wasnot dark; her hair was as fair and yellow as a wheat-field in August, her forehead high and clear, and her mouth and chin as if cut with achisel; only her eyes were perhaps somewhat deeper than is common in theNorth, and the longer you looked at them the deeper they grew, just likethe tarn, which, if you stare long enough into it, you will find is asdeep as the heavens above, that is, whose depth only faith and fancy canfathom. But however long you looked at Aasa, you could never be quitesure that she looked at you; she seemed but to half notice whatever wenton around her; the look of her eye was always more than half inward, and when it shone the brightest, it might well happen that she could nothave told you how many years she had lived, or the name her father gaveher in baptism. 

Now Aasa was eighteen years old, and could knit, weave, and spin, and itwas full time that wooers should come. "But that is the consequence ofliving in such an out-of-the-way place, " said her mother; "who will riskhis limbs to climb that neck-breaking rock? and the round-about way overthe forest is rather too long for a wooer. " Besides handling the loomand the spinning-wheel, Aasa had also learned to churn and make cheeseto perfection, and whenever Elsie grieved at her strange behavior shealways in the end consoled herself with the reflection that after allAasa would make the man who should get her an excellent housewife. 

The farm of Kvaerk was indeed most singularly situated. About a hundredfeet from the house the rough wall of the mountain rose steep andthreatening; and the most remarkable part of it was that the rock itselfcaved inward and formed a lofty arch overhead, which looked like a hugedoor leading into the mountain. Some short distance below, the slope ofthe fields ended in an abrupt precipice; far underneath lay the otherfarm-houses of the valley, scattered like small red or gray dots, andthe river wound onward like a white silver stripe in the shelter of thedusky forest. There was a path down along the rock, which a goat or abrisk lad might be induced to climb, if the prize of the experiment weregreat enough to justify the hazard. The common road to Kvaerk made alarge circuit around the forest, and reached the valley far up at itsnorthern end. 

It was difficult to get anything to grow at Kvaerk. In the spring allthe valley lay bare and green, before the snow had begun to think ofmelting up there; and the night-frost would be sure to make a visitthere, while the fields along the river lay silently drinking the summerdew. On such occasions the whole family at Kvaerk would have to stayup during all the night and walk back and forth on either side of thewheat-fields, carrying a long rope between them and dragging it slowlyover the heads of the rye, to prevent the frost from settling; for aslong as the ears could be kept in motion, they could not freeze. Butwhat did thrive at Kvaerk in spite of both snow and night-frost waslegends, and they throve perhaps the better for the very sterility ofits material soil. Aasa of course had heard them all and knew themby heart; they had been her friends from childhood, and her onlycompanions. All the servants, however, also knew them and many othersbesides, and if they were asked how the mansion of Kvaerk happened to bebuilt like an eagle's nest on the brink of a precipice, they would tellyou the following:

Saint Olaf, Norway's holy king, in the time of his youth had sailed asa Viking over the wide ocean, and in foreign lands had learned thedoctrine of Christ the White. When he came home to claim the throne ofhis hereditary kingdom, he brought with him tapers and black priests, and commanded the people to overthrow the altars of Odin and Thor andto believe alone in Christ the White. If any still dared to slaughtera horse to the old gods, he cut off their ears, burned their farms, and drove them houseless from the smoking ruins. Here in the valley oldThor, or, as they called him, Asathor, had always helped us to vengeanceand victory, and gentle Frey for many years had given us fair andfertile summers. Therefore the peasants paid little heed to King Olaf'sgod, and continued to bring their offerings to Odin and Asathor. Thisreached the king's ear, and he summoned his bishop and five blackpriests, and set out to visit our valley. Having arrived here, he calledthe peasants together, stood up on the Ting-stone, told them of thegreat things that the White Christ had done, and bade them choosebetween him and the old gods. Some were scared, and received baptismfrom the king's priests; others bit their lips and were silent; othersagain stood forth and told Saint Olaf that Odin and Asathor had alwaysserved them well, and that they were not going to give them up forChrist the White, whom they had never seen and of whom they knewnothing. The next night the red cock crew [9] over ten farms in thevalley, and it happened to be theirs who had spoken against King Olaf'sgod. Then the peasants flocked to the Ting-stone and received thebaptism of Christ the White. Some few, who had mighty kinsmen in theNorth, fled and spread the evil tidings. Only one neither fled norwas baptized, and that one was Lage Ulfson Kvaerk, the ancestor ofthe present Lage. He slew his best steed before Asathor's altar, andpromised to give him whatever he should ask, even to his own life, if hewould save him from the vengeance of the king. Asathor heard his prayer. As the sun set, a storm sprung up with thick darkness and gloom, theearth shook, Asathor drove his chariot over the heavens with deafeningthunder and swung his hammer right and left, and the crackling lightningflew through the air like a hail-storm of fire. Then the peasantstrembled, for they knew that Asathor was wroth. Only the king sat calmand fearless with his bishop and priests, quaffing the nut-brown mead. The tempest raged until morn. When the sun rose, Saint Olaf called hishundred swains, sprang into the saddle and rode down toward the river. Few men who saw the angry fire in his eye, and the frown on his royalbrow, doubted whither he was bound. But having reached the ford, awondrous sight met his eye. Where on the day before the highway hadwound itself up the slope toward Lage Kvaerk's mansion, lay now a wildravine; the rock was shattered into a thousand pieces, and a deep gorge, as if made by a single stroke of a huge hammer, separated the king fromhis enemy. Then Saint Olaf made the sign of the cross, and mumbled thename of Christ the White; but his hundred swains made the sign of thehammer under their cloaks, and thought, Still is Asathor alive. 

That same night Lage Ulfson Kvaerk slew a black ram, and thanked Asathorfor his deliverance; and the Saga tells that while he was sprinklingthe blood on the altar, the thundering god himself appeared to him, and wilder he looked than the fiercest wild Turk. Rams, said he, wereevery-day fare; they could redeem no promise. Brynhild, his daughter, was the reward Asathor demanded. Lage prayed and besought him to askfor something else. He would gladly give him one of his sons; for he hadthree sons, but only one daughter. Asathor was immovable; but so longLage continued to beg, that at last he consented to come back in ayear, when Lage perchance would be better reconciled to the thought ofBrynhild's loss. 

In the mean time King Olaf built a church to Christ the White on theheadland at the river, where it stands until this day. Every evening, when the huge bell rumbled between the mountains, the parishionersthought they heard heavy, half-choked sighs over in the rocks at Kvaerk;and on Sunday mornings, when the clear-voiced chimes called them tohigh-mass, a suppressed moan would mingle with the sound of the bells, and die away with the last echo. Lage Ulfson was not the man to beafraid; yet the church-bells many a time drove the blood from hischeeks; for he also heard the moan from the mountain. 

The year went, and Asathor returned. If he had not told his name, however, Lage would not have recognized him. That a year could work sogreat a change in a god, he would hardly have believed, if his own eyeshad not testified to it. Asathor's cheeks were pale and bloodless, thelustre of his eye more than half quenched, and his gray hair hung indisorder down over his forehead. 

"Methinks thou lookest rather poorly to-day, " said Lage. 

"It is only those cursed church-bells, " answered the god; "they leave meno rest day or night. "

"Aha, " thought Lage, "if the king's bells are mightier than thou, thenthere is still hope of safety for my daughter. "

"Where is Brynhild, thy daughter?" asked Asathor. 

"I know not where she is, " answered the father; and straightway heturned his eyes toward the golden cross that shone over the valley fromSaint Olaf's steeple, and he called aloud on the White Christ's name. Then the god gave a fearful roar, fell on the ground, writhed and foamedand vanished into the mountain. In the next moment Lage heard a hoarsevoice crying from within, "I shall return, Lage Ulfson, when thou shaltleast expect me!"

Lage Ulfson then set to work clearing a way through the forest; and whenthat was done, he called all his household together, and told them ofthe power of Christ the White. Not long after he took his sons and hisdaughter, and hastened with them southward, until he found King Olaf. And, so the Saga relates, they all fell down on their knees before him, prayed for his forgiveness, and received baptism from the king's ownbishop. 

So ends the Saga of Lage Ulfson Kvaerk. 

II. 

Aasa Kvaerk loved her father well, but especially in the winter. Then, while she sat turning her spinning-wheel in the light of the cracklinglogs, his silent presence always had a wonderfully soothing and calmingeffect upon her. She never laughed then, and seldom wept; when she felthis eyes resting on her, her thoughts, her senses, and her whole beingseemed by degrees to be lured from their hiding-place and concentrate onhim; and from him they ventured again, first timidly, then more boldly, to grasp the objects around him. At such times Aasa could talk andjest almost like other girls, and her mother, to whom "other girls"represented the ideal of womanly perfection, would send significantglances, full of hope and encouragement, over to Lage, and he wouldquietly nod in return, as if to say that he entirely agreed with her. Then Elsie had bright visions of wooers and thrifty housewives, and evenLage dreamed of seeing the ancient honor of the family re-established. All depended on Aasa. She was the last of the mighty race. But whensummer came, the bright visions fled; and the spring winds, which toothers bring life and joy, to Kvaerk brought nothing but sorrow. Nosooner had the mountain brooks begun to swell, than Aasa began to laughand to weep; and when the first birches budded up in the glens, shecould no longer be kept at home. Prayers and threats were equallyuseless. From early dawn until evening she would roam about in forestsand fields, and when late at night she stole into the room and slippedaway into some corner, Lage drew a deep sigh and thought of the oldtradition. 

Aasa was nineteen years old before she had a single wooer. But when shewas least expecting it, the wooer came to her. 

It was late one summer night; the young maiden was sitting on the brinkof the ravine, pondering on the old legend and peering down into thedeep below. It was not the first time she had found her way hither, where but seldom a human foot had dared to tread. To her every alder andbramble-bush, that clothed the naked wall of the rock, were as familiaras were the knots and veins in the ceiling of the chamber where fromher childhood she had slept; and as she sat there on the brink of theprecipice, the late summer sun threw its red lustre upon her and uponthe fogs that came drifting up from the deep. With her eyes she followedthe drifting masses of fog, and wondered, as they rose higher andhigher, when they would reach her; in her fancy she saw herself dancingover the wide expanse of heaven, clad in the sun-gilded evening fogs;and Saint Olaf, the great and holy king, came riding to meet her, mounted on a flaming steed made of the glory of a thousand sunsets; thenSaint Olaf took her hand and lifted her up, and she sat with him on theflaming steed: but the fog lingered in the deep below, and as it roseit spread like a thin, half-invisible gauze over the forests and thefields, and at last vanished into the infinite space. But hark! a hugestone rolls down over the mountain-side, then another, and another; thenoise grows, the birches down there in the gorge tremble and shake. Aasa leaned out over the brink of the ravine, and, as far as she coulddistinguish anything from her dizzying height, thought she saw somethinggray creeping slowly up the neck-breaking mountain path; she watchedit for a while, but as it seemed to advance no farther she again tookrefuge in her reveries. An hour might have passed, or perhaps more, whensuddenly she heard a noise only a few feet distant, and, again stoopingout over the brink, saw the figure of a man struggling desperately toclimb the last great ledge of the rock. With both his hands he clung toa little birch-tree which stretched its slender arms down over the blackwall, but with every moment that passed seemed less likely to accomplishthe feat. The girl for a while stood watching him with unfeignedcuriosity, then, suddenly reminding herself that the situation to himmust be a dangerous one, seized hold of a tree that grew near the brink, and leaned out over the rock to give him her assistance. He eagerlygrasped her extended hand, and with a vigorous pull she flung him upon the grassy level, where he remained lying for a minute or two, apparently utterly unable to account for his sudden ascent, and gazingaround him with a half-frightened, half-bewildered look. Aasa, to whomhis appearance was no less strange than his demeanor, unluckily hitupon the idea that perhaps her rather violent treatment had momentarilystunned him, and when, as answer to her sympathizing question if he washurt, the stranger abruptly rose to his feet and towered up before herto the formidable height of six feet four or five, she could no longermaster her mirth, but burst out into a most vehement fit of laughter. He stood calm and silent, and looked at her with a timid but strangelybitter smile. He was so very different from any man she had ever seenbefore; therefore she laughed, not necessarily because he amused her, but because his whole person was a surprise to her; and there he stood, tall and gaunt and timid, and said not a word, only gazed and gazed. Hisdress was not the national costume of the valley, neither was it likeanything that Aasa had ever known. On his head he wore a cap that hungall on one side, and was decorated with a long, heavy silk tassel. Athreadbare coat, which seemed to be made expressly not to fit him, hungloosely on his sloping shoulders, and a pair of gray pantaloons, whichwere narrow where they ought to have been wide, and wide where it wastheir duty to be narrow, extended their service to a little more thanthe upper half of the limb, and, by a kind of compromise with the topsof the boots, managed to protect also the lower half. His features weredelicate, and would have been called handsome had they belonged to aproportionately delicate body; in his eyes hovered a dreamy vaguenesswhich seemed to come and vanish, and to flit from one feature toanother, suggesting the idea of remoteness, and a feeling of hopelessstrangeness to the world and all its concerns. 

"Do I inconvenience you, madam?" were the first words he uttered, asAasa in her usual abrupt manner stayed her laughter, turned her back onhim, and hastily started for the house. 

"Inconvenience?" said she, surprised, and again slowly turned on herheel; "no, not that I know. "

"Then tell me if there are people living here in the neighborhood, or ifthe light deceived me, which I saw from the other side of the river. "

"Follow me, " answered Aasa, and she naïvely reached him her hand; "myfather's name is Lage Ulfson Kvaerk; he lives in the large house you seestraight before you, there on the hill; and my mother lives there too. "

And hand in hand they walked together, where a path had been madebetween two adjoining rye-fields; his serious smile seemed to growmilder and happier, the longer he lingered at her side, and her eyecaught a ray of more human intelligence, as it rested on him. 

"What do you do up here in the long winter?" asked he, after a pause. 

"We sing, " answered she, as it were at random, because the word cameinto her mind; "and what do you do, where you come from?"

"I gather song. "

"Have you ever heard the forest sing?" asked she, curiously. 

"That is why I came here. "

And again they walked on in silence. 

It was near midnight when they entered the large hall at Kvaerk. Aasawent before, still leading the young man by the hand. In the twilightwhich filled the house, the space between the black, smoky raftersopened a vague vista into the region of the fabulous, and every objectin the room loomed forth from the dusk with exaggerated form anddimensions. The room appeared at first to be but the haunt of thespirits of the past; no human voice, no human footstep, was heard; andthe stranger instinctively pressed the hand he held more tightly; for hewas not sure but that he was standing on the boundary of dream-land, and some elfin maiden had reached him her hand to lure him into hermountain, where he should live with her forever. But the illusion was ofbrief duration; for Aasa's thoughts had taken a widely different course;it was but seldom she had found herself under the necessity of making adecision; and now it evidently devolved upon her to find the strangera place of rest for the night; so instead of an elf-maid's kiss and asilver palace, he soon found himself huddled into a dark little alcovein the wall, where he was told to go to sleep, while Aasa wandered overto the empty cow-stables, and threw herself down in the hay by the sideof two sleeping milkmaids. 

III. 

There was not a little astonishment manifested among the servant-maidsat Kvaerk the next morning, when the huge, gaunt figure of a man wasseen to launch forth from Aasa's alcove, and the strangest of all was, that Aasa herself appeared to be as much astonished as the rest. Andthere they stood, all gazing at the bewildered traveler, who indeed wasno less startled than they, and as utterly unable to account for hisown sudden apparition. After a long pause, he summoned all his courage, fixed his eyes intently on the group of the girls, and with a few rapidsteps advanced toward Aasa, whom he seized by the hand and asked, "Areyou not my maiden of yester-eve?"

She met his gaze firmly, and laid her hand on her forehead as if toclear her thoughts; as the memory of the night flashed through her mind, a bright smile lit up her features, and she answered, "You are the manwho gathers song. Forgive me, I was not sure but it was all a dream; forI dream so much. "

Then one of the maids ran out to call Lage Ulfson, who had gone to thestables to harness the horses; and he came and greeted the unknown man, and thanked him for last meeting, as is the wont of Norse peasants, although they had never seen each other until that morning. But when thestranger had eaten two meals in Lage's house, Lage asked him his nameand his father's occupation; for old Norwegian hospitality forbids thehost to learn the guest's name before he has slept and eaten under hisroof. It was that same afternoon, when they sat together smoking theirpipes under the huge old pine in the yard, --it was then Lage inquiredabout the young man's name and family; and the young man said that hisname was Trond Vigfusson, that he had graduated at the University ofChristiania, and that his father had been a lieutenant in the army; butboth he and Trond's mother had died, when Trond was only a few yearsold. Lage then told his guest Vigfusson something about his family, butof the legend of Asathor and Saint Olaf he spoke not a word. And whilethey were sitting there talking together, Aasa came and sat down atVigfusson's feet; her long golden hair flowed in a waving stream downover her back and shoulders, there was a fresh, healthful glow on hercheeks, and her blue, fathomless eyes had a strangely joyous, almosttriumphant expression. The father's gaze dwelt fondly upon her, andthe collegian was but conscious of one thought: that she was wondrouslybeautiful. And still so great was his natural timidity and awkwardnessin the presence of women, that it was only with the greatest difficultyhe could master his first impulse to find some excuse for leaving her. She, however, was aware of no such restraint. 

"You said you came to gather song, " she said; "where do you find it? forI too should like to find some new melody for my old thoughts; I havesearched so long. "

"I find my songs on the lips of the people, " answered he, "and I writethem down as the maidens or the old men sing them. "

She did not seem quite to comprehend that. "Do you hear maidens singthem?" asked she, astonished. "Do you mean the troll-virgins and theelf-maidens?"

"By troll-virgins and elf-maidens, or what the legends call so, Iunderstand the hidden and still audible voices of nature, of the darkpine forests, the legend-haunted glades, and the silent tarns; and thiswas what I referred to when I answered your question if I had ever heardthe forest sing. "

"Oh, oh!" cried she, delighted, and clapped her hands like a child;but in another moment she as suddenly grew serious again, and satsteadfastly gazing into his eye, as if she were trying to look into hisvery soul and there to find something kindred to her own lonely heart. Aminute ago her presence had embarrassed him; now, strange to say, he mether eye, and smiled happily as he met it. 

"Do you mean to say that you make your living by writing songs?" askedLage. 

"The trouble is, " answered Vigfusson, "that I make no living at all; butI have invested a large capital, which is to yield its interest in thefuture. There is a treasure of song hidden in every nook and corner ofour mountains and forests, and in our nation's heart. I am one of theminers who have come to dig it out before time and oblivion shallhave buried every trace of it, and there shall not be even thewill-o'-the-wisp of a legend to hover over the spot, and keep alive thesad fact of our loss and our blamable negligence. "

Here the young man paused; his eyes gleamed, his pale cheeks flushed, and there was a warmth and an enthusiasm in his words which alarmedLage, while on Aasa it worked like the most potent charm of the ancientmystic runes; she hardly comprehended more than half of the speaker'smeaning, but his fire and eloquence were on this account none the lesspowerful. 

"If that is your object, " remarked Lage, "I think you have hit upon theright place in coming here. You will be able to pick up many an odd bitof a story from the servants and others hereabouts, and you are welcometo stay here with us as long as you choose. "

Lage could not but attribute to Vigfusson the merit of having kept Aasaat home a whole day, and that in the month of midsummer. And while hesat there listening to their conversation, while he contemplated thedelight that beamed from his daughter's countenance and, as he thought, the really intelligent expression of her eyes, could he conceal fromhimself the paternal hopes that swelled his heart? She was all that wasleft him, the life or the death of his mighty race. And here was one whowas likely to understand her, and to whom she seemed willing to yieldall the affection of her warm but wayward heart. Thus ran Lage Ulfson'sreflections; and at night he had a little consultation with Elsie, hiswife, who, it is needless to add, was no less sanguine than he. 

"And then Aasa will make an excellent housewife, you know, " observedElsie. "I will speak to the girl about it to-morrow. "

"No, for Heaven's sake, Elsie!" exclaimed Lage, "don't you know yourdaughter better than that? Promise me, Elsie, that you will not say asingle word; it would be a cruel thing, Elsie, to mention anything toher. She is not like other girls, you know. "

"Very well, Lage, I shall not say a single word. Alas, you are right, she is not like other girls. " And Elsie again sighed at her husband'ssad ignorance of a woman's nature, and at the still sadder fact of herdaughter's inferiority to the accepted standard of womanhood. 

IV. 

Trond Vigfusson must have made a rich harvest of legends at Kvaerk, atleast judging by the time he stayed there; for days and weeks passed, and he had yet said nothing of going. Not that anybody wished him togo; no, on the contrary, the longer he stayed the more indispensable heseemed to all; and Lage Ulfson could hardly think without a shudder ofthe possibility of his ever having to leave them. For Aasa, his onlychild, was like another being in the presence of this stranger; all thatweird, forest-like intensity, that wild, half supernatural tinge in hercharacter which in a measure excluded her from the blissful feeling offellowship with other men, and made her the strange, lonely creatureshe was, --all this seemed to vanish as dew in the morning sun whenVigfusson's eyes rested upon her; and with every day that passed, herhuman and womanly nature gained a stronger hold upon her. She followedhim like his shadow on all his wanderings, and when they sat downtogether by the wayside, she would sing, in a clear, soft voice, anancient lay or ballad, and he would catch her words on his paper, andsmile at the happy prospect of perpetuating what otherwise wouldhave been lost. Aasa's love, whether conscious or not, was to him aneverlasting source of strength, was a revelation of himself to himself, and a clearing and widening power which brought ever more and more ofthe universe within the scope of his vision. So they lived on fromday to day and from week to week, and, as old Lage remarked, never hadKvaerk been the scene of so much happiness. Not a single time duringVigfusson's stay had Aasa fled to the forest, not a meal had she missed, and at the hours for family devotion she had taken her seat at the bigtable with the rest and apparently listened with as much attention andinterest. Indeed, all this time Aasa seemed purposely to avoid the darkhaunts of the woods, and, whenever she could, chose the open highway;not even Vigfusson's entreaties could induce her to tread the temptingpaths that led into the forest's gloom. 

"And why not, Aasa?" he would say; "summer is ten times summer therewhen the drowsy noonday spreads its trembling maze of shadows betweenthose huge, venerable trunks. You can feel the summer creeping into yourvery heart and soul, there!"

"Oh, Vigfusson, " she would answer, shaking her head mournfully, "for ahundred paths that lead in, there is only one that leads out again, andsometimes even that one is nowhere to be found. "

He understood her not, but fearing to ask, he remained silent. 

His words and his eyes always drew her nearer and nearer to him; and theforest and its strange voices seemed a dark, opposing influence, whichstrove to take possession of her heart and to wrest her away from himforever; she helplessly clung to him; every thought and emotion ofher soul clustered about him, and every hope of life and happiness wasstaked on him. 

One evening Vigfusson and old Lage Ulfson had been walking about thefields to look at the crop, both smoking their evening pipes. But asthey came down toward the brink whence the path leads between the twoadjoining rye-fields, they heard a sweet, sad voice crooning some oldditty down between the birch-trees at the precipice; they stopped tolisten, and soon recognized Aasa's yellow hair over the tops therye; the shadow as of a painful emotion flitted over the father'scountenance, and he turned his back on his guest and started to go; thenagain paused, and said, imploringly, "Try to get her home if you can, friend Vigfusson. "

Vigfusson nodded, and Lage went; the song had ceased for a moment, nowit began again:

 "Ye twittering birdlings, in forest and glen I have heard you so gladly before; But a bold knight hath come to woo me, I dare listen to you no more. For it is so dark, so dark in the forest. 

 "And the knight who hath come a-wooing to me, He calls me his love and his own; Why then should I stray through the darksome woods, Or dream in the glades alone? For it is so dark, so dark in the forest. "

Her voice fell to a low unintelligible murmur; then it rose, and thelast verses came, clear, soft, and low, drifting on the evening breeze:

 "Yon beckoning world, that shimmering lay O'er the woods where the old pines grow, That gleamed through the moods of the summer day When the breezes were murmuring low (And it is so dark, so dark in the forest);

 "Oh let me no more in the sunshine hear Its quivering noonday call; The bold knight's love is the sun of my heart-- Is my life, and my all in all. But it is so dark, so dark in the forest. "

The young man felt the blood rushing to his face--his heart beatviolently. There was a keen sense of guilt in the blush on his cheek, aloud accusation in the throbbing pulse and the swelling heart-beat. Hadhe not stood there behind the maiden's back and cunningly peered intoher soul's holy of holies? True, he loved Aasa; at least he thought hedid, and the conviction was growing stronger with every day that passed. And now he had no doubt that he had gained her heart. It was not so muchthe words of the ballad which had betrayed the secret; he hardly knewwhat it was, but somehow the truth had flashed upon him, and he could nolonger doubt. 

Vigfusson sat down on the moss-grown rock and pondered. How long hesat there he did not know, but when he rose and looked around, Aasawas gone. Then remembering her father's request to bring her home, hehastened up the hill-side toward the mansion, and searched for her inall directions. It was near midnight when he returned to Kvaerk, whereAasa sat in her high gable window, still humming the weird melody of theold ballad. 

By what reasoning Vigfusson arrived at his final conclusion is difficultto tell. If he had acted according to his first and perhaps mostgenerous impulse, the matter would soon have been decided; but he wasall the time possessed of a vague fear of acting dishonorably, and itwas probably this very fear which made him do what, to the minds ofthose whose friendship and hospitality he had accepted, had somethingof the appearance he wished so carefully to avoid. Aasa was rich; he hadnothing; it was a reason for delay, but hardly a conclusive one. Theydid not know him; he must go out in the world and prove himself worthyof her. He would come back when he should have compelled the world torespect him; for as yet he had done nothing. In fact, his arguments weregood and honorable enough, and there would have been no fault to findwith him, had the object of his love been as capable of reasoning as hewas himself. But Aasa, poor thing, could do nothing by halves; a naturelike hers brooks no delay; to her love was life or it was death. 

The next morning he appeared at breakfast with his knapsack on his back, and otherwise equipped for his journey. It was of no use that Elsiecried and begged him to stay, that Lage joined his prayers to hers, andthat Aasa stood staring at him with a bewildered gaze. Vigfussonshook hands with them all, thanked them for their kindness to him, and promised to return; he held Aasa's hand long in his, but when hereleased it, it dropped helplessly at her side. 

V. 

Far up in the glen, about a mile from Kvaerk, ran a little brook; thatis, it was little in summer and winter, but in the spring, while thesnow was melting up in the mountains, it overflowed the nearest landand turned the whole glen into a broad and shallow river. It was easy tocross, however; a light foot might jump from stone to stone, and be overin a minute. Not the hind herself could be lighter on her foot than Aasawas; and even in the spring-flood it was her wont to cross and recrossthe brook, and to sit dreaming on a large stone against which the waterbroke incessantly, rushing in white torrents over its edges. 

Here she sat one fair summer day--the day after Vigfusson's departure. It was noon, and the sun stood high over the forest. The water murmuredand murmured, babbled and whispered, until at length there came a suddenunceasing tone into its murmur, then another, and it sounded like afaint whispering song of small airy beings. And as she tried to listen, to fix the air in her mind, it all ceased again, and she heard butthe monotonous murmuring of the brook. Everything seemed so empty andworthless, as if that faint melody had been the world of the moment. Butthere it was again; it sung and sung, and the birch overhead took up themelody and rustled it with its leaves, and the grasshopper over in thegrass caught it and whirred it with her wings. The water, the trees, theair, were full of it. What a strange melody!

Aasa well knew that every brook and river has its Neck, besides hostsof little water-sprites. She had heard also that in the moonlight atmidsummer, one might chance to see them rocking in bright littleshells, playing among the pebbles, or dancing on the large leaves of thewater-lily. And that they could sing also, she doubted not; it was theirvoices she heard through the murmuring of the brook. Aasa eagerly bentforward and gazed down into the water: the faint song grew louder, paused suddenly, and sprang into life again; and its sound was so sweet, so wonderfully alluring! Down there in the water, where a stubbornpebble kept chafing a precipitous little side current, clear tinypearl-drops would leap up from the stream, and float half-wonderinglydownward from rapid to rapid, until they lost themselves in the whirlof some stronger current. Thus sat Aasa and gazed and gazed, and in onemoment she seemed to see what in the next moment she saw not. Then asudden great hush stole through the forest, and in the hush she couldhear the silence calling her name. It was so long since she had been inthe forest, it seemed ages and ages ago. She hardly knew herself; thelight seemed to be shining into her eyes as with a will and purpose, perhaps to obliterate something, some old dream or memory, or to impartsome new power--the power of seeing the unseen. And this very thought, this fear of some possible loss, brought the fading memory back, and shepressed her hands against her throbbing temples as if to bind and chainit there forever; and it was he to whom her thought returned. She heardhis voice, saw him beckoning to her to follow him, and she rose to obey, but her limbs were as petrified, and the stone on which she was sittingheld her with the power of a hundred strong arms. The sunshine smoteupon her eyelids, and his name was blotted out from her life; there wasnothing but emptiness all around her. Gradually the forest drew nearerand nearer, the water bubbled and rippled, and the huge, bare-stemmedpines stretched their long gnarled arms toward her. The birches wavedtheir heads with a wistful nod, and the profile of the rock grew into aface with a long, hooked nose, and a mouth half open as if to speak. And the word that trembled on his lips was, "Come. " She felt no fear norreluctance, but rose to obey. Then and not until then she saw an old manstanding at her side; his face was the face of the rock, his white beardflowed to his girdle, and his mouth was half open, but no word came fromhis lips. There was something in the wistful look of his eye which sheknew so well, which she had seen so often, although she could nottell when or where. The old man extended his hand; Aasa took it, andfearlessly or rather spontaneously followed. They approached the steep, rocky wall; as they drew near, a wild, fierce laugh rang through theforest. The features of the old man were twisted as it were into a grin;so also were the features of the rock; but the laugh blew like a mightyblast through the forest. 

Aasa clung to the old man's hand and followed him--she knew not whither. 

At home in the large sitting-room at Kvaerk sat Lage, brooding over thewreck of his hopes and his happiness. Aasa had gone to the woods againthe very first day after Vigfusson's departure. What would be the end ofall this? It was already late in the evening, and she had not returned. The father cast anxious glances toward the door, every time he heard thelatch moving. At last, when it was near midnight, he roused all hismen from their sleep, and commanded them to follow him. Soon the duskyforests resounded far and near with the blast of horns, the report ofguns, and the calling and shouting of men. The affrighted stag crossedand recrossed the path of the hunters, but not a rifle was leveled atits head. Toward morning--it was before the sun had yet risen--Lage, weary and stunned, stood leaning up against a huge fir. Then suddenly afierce, wild laugh rang through the forest. Lage shuddered, raised hishand slowly and pressed it hard against his forehead, vainly strugglingto clear his thoughts. The men clung fearfully together; a few of themore courageous ones drew their knives and made the sign of the crosswith them in the air. Again the same mad laugh shook the air, and sweptover the crowns of the pine-trees. Then Lage lifted his eyes towardheaven and wrung his hands: for the awful truth stood before him. Heremained a long while leaning against that old fir as in a dead stupor;and no one dared to arouse him. A suppressed murmur reached the men'sears. "But deliver us from evil" were the last words they heard. 

When Lage and his servants came home to Kvaerk with the mournful tidingsof Aasa's disappearance, no one knew what to do or say. There could beno doubt that Aasa was "mountain-taken, " as they call it; for there wereTrolds and dwarfs in all the rocks and forests round about, and theywould hardly let slip the chance of alluring so fair a maiden as Aasawas into their castles in the mountains. Elsie, her mother, knew a gooddeal about the Trolds, their tricks, and their way of living, andwhen she had wept her fill, she fell to thinking of the possibility ofregaining her daughter from their power. If Aasa had not yet tasted offood or drink in the mountain, she was still out of danger; and if thepastor would allow the church-bell to be brought up into the forest andrung near the rock where the laugh had been heard, the Trolds could becompelled to give her back. No sooner had this been suggested to Lage, than the command was given to muster the whole force of men and horses, and before evening on the same day the sturdy swains of Kvaerk were seenclimbing the tower of the venerable church, whence soon the huge oldbell descended, to the astonishment of the throng of curious women andchildren who had flocked together to see the extraordinary sight. It waslaid upon four large wagons, which had been joined together with ropesand planks, and drawn away by twelve strong horses. Long after thestrange caravan had vanished in the twilight, the children stood gazingup into the empty bell-tower. 

It was near midnight, when Lage stood at the steep, rocky wall in theforest; the men were laboring to hoist the church-bell up to a staunchcross-beam between two mighty fir-trees, and in the weird light of theirtorches, the wild surroundings looked wilder and more fantastic. Anon, the muffled noise and bustle of the work being at an end, the laborerswithdrew, and a strange, feverish silence seemed to brood over theforest. Lage took a step forward, and seized the bell-rope; the clear, conquering toll of the metal rung solemnly through the silence, and fromthe rocks, the earth, and the tree-tops, rose a fierce chorus of howls, groans, and screams. All night the ringing continued; the old treesswayed to and fro, creaked, and groaned, the roots loosened their holdsin the fissures of the rock, and the bushy crowns bowed low under theirunwonted burden. 

It was well-nigh morn, but the dense fog still brooded over the woods, and it was dark as night. Lage was sitting on the ground, his headleaning on both his elbows; at his side lay the flickering torch, andthe huge bell hung dumb overhead. In the dark he felt a hand touchhis shoulder; had it happened only a few hours before, he would haveshuddered; now the physical sensation hardly communicated itself to hismind, or, if it did, had no power to rouse him from his dead, hopelessapathy. Suddenly--could he trust his own ears?--the church-bell gave aslow, solemn, quivering stroke, and the fogs rolled in thick masses tothe east and to the west, as if blown by the breath of the sound. Lageseized his torch, sprang to his feet, and saw--Vigfusson. He stretchedhis arm with the blazing torch closer to the young man's face, staredat him with large eyes, and his lip quivered; but he could not utter aword. 

"Vigfusson?" faltered he at last. 

"It is I;" and the second stroke followed, stronger and more solemn thanthe first. The same fierce, angry voices chorused forth from everynook of the rock and the woods. Then came the third--the noise grew;fourth--and it sounded like a hoarse, angry hiss; when the twelfthstroke fell, silence reigned again in the forest. Vigfusson dropped thebell-rope, and with a loud voice called Lage Kvaerk and his men. Helit a torch, held it aloft over his head, and peered through the duskynight. The men spread through the highlands to search for the lostmaiden; Lage followed close in Vigfusson's footsteps. They had notwalked far when they heard the babbling of the brook only a few feetaway. Thither they directed their steps. On a large stone in the middleof the stream the youth thought he saw something white, like a largekerchief. Quick as thought he was at its side, bowed down with historch, and--fell backward. It was Aasa, his beloved, cold and dead;but as the father stooped over his dead child the same mad laugh echoedwildly throughout the wide woods, but madder and louder than everbefore, and from the rocky wall came a fierce, broken voice:

"I came at last. "

When, after an hour of vain search, the men returned to the place whencethey had started, they saw a faint light flickering between the birchesnot fifty feet away; they formed a firm column, and with fearful heartsdrew nearer. There lay Lage Kvaerk, their master, still bending downover his child's pale features, and staring into her sunken eyes as ifhe could not believe that she were really dead. And at his side stoodVigfusson, pale and aghast, with the burning torch in his hand. Thefootsteps of the men awakened the father, but when he turned his face onthem they shuddered and started back. Then Lage rose, lifted the maidenfrom the stone, and silently laid her in Vigfusson's arms; her richyellow hair flowed down over his shoulder. The youth let his torchfall into the waters, and with a sharp, serpent-like hiss its flamewas quenched. He crossed the brook; the men followed, and the darkpine-trees closed over the last descendant of Lage Ulfson's mighty race. 

Footnotes:

[1] "I am a Dane. I speak Danish. "

[2] Examen artium is the entrance examination to the NorwegianUniversity, and philosophicum the first degree. The ranks given at theseare Laudabilis prae ceteris (in student's parlance, prae), laudabilis orlaud, haud illaudabilis, or haud, etc. 

[3] Free translation of a Swedish serenade, the name of whose author Ihave forgotten. H. H. B. 

[4] Translation, from "Exotics. By J. F. C. & C. L. "

[5] In the country districts of Norway Saturday evening is regarded as"the wooer's eve. "

[6] The saeter is a place in the mountains where the Norwegian peasantsspend their summers pasturing their cattle. Every large farm has its ownsaeter, consisting of one or more chalets, hedged in by a fence of stoneor planks. 

[7] Katzenjammer is the sensation a man has the morning after acarousal. 

[8] A stave is an improvised responsive song. It is an ancientpastime in Norway, and is kept up until this day, especially amongthe peasantry. The students, also, at their social gatherings, throwimprovised rhymes to each other across the table, and the rest of thecompany repeat the refrain. 

[9] "The red cock crew" is the expression used in the old NorwegianFagas for incendiary fire.