en they landed. Nor could he get enough on the way up to
his sister's farm--not enough of her soft voice, of her gait, of her
dress, of the smile which disclosed her teeth, nor, above all else, of
her frank, impetuous talk; all these things were alike bewildering.

Next morning he stayed at home. No sooner had the steamer with which he
should have gone to town turned the point, than Marit's white boat came
in sight. She had a maid-servant with her who was to keep watch, for
to-day she too meant to bathe.

Afterwards she went up to the house. She had planned to stay there to
dinner. In the afternoon they walked back together, across the ridge;
the boat had been sent home.

Next day she went with him to town. The day after they were in town
again, but this time she chose to drive, and made Anders' sister come
with them. There was something new every day. The brother and sister
simply lived for her, and she accepted the situation as if it were quite
natural.

When she had been with them for about three weeks, a cablegram came to
Krogskogen from brother Hans, telling that their uncle, Anders, had died
suddenly; the news must be broken to Marit.

Never had Anders Krog taken a walk with heavier feet and heart than on
the day when he crossed the hill to his sister's with this telegram in
his pocket. As he came in sight of the home-like yellow house and
steading amongst the trees on the plain below, he heard the dinner-bell
ring out cheerily into the bright sunshine. The spread table was
waiting. He sat down; he felt as if he could go no farther. Was he not
on his way to kill the glad day?

When at length he reached the house, he went in by the kitchen door,
along with some labourers who had come from a distance for their dinner.
In the kitchen he found his sister, who took him into a back room. She
was as much shocked and grieved as he; but she was of a more courageous
nature; and she undertook to break the news to Marit, who had not come
in yet, but was expected every moment.

Anders Krog in his back room ere long heard a scream which he never
forgot. He sprang to his feet with the agony of it, but could not bring
himself to leave the room; the sound of bitter sobbing in the next held
him fast. It grew louder and louder, interrupted by short cries. The
same impetuous strength in her grief as in her joy! It set him pacing
the room wildly until his sister opened the door.

"She wants to see you."

Then he was obliged