." He had long been so but had
concealed it. Those are called "bout-drinkers" who at long intervals
seem impelled to drink. His father had been so before him.

A few days later Aksel Aaroe went quietly off to America.

CHAPTER III

Another of those who had been at the ball, steamed about the same time
across the Atlantic. This was Hjalmar Olsen.

His ship experienced a continuous northwesterly gale, and the harder
it blew, the more grog he drank; but as he did so he was astonished to
find that a memory of the ball constantly rose before him--the little
rosy red one; the girl with the plait. Hjalmar Olsen was of opinion
that he had conducted himself in a very gentleman-like manner towards
her. At first this did not very much occupy his thoughts; he had been
twice engaged already, and each time it had been broken off. If he
engaged himself a third time he must marry at once. He had formed this
determination often before, but he did not really think very
seriously about it.

A steamer is not many days between ports, and at each there is plenty
of amusement. He went to New York, from there to New Orleans, thence
to Brazil and back, once again to Brazil, finally returning direct to
England and Norway. But often during the voyage, and especially over a
glass of punch, he recalled the girl with the plait. How she had
looked at him. It did him good only to think of it. He was not very
fond of letter-writing, or perhaps he would have written to her. But
when he arrived at Christiania, and heard from a friend that her
mother was dying, he thought at once: "I shall certainly go and see
her; she will think it very good of me, if I do so just now."

Two days later he was sitting before her in the parlour of the little
house near the hotel and market-place. His large hands, black with
hair and sunburn, stroked his knees as he stooped smilingly forward
and asked if she would have him.

She sat lower than he did; her full figure and plump arms were set
off by a brown dress, which he stared down on when he did not look
into her pale face. She felt each movement of his eyes. She had come
from the other room, and from thoughts of death; she heard a little
cuckoo clock upstairs announce that it was seven o'clock, and the
little thing reminded her of all that was now past. One thing with
another made her turn from him with tears in her eyes as she said, "I
cannot possibly think of such things how." She rose and walked towards
her