ait long," replied Gottlieb. "I have accomplished
greater undertakings than that in my time."

"Ah, ha," sneered Mrs. Ulrica, "you speak boldly, boy. I am
astonished."

"If any one should be astonished, I am the person."

"Indeed!"

"I come to relatives who at first welcomed me cordially. My affections
attached themselves to my kind friends, for it is a necessary quality
for me to be grateful; but suddenly everything is changed, and I am
treated like a school boy, whom you must curb, or else fear that he
might commit some folly. To this description of guardianship I have not
been accustomed, and as it is not my desire to submit to your control, I
must beg you, Aunt Ulrica, not to attempt to govern me in this manner,
for I assure you that your efforts will always be fruitless."

"Foolish boy! You forget that I could be useful to you; could smooth
your path by my wealth and influence."

"I do not forget it, and I should have been very happy to have been able
to retain your good will; but at the price of my liberty of thought and
action, I do not desire your favor."

"Then you will return to the valley, to Miss Nanna."

"Undoubtedly. She requires my presence, and I long to see her."

"Then you still love the young girl?" inquired Mrs. Ulrica.

"I do not know whether I loved her when I departed from Almvik; but
this much I do know, that her image has been with me constantly during
my absence; and that I shall see her again to-day."

"To tell her of this folly?"

"O, no, that would be unjust, as I can tell her nothing more."

"Thank Heaven for that! You, yourself, see that it would be impossible
to--"

"What?" inquired Gottlieb, as his aunt paused.

"To marry her."

"I do not at all consider it impossible; but as it is uncertain whether
I ought to wed Nanna when the time arrives for me to marry, it is better
for both of us that we should rest satisfied with friendship alone."

"Listen to me, Gottlieb. Sometimes you speak so wisely that I am not
certain but that it would repay me to make a proposal to you."

"Well, I am all attention."

"If I am not much mistaken, pity is the only sentiment that you feel for
that girl, Nanna. If I was to take it upon myself to pay the old man's
fine; if I should further promise you to provide for Nanna's future
maintenance--you know I would not break my word--will you bind yourself
not to see her again?"

"No, I will never do that. She would be oppressed with sorrow t