t back to Bergen. I expect
I've got as much money as the Ericsons. Father sent me a little to get
started. They never knew about that. There, I hadn't meant to tell you;
I wanted you to come on your own nerve."

Clara looked off across the fields. "It isn't that, Nils, but something
seems to hold me. I'm afraid to pull against it. It comes out of the
ground, I think."

"I know all about that. One has to tear loose. You're not needed here.
Your father will understand; he's made like us. As for Olaf, Johanna
will take better care of him than ever you could. It's now or never,
Clara Vavrika. My bag's at the station; I smuggled it there yesterday."

Clara clung to him and hid her face against his shoulder. "Not tonight,"
she whispered. "Sit here and talk to me tonight. I don't want to go
anywhere tonight. I may never love you like this again."

Nils laughed through his teeth. "You can't come that on me. That's not
my way, Clara Vavrika. Eric's mare is over there behind the stacks, and
I'm off on the midnight. It's goodbye, or off across the world with me.
My carriage won't wait. I've written a letter to Olaf, I'll mail it
in town. When he reads it he won't bother us--not if I know him. He'd
rather have the land. Besides, I could demand an investigation of his
administration of Cousin Henrik's estate, and that would be bad for a
public man. You've no clothes, I know; but you can sit up tonight, and
we can get everything on the way. Where's your old dash, Clara Vavrika?
What's become of your Bohemian blood? I used to think you had courage
enough for anything. Where's your nerve--what are you waiting for?"

Clara drew back her head, and he saw the slumberous fire in her eyes.
"For you to say one thing, Nils Ericson."

"I never say that thing to any woman, Clara Vavrika." He leaned back,
lifted her gently from the ground, and whispered through his teeth: "But
I'll never, never let you go, not to any man on earth but me! Do you
understand me? Now, wait here."

Clara sank down on a sheaf of wheat and covered her face with her hands.
She did not know what she was going to do--whether she would go or stay.
The great, silent country seemed to lay a spell upon her. The ground
seemed to hold her as if by roots. Her knees were soft under her. She
felt as if she could not bear separation from her old sorrows, from her
old discontent. They were dear to her, they had kept her alive, they
were a part of her. There would be nothing l