ing moods of joy
and sorrow. She had long known that he loved her, and when at last
his slow confession came, it added nothing to her happiness; it only
increased her fears for the future. They laid many plans together in
those days; but winter came as a surprise to both, the cattle were
removed 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 not
right 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 once
seen Halvard. Yes, once,--it was Christmas-day,--she had ventured to
peep over to his pew in the church, and had seen him, sitting at his
father's side, and gazing vacantly out into the empty space; but as he
had caught her glance, he had blushed, and began eagerly to turn the
leaves of his hymn-book. It troubled her that he made no effort to see
her; many an evening she had walked alone down at the river-side, hoping
that he might come; but it was all in vain. She could not but believe
that 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 secret
gnawed at the very roots of her heart. It was a time of terrible
suspense and suffering--such as a man never knows, such as only a woman
can endure. It was almost a relief when the cloud burst, and the storm
broke loose, as presently it did.

One Sunday, early in April, Bjarne did not return at the usual hour from
church. His daughters waited in vain for him with the dinner, and at
last 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-fever
had broken out. A large vessel was lying out in the fjord, ready to take
the emigrants away; and there was hardly a family that did not mourn the
loss of some brave-hearted son, or of some fair and cherished daughter.
The old folks, of course, had to remain behind; and when the children
were gone, what was there left for them but to lie down and die? America
was to them as distant as if it were on another planet. The family
feeling, too, has ever been strong in the Norseman's breast; he lives
for his children, and seems to live his l