ely
sympathetic throbs, as this wondrous scene spread itself before him.
They soon succeeded in hiring a farm-house, about half an hour's walk
from Blakstad, and, according to Brita's wish, established themselves
there for the summer. She had known the people well, when she was young,
but they never thought of identifying her with the merry maid, who had
once startled the parish by her sudden flight; and she, although she
longed to open her heart to them, let no word fall to betray her real
character. Her conscience accused her of playing a false part, but for
her son's sake she kept silent.

Then, one day,--it was the second Sunday after their arrival,--she rose
early in the morning, and asked Thomas to accompany her on a walk up
through the valley. There was Sabbath in the air; the soft breath of
summer, laden with the perfume of fresh leaves and field-flowers,
gently wafted into their faces. The sun glittered in the dewy grass, the
crickets sung with a remote voice of wonder, and the air seemed to be
half visible, and moved in trembling wavelets on the path before them.
Resting on her son's arm, Brita walked slowly up through the flowering
meadows; she hardly knew whither her feet bore her, but her heart
beat violently, and she often was obliged to pause and press her hands
against her bosom, as if to stay the turbulent emotions.

"You are not well, mother," said the son. "It was imprudent in me to
allow you to exert yourself in this way."

"Let us sit down on this stone," answered she. "I shall soon be better.
Do not look so anxiously at me. Indeed, I am not sick."

He spread his light summer coat on the stone and carefully seated her.
She lifted her veil and raised her eyes to the large red-roofed mansion,
whose dark outlines drew themselves dimly on the dusky background of the
pine forest. Was he still alive, he whose life-hope she had wrecked, he
who had once driven her out into the night with all but a curse upon his
lips? How would he receive her, if she were to return? Ah, she knew him,
and she trembled at the very thought of meeting him. But was not the
guilt hers? Could she depart from this valley, could she die in peace,
without having thrown herself at his feet and implored his forgiveness?
And there, on the opposite side of the valley, lay the home of him who
had been the cause of all her misery. What had been his fate, and did he
still remember those long happy summer days, ah! so long, long ago? She