and sympathy; man enough,
apparently, to have outgrown his boyish needs and still boy enough to be
ashamed of having ever had them.

It was the third Sunday after Arnfinn's return. He and Augusta were
climbing the hillside to the "Giant's Hood," from whence they had a wide
view of the fjord, and could see the sun trailing its long bridge of
flame upon the water. It was Inga's week in the kitchen, therefore her
sister was Arnfinn's companion. As they reached the crest of the "Hood,"
Augusta seated herself on a flat bowlder, and the young student flung
himself on a patch of greensward at her feet. The intense light of the
late sun fell upon the girl's unconscious face, and Arnfinn lay, gazing
up into it, and wondering at its rare beauty; but he saw only the clean
cut of its features and the purity of its form, being too shallow to
recognize the strong and heroic soul which had struggled so long
for utterance in the life of which he had been a blind and unmindful
witness.

"Gracious, how beautiful you are, cousin!" he broke forth, heedlessly,
striking his leg with his slender cane; "pity you were not born a queen;
you would be equal to almost anything, even if it were to discover the
Polar Sea."

"I thought you were looking at the sun, Arnfinn," answered she, smiling
reluctantly.

"And so I am, cousin," laughed he, with an other-emphatic slap of his
boot.

"That compliment is rather stale."

"But the opportunity was too tempting."

"Never mind, I will excuse you from further efforts. Turn around and
notice that wonderful purple halo which is hovering over the forests
below. Isn't it glorious?"

"No, don't let us be solemn, pray. The sun I have seen a thousand
times before, but you I have seen very seldom of late. Somehow, since
I returned this time, you seem to keep me at a distance. You no longer
confide to me your great plans for the abolishment of war, and the
improvement of mankind generally. Why don't you tell me whether you
have as yet succeeded in convincing the peasants that cleanliness is
a cardinal virtue, that hawthorn hedges are more picturesque than rail
fences, and that salt meat is a very indigestible article?"

"You know the fate of my reforms, from long experience," she answered,
with the same sad, sweet smile. "I am afraid there must be some thing
radically wrong about my methods; and, moreover, I know that your
aspirations and mine are no longer the same, if they ever have been, and
I am not