ING
one, but in nine cases out of ten the fault lay in her own lack of
imagination and not in his ignorance of English. On such occasions Edith
often took pity on him, defended him against her mother's criticism, and
insisted that if this or that expression was not in common vogue,
that was no reason why it should not be used, as it was perfectly
grammatical, and, moreover, in keeping with the spirit of the language.
And he, listening passively in admiring silence to her argument, thanked
her even for the momentary pain because it was followed by so great a
happiness. For it was so sweet to be defended by Edith, to feel that
he and she were standing together side by side against the outer world.
Could he only show her in the old heroic manner how much he loved
her! Would only some one that was dear to her die, so that he, in that
breaking down of social barriers which follows a great calamity, might
comfort her in her sorrow. Would she then, perhaps, weeping, lean her
wonderful head upon his breast, feeling but that he was a fellow-mortal,
who had a heart that was loyal and true, and forgetting, for one
brief instant, that he was a foreigner. Then, to touch that delicate
Elizabethan frill which wound itself so daintily about Edith's
neck--what inconceivable rapture! But it was quite impossible. It could
never be. These were selfish thoughts, no doubt, but they were a lover's
selfishness, and, as such, bore a close kinship to all that is purest
and best in human nature.

It is one of the tragic facts of this life, that a relation so unequal
as that which existed between Halfdan and Edith, is at all possible. As
for Edith, I must admit that she was well aware that her teacher was in
love with her. Women have wonderfully keen senses for phenomena of that
kind, and it is an illusion if any one imagines, as our Norseman did,
that he has locked his secret securely in the hidden chamber of his
heart. In fleeting intonations, unconscious glances and attitudes,
and through a hundred other channels it will make its way out, and the
bereaved jailer may still clasp his key in fierce triumph, never knowing
that he has been robbed. It was of course no fault of Edith's that she
had become possessed of Halfdan's heart-secret. She regarded it as on
the whole rather an absurd affair, and prized it very lightly. That
a love so strong and yet so humble, so destitute of hope and still so
unchanging, reverent and faithful, had something gran