her the spring was breaking, and the world was lifting
with the glory underneath it. Because it had been firmly pledged--and
who could ever doubt it?--that the best and noblest lover in this world
of noble love would come and grandly claim and win his bride on her next
birthday.

At Christmas she had further pledge of her noble lover's constancy.
In spite of difficulties, dangers, and the pressing need of men, he
contrived to send her by some very valiant messengers (none of whom
would ride alone) a beautiful portrait of himself, set round with
sparkling diamonds; also a necklace of large pearls, as white and pure
as the neck whose grace was to enhance their beauty.

Hereupon such pride and pleasure mounted into her cheeks and eyes, and
flushed her with young gaiety, that all who loved her, being grafted
with good superstition, nearly spoiled their Christmas-time by serious
sagacity. She, however, in the wealth of all she had to think of, heeded
none who trod the line of prudence and cold certainty.

"It is more than I can tell," she used to say, most prettily, to anybody
who made bold to ask her about anything; "all things go so in and out
that I am sure of nothing else except that I am happy."

The baron now began to take a narrow, perhaps a natural, view of all
the things around him. In all the world there was for him no sign
or semblance of any being whose desires or strictest rights could be
thought of more than once when set against his daughter's. This, of
course, was very bad for Frida's own improvement. It could not make her
selfish yet, but it really made her wayward. The very best girls ever
seen are sure to have their failings; and Frida, though one of the very
best, was not above all nature. People made too much of this, when she
could no more defend herself.

Whoever may have been to blame, one thing at least is certain--the
father, though he could not follow all his child's precipitance, yet
was well contented now to stoop his gray head to bright lips, and do his
best toward believing some of their soft eloquence. The child, on the
other hand, was full of pride, and rose on tiptoe, lest anybody might
suppose her still too young for anything. Thus between them they looked
forward to a pleasant time to come, hoping for the best, and judging
everyone with charity.

The thing that vexed them most (for always there must, of course, be
something) was the behaviour of Albert, nephew to the baron, and most