in him a wild joy, that
seemed to be set free for the first time. Just so--with his heart
beating stormily--had he gone to see Maria, in the old days when they
had given their promise to each other.

Cain now reached the workshop, and said, as he passed, "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" answered Simmen, and turned to Fausch: "What is the
boy's name?"

The smith looked up with a sullen expression and was so slow in
answering, that it seemed as if he first had to recollect himself, and
then as if the words stuck in his throat: "The boy's name is Franz." At
this very moment his stubbornness almost got the upper hand of him, and
as Cain, who had carried the milk to the house, came quickly back,
Fausch's hands itched to take hold of him, and show him to the landlord
and say: "His name is Cain. I chose and I still choose that he should
bear that name." The inner conflict in Stephen Fausch was not yet
ended.

From the tavern, a voice now called to the landlord, just as Fausch was
finishing his work. Simmen started to go, but the girl who had called
him came out in front of the tavern, looked over toward him and then
walked toward the shop, as if she were curious; so then the landlord
beckoned her to come over to them.

"I want you to see my child, smith," said he, "the only one, and a
tardy blossom. It had seemed as if the house would always be empty." He
put his arm around the shoulders of the fifteen-year-old girl, who had
approached, and pushed her toward Fausch.

The stable boy was now leading the two horses away. Just then Cain came
to call Fausch to breakfast.

The girl gave her firm brown hand to the smith. "Good morning!" said
she.

"There is some one else too, Vincenza," said the landlord, and pointed
to Cain, and the child, without any timidity, laughed and gave her hand
to the boy also.

"His name is Franz," said her father.

"Good morning, Franz!" said Vincenza.

"You look like a negress beside the boy," laughed Simmen, and placed
the girl close beside Cain. Her deep black, curly hair was braided and
wound around her head, which reached to Cain's shoulder. She had a
brown complexion, brilliant black eyes and handsome features of the
Italian type. When she laughed at what her father said, her white teeth
flashed, and the whites of her eyes too, producing a curious and
striking effect between the brown skin and the black pupils.

"She is an Italian," said Simmen, "she looks like her mother."

It wa