nd are slippery: the stone walls drip with water, and only a step
beyond the depth appears bottomless! O, thou wilt love this mill as I
love it! Again having reached the light of day, and under free heaven,
one only perceives the quiet, friendly little house. Dost thou know,
Otto, often as thou hast sat quiet and dreaming, silent as a statue,
have I thought of my mill, and the repose which it presented? and yet
how wildly the stream roared in its bosom, how the wheels rushed round,
and how gloomy it was in the depth!"

"We will leave the mill!" said Otto, and sought to lead her from her
reflections back to her own relation. "We find ourselves in the wood,
where the ringing of the evening-bell reaches our ear from the little
chapel in Franche Compte."

"There stands my father's house!" said Rosalie. "From the corner-window
one looks over the wood toward Aubernez, [Author's Note: A village in
the canton Neufchatel, lying close upon the river Doub, where it forms
the boundary between Switzerland and France.] where the ridge leads over
the Doub. The sun shines upon the river, which, far below, winds along,
gleaming like the clearest silver."

"And the whole of France spreads itself out before us!" said Otto.

"How beautiful! O, how beautiful!" exclaimed Rosalie, and her eyes
sparkled as she gazed before her; but soon her glance became sad, and
she pressed Otto's hand. "No one will welcome me to my home! I know
neither their joys nor their sorrows--they are not my own family! In
Denmark--I am at home. When the cold sea-mist spreads itself over the
heath I often fancy I am living among my mountains, where the heather
grows. The mist seems to me then to be a snow-cloud which rests over
the mountains, and thus, when other people are complaining of the bad
weather, I am up among my mountains!"

"Thou wilt then remove to the family at Lemvig?" asked Otto.

"There I am welcome!" returned she.

CHAPTER XVII

"Look at the calming sea. The waves still tremble in the
depths, and stem to fear the gale.--Over my head is hovering
the shadowy mist.--My curls are wet with the filling dew."
--OSSIAN.

Otto had not as yet visited the sand-hills on the strand, the fishermen,
or the peasants, among whom formerly he had spent all his spare time.

The beautiful summer's day drove him forth, his heart yearned to drink
in the summer warmth.

Only the roads between the larger towns are here tolerable, or rather