polished pine table.

The farmer's great arm-chair was brought in for Duprez, who, though he
declared he was being spoilt by too much attention, seemed to enjoy it
immensely,--and they were all, including Britta, soon clustered round
the hospitable board whereon antique silver and quaint glasses of
foreign make sparkled bravely, their effect enhanced by the snowy
whiteness of the homespun table-linen.

A few minutes set them all talking gaily. Macfarlane vied with the
ever-gallant Duprez in making a few compliments to Britta, who was
pretty and engaging enough to merit attention, and who, after all, was
something more than a mere servant, possessing, as she did, a great deal
of her young mistress's affection and confidence, and being always
treated by Gueldmar himself as one of the family. There was no reserve or
coldness in the party, and the hum of their merry voices echoed up to
the cross-rafters of the stout wooden ceiling and through the open door
and window, from whence a patch of the gorgeous afternoon sky could be
seen, glimmering redly, like a distant lake of fire. They were in the
full enjoyment of their repast, and the old farmer's rollicking "Ha, ha,
ha!" in response to a joke of Lorimer's, had just echoed jovially
through the room, when a strong, harsh voice called aloud--"Olaf
Gueldmar!"

There was a sudden silence. Each one looked at the other in surprise.
Again the voice called--"Olaf Gueldmar!"

"Well!" roared the _bonde_ testily, turning sharply round in his chair,
"who calls me?"

"I do!" and the tall, emaciated figure of a woman advanced and stood on
the threshold, without actually entering the room. She dropped the black
shawl that enveloped her, and, in so doing, disordered her hair, which
fell in white, straggling locks about her withered features, and her
dark eyes gleamed maliciously as she fixed them on the assembled party.
Britta, on perceiving her, uttered a faint shriek, and without
considering the propriety of her action, buried her nut-brown curls and
sparkling eyes in Duprez's coat-sleeve, which, to do the Frenchman
justice, was exceedingly prompt to receive and shelter its fair burden.
The _bonde_ rose from his chair, and his face grew stern.

"What do you here, Lovisa Elsland? Have you walked thus far from Talvig
to pay a visit that must needs be unwelcome?"

"Unwelcome I know I am," replied Lovisa, disdainfully noting the terror
of Britta and the astonished glances if Erringto