uy meat for his workmen down on the sea-coast.

As soon as he was gone, the lady came running across the street. It was
now as it ever had been. Scarcely did she stand in the room, shedding
around her sweet smile, than every bad thought concerning her crept away
abashed, and with inward craving for pardon, Magnhild yielded to the
cordial friendliness with which the lady threw her arms about her, and
kissed her and drew her head down caressingly on her shoulder. This time
there was not a word spoken, but Magnhild felt the same sympathy in
every caress that had accompanied every previous embrace and kiss. When
the lady released her, they moved away in different directions. Magnhild
busied herself in breaking off a few withered twigs from one of the
plants in the window.

Suddenly her cheek and neck were fanned by the lady's warm breath. "My
friend," was softly whispered into her ear, "my sweet, pure little
friend! You are leading a wild beast with your child hands."

The words, the warm breath which, as it were, infused magic into them,
sent a tremor through Magnhild's frame. The tears rolled down her cheeks
and fell on her hand. The lady saw this and whispered: "Do not fear. You
have in your singing an enchanted ring which you only need turn when you
wish yourself away! Do not cry!" And turning Magnhild round, she folded
her in her arms again.

"This afternoon the weather is fine; this afternoon we will all be
together in the wood and in the house, and we will sing and laugh. Ah!
there are not many more days left to us!"

These last words stabbed Magnhild to the heart. Autumn was nigh at hand,
and soon she would be alone again.

CHAPTER VII.

They were up-stairs in the afternoon, standing by the piano singing,
when they heard Skarlie come home and go into the sitting-room below.
Without making any remarks about this, they went on singing. They sang
at last by candle-light, with the windows still open.

When Magnhild came down-stairs Skarlie too had his windows open; he was
sitting in the arm-chair in the corner. He rose now and closed the
windows; Magnhild drew down the curtains, and in the mean time Skarlie
struck a light. While they were still in the dark, he began to express
his admiration of the singing to which he had been listening. He praised
Magnhild's voice as well as the lady's alto, and of his wife's soprano
he repeated his praise. "It is as pure--as you are yourself, my child,"
said he. He wa