voluntarily
made Magnhild pause. Now she was forced to follow the steps which began
afresh. A new tinge of the mysterious, the incomprehensible, had fallen
over Tande. She was afraid of him. Before this, she had trembled when
he was near at hand; now a thrill ran through her when she merely
thought of him.

The steps above ceased, and she glided from the unfathomable to Skarlie;
for here she was clear. How she hated him! And when she thought that in
a fortnight he would come again and act as though nothing had occurred,
she clinched her hands in rage and opened them again; for as it had been
a hundred times before, so it would be again. She would forget, because
he was so good-natured, and let her have her own way.

A profound sorrow at her own insufficiency fell like the pall of night
on her fancy. She burst into tears. She was unable to cope with one of
the relations of life, either those of others or her own; unable to
grasp any saving resolution. Indeed, what could this be?

The steps began again, swifter, lighter than ever. Once more Magnhild
experienced that inexplicable, not unpleasant tremor Tande had caused in
her before.

It had finally grown dark. She rose and went into the next room. At the
cottage opposite there was light, and the curtains were down. Magnhild
also struck a light. Scarcely had she done so when she heard steps in
the hall, and some one knocked at her door. She listened; there came
another rap. She went to the door. It was a message from the lady for
Magnhild to come to her. She put out the light and obeyed the summons.

She found everything changed. All around stood open, already-packed
chests, trunks, boxes, and traveling satchels; Magda lay sleeping on her
own little hamper. A hired woman was assisting the maid in putting the
room in order. The maid started up saying: "My lady has just gone into
her bed-room. I will announce you."

Magnhild knocked at the door, then entered the chamber.

The lady lay on her couch, behind white bed curtains, in a lace-trimmed
night-dress. She had wound about her head the Turkish kerchief which was
inseparably associated with her headaches. The lamp stood a little in
the background, with a shade of soft, fluttering red paper over it. She
was leaning on one elbow which was buried deep in the pillow, and she
languidly extended the free left hand; a weary, agonized gaze followed.
How beautiful she was! Magnhild was hers again, hers so completely that
she