what
had been said, and this was fortunate, for it would have been very
painful to them to become publicly mixed up in an affair which had
assumed such a purely speculative character since it came into the
hands of the usurer.

Late on the afternoon of the 12th of July, a letter arrived, addressed
to Professor Sylvius Hogg.

This missive, which came from the Naval Department, contained another
which had been mailed at Christiansand, a small town situated at the
mouth of the Gulf of Christiania. It could hardly have contained any
news, however, for Sylvius Hogg put it in his pocket and said nothing
to Joel or his sister about its contents.

But when he bade them good-night on retiring to his chamber, he
remarked:

"The drawing of the lottery is to take place in three days as you are,
of course, aware, my children. You intend to be present, do you not?"

"What is the use, Monsieur Sylvius?" responded Hulda.

"But Ole wished his betrothed to witness it. In fact, he particularly
requested it in the last lines he ever wrote, and I think his wishes
should be obeyed."

"But the ticket is no longer in Hulda's possession," remarked Joel,
"and we do not even know into whose hands it has passed."

"Nevertheless, I think you both ought to accompany me to Christiania
to attend the drawing," replied the professor.

"Do you really desire it, Monsieur Sylvius?" asked the young girl.

"It is not I, my dear Hulda, but Ole who desires it, and Ole's wishes
must be respected."

"Monsieur Sylvius is right, sister," replied Joel. "Yes; you must go.
When do you intend to start, Monsieur Sylvius?"

"To-morrow, at day-break, and may Saint Olaf protect us!"

CHAPTER XVI.

The next morning Foreman Lengling's gayly painted kariol bore away
Sylvius Hogg and Hulda, seated comfortably side by side. There was not
room for Joel, as we know already, so the brave fellow trudged along
on foot at the horse's head.

The fourteen kilometers that lay between Dal and Moel had no terrors
for this untiring walker.

Their route lay along the left bank of the Maan, down the charming
valley of the Vesfjorddal--a narrow, heavily wooded valley, watered by
a thousand dashing cataracts. At each turn in the path, too, one saw
appearing or disappearing the lofty summit of Gousta, with its two
large patches of dazzling snow.

The sky was cloudless, the weather magnificent, the air not too cool,
nor the sun too warm.

Strange to say, Sylvius