"Ah! Nanna, you are both wise and charitable. I shall not endeavor to wrest the secret from you; but you are so much esteemed by me, that at some future day, when I can follow my own inclinations I will return to you."

"I will forget these last words, Mr. Gottlieb, for I think them the saddest you have ever uttered."

"You are right; but I spoke as I thought. It is not my fault if I thought that you were above all others most suitable to become my wife."

As he thus spoke Nanna trembled violently and she looked upon him with a gaze which contained more bitterness than words could have expressed.

"I believe I am mad indeed. I have endeavored to speak in a better spirit, and instead of so doing—I had better go immediately—or—"

"Or what?"

"Or I will, yes, I will, hold you to my heart, and swear to you, as true as I am an honest man, that I love you, and you alone, come what may, I can withhold myself no longer." Gottlieb suited the action to the word, and enfolded the blushing girl in his warm embrace.

"O, Gottlieb!" cried Nanna, weeping and laughing, "this is madness indeed!"

"No, on the contrary it is happiness!"

"But to-morrow you will repent it!"

"Never, Nanna, I sincerely believe that all is for the best. We can work hard; we have only a few needs, and it is such happiness to love each other."

"But—"

"You must accustom yourself to omit that disagreeable word. When my mind is once made up, I permit of no ifs nor buts. And as we do not require a great amount of money to defray our little domestic expenses, I think it would be wrong for us to waste the best part of our lives in useless delay. After one year has elapsed, the parson shall unite us as man and wife, and I shall take you from this valley, and we will look forward to all the joys and sorrows, which our Heavenly Father in his wisdom shall send us."

Nanna, who for a long season had battled against the intoxicating desire which had filled her heart, gradually assented to Gottlieb's words, and the interview terminated with a second agreement, which was directly contrary to the first one, for by it they bound themselves to love each other forever.

They agreed that this change from their former agreement should be concealed from all others. They alone should know the secret.



CHAPTER XVII.

RAGNAR.

Autumn arrived.

The valley was strewn with yellow leaves. The birds had ceased their songs. The grass had withered. Rains and storms had discolored the fountain. Yet, although Nature seemed to have been engaged in contentious strife, still joy reigned supreme within the little cottage. Ragnar, the beloved husband, the darling son, had returned. Seated in the midst of his children beside his lovely wife, and with his arm encircling her waist, he listened with a countenance changing from cheerfulness to solemnity to a recital of all that had transpired during his absence.

As soon as Mr. Lonner, for he was the narrator, had concluded, Ragnar advanced and enfolded the old man in his arms.

"What viper did this? I have a strong suspicion—to cast such an old man into prison—and I was away from you, unable to protect you and these weak and deserted women."

As he thus spoke, his countenance glowed with indignation.

A slight cough at the other side of the room attracted Ragnar's attention. It was Carl.

"I understand you, Carl," said he, "you must pardon me. I forgot myself when I said the women were deserted."

And the frank and honest Ragnar, whose ruddy brown countenance bespoke his health, advanced and extended his hand to Carl, who with a face as sickly and yellow as the seared leaves without, was reclining upon the sofa, watching the family group with a restless eye.

Poor Carl, each day he gradually faded, and his belief in the warning voice he had heard in the church yard became firm and unwavering. He accepted Ragnar's proffered hand with a grateful smile.

"How hot you are!" exclaimed Ragnar, "I will hasten to the village and speak to the physician."

As Ragnar thus spoke, Carl laughed in his peculiar manner. "That will be profitable indeed!" said he.

"Certainly it will, dear Carl," said Magde, approaching the sick youth, "Ragnar is right."

"Ragnar is always right," said Carl, in an unusually sharp tone, "so long as you please him you do not care if you neglect my wishes."

"What, Carl, do you not love your brother?" said Ragnar, in a tone of reproach, at the same time pressing a kiss unobserved, as he thought, upon his wife's lips. Ragnar always felt an inclination to conceal from the observation of others the fact that he still loved his wife as he had when he first wedded her, and therefore rarely caressed her when in the presence of witnesses; but on this occasion, his affection was so great that he could not resist the pleasure of stealing a kiss.

"Is not the entire room large enough for you to kiss in without my seeing you?" said Carl, harshly, "I do not wish you to do so right before me."

"Perhaps you envy me," said Ragnar, with a laugh. He had not given Carl's expression a serious thought.

Carl lifted himself upon his elbow, and gazing full in his brother's eyes, he replied slowly and firmly, "Yes."

"Why do you, Carl?" inquired Ragnar.

"Because I do not wish any body to kiss Magde—is it not so, Magde? You well know how I behaved myself when Mr. Fabian H—— wanted to buy a kiss of you."

"What! I believe the poor boy is mad! What! Buy a kiss of Magde! Poor Carl!"

"Am I speaking false, Magde? Answer me."

"O, Carl, how strangely you tell your story!" exclaimed Magde, "you ought first to have related how it happened, and—"

Magde flushed and paled alternately, and in her excitement could scarcely express herself.

"Can there be any truth in this?" said Ragnar, and his eyes sparkled.

Magde had now recovered her presence of mind, and related, without concealing a single fact, all that had happened between herself and Mr. Fabian.

"I am now firmly convinced that this—this—no matter, that Mr. H—— was the prime cause of our father's imprisonment."

"He was," interrupted old Mr. Lonner. "I am as firmly convinced of it, as I am that the young man of whom I have spoken was the cause of my release. I wish you were acquainted with Mr. Gottlieb. He is a worthy young man."

"I will tell him so in the letter I shall write him; but what if he entertained the same desire that influenced Mr. H——."

"Fear not for me, at least," replied Magde, casting a roguish look towards Nanna.

"Ah! that is singular indeed; but after all Nanna will bear a pretty close inspection—but I cannot drive that Mr. Fabian from my mind."

"First you must tell us some of your adventures," and Magde's countenance wore such an entreating expression that her husband understood her immediately; and therefore as long as he remained in the presence of his father, and his sister and brother, he continued speaking of all the singular things he had seen and heard, which was listened to by a pleased and expectant audience.

At length the time arrived when the husband and wife were at liberty to interchange their thoughts freely; the children had been nicely tucked in their little beds, and Ragnar and Magde alone occupied their private apartment.

"Now, dear Magde, now you must give me a good kiss. God bless you for this happy moment. After tossing six months upon the ocean, it is a joy indeed to return to one's own home and wife."

"Is it true indeed, dear Ragnar, that you love me now as you did when we were married?"

"Did you find no four-leaved clover last summer, that you ask me this question?"

Without replying, Magde hastily opened a clothes press, and produced an old compass box, from which she took a handful of withered clover leaves.

"See here," said she.

"And do these not convince you?" inquired Ragnar.

In this old box, Magde preserved, so to speak, the tokens of her wedded joys. From the first year of her marriage, she, whenever her husband was absent, would seek in the meadow for four-leaved clovers, under the conviction that so long as she continued to find them, she might rely upon the continued love and fidelity of her husband. And she was invariably successful, and each year she deposited the clover leaves in the old compass box. As Ragnar uttered his last question, Magde cast herself upon his breast, and gazed tenderly into his face.

"O don't look at me too closely, to-morrow I will look better, after I am washed and dressed," said Ragnar, arranging his shirt bosom, and smoothing down his jacket collar.

"You are so good already, that if you should be better it would be dangerous; but Ragnar, you have forgotten to measure the children to see how much they have grown since your departure. You used to do that as soon as you entered the house after a return from a long voyage."

"This time," replied Ragnar, "you greeted me with such strange news that I quite forgot all my usual habits. It grieves me to observe that Carl is upon the verge of the grave. True, he was ill last winter; but he soon recovered."

"He exerted himself too much during our troubles," said Magde, "then he has taken no care of himself, and then—yes, yes, there is something very strange about Carl."

"What do you mean by strange, Magde?" inquired her husband. "Do you think that he is really insane?"

"Oh no, I did not mean that; but—"

"Speak on, speak your mind."

"Now, do not laugh at my fancy—or be vexed with poor Carl. I think that—he loves me too much, and his passion has weighed heavily upon him, although he does not, himself, understand it."

"Your words are worthy of reflection, Magde; now I remember, his conduct did appear peculiar when he said he envied me the privilege of kissing you. Poor fellow, how could I be vexed with him? He, probably, never desired to vex either you or myself."

"Never. Frequently during the summer I have placed flowers in his room, and in them he took his greatest delight. Even now he loves to hear me sing to him, or to read a chapter in the Bible, above all other things."

"Such love," said Ragnar, "is a beautiful rose, the perfume of which cheers a drooping spirit. He may continue his love; it will sustain him in his last trial. Hereafter, I will not even take your hand in his presence."

"How kind you are, dear Ragnar. Now I can be to him as I was before your return." Magde wiped the tears from her long eyelashes, and before Ragnar could question her, she continued: "You may depend upon my fidelity. I only wish to afford him a slight ray of joy while he is still on earth. Without me he stands alone."

"Act your own pleasure, my dear Magde, you are aware that I confide in you as in my own heart. Although I shall act gently towards Carl, who with his own desire, would not injure me, still I will not be so submissive with an individual like Mr. H——, who has conducted himself most wrongfully."

From these words Magde became aware that she would be obliged to relate all that had occurred between Mr. Fabian and herself, and this she did accordingly.

She feared more from Ragnar's silence than she would if he had given vent to his rage in words. Ragnar possessed a faculty of controlling his anger by a silence which was much more impressive than furious speech.

"Ah, then he entered your window, after he had first removed the old man. Well, well, worse things have been done before."

This was all he said; and as not only the following, but also the second day passed, without Mr. Fabian's name being mentioned, Magde thought that Ragnar had looked at the affair with sensible eyes. She even felt somewhat annoyed at the thought that Mr. Fabian's punishment should be so light.



CHAPTER XVIII.

AN HOUR IN MISTRESS ULRICA'S CHAMBER.

Throughout the entire fall, Mr. Fabian had been his "sweet Ulgenie's" humblest slave, and therefore had been trod deeper into the dust. Since he had learned of the return of Ragnar Lonner, he had suffered a feverish anxiety. Even his easy chair no longer afforded him rest, for sleeping or waking, one object alone was constantly before his eyes: Ragnar Lonner's wrathful countenance peering through the door.

He was suddenly seized with as strong a desire for active life, as he formerly possessed for easy rest, and he felt himself in no safety except when at a distance from the mansion, for he knew that Ragnar possessed too much honor to entrap him in an ambuscade.

One morning, when he, as had been his custom for the previous week, went to his wife with the information that he was compelled to take a short journey, she sharply accosted him:

"Man, what does all this restlessness mean? Are you insane? Am I always to be left at home alone?"

"Ah, my dear," replied Mr. Fabian, "you are aware that I must attend to my business."

"I know that not long since you found it difficult to take care of yourself. This sudden change in your disposition will never do."

"Dear Ulgenie, I acknowledge your superior judgment; but to-day I really must attend the auction at Rorby, there is to be a sale of some genuine Spanish sheep."

"Ah! as that is really some business, you may go; but come home early."

"I hope to return before eleven o'clock."

Mrs. Ulrica presented him her hand to kiss, and after he had pressed it to his lips with all the gallantry which was still left him, he quickly turned away from her.

Mrs. Ulrica during the entire day was filled with wonder at the sudden change that had taken place in her husband, and if she could have for a moment entertained such a thought, she would have believed that her husband had become acquainted with some intriguing female.

But among her female acquaintances in the neighborhood, there was not one whom Fabian had not seen at least twenty times, and he had undergone each new ordeal with a firmness which proved that he was out of all danger.

This point once settled, Mistress Ulrica was more composed, and after having spent the day in attending to her domestic duties, she retired to her bed at an early hour, for she always felt weary and ill-humored when her Fabian, whom she really loved, was not at home to hear her tender words and reproaches.

About an hour had elapsed after Mrs. Ulrica had fallen asleep. The servant also slept soundly, for, although she had been told to wait for her master, she had satisfied her conscience by leaving the hall door unlocked—contrary to her mistress' strict command—and then retired to her bed.

As before said, Mrs. Ulrica had been asleep about an hour, when she was disturbed by a singular noise which resembled the shuffling of feet near the bed. She opened one eye that she might warn her husband that one of his first duties should be not to disturb his wife's slumbers. But the warning produced no effect. This being the case, Mistress Ulrica found it necessary to open the other eye, that by the aid of the night light she might discover Fabian's true condition.

She first glanced towards the sofa; it was empty. Then she looked towards the easy chair; but as this stood partially in the shadow of the large bed curtains, she was able only to perceive a pair of feet, and it was these very feet that had the impertinence to shuffle in her room, without asking her permission.

"Fabian," she exclaimed, "are you not ashamed of yourself? What are you doing?"

But Fabian did not reply.

"Ah, you foolish man, I see now that you have been made drunk, you could not withstand their entreaties, poor man; please prepare for bed."

And yet no answer.

"He is as drunk as possible. Go to your own room, Fabian; be careful, do not take a light with you, and do not fall down stairs and hurt yourself. Are you going to move to-night? Shall I ring the bell for the servants, that they may carry you to bed?"

Not receiving a reply, Mrs. Ulrica tore aside the bed curtains, and extending her hand, placed it upon a strange head of hair.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed, "that is not my husband!"

"What of that, it is the husband of another," replied a calm voice.

Terror prevented Mrs. Ulrica from crying aloud. "A thief!" she gasped.

"I do not think so," replied the voice.

"Who are you then?" stammered she.

"Sleep quietly, you shall not be disturbed."

Mistress Ulrica continued to feel for the bell cord. "I believe," said she, "he wishes to murder me when I am asleep."

"Sleep quietly, I neither wish to steal nor to murder. I only wish to—"

The unfortunate cramp, which at her first terror had attacked Mrs. Ulrica's throat, now suddenly disappeared, and she emitted a long and loud scream; but no sooner had this been accomplished, than a large brawny hand was placed roughly over her mouth.

"Please do that no more," said the voice, "or I shall be forced to be troublesome, and do not look for the bell-rope, it would only be disagreeable for you if the servants should enter the room now."

"What do you want then, fearful man?"

"To remain where I am. At present I want nothing further."

Suddenly a new light dawned in Mrs. Ulrica's brain. What if he should be an unfortunate suitor for her love.

"How?" said she, forcing all her pride and dignity into her words, "how? remain here? Sir, this is my bed-room."

"I am aware of the fact."

"And here no man has a right to enter except my husband."

"And myself," added the voice.

At this unexpected reply, the lady summoned courage to examine the unabashed visitor more closely. He was an elegantly formed man, and as he gazed at her with his expressive eyes, interest and repugnance were both created within her heart. The repugnance was caused by the fact that the man wore a blue frieze coat, which unfortunate garment at once dispelled her romantic dreams.

"Will you explain the cause of this unheard of impertinence?"

"That cause will very soon arrive."

"Very soon? You did not seek me then?"

"Not precisely."

"Then probably you wish to see my husband?"

"Yes."

"Am I at all concerned, then?"

"Slightly."

"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. Ulrica, who now remembered her strange visitor's first observation, "there must be a mystery about this which I do not understand. You remarked that you were the husband of another."

"True."

"And furthermore you said you had a right to seek my husband in this room?"

"You certainly know your alphabet."

"Then you have—O, what will become of us!—you have—a demand to make of my husband."

"No, he has a claim on me, and this I will pay back, principal and interest."

"O, the monster! The crocodile! He has been untrue to me."

"Yes, both in heart and desire; but my wife is not one who cries out, or attempts to pull the bell-rope. She commands respect without so much trouble."

"And do I not, also?"

"I do not know what you would do, if you should see a man, at this time of night, crawl through your window, and attempt to bring you to disgrace by the promise that he would release an old father from prison; but I do know you have nothing to fear at present."

"You are then Mr. Ragnar Lonner?"

"I am."

"And for such a miserable reward—that woman—"

"What! Miserable reward!—that woman!—Well, that night lamp is not very brilliant, but I can easily perceive that I have before me an old dutch galleon, so badly rigged and managed, that I would prefer to crowd sail and make my escape rather than to take her in tow. And you call my wife that woman! Miserable reward!"

"I do not understand your gibberish, my good man: but that you are unrefined and uneducated I can easily see, and I command you to quit my room immediately."

"You would then force me to retreat, as my Magde drove back your husband. Please try the experiment."

"Monster! Unfeeling wretch!" exclaimed she, "is this the manner to speak to a lady, to an injured wife who is obliged to bemoan the infidelity of her husband. O, the villain! I will overpower him with my wrath!"

"My turn comes first," interrupted Ragnar.

"Ah, ha, I understand. My cup is filled to the brim—blood must flow—Lonner do you wish to kill my husband, then?"

"To fight with him. God forbid. Such things I leave to people of rank. I have another method of doing my business."

"And what is that?"

"O, it is very simple. I thought that nothing would be more unpleasant to him than to be placed in a disgraceful position before his wife, and perhaps a greater punishment for such a miserable man could not be devised than to—but no matter, your husband knows why he leaves his house every day."

Mrs. Ulrica clapped her hands together violently. Now the riddle was solved. She now knew the cause of the sudden change in her husband's conduct.

"And, as it has been impossible to find him at home in the daytime," continued Ragnar, "I have come this evening to settle with him in this place, and at this hour."

Ragnar had scarcely ceased speaking, when heavy and slow footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.

Like an infuriated tigress waiting for her prey, Mrs. Ulrica, enveloped in her crimson shawl, sat up in her bed; her eyes flashing with rage, and her face flushed to a redness which outvied the crimson of her shawl. She was awaiting the approach of her husband.

Ragnar arose, and as silent and unmoved as a statue awaited the entrance of Mr. Fabian. Ragnar had not produced a dagger or sword; but he drew forth from under his loose jacket a cow-hide of the greatest elasticity, and the best quality.

Without dreaming of the terrible storm that had gathered, and was about to pour down upon his devoted head, Mr. Fabian entered the apartment. But the moment his eyes fell upon the forms of his wife, the doom pronouncer, and Lonner the genius of revenge, he staggered back towards the door, and had not his legs refused their office he would have sought safety in flight; but at two stern glances, one from Lonner, the other from his wife, he sank powerless to the floor.

And yet, if ever, this was the time for him to assume the character of Brutus. And what better cause had he to arouse himself from his stupor, than that Lucretia had received a male visitor in her bed-chamber. True, Mrs. Ulrica had not received an insult, neither did she appear prepared sacrifice herself, like Lucretia, as an atonement for the outrage. All in all, present appearances were well calculated to arouse sterner sentiments within Mr. Fabian's heart; but he was so frightened that he would have forgiven everything if he could have assured himself that the horrible spectacle was but a dream which would vanish at the coming of the morning.

"Perjured traitor!" screamed Mrs. Ulrica, "you hide yourself like Adam after his fall. But come forth, this Lucifer will teach you that you no longer dwell in paradise."

"Mr. Lonner," stammered Mr. Fabian, "I am an innocent, unhappy man, and I swear to you that Mrs. Magde has never—"

As he heard these words Ragnar trembled violently.

"Silence, reprobate," said he, "the name of my virtuous wife shall not pass your lips. She needs none of your recommendations; but your wife, you pitiful coward, she shall learn from me, now, what your true character is."

Thus saying Lonner with one hand seized the unlucky Fabian by the coat-collar, and brandished the horse-whip over his head with the other.

But as Mr. Fabian made no resistance, but wept and begged for mercy in loud and wailing tones, Ragnar released him, and, confused at the singularity of his own sentiments, he glanced towards Mrs. Ulrica, and said:

"He is so cowardly, that it seems almost as bad to whip him, as it would be to beat a hare. In giving him over to you I am fully revenged."

The cow-hide disappeared beneath his coat, and Lonner departed.

But Ragnar Lonner had made a miscalculation, when he thought that Mr. Fabian would fall into the hands of the Medusa within the bed-curtains. The very thought of the humiliation he had undergone, and the fear of what was yet in store for him, inspired Mr. Fabian with an unusual degree of courage or rather drove him to desperation.

Brutus aroused himself. He could see no other method of escape than by crushing the tigress before she pounced upon him. He therefore at once attacked her with passionate actions and wild expressions.

"O, you miserable woman! You faithless wife! Do you think that I shall allow myself to be blinded by the farce you have just played with your lover? I will leave you alone in your house. I cast you from my heart. The whole world shall know you as I know you now."

"Fabian! Fabian! are you mad?"

Mistress Ulrica was both frightened and pleased. This was a scene she had long desired.

"If I am mad, who has driven me to madness?" shouted Mr. Fabian, determined to retain the advantage he had already won. Then assuming an imposing position he gazed sternly into the face of his trembling wife. "How long I have closed my eyes to your little indiscretions! How many bitter tears I have shed, when I observed how you encouraged that shark who made love to my wife while he feasted at my table."

Mistress Ulrica, who was suddenly changed from a tigress into a lamb, assured her husband that she was innocent; that she had not even entertained a guilty thought. But as she humbled herself, Mr. Fabian's wrath increased, and astonished that he had not long before discovered this method of taming his wife, he played the tyrant con amore. He accused his wife of so many things, that she, humiliated and crushed, fell on her knees before him, and entreated him to restrain his rage until he had ample proofs of her guilt. This boon Mr. Fabian H—— finally condescendingly granted, and like an indulgent pascha, entreated by his favorite slave, he at length permitted her to slumber at his side.

This entire change of government was effected in the short space of one hour.

The sun was high in the heavens when Mistress Ulrica awoke. At first she could not distinctly remember the drama which had been performed the preceding night; but when all the events were brought clear to her mind, she sighed deeply. Her destiny was entirely changed; but after a few moments' reflection, she determined to submit to her fate, and become the one who should obey, not command.

While she was meditating in what manner she should refute the charges brought against her by her husband, she was interrupted by a truly soft and persuasive voice, which said:—

"Sweet Ulgenie, dearest wife, can your heart be touched? I dreamed last night that I might dare approach it."

"Oh, so you have noticed me," said Mrs. Ulrica, immediately assuming her former authority, when she found herself thus entreated. "Have you slept out your debauch?"

"Was I—is it possible that I was inebriated? I have quite forgotten what happened last night."

"You fool, when were you able to remember anything unless I reminded you?"

The perusal of a continuance of this scene will scarcely repay our readers. Suffice it to say that Mr. Fabian's reign of one hour remained thereafter a legend only. Like all other unsuccessful revolutions, it was followed by a government still more exacting and severe.



CHAPTER XIX.

CARL.

Winter had departed. Ragnar, the bold seaman, had left his home, and his ship was ploughing the broad ocean. The grass in the valley waved gracefully in the light winds of spring. The children once more launched their miniature boats, and the occupants of the cottage all labored for the good of the little commonwealth.

But there was one of the family who could not mingle in their labors, and who sat quietly in his corner, gazing cheerfully upon the operations of the others. It was Carl.

During the winter Carl had been confined to his bed, but at the present time he occupied his father's arm-chair, which the old man had relinquished to him. He usually sat in a corner near Magde's spinning wheel and his father's bed-room door.

When the children returned from their out of doors sports, they would sit on the floor near Carl's chair, and listen to the many tales of fairies, nymphs, and sea gods, that he told them in a pleasant but weak voice, while he as formerly made willow whistles and repaired their little boats.

The neighbors' children also visited the cottage that they might hear his last stories, and they all brought with them many little gifts that their mothers had prepared for poor Carl. At a later period the mothers came themselves, bringing their own presents, which they carried in large baskets, for there was not one in the entire neighborhood for whom Carl had not performed a service, and without a solitary exception they all loved him.

Then who was to take his place, after he should be taken from his friends. In fact perfect pilgrimages were made to Carl, who always received the pilgrims with pleasant words and cheerful smiles. Carl was not insensible to the pleasure he derived from being able in turn to present to Magde the gifts he received from his friends.

"Ah," Nanna often said, "how pleasant it is to be beloved," and she would sigh as she thought of the absent one who had vowed to love her forever, and whose word was her creed of life. How much happiness Nanna derived from this creed! It solaced her in many lonely hours, and produced a favorable effect upon her every action and thought. She no longer was oppressed, as formerly, with dreaming indolence. Her cheeks were roses now.

Old Mr. Lonner and Magde were much gratified at this unexpected change in Nanna's deportment, and they could account for it only by supposing that she was much wiser than other girls of her age.

Carl, however, had peculiar views upon this subject, and when Nanna would exclaim, "O, how pleasant it is to be beloved!" he would reply:

"You know right well that there is some one who loves you, or else you would not be so light hearted."

When Carl thus spoke Nanna would blush with confusion.

"You must not speak so when any one can hear you," she would reply.

Carl would then nod his head pleasantly, and one day he learned the secret, for he felt he could not remain long on this earth, and he wished to know all, and aside from that Nanna was anxious to discover whether he believed as firmly as she did in Gottlieb's vows.

"Do you think, Carl," said she, as she concluded her recital, "do you think he will return?"

"As certainly as I shall never see the sun rise on St. John's day, for I saw that in his eye, which assured me he would not break his promises."

"Why do you use such an ominous comparison, Carl? Why do you think you will not see the sunrise on St. John's day?"

The pain caused by the beginning of Carl's remark, clouded the pure joy which his concluding words would have otherwise created.

"I am waiting," said he, "only that I may see the lilacs bloom once more. In those beautiful flowers I have found my greatest joy."

Old Mr. Lonner occasionally attempted to prepare his son's mind for the future which awaited him; but he ceased when one day Carl innocently addressed him:

"Father," said he, "I wish you would not talk with me thus. I believe in our Saviour and his love for us sinners, and as I do not think I have done much harm—except perhaps when I stole the game—I fear not for the future. I shall wait patiently until my Saviour chooses to take me to himself. I can well imagine that there is not much space in heaven; but I believe that there is a small place for one so insignificant as me, where I can wait the coming of Magde, Nanna, Father, Ragnar, and all the little ones, that is if they do not hold me in contempt."

"How strangely you talk, dear Carl!" said Magde, entering into the conversation. "You well know that I would like to be near you in heaven, for you are aware that next to Ragnar I love you more than any other being on earth."

"You say so only to make me happy; but I am not so vain as to believe your words."

"Is there any one here who displays more love for you than I?" inquired Magde.

Carl smiled, and glanced at the wall. There hung a new vest, the pattern of which Carl examined as carefully as though each thread had been a painting in itself.

"Do you think," said he, after a pause, during which his father left the room, "do you think that Ragnar is vexed with me? He certainly must have observed that I love you more than, perhaps, I should—I speak frankly to you, Magde, for I know you are different from others, and I could not die in peace if I thought that my brother Ragnar was offended with me."

"Be convinced, my dear Carl, that Ragnar loves you as a brother should. He saw undoubtedly that no one could please you so well as I; but he often told me, and especially before his last departure—"

"What did he say?" inquired Carl, eagerly.

"'Magde,' said he, 'never desert Carl. He is an honest and faithful soul, who can find no joy unless with you; but Carl is not the one who would seek to injure me by word or thought, and therefore I shall not interfere with his sentiments, but allow him to entertain them freely, and,' he added, 'you may tell him this at some future time when he may feel troubled on my account.'"

"Did he speak thus, assuredly?"

"He did, I swear it by my hopes of meeting him again."

"And you have obeyed him, and not deserted me; but will you do so as long as I am with you here?"

"Never shall I desert you, Carl."

"And when the last moment approaches," said he in a soft tone, "you will moisten my lips, you will smooth my pillow, and when the struggle of death comes upon me, I wish you to hold my hand in yours, as you now do, that I may feel that you are with me. Then you must—will you do so, Magde?—close my eyes with your own hands, and sing a psalm to me."

To all these touching requests, which were rendered still more affecting by the tender expression of his eyes, Magde replied tearfully:

"My dear Carl, your words shall be obeyed."

Carl smiled. He was now happier at the thought of his approaching death, which would bring such proofs of Magde's affection, than one who might have possessed a prospect of a long and luxurious life.

The lilac bushes blossomed, and Magde placed the first flowers in his hands while he yet could inhale their fragrance. The last flowers she strewed upon his grave.



CHAPTER XX.

CONCLUSION.

A long season of gloom and despondency succeeded the death of Carl.

It was fortunate that Ragnar returned home at an earlier period than usually; the flowers on Carl's grave had not withered when Magde piously conducted him to his brother's final resting-place.

"Rest in peace, poor brother," said Ragnar, brushing away a tear, "God saw best to take you from us—but, dear Magde, you must not grieve too much for his death, or you will not be able to rejoice at the news I have for you."

"What news, Ragnar?"

"Captain Hanson, who has been master of the brig Sarah Christiana ever since I have been her mate, has latterly become very much reduced in health, and he has concluded not to go to sea again."

"Well, that cannot be joyful news. He was a better captain than perhaps you will ever sail under again."

"I shall never sail under another captain. I shall be captain myself, hereafter. The owners of the vessel have tendered the captaincy to me."

"Is it possible?"

"It will soon be more than possible, for my old captain has so well recommended me, that Mr. Lund has advanced me a sufficient sum of money to pay the charges of my examination, and as soon as Christmas is over—for until then I shall study at home—I will take a journey to prepare myself, and after the examination you will be the wife of a captain. Then you and Nanna can go with me to Goteborg, that you may see the vessel before I go to sea."

Magde quietly clasped her hands. Her pious gratitude was evinced in her every expression. She thanked her God for having thus favored them with fortune.

Ragnar silently embraced her. "I did not say anything about it yesterday, for I wished to tell you here near Carl, who always placed his pleasures aside that they might not interfere with yours."

"Bless you, bless you, Ragnar! I now know why I found so many four leaved clovers last summer—only think, a captain's wife!—and still you love me as before?"

"Now and forever, my Magde. You shall have a bonnet as magnificent as any other lady; you shall have a cashmere shawl, and a black silk dress. Yes, I promise you all this, and more."

"Let us return home quickly, that I may rejoice father and Nanna."

And Nanna and her father were as much rejoiced at the glad tidings as was Magde herself.

A few days afterwards, Magde and her father were seated together in the parlor consulting about the future.

"The Lord thus distributes joys and sorrows. One year ago our prospects were much different."

"Have I forgotten that time? No! And if I should live a hundred years, I would never forget the day you were taken from us to prison, nor the day you were released by Mr. Gottlieb. This year Ragnar must send him the balance still due him."

"We can repay him the money; but we can never reward him for his kindness and love. He has not returned to Almvik, and perhaps it is for the best, and as Nanna under any circumstance—"

The old man was suddenly interrupted by a shrill blast from the outside, which blast was produced by some one blowing upon a blade of grass.

"Well, well," exclaimed Magde glancing through the window, and then rushing to the door, "the old proverb is true, 'talk of—'"

"A certain gentleman and he is here," interrupted Gottlieb, entering the door with his face beaming with his usual cheerfulness. He presented one hand to Magde, and the other to old Mr. Lonner, who exclaimed with glistening eyes:

"Welcome, welcome, Mr. Gottlieb. Ragnar intended to write you to-day, and I just told Magde we are able to discharge one part of our debt, but the other can never be repaid."

"Enough, enough, good father Lonner, I too was influenced by a selfish motive—but pardon me, where is Nanna?"

"She has gone to fish with Ragnar and little Conrad," said Magde, who had already manufactured an urn of coffee, "but they will soon return."

"Aha! is Mate Lonner at home. Then I can become acquainted with him."

"Captain Lonner, next spring at least, Mr. Gottlieb," said Magde, proudly.

"Crown Secretary, now, instead of Mr. Gottlieb, if you please, Mrs. Lonner."

"So soon?"

"Yes, eight days ago I received the appointment; but my great fortune will come next spring, for then I hope to have a little house of my own."

"Yes, and perhaps a housekeeper too," added Magde.

"Possibly."

At this reply Magde cast a secret glance towards her father, which he returned. Gottlieb, however, changed the conversation, and commenced speaking of the death of poor Carl of which he had before been informed. During the next half hour, Gottlieb evinced the utmost impatience. He would walk to the window and gaze anxiously towards the lake, not observing that Magde and her father were exchanging significant glances and smiles behind his back.

At length he spied the boat, and he hastened down to the beach. The skiff contained the brother and sister, and their little companion.

A sympathetic sentiment seemed to have pervaded the entire family, for during their excursion Nanna and Ragnar conversed almost entirely about her young friend Gottlieb. So nicely had Ragnar probed his sister's heart that he knew almost as much about its true condition as Carl had previously learned. Although Ragnar would have desired to have believed as Carl did, he did not think it proper to offer Nanna any further consolation, than by saying that since he had received a captaincy she was placed on a more equal footing with Gottlieb and that he would do everything in his power to render her happy.

"I know you will, Ragnar," replied Nanna, "but only one thing can ever afford me happiness."

After these words the conversation ceased, and the brother and sister commenced their homeward ride.

In his great haste Gottlieb nearly ran into the water, in which Ragnar was standing fastening the boat; but so much was he astonished by the marvellous change which taken place in Nanna's appearance that he was forced to start back and gaze silently upon her. Nanna in the meantime appeared abstracted. She had not observed Gottlieb's approach; but sat in the boat slowly moving one of the oars, apparently in the deepest thought.

But how can we describe Nanna's joyful surprise when she discovered Gottlieb. Ragnar's presence prevented her from giving vent to her joy in words; but the joyful expression of her eyes was a more than sufficient welcome.

We will not describe the first interview between Ragnar and Gottlieb—suffice it to say it was the meeting of two brothers; not of two strangers. Neither will we describe the first hour of mutual congratulations; but we will at once draw the reader's attention to a pleasing picture near the fountain in the meadow. Here the two lovers had proceeded that they might confer with each other uninterrupted.

"You see, my little nymph, I have come back. Do you think that I have an honorable spirit and a true heart? Now tell me, have you grown so beautiful, for me; yes so beautiful that I can well be proud of you as my own little wife?"

"Wife! are you then serious?"

"Serious we shall never be, we will make a third agreement, which is that we shall live henceforth without a gloomy thought or serious foreboding. Although we shall marry, as it is said, for 'love in a cottage,' yet we are both so familiar with the reality of the cottage, that our romantic dreams, if we have any, will be fully realized."

"True, very true," said Nanna smiling, and her countenance radiant with joy, appeared still more beautiful, "and now I am—"

"—Betrothed," said Gottlieb joyfully embracing her.

How happy were the inmates of the little cottage that evening!

* * * * *

When the news of Gottlieb's betrothal reached Almvik, Mrs. Ulrica foretold that nothing but evil would result from the wedding.

Mr. Fabian, however, who secretly esteemed Gottlieb, was silent; but afterwards when the young couple were firmly united he would hold them up as examples and say that some men could be happy with a wife who did not possess riches and station.

"But that," insisted Mrs. Ulrica, "is no reason why a poor man should not know to prize the happiness which a wealthy wife could procure for him."

THE END