The letter was from tall Louise.

DEAR MAGNHILD,--I was obliged to go up to your house to-day to ask for the pattern you had promised to explain to us. But I found only Skarlie at home, and he was not exactly--ah! what shall I call it? for I have never before seen so unhappy a person. He said you had gone on a journey.

I heard later that you were traveling with Mrs. Randon, and thinking it most likely that you are at the parsonage in the mountains I address you there. For you must not leave us, Magnhild, or if you do go away, you must come back to us again!

We have all of us plainly seen that you were unhappy; but as you said nothing, we did not like to say anything either. But can you not stay with _us_?

How shall we make progress with the new work which has just been introduced? We cannot understand it without some one to explain it to us. And there is the singing, too! Dear Magnhild, so many people thank me and Marie; she and I take the lead now, it is true, but we all know to whom we owe our excellent means of support, the good times we have together, and our opportunities for helping one another. Now that you have left us it seems very dreadful to think that we never did anything to give you pleasure, and that you do not really know us.

I can a.s.sure you we could do much for you in return for your kindness to us if you would only let us. Do not leave us! Or if you must, come back to us when your journey is over!

Your devoted, heartily grateful LOUISE.

There was added to the letter an extremely neat postscript from Marie.

I was so grieved when Louise told me you had gone. She has more energy than I, poor hunchback. She has written and said what we all, yes, all of us, think of the matter.

But I have the _greatest_ cause to write to you. What in the world would have become of me if you had not come to the school and made me skillful in work that is just suited to me. Without you I should have been a burden to others, or at least I should never have learned to take pleasure in work. Now I feel that I am engaged in something which is continually growing. Yes, now I am happy.

I have told you this at last. How often have I wished to open my heart to you, yet did not quite dare, because you were so reserved!

What delightful times we might have had together! But can we not have them yet?

Your MARIE.

Postscript.--You may think I mean that you took no interest in us. No: I did not mean that. You were too patient with us for me to have any such thought. But it seemed as if you were indifferent to everything about you, people as well as all else; that is what I had in mind.

Cannot you, as Louise says, come to us? We will gather about you, as bees about their queen, dear Magnhild.

There is no better way to express what now happened to Magnhild, than to say that a new life-spring welled up within her. This help from what she had never thought of as anything but a pastime and a monotonous routine worked wonders. She felt that she must endeavor to deserve this devotion; she knew now what it was her duty to do.

She was walking and talking with Ronnaug in the court-yard. Evening was drawing nigh; the fowls had already sought shelter and were settling themselves cackling on the roost; the cows were being driven home from the pasture, and slowly pa.s.sed by. The perfume of hay was wafted toward the ladies, ever and anon, for loads were being hauled into the barn.

Ronnaug was so sure of what she was doing that she did not hesitate to tell Magnhild what the same mail had brought her: it was a newspaper containing a telegram from Munich announcing the death of Tande. These tidings produced no further effect upon Magnhild than to make both her and Ronnaug pause for an instant and then walk on in silence. Tande had always been thought of as one very far away, and now he seemed nearer.

What he had recently sent her for her guidance became more profoundly true than ever.

The first words she uttered were not about Tande but about Skarlie.

Perhaps it would be best to send for him that they might have an explanation before she started on her journey. Ronnaug was not disinclined to agree to this; but she thought that she, not Magnhild, should attend to the explanation. In fact, there was nothing to say except to announce what Magnhild had resolved upon doing.

The conversation was spasmodic like their walk. All the people of the house were out making hay. Miss Roland and the child had also gone to the field. Magnhild and Ronnaug were about going there themselves when a boy came walking into the yard whistling, with his hands in his pockets.

Seeing the ladies he stood still and stopped whistling. Then he took a stand on his right foot; the left heel he planted in the ground, and moved his leg in such a way that the sole of the foot stood erect and fanned the air.

Presently he drew nearer.

"Is it you they call Magnhild?" he asked, in the ringing dialect of the parish.

He addressed the question to the right one, who replied in the affirmative.

"I was sent to ask you to come down to our place, Synstevold; for there is a fellow there waiting to see you."

"What is his name?" asked Ronnaug.

"I was told not to tell," said the boy, as he planted his left heel in the ground again, fanned the air with his foot, and stared at the barn.

Ronnaug broke into the dialect as she asked whether the "fellow" was not lame.

"That is very possible," answered the boy, with a grin, and an oath.

Here Ronnaug ran to meet old Andreas who was just coming out of the barn with an empty hay wagon to go after another load; the rumbling of the wheels prevented him from hearing her call; but she overtook him.

"Was it you who took one of the fore-wheels from my carriage?" asked she.

"Fore-wheel of the carriage," repeated old Andreas. "Is it off? Stand still, you fool there?" he cried, giving the reins such a jerk that one of the horses started to move backward instead of forward, for it was a young horse.

But in the mean time Ronnaug had gained light on the question, and left Andreas. In slow English she told Magnhild what she believed she had discovered; she did not want the boy who was standing by to understand.

Andreas drove on.

Magnhild laughed: "Yes, Skarlie has come. It is undoubtedly he!" and turning to the boy she said that she would accompany him at once.

Ronnaug tried to persuade Magnhild to remain where she was and let _her_ go. No, Magnhild preferred to go herself. She was already on her way when Ronnaug called after her that she would soon follow herself to see how things were going. Magnhild looked back with a smile, and said,--

"You may if you like!"

So after a time Ronnaug set forth for Synstevold. She knew very well that Skarlie could offer nothing that would tempt Magnhild, but he might be annoying, perhaps rough. The fore-wheel was a warning.

There was perhaps no one to whom Skarlie was so repulsive as to Ronnaug.

She knew him well. No one besides Ronnaug could surmise how he had striven, dastard as he was, to taint the purity of Magnhild's imagination, to deaden her high sense of honor. Magnhild's frequent blushes had their history.

What was it that so bound him to her? At the outset, of course, the hope that failed. But since then? The evening before, when the conversation had turned on the Catholic cloisters, the priest had remarked that Skarlie--who was a man that had traveled and thought considerably--had said that in the cloisters the monks prayed night and day to make amends for the neglected prayers of the rest of the people. That was the reason why people were willing to give their money so freely to the cloisters: it was like making a cash payment on the debt of sin.

Ronnaug had sat and pondered. Had not Skarlie hereby explained his own relations with Magnhild? It was his way of making payments on his debt of sin.

And so, of course, he grudged giving her up.

Had he but been harsh and impatient, Magnhild would immediately have left him. That was just the misfortune; he was a coward, and he could not bear to renounce her. He was very humble whenever he failed in his attempts to win her, and when he had been especially malicious he forthwith made amends by being as friendly and interesting as possible.

And this was what had kept the ball rolling.

Amid these and similar reflections, Ronnaug took the way across the fields in order not to be seen from the place. The gra.s.s where she walked had not been mown; she trampled it mercilessly under foot, but she paused before a patch of flowers whose varied hues and leaves she could not help contemplating. Suddenly she heard voices. In front of her there were several willow copses through whose branches she espied the pair she was seeking.

There sat Skarlie and Magnhild in the gra.s.s, he in his shirt-sleeves and without a hat.

Half-frightened for Magnhild and utterly without respect for _him_, Ronnaug immediately stood guard. Concealing herself from view she took her post between two copses. Skarlie and Magnhild could be seen quite distinctly, for the s.p.a.ce behind them was open.

"Then I shall certainly close up down at the Point, and I will follow you."

"You may if you choose. But spare me further threats. For the last time: I have resolved to go. I wish to travel in order to see and to learn.

Some day I hope to return and teach others."

"Do you intend to come back to me?"