windows flung open, his
clear, jubilant tenor wafting festal tones up to her.

In a moment she was up and dressing, afraid lest she might be too late
to go down with him to the steamer. The wider awake she became with the
rapid motion, the more impetuously did her thoughts rush towards him and
his joyful agitation. That heartfelt, soul and sense pervading gratitude
and praise--she would fain enjoy it in his immediate neighbourhood. She
longed to be uplifted and borne in triumph as his life's queen! Of her
sovereign grace she had bestowed on him life's highest prize. He was
rewarded now for his long sufferings!--without bargaining, without
regard for established prejudices. She knew him now; she knew exactly
how he would look, exactly in what manner he would make her the
partaker of his happiness. Therefore her breast heaved high in
expectation of the meeting--expectation of his gratitude and homage.

In her blue morning dress she passed through the little Dutch ante-room
and stretched out her hand to open the door of the big drawing-room with
the windows to the sea; but so excited was she that she had to pause to
take breath--enjoying Joergen's triumph the while. He was so carried away
with his own music that she was quite close to him before he noticed
her. He looked up, radiant--rose slowly, silently, as to a festal rite.
This impression he would do nothing to destroy. He opened his arms, drew
her into his embrace, kissed her hair gently, stroked the cheek that lay
bare--slowly, protectingly. He was trying to shield, to hide, to help
her with manly tenderness to overcome the feeling of shame from which
she must be suffering. His whole attitude was tender and reassuring.

"But we must hurry in to breakfast now," he whispered affectionately,
kissing her beautiful hair again, and inhaling its fragrance. Then he
passed his arm gently, yet in a controlling manner, round her waist.
Near the door he said in a low tone: "You have slept well, since you
come so late?" He opened the door with his disengaged hand, and,
receiving no answer, looked sympathisingly at her. She was pale and
confused. "My sweet one!" he whispered soothingly.

At breakfast there was no end to his consideration for her, especially
when it became evident that she could not eat. But time was short; he
had to attend to himself; so he could not talk much. Mary did not say a
word. But it struck her that Joergen handled his knife and fork in a new,
masterf