in particular?"

Mary looked at her. "Any one in particular?" She did not understand.

Margrete rose. "A man came to this town on purpose to tell you that
Joergen Thiis was not worthy of you. He came too late; but I think he
deserves to know that you have discovered for yourself what Joergen Thiis
is."

Mary answered, eagerly: "Tell _him_. By all means tell _him_!... So
that was why he came," she added slowly. "I am glad that you have told
me. Because my other reason for wishing to see you was--" she hesitated
a little, "the other thing I wanted to ask you was--to give my kind
remembrances to your brother."

"That I shall do, gladly. Thank you for the message. You know what you
are to my brother."

Mary looked away. She struggled with herself a moment, then said: "I am
one of the unhappy people who cannot understand their own lives--cannot
understand what has happened. I can find no clue to it. But something
tells me that your brother has had his share in it."

She evidently wished to say more, but could not. Instead, she returned
to the window and remained standing there again. The storm without
called into the room with its thousand-voiced wrath. It was calling her.

"What a terrible storm!" said Margrete, raising her voice.

"I am rejoicing at the thought of going out into it," said Mary, turning
round with sparkling eyes.

"You are never going out in this weather!" exclaimed Margrete.

"I mean to walk home," answered Mary.

"To _walk_?"

Mary came forward and placed herself in front of Margrete, as if she
were about to say something wild and dreadful. She stopped short, but
what she had not said rushed into her eyes, into her whole face, to her
heart. She flung up her arms and with a loud groan threw herself back on
her mother's sofa, and covered her face with her hands.

Margrete knelt down beside her. Mary allowed her friend to put her arms
round her and draw her to her like a tired, suffering child. And she
began to cry, as a child cries, touchingly and helplessly; her head sank
on to Margrete's shoulder.

But only for a moment; then she sat up with a sudden start. For Margrete
had whispered into her ear: "There is something the matter with you.
Speak to me."

Not a word came in answer. Margrete dared not say more. She rose; she
felt that it was time to go.

Nor did Mary do anything to retain her. She too had risen to her feet.
They bade each other good-bye.

But Margrete could not help say