he himself had lived on all his life. The more he
thought of that little house which lay half buried in the sand, so
much the higher he raised that palace which he would have liked to
offer her. He let her in thought glide into a harbor which was
adorned with flags and flowers in honor of Boerje Nilsson's bride.
He let her hear the mayor's speech of greeting. He let her drive
under a triumphal arch, while the eyes of men followed her and the
women grew pale with envy. And he led her into the stately home,
where bowing, silvery-haired servants stood drawn up along the side
of the broad stairway and where the table laden for the feast
groaned under the old family silver.

When she discovered the truth, she supposed at first that the
captain had been in league with Boerje to deceive her, but
afterwards she found that it was not so. They were accustomed on
board the boat to speak of Boerje as of a great man. It was their
greatest joke to talk quite seriously of his riches and his fine
family. They thought that Boerje had told her the truth, but that
she joked with him, as they all did, when she talked about his big
house. So it happened that when the lugger cast anchor in the
harbor which lay nearest to Boerje's home, she still did not know
but that she was the wife of a rich man.

Boerje got a day's leave to conduct his wife to her future home and
to start her in her new life. When they were landed on the quay,
where the flags were to have fluttered and the crowds to have
rejoiced in honor of the newly-married couple, only emptiness and
calm reigned there, and Boerje noticed that his wife looked about
her with a certain disappointment.

"We have come too soon," he had said. "The journey was such an
unusually quick one in this fine weather. So we have no carriage
here either, and we have far to go, for the house lies outside the
town."

"That makes no difference, Boerje," she had answered. "It will do us
good to walk, after having been quiet so long on board."

And so they began their walk, that walk of horror, of which she
could not think even in her old age without moaning in agony and
wringing her hands in pain. They went along the broad, empty
streets, which she instantly recognized from his description. She
felt as if she met with old friends both in the dark church and in
the even houses of timber and brick; but where were the carved
gables and marble steps with the high railing?

Boerje had nodded to her as