s
complete expression. There was nothing striking in it, unless an
entirely faultless combination of softly curving lines and fresh
flesh-tints be rare enough to merit that appellation; nor would any
one but a cynic have called it a commonplace face, for the absolute
sweetness and purity which these simple lines and tints expressed
appealed directly to that part of one's nature where no harsh
adjectives dwell. It was a feeling of this kind which suddenly
checked Fern in the scientific meditation he was about to indulge, and
spoiled the profound but uncharitable result at which he had already
half arrived. A young man who could extract scientific information
from the features of a beautiful girl could hardly be called human;
and our hero with all his enthusiasm for abstract things, was as yet
not exalted above the laws which govern his species.

The girl had, under his kindly ministry, recovered her breath and her
spirits. She had risen, brushed the moss and loose earth from her
dress, and was about to proceed on her way.

"I thank you," she said simply, reaching him her hand in Norse
fashion. "You have been very good to me."

"Not at all," he answered, shaking her hand heartily. "And now,
wouldn't you please tell me your name?"

"Elsie Tharald's daughter Ormgrass."

"Ah, indeed! Then we shall soon be better acquainted. I am living at
your father's house."

IV.

Two weeks had passed since Maurice's arrival at the farm. Elsie was
sitting on the topmost step of the store-house stairs, intent upon
some kind of coarse knitting-work, whose bag-like convexity remotely
suggested a stocking. Some straggling rays of the late afternoon sun
had got tangled in the loose locks on her forehead, which shone with a
golden translucence. At the foot of the stairs stood her father,
polishing with a woollen rag the tarnished silver of an ancient
harness. At this moment Fern was seen entering the yard at the
opposite side, and with his usual brisk step approaching the
store-house. Elsie, looking up from her knitting, saw at once that
there was something unusual in his manner--something which in another
man you might have called agitation, but which with him was but an
intenser degree of self-command.

"Good-evening," he said, as he stopped in front of her father. "I have
something I wish to speak with you about."

"Speak on, young man," answered Tharald, rubbing away imperturbably at
one of the blinders. "Elsie isn't likely