hroughout
her whole life, if I should be capable of making such an unworthy
promise."

"Obstinate youth! you force me to perform my duty to your mother my
sister, and command you to visit Almvik no longer. I will not burden my
conscience by abetting you in your misconduct."

"I will remain a few days longer," replied Gottlieb without evincing the
slightest emotion, "to rest myself after my journey, and then I shall be
ready to obey your command."

"Right," muttered Mrs. Ulrica hotly, as she hastily left the young man,
"you shall repent this."

Without wasting time by thinking upon this conversation with his aunt,
Gottlieb hastened on the road towards the little cottage. He had
observed Nanna was not in the boat, and after proceeding to the spring,
and fruitlessly searching for her, he hurried to the cottage, his heart
beating with such rapidity as he stood before the door, that he was
astonished at his great emotion.

"Illness could not have prevented her from going with them," thought he,
"certainly not, or they would have remained with her."

Thus thinking he knocked at the door; but he was obliged to repeat the
summons several times before he heard the sound of slow footsteps
approaching.

"Who is there?" inquired a soft voice from within.

"'Tis I, Nanna!"

An exclamation of joyful surprise was the only reply. The bolt was
quickly thrown back; the door opened, and Nanna appeared upon the
threshold, pale and careworn. She was clothed in her only holiday dress,
a black merino frock which fitted closely around her neck, thereby
disclosing her graceful bust to its best advantage.

Without speaking, but overwhelmed with her joyful emotions, she cast
herself in Gottlieb's arms, and never was there a purer embrace given or
returned than on this occasion. With tender gentleness Gottlieb
imprinted his second kiss upon her lips, and then said softly:--

"Poor Nanna, poor child, you have at least one friend in your
adversity."

"Then Gottlieb is acquainted with--" She blushingly withdrew herself
from his embrace. She had not thought that her greeting had been
contrary to customary usage.

"Yes, I know your sorrow; and you may rest assured that I will give
myself no rest, during the few days that I remain here, until I see your
father at liberty and safely in his own house again."

"O, if that were but possible!" she clasped her hands and lifted her
eyes, confidingly, to the face of her youthful friend.

"I