or to read a chapter in the Bible, above all other things."

"Such love," said Ragnar, "is a beautiful rose, the perfume of which
cheers a drooping spirit. He may continue his love; it will sustain him
in his last trial. Hereafter, I will not even take your hand in his
presence."

"How kind you are, dear Ragnar. Now I can be to him as I was before your
return." Magde wiped the tears from her long eyelashes, and before
Ragnar could question her, she continued: "You may depend upon my
fidelity. I only wish to afford him a slight ray of joy while he is
still on earth. Without me he stands alone."

"Act your own pleasure, my dear Magde, you are aware that I confide in
you as in my own heart. Although I shall act gently towards Carl, who
with his own desire, would not injure me, still I will not be so
submissive with an individual like Mr. H----, who has conducted himself
most wrongfully."

From these words Magde became aware that she would be obliged to relate
all that had occurred between Mr. Fabian and herself, and this she did
accordingly.

She feared more from Ragnar's silence than she would if he had given
vent to his rage in words. Ragnar possessed a faculty of controlling his
anger by a silence which was much more impressive than furious speech.

"Ah, then he entered your window, after he had first removed the old
man. Well, well, worse things have been done before."

This was all he said; and as not only the following, but also the second
day passed, without Mr. Fabian's name being mentioned, Magde thought
that Ragnar had looked at the affair with sensible eyes. She even felt
somewhat annoyed at the thought that Mr. Fabian's punishment should be
so light.

CHAPTER XVIII.

AN HOUR IN MISTRESS ULRICA'S CHAMBER.

Throughout the entire fall, Mr. Fabian had been his "sweet Ulgenie's"
humblest slave, and therefore had been trod deeper into the dust. Since
he had learned of the return of Ragnar Lonner, he had suffered a
feverish anxiety. Even his easy chair no longer afforded him rest, for
sleeping or waking, one object alone was constantly before his eyes:
Ragnar Lonner's wrathful countenance peering through the door.

He was suddenly seized with as strong a desire for active life, as he
formerly possessed for easy rest, and he felt himself in no safety
except when at a distance from the mansion, for he knew that Ragnar
possessed too much honor to entrap him in an ambuscade.

One morning, when he, a