ksands of
courtship.

Augusta excused herself from supper, Inga's forced devices at merriment
were too transparent, Arnfinn's table-talk was of a rambling, incoherent
sort, and he answered dreadfully malapropos, if a chance word was
addressed to him, and even the good-natured pastor began, at last, to
grumble; for the inmates of the Gran Parsonage seemed to have but one
life and one soul in common, and any individual disturbance immediately
disturbed the peace and happiness of the whole household. Now gloom
had, in some unaccountable fashion, obscured the common atmosphere. Inga
shook her small wise head, and tried to extract some little consolation
from the consciousness that she knew at least some things which Arnfinn
did not know, and which it would be very unsafe to confide to him.

VI.

Four weeks after Strand's departure, as the summer had already assumed
that tinge of sadness which impresses one as a foreboding of coming
death, Augusta was walking along the beach, watching the flight of
the sea-birds. Her latest "aberration," as Arnfinn called it, was an
extraordinary interest in the habits of the eider-ducks, auks, and
sea-gulls, the noisy monotony of whose existence had, but a few months
ago, appeared to her the symbol of all that was vulgar and coarse
in human and animal life. Now she had even provided herself with a
note-book, and (to use once more the language of her unbelieving cousin)
affected a half-scientific interest in their clamorous pursuits. She had
made many vain attempts to imitate their voices and to beguile them
into closer intimacy, and had found it hard at times to suppress her
indignation when they persisted in viewing her in the light of an
intruder, and in returning her amiable approaches with shy suspicion, as
if they doubted the sincerity of her intentions.

She was a little paler now, perhaps, than before, but her eyes had still
the same lustrous depth, and the same sweet serenity was still diffused
over her features, and softened, like a pervading tinge of warm color,
the grand simplicity of her presence. She sat down on a large rock,
picked up a curiously twisted shell, and seeing a plover wading in the
surf, gave a soft, low whistle, which made the bird turn round and gaze
at her with startled distrust. She repeated the call, but perhaps a
little too eagerly, and the bird spread its wings with a frightened cry,
and skimmed, half flying, half running, out over the glitterin