moment,--and with crimsoned
cheeks and violent contention as to whose stone went the highest, stood
Harald and Susanna alone beside the agitated and muddied water of
discord.

The moment is perhaps not the most auspicious, but yet we will make use
of it, in order to give a slight sketch of the two contending persons.

Harald Bergman had speaking, somewhat sharp features, in which an
expression of great gravity could easily be exchanged for one of equal
waggery. The dark hair fell in graceful waves over a brow in which one
saw that clear thought was entertained. His figure was finely
proportioned, and his movements showed great freedom and vigour.

He had been brought up in a respectable family, had enjoyed a careful
education, and was regarded by friends and acquaintances as a young man
of extraordinary promise. Just as he had left the S. seminary, and was
intending a journey into foreign countries, in order to increase still
more his knowledge of agriculture, chance brought him acquainted with
the widow of Colonel Hjelm, at the time in which she was returning to
her native country, and in consequence thereof he altered his plans. In
a letter to his sister, he expresses himself on this subject in the
following manner:

"I cannot properly describe to you, Alette, the impression which she
made upon me. I might describe to you her tall growth, her noble
bearing, her countenance, where, spite of many wrinkles and a
pale-yellow complexion, traces of great beauty are incontrovertible; the
lofty forehead, around which black locks sprinkled with grey, press
forth from beneath her simple cap. I might tell of her deep, serious
eyes, of her low and yet solemn voice; and yet thou couldst form to
thyself no representation of that which makes her so uncommon. I have
been told that her life has been as much distinguished by exemplary
virtue as by suffering--and virtue and suffering have called forth in
her a quiet greatness, a greatness which is never attained to by the
favourites of fortune and of nature, which stamps her whole being. She
seemed to me as if all the frivolities of the world passed by her
unremarked. I felt for her an involuntary reverence, such as I had never
felt before for any human being; and at the same time a great desire to
approach her more nearly, to be useful to her, to deserve, and to win
her esteem--it seemed to me that I should thereby become somewhat
greater, or at least better; and as I was informed