ares with the fly.

Magnhild recoiled from her. Roennaug stared wildly at Magnhild, then
composed herself and said in English, "You are right!" but immediately
gave way to a new outburst of wrath and horror; for she was so forcibly
reminded of the time when she herself crept along as best she could down
among the slimy dwellers of the human abyss where darkness reigns, and
where such as he down on yonder hill sat on the brink and fished. She
thrust her hand into her pocket to draw forth Charles Randon's last
letter, which she always carried about her until the next one came; she
pressed it to her lips and burst into tears. Her emotion was so violent
that she was forced to sit down.

It was the first time Magnhild had ever seen Roennaug weep. Even upon the
deck of the vessel on which she had set sail for America she had not
wept. Oh, no, quite the contrary!

CHAPTER XIV.

They remained at the parsonage several days, for when it was announced
that Magnhild was going with Roennaug to America the good people were so
startled that it was thought best to grant them time to become
accustomed to the idea. Magnhild wished for her own sake, too, to pass a
little time with them.

One day the ladies were all taking a walk along the road. Roennaug and
Miss Roland had little Harry between them, so they made but slow
progress. From sheer solicitude for the child they all went quite out of
the way of a large carriage which was overtaking them.

"Magnhild!" was called from the carriage, at the moment those walking
had fully turned their faces toward it.

Magnhild looked up; a lady in black was smiling at her. Magnhild sprang
directly toward her; the coachman stopped his horses. It was Fru Bang.

The lady drew Magnhild up to her and kissed her. A stout military man by
the lady's side bowed.

The lady was thin. She wore a mourning suit of the latest style. Jet
beads, strewed all over the costume, sparkled with every movement; from
the jaunty hat, with waving plume, flowed a black veil which was wound
about the neck. As from out the depths of night she gazed, with her
glowing eyes, which acquired, in this setting, an especially fascinating
radiance. Melancholy resignation seemed to command, as it were, the
countenance, to hold sway over every nerve, to control the smile about
the mouth, to languish in these eyes.

"Yes, I am changed," said she, languidly.

Magnhild turned from the lady to the stout officer. The lady's