gers. "Beguiled!" and off he went in a cloud of smoke.

"I am so sorry for her," remarked the wife, and the words were
accompanied by a few tears.

This touched the priest, and he said: "See here, mother, we will talk
with her, both of us!" then strode heavily on again.

Ere long Magnhild stood within the precincts of the study, wondering
what could be wanted of her. The priest was the first to speak:--

"Is it really true, Magnhild, that you have agreed to be the wife of
this fellow, the saddler?"

The priest often used the general term "fellow" instead of a proper
name.

Magnhild's face became suffused with blushes; in her whole life she
could never have been so red before. Both the priest and his wife
interpreted this as a confession.

"Why do you not come to us with such things?" asked the priest, in a
vexed tone.

"It is very strange you should act so, Magnhild," said the mistress of
the house,--and she wept.

Magnhild was simply appalled.

"Do you really mean to have him?" asked the priest, pausing resolutely
in front of her.

Now Magnhild had never been accustomed to being addressed in a
confidential tone. When questioned thus closely she had not the courage
to give a frank statement of all that had occurred between her and
Skarlie, telling, how this talk of marriage had commenced as a jest,
and that although later she had had a misgiving that it was becoming
serious, it was so continually blended anew with jests that she had not
given herself the trouble to protest against it. How could she, with the
priest standing thus before her, enter on so long a story? And so
instead she burst into tears.

Well now, the priest did not mean to torment her. What was done could
not be undone. He was very sorry for her, and in the goodness of his
heart merely wanted to help her lay a solid foundation to her choice.
Skarlie was a man of considerable means, he said, and she a poor girl;
she certainly could not expect a better match, so far as that went.
True, Skarlie was old; but then he had himself said that he designed
rather a sort of adoption than a marriage; his only object was
Magnhild's happiness.

But all this was more than Magnhild could bear to listen to, and so she
rushed from the room. In the passage she fell to crying as though her
heart would break; she was obliged to go up to the dark garret in order
to avoid attracting attention, and there her grief gradually assumed
definite shape. It was _not_