many steps, and descrying Magnhild's look of surprise, sprang back and
clasped her in a fervent embrace.

At no very remote period there had been an evening which Magnhild had
thought the happiest of her life. But this--

When steps were again heard above she trembled in every fibre of her
body. She could see Tande's expression, as he raised his eyes while
playing. The diamond, cutting brilliant circles of light over the keys
of the piano, the blue-veined hands, the long hair which was continually
falling forward, the fine gray suit the musician wore, his silent
demeanor,--all dissolved into the melodies and harmonies, and with them
became blended his whispered "Thanks for your visit!"

At the cottage across the street it was dark.

Magnhild did not seek her couch until midnight, and then not to sleep;
nor did he who was above sleep; on the contrary, just as Magnhild had
retired he began to play. He struck up a melancholy, simple melody, in
the form of a soprano solo at first, and finally bursting into what
sounded like a chorus of female voices; his harmonization was
exquisitely pure. Without being conscious herself of the transition of
thought, Magnhild seemed to be sitting on the hill-side on the day of
her confirmation, gazing at the spot where her home had stood. All her
little brothers and sisters were about her. The theme was treated in a
variety of ways, but always produced the same picture.

At school the next morning Magnhild was accosted with many questions
concerning the preceding evening; among other things whether _she_ had
really taken part in the singing, _what_ they had sung, about the other
two, and whether they would sing often.

The questions filled her with joy: a great secret, _her_ secret, was in
its innermost depths. She felt conscious of strange elasticity. She had
never made such haste home before. She was looking forward to singing
with him again in the forenoon!

And she did sing. Tande sent word down by the sailor's wife that he
expected her at twelve o'clock. A little before this hour she heard once
more that melancholy, pure composition of yesterday.

Tande met her without a word. He merely bowed and went straight to the
piano and then turned his head as before to bid her draw nearer. She
sang scales, he gave suggestions as a rule without looking at her; the
whole hour passed as a calm matter of business; she was thankful for
this.

From her lesson she crossed the street to the