o meet
me, for it is quite possible that the 'Viking' will arrive at
an earlier date than I have mentioned. However that may be, my
dear Hulda can count upon seeing me at Dal twenty-four hours
after we land. Don't be too much surprised if I should arrive
considerably ahead of time.

"We have had a pretty rough time of it, this past winter, the
weather having been more severe than any our fishermen have
ever encountered; but fortunately fish have been plenty.
The 'Viking' brings back nearly five thousand quintals,
deliverable at Bergen, and already sold by the efforts of Help
Bros. And last, but not least, we have succeeded in selling
at a handsome profit, and I, who have a share in the venture,
will realize something quite handsome from it.

"Besides, even if I should not bring a small competence home
with me, I have an idea, or rather, I have a presentiment that
it is awaiting me on my return. Yes; comparative wealth, to
say nothing of happiness! In what way? That is my secret, my
dearest Hulda, and you will forgive me for having a secret
from you! It is the only one! Besides, I will tell you all
about it. When? Well, as soon as an opportunity offers--before
our marriage, if it should be delayed by some unforeseen
misfortune--afterward, if I return at the appointed time, and
you become my wife within a week after my arrival, as I trust
you will.

"A hundred fond kisses, my darling Hulda. Kiss Dame Hansen,
and Joel, too, for me. In fancy, I imprint another kiss upon
your brow, around which the shining crown of the brides of
the Telemark will cast a saint-like halo. Once more, farewell,
dearest Hulda, farewell!

"Your devoted lover,

"OLE KAMP."

CHAPTER II.

Dal is a modest hamlet consisting of but a few houses; some on
either side of a road that is little more than a bridle-path, others
scattered over the surrounding hills. But they all face the narrow
valley of Vesfjorddal, with their backs to the line of hills to the
north, at the base of which flows the Maan.

A little church erected in 1855, whose chancel is pierced by two
narrow stained-glass windows, lifts its square belfry from out a leafy
grove hard by. Here and there rustic bridges cross the rivulets that
dance merrily along toward the river. In the distance are two or three
primitive saw-mills, run by water-power, wi