“I don’t know,” said Sigrid; “even to me he writes very seldom. It is wretched having him so far away and not knowing what is happening to him.” “I wish there was anything I could do for him,” said Torvald; “but there seems no chance of any opening out here for him.” “That is what my uncle says. Yet it was no fault of Frithiof’s: it seems hard that he should have to suffer. I think the world is very cruel. You and Madale were almost the only friends who stood by us; you were almost the only ones who scattered fir branches in the road on the morning of my father’s funeral.” “You noticed that?” he said, coloring. “Yes; when I saw how little had been strewn, I felt hurt and sore to think that the others had shown so little respect for him, and grateful to you and Madale.” “Sigrid,” he said quietly, “why will you not let me be something more to you than a friend? All that I have is yours. You are not happy in Herr Grönvold’s house. Let me take care of you. Come and make my house happy, and bring Swanhild with you to be my little sister.” “Oh, Torvald!” she cried, “I wish you had not asked me that. You are so good and kind, but—but—” “Do not answer me just yet, then; take time to think it over,” he pleaded; “indeed I would do my best to make you very happy.” “I know you would,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears. “But yet it could never be. I could never love you as a wife should love her husband, and I am much too fond of you, Torvald, to let you be married just for your comfortable house.” “Your aunt led me to expect that, perhaps, in time, after your first grief had passed—” “Then it was very wrong of her,” said Sigrid hotly. “You have always been my friend—a sort of second brother to me—and oh, do let it be so still. Don’t leave off being my friend because of this, for indeed I can not help it.” “My only wish is to help you,” he said sadly; “it shall be as you would have it.” And then they walked on together in an uncomfortable silence until they overtook the others at Herr Grönvold’s gate, where Torvald grasped her hand for a moment, then, looking at his watch, hurried Madale away, saying that he should be late for some appointment. Fru Grönvold had unluckily been looking out of the window and had seen the little group outside. She opened the front door as the two girls climbed the steps. “Why did not the Lundgrens come in?” she asked, a look of annoyance passing over her thin, worn face. “I didn’t ask them,” said Sigrid, blushing. “And I think Torvald had some engagement,” said Swanhild, unconsciously coming to the rescue. “You have been out a long time, Swanhild; now run away to your practicing,” said Fru Grönvold, in the tone which the child detested. “Come in here, Sigrid, I want a word with you.”