“Look! look!” said Frithiof. “There, far in front of us is the Kvinnafos, looking like a thread of white on the dark rock; and over to the right is Framnaes!” Cecil stood beside him on the upper deck, and gradually the scene unfolded. They saw the little wooded peninsula, the lovely mountains round the Fjaerlands fjord, Munkeggen itself, with much more snow than during their last visit, and then, once again, King Bele’s grave, and the scattered cottages, with their red-tiled roofs, and the familiar hotel, somewhat enlarged, yet recalling a hundred memories. Gravely and thoughtfully Frithiof looked on the little hamlet and on Munkeggen. It was a picture that had been traced on his mind by pleasure and engraved by pain. Cecil drew a little nearer to him, and though no word passed between them, yet intuitively their thoughts turned to one who must ever be associated with those bright days spent in the house of Ole Kvikne long ago. There was no indignation in their thoughts of her, but there was pain, and pity, and hope, and the love which is at once the source and the outcome of forgiveness. They wondered much how matters stood with her out in the far-off southern seas, where she struggled on in a new life, which must always, to the very end, be shadowed by the old. And then Frithiof thought of his father, of his own youth, of the wonderful glamor and gladness that had been doomed so soon to pass into total eclipse, and feeling like some returned ghost, he glided close by the flagstaff, and the gray rocks, and the trees which had sheltered his farewell to Blanche. A strange and altogether indescribable feeling stole over him, but it was speedily dispelled. There was a link which happily bound his past to his present—a memory which nothing could spoil—on the quay he instantly perceived the well-remembered faces of the kindly landlord, Ole Kvikne, and his brother Knut. “See!” she exclaimed with a smile, “there are the Kviknes looking not a day older! We must see if they remember us.” Did they not remember? Of course they did! And what bowing and hand-shaking went on in the brief waiting time. They had heard of Frithiof, moreover, and knew how nobly he had redeemed his father’s name. They were enchanted at meeting him once more. “Let me have the pleasure, Kvikne, to introduce to you my betrothed, who was also your guest long ago,” said Frithiof, taking Cecil’s hand and placing it in that of the landlord. And the warm congratulations and hearty good wishes of Ole and Knut Kvikne were only cut short by the bell, which warned the travelers that they must hasten up the gangway. “We shall come back,” said Frithiof. “Another summer we shall stay with you.” “Yes,” said Cecil. “After all there is nothing equal to Balholm. I had forgotten how lovely it was.” As they glided on they left the little place bathed in sunshine, and in silence they watched it, till at last a bend in the fjord hid it from view. Frithiof fell into deep thought.