In bitter contrast he called up a picture of the desolate house in Kalvedalen, thought of Herr Grönvold making the final arrangements, and alternately pitying and blaming his brother-in-law; thought of Sigrid and Swanhild in their sorrow and loneliness; thought of his father lying cold and still. Choking sobs rose in his throat as more and more clearly he realized that all was indeed over, that he should never see his father again. But his eyes were dry and tearless, the iron had entered into his soul, and all the relief that was then possible for him lay in a prompt endeavor to carry out the resolve which he had just made. Perhaps he perceived this, for he raised himself, banished the mind pictures which had absorbed him so long, and began to think what his first practical step must be. He would lose no time, he would begin that very moment. The first thing must of course be retrenchment; he must leave the Arundel on the morrow and must seek out the cheapest rooms to be had. Lying on the table was that invaluable book “Dickens’ Dictionary of London.” He had bought it at Hull on the previous day, and had already got out of it much amusement and much information. Now, in grim earnest, he turned over its well-arranged pages till he came to the heading “Lodgings,” running his eye hurriedly over the paragraph, and pausing over the following sentence: “Those who desire still cheaper accommodation must go further afield, the lowest priced of all being in the northeast and southeast districts, in either of which a bed and sitting-room may be had at rents varying from ten shillings, and even less, to thirty shillings.” He turned to the maps at the beginning, and decided to try the neighborhood of Vauxhall and Lambeth. Next came the question of work. And here the vastness of the field perplexed him, where to turn he had not the slightest idea. Possibly Dickens might suggest something. He turned over the pages, and his eye happened to light on the words, “Americans in distress, Society for the relief of.” He scanned the columns closely, there seemed to be help for every one on earth except a Norwegian. There was a home for French strangers; a Hungarian aid society; an Italian benevolent; sixteen charities for Jews; an association of Poles; a Hibernian society; a Netherlands benevolent; a Portuguese and Spanish aid; and a society for distressed Belgians. The only chance for him lay in the “Universal Beneficence Society,” a title which called up a bitter smile to his lips, or the “Society of Friends of Foreigners in Distress.”