Down here she felt even more the witchery of the place. Here the face with the smile came to her. Here she could thank him, the student, because he had brought her to a home where she was so happy, where they loved her, and made her forget how hardly others had treated her. If it had not been he who had arranged all this for her, she could not possibly have been allowed to remain here; it was quite impossible. She knew that it must be he. She had never before had such wild fancies. She had always been thinking of him, but she had never felt that he was so near her that he took care of her. The only thing she longed for was that he himself should come, for of course he would come some day. It was impossible that he should not come. In these avenues he had left behind part of his soul. * * * * * Summer went, and autumn; Christmas was drawing near. 'Miss Ingrid,' said the old housekeeper one day, in a rather mysterious manner, 'I think I ought to tell you that the young master who owns Munkhyttan is coming home for Christmas. In any case, he generally comes,' she added, with a sigh. 'And her ladyship, who has never even mentioned that she has a son,' said Ingrid. But she was not really surprised. She might just as well have answered that she had known it all along. 'No one has spoken to you about him, Miss Ingrid,' said the housekeeper, 'for her ladyship has forbidden us to speak about him.' And then Miss Stafva would not say any more. Neither did Ingrid want to ask any more. Now she was afraid of hearing something definite. She had raised her expectations so high that she was herself afraid they would fail. The truth might be well worth hearing, but it might also be bitter, and destroy all her beautiful dreams. But from that day he was with her night and day. She had hardly time to speak to others. She must always be with him. One day she saw that they had cleared the snow away from the avenue. She grew almost frightened. Was he coming now? The next day her ladyship sat from early morning in the window looking down the avenue. Ingrid had gone further into the room. She was so restless that she could not remain at the window. 'Do you know whom I am expecting to-day, Ingrid?' The young girl nodded; she dared not depend upon her voice to answer. 'Has Miss Stafva told you that my son is peculiar?' Ingrid shook her head. 'He is very peculiar--he--I cannot speak about it. I cannot--you must see for yourself.' It sounded heartrending. Ingrid grew very uneasy. What was there with this house that made everything so strange? Was it something terrible that she did not know about? Was her ladyship not on good terms with her son? What was it, what was it?