“I covet not that land, my Christof,” said she, “nor any other land than this.” “Beloved,” said he, solemnly, “our fate draws so near that I can see it. The ice can little longer be held back. And that is death to us and to our small land.” “Yea,” said she, almost happily. “Thou dost not wish to live?” “I? I would live forever, asking but one thing—thy love. Yet, I will die here willingly, because all that I know is here—all life—all death—all joy—all hope and fear. Why, it is not hard, dear love. We have been born to it. Each morning we look first up at the glacier to read if we shall live that day.” “Our fathers have done ill to keep us here. Ill to stay themselves. What is there here?” He swept the air with his hand. The sun was setting on the glacier. The mountain seemed all gold. The sea was saffron. She saw all this and said: “The very beauty of the Lord is here!” “A glacier to bury us. Beloved, in a little time the ice will be where we stand. There will be no harvests. No fish. What then? This has been threatened us for many years. But now it comes soon. All creatures but us have fled. And I must find ye first another land, then must ye all fly with me. And I will find it in this rich, this just, this righteous America. That is not wrong.” She hung her head and sighed. “What is it in thy mind?” he asked. All her body flushed in blushes as she answered: “Thou didst say that when the harvest was taken thou wouldst marry me.” “Yea,” he cried, touching her, “and that is now! Come to Agra. And when we are married, thou thyself shalt send me forth to seek a home for thee and them that hang on us—in this new land.” She was not glad for this, yet all her heart sung at being his wife. “I am so happy that I will not say thee nay to-day—though I would keep thee here to die and sleep upon the mountain with our fathers—though it were but a little while. Yet if thou wilt—why—yes, go—I send thee.” “Ah, ah,” he cried, “that is like the Viking ladies of the olden time! This country where I go and all its boundlessness are mine and thine and all who come alike. And all its wealth and houses. I will go in haste, and when I have found a pretty nest for thee and all of us, I will come with yet more haste, and when the ice comes down take thee to it. And there I shall be king as here. For there every man is as a king. Have not the pleasant travellers told me so?” “Oh, Christof, I cannot help my fear! Yet thou shalt go!”