It was far from an agreeable conversation that the two held together, and no fond or kindly words passed between them, as the bride was preparing the mulled wine. She carried the jug into the next room, having previously poured out a glass for Adam. When she returned he drank her health, and when she gave him some more, and, taking some herself, made her glass ring against his, he said, "Upon my word, you are much prettier than I thought. After all, I ought not to complain at being forced to marry you: if it were not for one thing--one thing alone--I should be quite happy. If I had only seen you seven years ago, as I see you now, I might have been the most fortunate fellow in the world. But what am I saying? I feel a stab, as if a knife had pierced my heart. Have patience with me; I can say no more." Adam sat down, and covered his eyes with his hands, and then muttered, "This is my idea, do you see? I wish to tell you something; but not a word of it to your parents or mine. Give me your hand, as a token that you will keep my secret." The bride gave her hand to Adam, who clasped it warmly, and continued, "I had sent a message to my Martina, that on this very day I would come to see her. For nearly two years past I have been obliged to go to church in another village, for spies were always watching me, and for a whole year I have never been able to speak to my Martina and--my Joseph; so now I must keep my promise; and yet I would like to give you a parting kiss; but--I won't, I wont! no! it would be wrong until I am once more a free man." "You are honest, and can speak to the purpose," said the bride, smiling; "and yet people say you are so sulky." "Very few know anything about me. No one really understands me except my Martina. She sees me as I really am, and yet I said very little to her, or she to me, and yet we knew each other thoroughly: she was quick, and she saw that though I was one of the richest men in the country, yet I was the poorest in reality. But she shall tell you about it, for she can talk far better than I can. You don't know how clever she is, and so good hearted, and so cheerful, and so loveable, and--and"-- Adam suddenly checked himself. To whom was he saying all this? to his betrothed bride! and she was looking at him, as if trying to remind him where they where and what they were. Nothing was heard but the clinking of the old men's glasses in the next room, and the whispering of the two mothers. At last Adam said, "So I have your promise that you won't say a word to any one. And now I must leave you to go to my Martina----to Martina--and--to my--boy, in the village. I shall be back by the time the Christmas tree is lighted up, and then it will either be--or--. God bless you!"