Rönnaug rose to her feet at last, and with a side glance at Magnhild she went past her into the front room. Magnhild finally felt constrained to follow her. She found Rönnaug standing by the window. A carriage stopped at that moment in front of the hotel. Magnhild saw that it was drawn by three men. It was a new, handsome traveling carriage, the handsomest she had ever seen. "Whose carriage is that?" asked she. "It is mine," replied Rönnaug. Betsy Roland came in and asked some question. Rönnaug went out with her, and when, directly afterward, she returned to the room, she went straight up to Magnhild, who still sat looking at the carriage. Rönnaug laid one arm about her neck. "Will you go with me in this carriage through the country, Magnhild?" she asked, in English. At the first contact Magnhild had become startled; she was conscious of Rönnaug's eyes, of her breath; and Rönnaug's arm encircled her like an iron bar, although there certainly was no pressure. "Will you go with me through the country in this--in this carriage, Magnhild?" she heard once more, this time in a blending of the dialect of the parish and English, and the voice trembled. "Yes," whispered Magnhild. Rönnaug released her, went to the other window, and did not look round again. "Is the carriage from America?" "London." "How much did you give for it?" "Charles bought it." "Is your husband with you?" "Yes--ja," and she added, brokenly, "Not here; Constantinople--delivery of guns--in September we are to meet--Liverpool." And then she looked up at Magnhild with wide open eyes. What did she mean? Magnhild wished to go. Rönnaug accompanied her down-stairs, and they both went out to inspect the carriage, about which stood a group of people who now fell back somewhat. Rönnaug pointed out to Magnhild how comfortable the carriage was, and while her head was still inside she asked,-- "Your rooms up-stairs, are they to let?" "No, it would give me too much trouble." Rönnaug hastily said "good-night," and ran up the steps. Magnhild had not gone very far before she felt that she certainly ought to have offered those rooms to Rönnaug. Should she turn back? Oh, no. This was one of Magnhild's wakeful nights. Rönnaug had frightened her. And this journey? Never in the world would she undertake it. CHAPTER X. When she left her chamber after ten o'clock, the first object she beheld was Rönnaug, who was coming up from the coast town, and was on her way to call on Magnhild--no, not on Magnhild, but on the priest, the young curate, who lived at Magnhild's house, in the former saddler workshop. Rönnaug at the priest's? At eleven o'clock she was still with him. And when she came out, accompanied by the curate, a shy young man, she merely put her head in Magnhild's door, greeted her, and disappeared again with the curate.