"This is our summer trip, Magnhild! The summer travels in Norway. Now onward!" But Magnhild bowed down and covered her face with her hands. "All shall be well with you, Magnhild. Charles is so good! He will do everything for you." But here she heard Magnhild sob, and so she said no more. The sunny day through which they rode onward, the fresh, aromatic mountain air they inhaled, the sounds of jubilee which burst forth from the forest, blending with childhood's memories, became too much for Rönnaug. She forgot Magnhild and began to sing again. Then she took the child and chatted playfully with it and with Miss Roland. She was surprised by Magnhild's asking:-- "Do you love your husband, Rönnaug?" "Do I love him? Why, when Mr. Charles Randon said to me: 'I will gladly provide for your education, Rönnaug; I hope you will let me have this pleasure,'--well, I let him have the pleasure. When Mr. Charles said to me: 'My dear Rönnaug, I am much older than you; yet if you could consent to be my wife, I am certain that I should be happy,'--well--and so I made him happy. And when Mr. Charles said: 'My dear Rönnaug, take good care of our little Harry, so that I may find you all in Liverpool in September, and your Norwegian friend with you,'--why, I determined that he should find us all in Liverpool in September, and little Harry well and hearty; and my Norwegian friend along, too!"--and she kissed the child and set it to laughing. They changed horses at the next post-station. Magnhild and Miss Roland kept their seats in the carriage. Rönnaug got out, partly to re-visit familiar haunts, partly to make an entry in the register. That was her duty, she said. Presently she came back, laughing, with the register. Under the entry: "Two persons for the next station,"--indicating that these two persons were too much absorbed to even trouble themselves with the name of the next station,--were the following lines:-- "Love is all the budding flower, Perfect blossom, fruit mature. When breaking boughs no more endure, Then "stop!" is shrieked to Winter's power. Rather life to stop be driven; No alternative is given!" Rönnaug translated it for Betsy Roland, and now various conjectures were expressed by them all, in both Norwegian and English. They agreed in supposing the writers to be two lovers, on a journey, under peculiar circumstances; but whether they were a newly-married couple, or merely lovers; whether theirs was a runaway flight, or whether they were simply actuated by exuberance of spirits over happily overcome obstacles, or,--oh! there were manifold possibilities.