"But what solicitude for existences which neither can nor will be of any use in the world. That fisherman in Nordland was the only person who was saved from destruction out of a whole parish. And he lived more than sixty years as stupid as the codfish he drew out of the sea. "For the sake of others? For the advancement of one's fellow-creatures? For the good of posterity? Aye, aye, find consolation in all this, if you can! Before I shall be able to do so I must see the benefit of it for myself. The mole's life in the dark, with chance alone for its guide, is not a life that I could lead, even though I might have a certificate guarantying that light should dawn on me one day, that is to say, on the other side of the grave. I admire those who can be content with such a lot." "In other words, you despise them!" interposed Rönnaug. Grong looked at her, but made no reply. Rönnaug was anxious to know how it was best to advise Magnhild. Grong promptly answered,-- "Advise her to go to work." "Without definite object? Merely for the sake of work?" He hesitated a moment, and then said,-- "I will tell you one thing, my good lady: Magnhild's misfortune has been that throughout her whole life she has had every want supplied, every meal, every garment. Had she been obliged to labor hard, or to bring up children, she would not have indulged so freely in dreams." "So, then, work without definite aim?" repeated Rönnaug. "There are so many kinds of aims," said Grong, peevishly,--and then he was silent. It was evident that he had been all round the circle and had returned to his wrath over what had befallen himself. They had turned and were retracing their steps in the friendly birch avenue leading to the parsonage. The tones of a human voice were heard; they drew nearer, paused, and listened attentively. The windows were open, and every note rang out, clear and equal. "Yes, there is purity in the voice," said Grong; "that is true. But purity is a mere passive quality." They went on. "Not technical skill alone, then?" queried Rönnaug. To this Grong made no reply. He had fallen into a new train of thought. When they had reached the house, he roused himself. "She and I are, both of us, I dare say, bearers of a half-completed family history. Nevertheless, her family dies out with her; and mine? Oh, all this is enough to drive one mad! Where is my 'skyds?'"