"You will be very welcome." "Perhaps," said Mary, blushing, "you would not mind coming to me?" "To your house in the market-place?" asked Miss Röy. "Yes, to our house in the market-place. Though I ought no longer to say 'our' house!" The tears came again. "You have only to let me know, and I shall come at once." A week later Mary went to town--in the wildest November storm, the worst they had had in these parts. The fjords were not yet frozen over, so the steamer managed to reach town, but had to remain there. Margrete Röy was much astonished at being summoned on such a day. It was to a warm, comfortable house she came, not the deserted one with the drawn down blinds which she was accustomed to see. She was conducted up an old-fashioned broad stair; the whole interior was in the style of the old town-houses of the beginning of last century. Mary was in the farthest away of the suite of sitting-rooms, a red boudoir, unchanged since her mother's day. She was sitting on a sofa, beneath a large portrait of her mother. When she stood up in her black dress, pale and heavy-eyed under her crown of red hair, it struck Margrete Röy that she was the very image of sorrow, the most beautiful one that could be imagined. A solemn tranquillity surrounded her. She spoke as low as the storm outside permitted. "I feel that you respect another's grief. I am also certain that you betray no secrets." "I do not." A little time passed before Mary said: "Who is Jörgen Thiis?" "Who is he----?" "I have several reasons for believing that you can tell me." "You must first allow me to put a question. Are you not engaged to Jörgen Thiis?" "No." "People say that you are." Mary remained silent. "You have perhaps been engaged to him?" "Yes." "But," said Margrete quickly and joyously, "you have broken off the engagement?" Mary nodded. "Many will rejoice to hear it; for Jörgen Thiis is not worthy of you." Mary showed no signs of surprise. "You know something?" she asked. "Doctors, Miss Krog, know more than they may tell." "Yet I do believe that he loved me," said Mary, to excuse herself. "We all saw that," replied Margrete. "He undoubtedly loved you better than he had ever loved before. Nor was it surprising," she added. "But when I lived in Christiania I knew a sweet young girl who at that time was the one love of his life! She allowed herself to be deeply moved by this, and as they could not marry, she gave herself to him." "What did she do?" asked Mary, startled. Had she understood aright? The storm was howling so loudly outside that it was difficult to hear. Margrete repeated distinctly and impressively: "She was a warm-hearted girl, who believed that she was doing right, as she was his one and only love." "They could not marry?" "It was not possible. So she gave herself to him without marriage." Mary started up, but did not move forward. She was going to say something, but stopped.