“Your Science, which makes you great in your own eyes, is paltry indeed beside the light which bathes a Seer. Cease, cease to question me; our languages are different. For a moment I have used yours to cast, if it be possible, a ray of faith into your soul; to give you, as it were, the hem of my garment and draw you up into the regions of Prayer. Can God abase Himself to you? Is it not for you to rise to Him? If human reason finds the ladder of its own strength too weak to bring God down to it, is it not evident that you must find some other path to reach Him? That Path is in ourselves. The Seer and the Believer find eyes within their souls more piercing far than eyes that probe the things of earth,--they see the Dawn. Hear this truth: Your science, let it be never so exact, your meditations, however bold, your noblest lights are Clouds. Above, above is the Sanctuary whence the true Light flows.” She sat down and remained silent; her calm face bore no sign of the agitation which orators betray after their least fervid improvisations. Wilfrid bent toward Monsieur Becker and said in a low voice, “Who taught her that?” “I do not know,” he answered. “He was gentler on the Falberg,” Minna whispered to herself. Seraphita passed her hand across her eyes and then she said, smiling:-- “You are very thoughtful to-night, gentlemen. You treat Minna and me as though we were men to whom you must talk politics or commerce; whereas we are young girls, and you ought to tell us tales while you drink your tea. That is what we do, Monsieur Wilfrid, in our long Norwegian evenings. Come, dear pastor, tell me some Saga that I have not heard,--that of Frithiof, the chronicle that you believe and have so often promised me. Tell us the story of the peasant lad who owned the ship that talked and had a soul. Come! I dream of the frigate Ellida, the fairy with the sails young girls should navigate!” “Since we have returned to the regions of Jarvis,” said Wilfrid, whose eyes were fastened on Seraphita as those of a robber, lurking in the darkness, fasten on the spot where he knows the jewels lie, “tell me why you do not marry?” “You are all born widows and widowers,” she replied; “but my marriage was arranged at my birth. I am betrothed.” “To whom?” they cried. “Ask not my secret,” she said; “I will promise, if our father permits it, to invite you to these mysterious nuptials.” “Will they be soon?” “I think so.” A long silence followed these words. “The spring has come!” said Seraphita, suddenly. “The noise of the waters and the breaking of the ice begins. Come, let us welcome the first spring of the new century.” She rose, followed by Wilfrid, and together they went to a window which David had opened. After the long silence of winter, the waters stirred beneath the ice and resounded through the fiord like music,--for there are sounds which space refines, so that they reach the ear in waves of light and freshness.