exquisite, secret enjoyment to which you could have treated yourself at no cost or trouble." "It _must_ be strange! But you are going to the country, to the pine woods now; you will get well again," says Mrs. Hanka, and feels like a mother. Milde chimes in: "Of course you will. And think of us when you are in your kingdom." Ole Henriksen had remained quietly in his chair; he said little and smoked his cigar. He knew Torahus; he gave Ojen a hint about visiting the house of the county judge, which was a mile away. He had only to row across a lake; pine woods all around--the house looked like a little white marble palace in the green surroundings. "How do you know all this?" asked Irgens, quite surprised to hear Ole speak. "I went through there on a walking trip," answered Ole, embarrassed. "We were a couple of boys from the college. We stopped at the house and had a glass of milk." "Your health, Mr. College Man!" called the Journalist sarcastically. "Be sure and row over," said Ole. "County Judge Lynum's family is charming. There is even a young girl in the house if you care to fall in love," he added smilingly. "He, he! No; whatever else one can accuse Ojen of, the ladies he leaves severely alone!" said Norem, good-natured and tipsy. "Your health, Mr. College Man!" shouted Gregersen again. Ole Henriksen looked at him. "Do you mean me?" he asked. "Of course, I mean you, certainly I do! Haven't you attended college? Well, aren't you a college man, then?" The Journalist, too, was a little tipsy. "It was only a business college," said Ole quietly. "Of course, you are a peddler, yes. But there is no reason why you should be ashamed of that. Is there, Tidemand? I say there is no reason whatever! Does anybody feel called upon to object?" Tidemand did not answer. The Journalist kept obstinately to the question; he frowned and thought of nothing else, afraid to forget what he had asked about. He began to lose his temper; he demanded a reply in a loud voice. Mrs. Hanka said suddenly: "Silence, now. Ojen is going to read another poem." Both Paulsberg and Irgens made secretly a wry face, but they said nothing; on the contrary, Paulsberg nodded encouragingly. When the noise had subsided a little Ojen got up, stepped back, and said: "I know this by heart. It is called 'The Power of Love.'" We rode in a railway carriage through a strange landscape--strange to me, strange to her. We were also strangers to each other; we had never met before. Why is she sitting so quietly? I wondered. And I bent toward her and said, while my heart hammered: "Are you grieving for somebody, madam? Have you left a friend where you come from--a very dear friend?" "Yes," she answered, "a very dear friend." "And now you sit here unable to forget this friend?" I asked. And she answered and shook her head sadly: "No, no--I can never forget him." She was silent. She had not looked at me while she spoke.