Three years had passed by and still the situation was unchanged. Halfdan still taught music and told fairy stories to the children. He had a good many more pupils now than three years ago, although he had made no effort to solicit patronage, and had never tried to advertise his talent by what he regarded as vulgar and inartistic display. But Mrs. Van Kirk, who had by this time discovered his disinclination to assert himself, had been only the more active; had “talked him up” among her aristocratic friends; had given musical soirees, at which she had coaxed him to play the principal role, and had in various other ways exerted herself in his behalf. It was getting to be quite fashionable to admire his quiet, unostentatious style of playing, which was so far removed from the noisy bravado and clap-trap then commonly in vogue. Even professional musicians began to indorse him, and some, who had discovered that “there was money in him,” made him tempting offers for a public engagement. But, with characteristic modesty, he distrusted their verdict; his sensitive nature shrank from anything which had the appearance of self-assertion or display. But Edith--ah, if it had not been for Edith he might have found courage to enter at the door of fortune, which was now opened ajar. That fame, if he should gain it, would bring him any nearer to her, was a thought that was alien to so unworldly a temperament as his. And any action that had no bearing upon his relation to her, left him cold--seemed unworthy of the effort. If she had asked him to play in public; if she had required of him to go to the North Pole, or to cut his own throat, I verily believe he would have done it. And at last Edith did ask him to play. She and Olson had plotted together, and from the very friendliest motives agreed to play into each other’s hands. “If you only WOULD consent to play,” said she, in her own persuasive way, one day as they had finished their lesson, “we should all be so happy. Only think how proud we should be of your success, for you know there is nothing you can’t do in the way of music if you really want to.” “Do you really think so?” exclaimed he, while his eyes suddenly grew large and luminous. “Indeed I do,” said Edith, emphatically. “And if--if I played well,” faltered he, “would it really please you?” “Of course it would,” cried Edith, laughing; “how can you ask such a foolish question?” “Because I hardly dared to believe it.” “Now listen to me,” continued the girl, leaning forward in her chair, and beaming all over with kindly officiousness; “now for once you must be rational and do just what I tell you. I shall never like you again if you oppose me in this, for I have set my heart upon it; you must promise beforehand that you will be good and not make any objection. Do you hear?”