She could not bear to desecrate him further. Then the winter song swept past in his voice, sweet, full, sorrowful, as if it wished to make all clear to her; and, tractable as a child, she composed herself and listened. What did it say? That her dreams united two summers, the one which had been and the one which was slowly struggling up anew. Thanks be to the dreams which had awakened it. It said, too, that the dreams were something in themselves often of greater truth than reality itself. She had felt this when she was tending her flowers. In her uneasy tossing in her bed, her plait had come close to her hand. Sadly she drew it forward; he had kissed it again to-day. And so she lay on her side, and took it between her hands, and cried. "Mamma, mamma!" she heard whispered, and thus she slept. _THE NOVELS OF BJOeRNSTJERNE BJOeRNSON_ _Edited by EDMUND GOSSE_ _Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 3s. net_ _Synnoeve Solbakken_ _Arne_ _A Happy Boy_ _The Fisher Lass_ _The Bridal March, & One Day_ _Magnhild, & Dust_ _Captain Mansana, & Mother's Hands_ _Absalom's Hair, & A Painful Memory_ _LONDON_ _WILLIAM HEINEMANN_ _21 Bedford Street, W. C._ _Printed by_ Ballantyne, Hanson & Co. _London and Edinburgh_ End of Project Gutenberg's The Bridal March; One Day, by Bjornstjerne Bjornson