Sven Elversson thought of the plain at Applum, with the vicarage behind the church, set in a little hollow to be sheltered from the wind. And he wondered if she would find any comfort in the evenly divided fields, the dark wall of hills all round, the narrow view, the homesteads painted blue and white and red, and the treeless meadowland. "'Tis none so easy for him just now," thought Sven. "I'd find it hard myself to comfort her in his place. But he knows her, and loves her--it makes all the difference." The Priest must have been thinking of the same thing. He sat for a while without speaking. "Let me tell you of a dream I had last winter," he said at last. "It made me very happy at the time, that dream, and perhaps it may help you too. "I dreamed that I was driving along the road to your home at Stenbroträsk, and it was toward the end of winter, bare earth and leafless trees, and the road a sodden stretch of mire. The bridges were out of repair, and the horse was a wretched beast that could hardly move at all. "There was a keen, cold wind from the north, and everything was gray and dismal, and the few houses here and there along the way looked poor and miserable; the whole country seemed inhospitable and depressing. "Then at last, coming up over the hill, I caught sight of the steep river-bank, and the church and the house at Stenbroträsk, and in a moment all was changed. The air seemed warmer, the fields were green, the birches wore a veil of leaf, the road was firm and good--everything was kindly and smiling as if in welcome; even the horse came suddenly to life and trotted on bravely. "But the strange thing about it all was that I felt the spring and the warmth came from myself. They had not been there before, but now, as if by magic, they came--and all because of the warmth that filled my heart at sight of your home. And there seemed nothing strange about it all in my dream--it was all natural and as it should be." Here the Priest paused, and his wife, in a changed voice, asked what happened after. "There was no more," he answered. "For the warmth at my heart was so good to feel that I woke." And, having said this, he was silent again. But those few words of love, the little glimpse of something beautiful, had filled the young wife's heart with joy, and the listener in front heard her whisper to her husband in a voice almost stifled with emotion: "You mean that if I had but the same warmth in my heart as you, I should find beauty in this country of yours, and in your home--even in these dreadful hills." And then gladly and confidently she went on: "Do not be afraid for me. There is nothing to frighten me now. I feel now as you felt in your dream." "There," thought Sven to himself. "See how little one can judge things at first sight. Truly she could not have found a better husband than Pastor Rhånge. He has a good heart and a good head. Who else could have answered her so well?" THE SEA