“Good-day, Sir Sunshine!” cried Melchior. “How fine you are! You are not out to woo?” “Yes, yes, uncle, that is just what I am,” he answered, and laughed. “Is there no shame in you, boy? What have you to maintain a wife with?” “Nothing, uncle. Had I anything, I would never get married.” “Do you say that, do you say that, Sir Sunshine? But that fine jacket,—you have had money enough to get you that?” “On credit, uncle.” “And the horse you are riding, that is worth a lot of money, I can tell you. Where did you get that?” “The horse is not mine, uncle.” This was more than Melchior could withstand. “God be with you, boy,” he said. “You do indeed need a wife who has something. If you can win Marianne, take her.” So everything had been made clear between them before Baron Adrian had even dismounted. But Melchior Sinclair knew very well what he was about, for Baron Adrian was a fine fellow. Then the suitor had come in to Marianne and immediately burst out with his errand. “Oh, Marianne, dear Marianne. I have already spoken to uncle. I would like so much to have you for my wife. Say that you will, Marianne.” She had got at the truth. The old baron, his father, had let himself be cheated into buying some used-up mines again. The old baron had been buying mines all his life, and never had anything been found in them. His mother was anxious, he himself was in debt, and now he was proposing to her in order to thereby save the home of his ancestors and his hussar jacket. His home was Hedeby; it lay on the other side of the lake, almost opposite Björne. She knew him well; they were of the same age and playmates. “You might marry me, Marianne. I lead such a wretched life. I have to ride on borrowed horses and cannot pay my tailor’s bills. It can’t go on. I shall have to resign, and then I shall shoot myself.” “But, Adrian, what kind of a marriage would it be? We are not in the least in love with one another.” “Oh, as for love, I care nothing for all that nonsense,” he had then explained. “I like to ride a good horse and to hunt, but I am no pensioner, I am a worker. If I only could get some money, so that I could take charge of the estate at home and give my mother some peace in her old age, I should be happy. I should both plough and sow, for I like work.” Then he had looked at her with his honest eyes, and she knew that he spoke the truth and that he was a man to depend upon. She engaged herself to him, chiefly to get away from her home, but also because she had always liked him. But never would she forget that month which followed the August evening when her engagement was announced,—all that time of madness.