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Title: The Bride of Omberg
Author: Flygare-Carln, Emilie (1807-1892)
Translator: Krause, Alex. L. (fl. 1852-1854)
Translator: Perce, Elbert (1831-1869)
Date of first publication: 1853
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   New York: Charles Scribner, 1853
Date first posted: 23 January 2010
Date last updated: 23 January 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #464

This ebook was produced by:
Therese Wright, Barbara Watson
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net

This file was produced from images generously
made available by Google Books





                                 THE

                           BRIDE OF OMBERG.



                                 BY
                          EMILIE F. CARLEN,




                     FROM THE ORIGINAL SWEDISH BY
                PROF. ALEX. L. KRAUSE AND ELBERT PERCE.





                              NEW YORK:
                 CHARLES SCRIBNER, 145 NASSAU STREET.
                                1853.



      Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
                          CHARLES SCRIBNER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
                    Southern District of New York.




    C. W. BENEDICT,
Stereotyper and Printer,
 12 Spruce Street, N. Y.




                           THE BRIDE OF OMBERG.




                                CHAPTER I.


"What are you doing with my old blue frock-coat, Agneta? I hope you will
not cut it in pieces."

The lady of the house answered this question with a smile, and the
clipping scissors which were gliding through the cloth plainly announced
the fate that awaited this unfortunate coat.

"Have you lost your senses? Have you lost your memory? Did not you
consent to wed me the day I first put on that coat? I remember it as
well as though it had been yesterday, that I had it made for the very
purpose of bribing you. It was then a stately garment!"

"Yes, my little old fellow!" replied Mrs. Agneta, nodding pleasantly to
her husband. "Then you used the coat as a decoy bird, and therefore you
must not be cross if I put it to the same use again." With these words
she drew a peculiarly-shaped pattern from her work-bag, and spreading
the coat upon the table, placed the pattern upon it, and despite the
imploring looks of the old gentleman, the scissors made their way
rapidly through the faded cloth.

"Well, what are you making?"

"A decoy bird."

"Ah! yes, I might have thought so," growled the old man. "After you had
used your own garment, as long as there was any of it left, to make
decoy birds for the boy, you now trespass upon the father's coat. Truly,
Agneta all this trumpery will come to a bad end yet."

"Well, well, dear husband, don't get into a rage about it," replied
Mistress Agneta, as she laid the pieces she had cut according to the
pattern, upon the table before her, and rolling up the balance of the
cloth into a small bundle she thrust it quickly behind the cushioned
back of the high arm-chair.

"Aye! I should think that one might be allowed to speak a word about the
young gentleman. I only ask whether I fared as wildly when I was young,
doing nothing else in the world but being a scarecrow for the birds of
the air and the fishes of the sea?"

"Then you are not satisfied that he goes to catch fish?"

"I object neither to hunting nor fishing, if one only knows how to limit
them; but I do not like that the young gentleman, who is destined to
inherit the iron foundry, and smelting establishment, with twenty landed
estates, and who could employ himself more usefully than in spending his
time in fooleries which a peasant lout might perform as well as
himself--"

"What are you thinking about?" said Mistress Agneta, who had commenced
sewing the side of the decoy bird preparatory to stuffing it. "I hope
that you do not think that these louts could manage a decoy bird as
skillfully, or climb a tree and lay out upon the branches to decoy the
hazel hen, as well as our Charles Augustus. No, they cannot do it. If we
had only them for hunters we should never have any game for our table."

"Well, we might live without it."

"Hand me the pearl to make the eye with. Now tell me, don't the decoy
look quite natural?"

"O, yes; but I again inquire how will all this end? Is it thus that our
fields are cultivated, the trip-hammer put in motion, the coal-bins and
barns made? If one does nothing but ramble around in the woods and ride
upon the lake; and aside from this, if one is so very bashful that he
dare not look even into the eyes of a pretty girl, he will certainly
never amount to anything, and will finally die an old bachelor."

"Husband! husband!"

"Wife--wife--I know what I say. When you and I are lying under the
grass, his overseers, his workmen, and all of that beggarly tribe, will
cheat him before his very eyes. He is worse, indeed, than--"

"Than what?" inquired Mistress Agneta, as she stuffed the bird until its
breast filled out like the newly-wadded uniform of a militia
officer;--"than what?"

"Than a fool--for a fantastic fellow is worse than a fool."

"Well, then, place him under arrest. Let the whole world say that Squire
Kemner has shut up the mouth of his own son, because he was a bashful
and silent youth, because he was fond of hunting and fishing, and
because he never harmed any one when he was not angry. But this is all
foolishness; tell me where I can find a little piece of red cloth to
make eye-brows for my bird. Have you not some red flannel in your chest,
my dear Johannes?"

"O, nonsense," growled the old gentleman, and taking his pipe he left
the room.

About a half an hour afterwards, when Mrs. Agneta was about putting the
last stitch into her work, the old gentleman returned with a small piece
of red flannel in his hand.

"You are a downright fool," said he, throwing the rag upon the table.

Mistress Agneta picked it up and examined it carefully. "Ah! John," said
she, her eyes glittering with joy, "have you not cut that from your own
carpet-bag? O, no, you are not weak, _you_!"

"O, be still! You know I must have a new lining for my carpet-bag at any
rate." And a little ashamed that he had been caught in the act of giving
way to his weakness, the old gentleman stepped to the window and drummed
upon the window-panes, an occupation that occupied his attention until
he found an opportunity to scold at one of the servant girls, who had
allowed a chicken to enter the garden, and scratch up the flower plots.




                                CHAPTER II.


Squire Kemner had inherited from his father large estates, connected
with an immense iron-foundry and smelting establishment. His father had
inherited the same from his own father, and thus the estates had fallen
from father to son for many generations. From time immemorial the Kemner
family had borne the reputation of honesty. They not only knew how to
provide for themselves, but were the main props of their native country.
They had been from father to son good men, good farmers, and report said
they knew well how to look after their own interests, and withal were
sensible and well-informed citizens. They had always turned their
attention to matters within their own sphere, never troubling themselves
with anything that was not connected with their own or their servants'
affairs. They sometimes talked politics, but only for the purpose of
amusement, when in the good society of the beer-can or the
draught-board. But if the topic was a collection for the poor, or
contribution for any benevolent design, the erection of a school-house,
or the construction of a new road, then the family-name of Kemner could
have been seen heading the list in large letters, that all might know
that the Kemners never put themselves out of the way when charity was
the theme, and that their wealth was not small.

When Squire Kemner entered into the holy state of matrimony, he
entertained the fond hope that his children would fully sustain the
reputation of their forefathers. But he had the misfortune of losing his
two eldest sons, who had displayed the fullest capacity of becoming
nothing more nor less than their _father's sons_, and his sorrow was
increased when he saw that his third son Charles Augustus displayed none
of the attributes of the Kemner family. As a child Charles Augustus
evinced an obstinacy that irritated his father much, who vainly strove
to conquer the spirit with the whip, and imprisonment in the dark and
dreary cellar.

"This will not do," said his wife in a warning voice. "You will make the
boy an idiot. When you whip him, he would bite off his tongue rather
than cry; if you give him nothing to eat, he would die of hunger before
he would beg for bread; and I am fearful that he will beat out his
brains against the wall of that dark cellar."

Charles Augustus, however, did nothing of the kind. He outlived his
severe training; but unfortunately he did not appear to have benefited
by it.

Then Mr. Kemner would begin to preach morality, but Charles Augustus'
heart was quite closed to the wisdom that flowed from his father's lips.

"Listen to me, my son," said the Squire, one day, when he was determined
to make an impression upon the boy's mind. "You love your father, do you
not?"

"Not too much," replied the boy, who had just entered his teens.

"What! not too much, you ungrateful scamp! You mean that you do not love
your father? Do you not know that even the brutes love their parents?
Don't you see how the colt gambols around his mother?"

"Yes, I do; but I never saw his mother kick him, starve him, or shut
him up in a dark cellar. If she did so, the colt would run away and not
be willing to return."

"I ought to have sent you away to school long ago," said his father, who
wished to change the subject; "but your teacher says that you are good
for nothing. What do you think--do you think that you are good for
anything?"

"I don't know."

"Do you love to read?"

"O, yes, sometimes."

"This sometimes, happens rarely enough; but to run about in the woods,
climb trees, and to do nothing at all, that pleases you, does it not?"

"O, yes; that is fine!"

"But now you are old enough to know that you must learn something, so
that you can become a man like your father, your grandfather, your
great-grandfather. They were worthy men, you may believe me. When they
were as old as you they already knew how to count upon their fingers
what was needed at the forge and upon the farm. But you do not even know
how the ore is smelted, or how seed should be prepared for the field--or
do you know?"

"No."

"Are you not, as I just said, a genuine----?"

"Blockhead," suggested Charles Augustus, for he had heard the phrase a
hundred times before.

"Certainly, a blockhead, and one of the rankest kind. Now, please inform
me, have you not the slightest idea of honor and shame? Are you not
ashamed to be considered a blockhead?"

"Yes; and it is for this very reason that I would rather be out in the
woods. When I am there I am never stupid."

"But will you not make an effort to become otherwise? Don't you know
that it is horrible that you cannot become like other people, and know
how to assist your father, and how to read as well as other boys of your
own age? Don't you think of all this?"

"No, I don't!"

"Well, what have you to say about it?"

"Nothing; only I think that if I could only be left alone--if--if--"
here he ceased, as though he had not the courage to continue.

"Well, do not be afraid to speak. I should like to know what you think
of yourself."

"Yes, if they would only let me alone, and if you would not always call
me a blockhead, I might by-and-by be good for something."

"Good for what?"

"I do not know."

"Did I not say so? Do you not show to me by your silly answer, that you
are a perfect sheep in intelligence, and a bear in manners?"

Charles Augustus trembled with rage. "Send me where you please," said
he; "let me only get away from here, or I will run away."

"Yes, he must be sent away," said the Squire. But the mother prayed with
tearful eyes. "Do not send him away, out in the world, dear John.
Nothing good will come of it."

In the mean time the rumor went through the whole neighborhood, that the
Squire's silly son was to be sent away to gain wisdom for himself. But
all foretold his quick return, for they knew him too well; and they
pitied the worthy father, whose infinite trouble had been so poorly
repaid.

"I assure you, my dear child," said his mother, to Charles Augustus, the
night before the departure of her son, "I assure you that you are
neither stupid nor simple, but on the contrary, a bright, intelligent
boy, although your father does not wish to consider you so. But if he
continues to trouble you in this manner, it would be quite probable that
you would become a very simpleton. My dear child, oblige me, and give
your mother honor, by remaining until your time is out. I have not a
doubt but that you can read, if you have a mind to."

"Do you really think so, mother?"

"Yes; as I believe in the Scriptures. Do you not remember, Charles
Augustus, how you read the little storybook when you was a little boy,
and understood the pictures so well, whatever they were, either trees or
birds; don't you remember?"

"Yes; but since then I cannot remember. I have often found that out,
when I have been reading alone in the woods, which I often do, although
no one knows it."

"My poor boy. Your father has punished you too much; but he will do so
no more, and he has often repented it, after he has thought of it."

"He has repented? are you sure of that?"

"Certainly, my child; I have often noticed how much he was agitated
after he had whipped you; he walked up and down the floor looking at you
when you did not see him; and even when he shut you up in the cellar, he
would stand before the door for a long time. I once saw him wipe the
tears from his eyes, although I did not let him know that I saw him."

"Was I very naughty--tell me, dear mother, was I?" inquired the boy
earnestly, his voice trembling with emotion. "Was I very naughty when
father treated me so cruelly?"

"Yes, my dear boy, you were; but I think that you would not have been
so, had you not been treated so harshly. Once--but it will only make you
sorry if I tell you all."

"Never mind--tell me."

"Yes. Once you acted like a wild beast, because he would not allow you
to have his gold-headed cane. Why, you even bit his hand."

"I remember," replied the boy, his cheeks flushing; "but you have not
said why I did so. I received so many blows because I had ventured to
take the cane; and could not help turning upon him; indeed, I did not
know what I was about."

"But now your boyish years are over," continued his mother, soothingly.
"You are now thirteen years old, and you will prove to your father and
the whole neighborhood that you possess as much capacity as all the
rest, and have enough intelligence to preside over the foundry and farm
as well as your father and grandfather did."

"And as well as my great-grandfather did," replied Charles Augustus,
impatiently. "O, if I did not have to hear all the time what _they_ have
done. Father may leave his foundry and farm to whom he chooses, and he
may send me to sea, and help himself and me at the same time."

But now his mother wept, and the boy's heart softened as it had often
done before, until his father, with his harsh words, would change the
soft heart into flint again.

It was fortunate for Charles Augustus that his departure had been
finally decided upon. Had he remained at home, he would, under the hard
treatment of his father, and the silly kindness of his fond mother, have
soon become that which his father had so often predicted. In consequence
of his father's exceeding harshness, which he had experienced in his
early youth, there remained traces in the character of Charles Augustus,
which could never be entirely eradicated.

                    *    *    *    *    *

Years rolled on, and Squire Kemner was surprised and somewhat
mistrustful when he heard that his son was making rapid progress in his
studies, and that his teachers had nothing to complain of; on the
contrary, they thought that he applied himself too much to his books,
for the benefit of his health.

"Now you see," said the Squire, overjoyed at the news. "Now you see,
that I understood how to sift out the genuine gold. Yes, yes, I knew
very well how it would turn out, but I did not want to say anything
beforehand. But what do you think Augustus would have become had I
allowed him to domineer over me? Thank God! he can now govern himself,
and I hope that he will thank me for it hereafter."

They never thought that their son should enter into any state office;
upon that point parents and son completely agreed. At the age of
twenty-one, Charles Augustus had completed his studies, and returned
home to assist his father in managing his estates and his iron-foundry.

At first all went well, Charles Augustus restrained himself and obeyed
his father in every respect. Squire Kemner would boast, far and wide, of
the skill and prudence of his son, and spoke of a journey to England,
which Charles Augustus should take for the purpose of completing his
agricultural studies, and which would have been carried into effect,
undoubtedly, had the matter depended upon the father alone. Charles
Augustus, however, did not evince the slightest desire to travel. He
read all the agricultural works that his father furnished him, but he
contended that a voyage over the sea would not repay for the trouble.

Four years had elapsed since Charles Augustus had returned home, but
during all this time he had not accustomed himself to a life of activity
which was necessary for an owner of such large estates. And even the
good disposition which he had evinced at first to diminish his father's
labors, soon totally vanished, and his occupation mainly consisted in
hunting and fishing, two sports for which the Kemner estates, located
on the borders of the sea, offered the most desirable opportunities.

In the meantime, the father's conduct toward his son had changed to a
great extent. His conscience at length told him that he himself was the
cause of the faults of his boy. If the old gentleman would sometimes
growl, it was only when alone with his wife. As soon, however, as
Charles Augustus returned, the father would appear friendly, and enquire
with much apparent concern, how his hunting or fishing excursion had
turned out. Although the worthy squire would talk much about the journey
to England, and of all the elegant establishments which could be found
"over there," as he would express himself, still Charles Augustus did
not heed his hints, and therefore the old man desisted from them
entirely.

The squire would allow himself to speak frequently concerning only one
subject; and that was to the repugnance his son had of sociality. The
old man had always been of the opinion that a man who could call an iron
foundry and twenty estates his own, was certainly obliged to display as
much outward appearance as any nobleman. He desired that his dear
Lindafors, where he himself, as well as his father, his grandfather, and
great grandfather had lived and ruled, should be at all times known by
its hospitality, its wealth and its benevolence. Still, with a wise
maintenance of a proper method. In short, he desired that his estate
should be considered, not only among the first of the nation, but that
it should take a pre-eminence above all others.

But all these arguments, as well as all others, were of no avail with
Charles Augustus. He seldom accompanied his parents in their visits to
their neighbors, and when strangers made their appearance, he displayed
uneasiness and discomfort, especially when ladies were the visitors.

If his mother would now and then remind him that this or that young
lady had paid particular attention to him, it was certain that the young
lady would be banished from the mind of Charles Augustus.

Mrs. Agneta, however, understood very well why she used such language.
It was always intended for such young ladies who were poor but handsome,
as she was fearful that they might strive to entrap the unwary youth.
But in other cases, for instance when two wealthy ladies would visit
them, the cunning dame would say: "The silly geese, they would not even
look at you--they did not seem to care whether you were in the room or
not." And then, when the same young ladies would make their appearance
again, Charles Augustus could not resist thinking of them a little.

But what did Mrs. Agneta gain by this? For Charles Augustus would
declare, as soon as they had departed, that he had never seen two such
ugly creatures, or heard such sharp tongues before. Mrs. Agneta shook
her head in despair. She could not think what kind of a wife she could
procure for her dear Charles Augustus, for he preferred a well-made
decoy bird to all the women of the country.




                               CHAPTER III.


Mrs. Agneta had scarcely placed the last eyebrow to a decoy bird, when
the squire thought that he heard the hounds, and soon afterwards the
loud barking of Woodman and Watch, Charles Augustus' favorite hounds,
announced that their master was returning.

"O, the dear, Agneta!" said the squire, nodding pleasantly to his son,
who now appeared at the end of the alley, "how fine the boy looks. He
took that beautiful nose from his grandfather! Look at his forehead--his
brow; earnestness and kindness have both assumed their seat there. How
his cheeks glow! and how finely his curling hair looks, falling over his
shoulders. But I am afraid no girl will fall in love with him, and only
on account of his confounded timidity."

"How can you say so?" said his wife, placing herself behind her husband,
near the window. "And I would like to know how many girls there are in
the whole country who have not already fallen in love with him? What a
splendid form! He is full six feet, aye! more--for so I measured him on
the door post last spring, and since then he has grown more, as I can
see by his summer pantaloons. Only see how well he becomes his hunting
dress! Such a stately boy cannot be found in the whole of our grenadier
regiment."

During this conversation, Charles Augustus had entered the court-yard,
and smilingly pointed at his game bag which was suspended from his manly
shoulder. It appeared to be well stocked, and a pair of large hare's
legs protruded from it, and crossed themselves over the breast of the
young sportsman.

Charles Augustus stepped into the kitchen, where he was received by his
mother with a hearty "Well, well, my dear child, what booty have you
brought home? Two hazel hens and one hare! You are a true Nimrod,
indeed. Are you not weary, my dear boy?"

"Not at all," replied the young man, kissing the hand and lips of his
tender mother. "Dinner, however, will taste well to me; but I wish to
rest a little before that."

After he had saluted his father, and received from him the latest
newspapers, he hastened to his own room and threw himself upon the sofa.
He did not sleep, but took up a paper the corner of which was turned
down--a sign that his father wished to draw his attention to a
particular article. The article in question was a long discussion on a
newly invented threshing machine. Although Charles Augustus read the
words, he did it mechanically; and dissatisfied with himself, and
perhaps a little with his father, he turned his face towards the wall
with the firm intention to think of nothing at all.

But who does not know that one will think of the most when he endeavors
to think of nothing? His mind will be filled with that which is
necessary, and that which is unnecessary also. This was the case with
Charles Augustus. The necessary thoughts--if we should be allowed to
divide ideas into two classes--turned upon his own situation and
circumstances. He thought of the friendly and exhorting looks of his
father, when they both had stood together in the court-yard, one
stepping towards the foundry and the other walking towards the forest.
He heard no more reproaches for his carelessness and want of energy; but
sometimes the reproach could be seen in his father's eye, and pained
Charles Augustus deeply. But he would still rove around, like a man in a
dream, seeking only for his own amusement.

"I only wish that it were possible for Charles Augustus to be otherwise;
I wish it were in my power to render my good parents happy; and, if it
was not so much adverse to my inclination to follow those pursuits which
so much pleased my ancestors, I would be content. But in spite of my
endeavors I cannot like those labors that are so tedious, and change my
hours into an eternity.

"But of what benefit are all these thoughts--what am I thinking of? Of a
thousand things which should not trouble a sensible man. Why am I so
much more contented with the society of animals than that of men? Why
does my heart bleed frequently when I place my rifle to my shoulder? It
pains me to deprive the young creatures of their parents, and the birds
of their mates. But I sometimes kill them, only that I may not be
laughed at when I return home. Why do I sit there in the woods for whole
hours, looking at nothing but a mere ant-hill? Still, it awakens
thousands of thoughts within me. Why do the tears start to my eyes--why
do I take so much delight in beholding the sun rise? Why should I desire
to kiss away the dew-drops from the blades of grass? And why does life
move with such renewed power within me, when I hear the morning songs of
the birds? Why--why? Yes, because I am a dreamer, a fool, a
good-for-nothing. One who does not know how to spend his time usefully,
and will finally become a burden to himself and others.

"Suppose I should go forth into the world, and look around me, perhaps
that would give you joy, you good kind parents, but--" here
unfortunately his thoughts took a less favorable turn, "but what should
I do in foreign countries--of what use would it be to me? What joy can I
find there--is there a greater pleasure for me than the life in my
forests? But do I not owe something more to myself? Am I not the owner
of a large estate, and have I not sufficient means to follow my own
desires, and live as I please? Every one has his own ideas; my father
thought that he could whip reason into me, and acted as he best knew
how. What was the consequence? My reason almost left me, and my anger
was the more excited. His intentions were good, but they missed their
aim, and that frequently happens. I have often intended to do as they
desire--to live as my ancestors have lived; but I am not able to carry
it out--and then another aim is missed."

Thus his thoughts wavered to and fro. He was near the point of becoming
a downright good for nothing fellow. A youth may be a dreamer, but only
to soar to a higher extent in after years. But such is not the case with
the man; his dreaming will soon place him where assistance is
unavailing.

Charles Augustus was possessed of Nature's best gifts; sentiments of the
softest nature, and a warm sympathetic heart. But, biased by his early
education, these characteristics were misled, and his great mistrust of
himself and his capacities, must, after a time, have had an injurious
effect upon him. Yes, the more injurious, as this mistrust was in
conflict with his self pride, in which he was supported by the flattery
of his mother.

The dinner-bell changed the tenor of his thoughts. He hastened to the
dining-room, and the first object that caught his eye was the decoy bird
which his mother had made for him. This was one of the thousand little
surprises which the good mother ever and anon prepared for her
much-loved son.

"Excellent," exclaimed Charles Augustus. "But, dear mother, you have
already made me more decoy birds than I have brought hazel hens home."

"O, we will not speak of that, dear child; such an expert marksman as
you deserves to be encouraged. We have visitors to-day."

Charles Augustus smiled, and followed his mother into the parlor, where
she introduced him to two old ladies, sisters, who were accompanied by
their niece, a charming young lady, and the heiress of her two unmarried
aunts. They had come to pay a friendly visit to the Kemner family. When
Charles Augustus bowed lowly to the young lady, he observed that she
appeared confused, and that her cheeks glowed. He immediately suspected
that his mother and the two maiden aunts had concerted together to
deprive him of his bachelorhood, and that the young lady had been let
into the secret.

Charles Augustus required but a slight hint to convince him of the truth
of his suspicion, and he soon discovered that he had not shot far from
the mark; for, after dinner, his mother and the two old ladies conversed
with the utmost vivacity concerning the good qualities of the youthful
Mr. Kemner, and the excellent disposition of the young lady.

When they parted, the family of Lindafor were urgently invited to return
the visit as soon as possible. The invitation was accepted; and, after a
few weeks, when Mrs. Kemner was preparing to fulfill her promise, she
teased her son so much about his laziness and ungallantry, that he
finally consented to accompany her. But this visit was the first and
last one, for now his mother's intentions became so clear to him, that
he found it advisable to say to her, that he never saw the woman whom he
desired to marry.

"This arises from the fact that you never desired to make any
acquaintances," said his mother. "If you would only try--yes, yes, do
not look so morose; I have seen many a woman-hater who, at length, fell
over head and ears in love."

"I am no woman-hater, mother. On the contrary, I like to converse with
them, if they would only not immediately entertain the idea that I had
fallen in love with them."

"Do you really think that they lay so much weight upon a few
insignificant words?"

"If the young ladies do not, their mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles,
are inclined to do so. This is why I am afraid to be in proximity to
them."

"But, for Heaven's sake! Charles Augustus, if you always think thus, you
will never be able to approach a young lady, even though you have the
inclination to do so; for I hope you will not be so foolish as to fall
in love with one who has neither wealth nor family standing."

"Such a one, or none."

"Ah, what do you mean? I am fearful that you have a wrong notion on this
subject. You should know that no lady will think the less of you, if you
are the owner of an iron foundry and large estates. A man who has much
himself, should look out for a wealthy wife."

This was a shot that did not miss its mark; for Charles Augustus was
troubled at the thought of being chosen by a girl because he was
considered wealthy. One whom he might sincerely love, might feign to
love him, that she might become the wife of a rich man. His mother's
remark pained him much. She, who was so well acquainted with woman's
heart had spoken openly that which he had long secretly feared.

"Why are you so silent?" said Mistress Agneta, looking at her son, who
had assumed a thoughtful mien.

"It pains me that you have taken from me my only pleasure--the thought
that I could choose one for my wife, who would love me for myself
alone."

"Ah, ah, my child, away with such romantic ideas! Is there none but poor
girls who would love you for yourself? Your ideas are as much adverse to
the general views of the world as they are to common sense. From time
immemorial indigent girls have striven to become the wives of rich men.
But rich girls, on the contrary, seldom marry a poor man. Thousands of
examples might be quoted to prove this. Their choice, however, must
always be less restrained, for they are not obliged to seek wealthy
husbands."

"That may all be. I suppose the young lady we visited to-day is very
rich. She is the heiress of her two aunts, is she not?"

"Yes, my dear son, and besides that she will inherit the property of her
old uncle in Nerike. She, indeed, need not look for a wealthy husband.
But, in truth, it is said that she does not wish to marry any one."

"Unpleasant news to those who have made certain plans concerning her;
but, thank fortune, I do not belong to them; for I could never make up
my mind to marry one who has two such old aunts, even though she was an
angel."

Mistress Agneta did not continue the conversation longer; but this plan
of matrimony so far exceeded any other she had devised, and she had set
her heart upon it so much, that she determined to call her husband to
the rescue.

His exertions, however, met with no better success. Charles Augustus was
obstinate, and would not change his mind, even when his mother privately
told him that the young lady was so deep in love with him that she could
not sleep, and wept night and day that her love was unrequited. Nay! he
was unmoved when he was assured that she would give him her hand and
heart even should he be deprived of all his property. He refused, for
two important reasons, which were, the young lady had red hair, and had
two rich, ugly and impudent aunts, whom he heartily detested.

But, to rid himself of all these disagreeable matters, and free himself
from the daily importunities and tears of his mother, Charles Augustus
suddenly made a rash determination.

"I have thought," said he, one morning, after going to the foundry after
his father, and returning home with him, "I have thought that it would
not be injurious to me to travel through the country, providing you, my
dear father, would grant me permission."

"I have not the slightest objection, my son," replied his father. "You
could do nothing better, unless you would marry a rich and handsome
lady. In truth, I would rather you should first make a trip into the
world. How would you like to visit England?"

"No, I do not desire to visit foreign lands; I would rather see Sweden
first, for my own pleasure only."

"But, I hope, for your own benefit also," said Mr. Kemner.

"Very well; if pleasure and profit can be united."

"You will have to do something, then, to gain that object. When
travelling, one has to look at things as they really are; not with
imaginative eyes, for he might receive false impressions."

"I understand you. You wish me to cast poetry aside, and look at
everything in a common sense way."

"The Lord protect you from doing otherwise. Let me tell you a good plan;
would it not be well to keep a diary?"

"A diary!" cried Charles Augustus with a look of repugnance; for, next
to a red-haired woman, he abominated keeping a diary. "No, no! a diary I
shall never keep!"

"Why not?"

"Because it appears to me to be very stupid to note down one's thoughts,
so as to read, a long time afterwards, that on the 21st day of June, I
thought so and so, and did so and so, and went to such and such a place,
and a lot of such kind of nonsense. I would be much afraid to read
these dead thoughts, which would make me remember all the follies I had
committed."

"As you please, my dear boy; I see that you are now, as ever, of a
different opinion from your father. It is not my idea that you should
note down all the fooleries that might run through your brain; for I am
convinced that there would be much which I could not understand, and
that is not the ostensible object of a diary."

"What is the real object of a diary?"

"A diary or journal, is simply an account of real facts and events which
we have witnessed, and, after that, all which we may consider
remarkable, either in our thoughts or actions. For instance, you arrive
at a city. If it is a sea-port, you are sure to be well received, for my
iron is well known and popular wherever it is sent, and such bars as are
manufactured at Lindafors cannot be found elsewhere. Well, you are in
the city. You look at the City Hall, the Cathedral, the Academy and
other objects of interest, of which one would like to speak in after
days. Then, perhaps, you would make a few visits; and, if you should
converse a little concerning the extraordinary quality of our iron and
its great sales, it would do us no harm. If you are in the country, you
will see many things which will cause you pleasure, if you really seek
for it. Almost every landholder has his own peculiar manner of
management, which is not to be found with his neighbor. If you should
there see something which might prove valuable, you take your pencil and
note it down for the sake of future reference. Do you now see the
utility of a diary?"

"Yes, but all this adds to my dislike to it, for if it is unpleasant to
see one's sentiments compelled to be fixed at a certain point, how much
more unpleasant it is to see such petty grocers' memorandums constantly
staring one in the face! Instead of keeping a diary I will occasionally
write you a letter, giving as full an account of what I have seen or
heard, as possible."

"Accept my thanks. That is better than nothing. Only promise me that you
will forbear speaking in your letters of those fantastic things, which,
as you well know, do not please me."

"I will promise, but will write only when I feel in the vein."

"As you please; but now, where do you intend going?"

"I do not know myself, and I do not wish to know; my horse shall point
out the way, as soon as we are fairly in the high road."

"Ahem! If I had been thus when a boy!"

"Shall I not pack a few decoy birds for you?" said Charles Augustus'
mother, as she was engaged in packing the clothes of her favorite. "They
might amuse you should you wish to hunt on the road."

"O no, dear mother, they had better be left at home. I hope that I shall
be able to dispense with them."

On the day of the departure, Mr. Kemner and his wife accompanied their
son as far as the cross roads, to see which direction the horse would
take. Charles Augustus dropped the reins upon the neck of the animal,
and left him to choose his own path, and then turned towards his
parents.

"What do you prophecy, mother?" inquired Mr. Kemner.

"Man thinks, but God disposes; therefore, I will not prophecy."

But the decision had already been made. The horse took the south road,
leading from Lindafors. With tender words, Charles Augustus took leave
of his parents, his heart telling him he never loved them more than he
did at this moment of separation.




                                CHAPTER IV.


Several weeks had elapsed since the departure of Charles Augustus; and,
upon the arrival of every mail, Mr. Kemner would go for a letter. But
none arrived; and then he would complain bitterly to his wife of his
son's neglect. She found her consolation in keeping her son's room in
order, and carefully brushing the dust from the decoy birds, which, in
company with several stuffed specimens of the real birds, were placed
against the wall opposite the bed.

It had never been Mistress Agneta's custom of complaining over any
misfortune that might befall her; for she pretended to know by
experience that women were made for misfortune, and that misfortune was
not made for women. Ruled by this principle, which would have been an
unfortunate one in a woman of a different temperament, she did not let
her husband know that she mourned the absence of her son. When her
husband grumbled she would remain silent, and when he was silent she
would sing a little song, one which she used to sing when the blue coat
was first made, which was afterwards crowned with such great success.
When she sang this little song the old man would look cheerful, and when
she ceased he would say:

"Commence again, Agneta."

"Good, good Agneta," said he one day from his corner of the sofa, as
his good wife, with a half-finished stocking in her hand, commenced
singing:

    "I see in your deep eyes so bright,
     Another one is your delight."

But the rumbling of a coach in the court yard announced the arrival of
the mail, and the lady ceased singing.

Mr. Kemner arose, and said with much energy, "he has been gone three
weeks to-day. I hope there will be a letter this time."

And there was a letter.

"Read it," implored Mrs. Agneta, striving to govern her impatience.

"As you choose, my dear. From its size I should think that it contains a
great deal of news. If it will only prove sufficiently sensible to repay
for the trouble of reading it, I shall be satisfied."

"You don't deserve to have a letter," exclaimed his wife, who was
annoyed at the expression; and as though her predictions should prove
true, it happened, to Mr. Kemner's chagrin and surprise, that the
greater part of the letter consisted of blank paper. The sheet was
large, but Charles Augustus had written but a few lines, which were as
follows:

     "Dear Parents:--Ten days have passed since I arrived at the small
     village of Grenna. It is beautifully situated at the base of a high
     mountain, the sides of which are clothed with verdure. The mountain
     overhangs the small dwelling-houses of the village until it seems
     to threaten them with destruction. It has but one street, and is,
     therefore, very quiet, and it gladdens my soul to see the small and
     neat gardens which are in front of the pretty cottages."

"Confound such nonsense!" exclaims Mr. Kemner "What is to be made out
of this? I should like to know whether he visited the Burgomaster of
Grenna, who is an old friend of mine; and, if I had known that Charles
Augustus was going there, I should have given him a letter of
introduction."

"Perhaps something is said about it yet. You have not yet finished the
letter."

"No, not a word about it," said Mr. Kemner, as he resumed his reading of
the letter.

     "Nothing of any importance has yet happened me." ("_That's easily
     to be known," grumbled the old man, adjusting his spectacles; "what
     would ever happen to a man who never notices anything._") "I have
     made no acquaintances yet--("_how stupid!_")

"O, do be silent and read on," interrupted Mistress Agneta, impatiently;
"he has not yet had time to run around the village to call upon
strangers. It is not his manner of making acquaintances to be so fast
about it."

"Very true, my love; and, as it is not his humor to do so, he should
have remained at home, for it seems that he sees nothing abroad which he
cannot find here."

"How unjust! Did he not write about the village and steep mountain? I
pity the poor people that live there; and don't he write about the
little gardens there, too?"

"Little gardens, indeed," said the old gentleman, skillfully mimicking
the sentimental manner of his wife; "that is very remarkable; but he
don't say a word about the kind of trees or plants that grow there. But
let us finish the letter."

     "There is something cozy in the idea of being alone by
     yourself, ("_Yes, that is what he calls cozy,_") and I have occupied
     my time in looking at all the remarkable things that are to be seen
     in the surrounding country. My first visit was to Visingsoe, that
     living monument of the time when the nobility possessed greater
     powers than many a petty king. I then visited the castle of
     Brahehecs, which is located upon a neighboring mountain. This old
     ruin, even in its now crumbling state, will last for centuries
     before it sinks into general decay.

     "I shall continue my travels further to enjoy the beauties of the
     scenery around Lake Welter. I will soon write again, and now
     subscribe myself.

                                       "Your affectionate son,

                                         "Charles Augustus."


"Well, what do you think of it?" inquired the old man, sarcastically.
"Do you now know where he is, what he is doing, what acquaintances he
has made? It would have been just as well if he had not written at all."

"O, I think it is a good, good letter," said his wife. "Give it to me,
that I may read it alone by myself."

"With all my heart; but I insist that he should have had a higher aim.
Although Grenna is a petty village, it has quite a brisk trade in
cattle, and I should have liked to have heard about it."

Eight days after another letter arrived, bearing the postmark "Hjo." As
Mr. Kemner was not at home his wife opened the letter herself, and read
in the familiar writing of her beloved son:

     "I write again, and this time from a little village in West
     Gothland. Hjo bathes its feet in the clear waters of Lake Welter,
     but is not so romantically situated as Grenna; though the
     surrounding country is very beautiful. My only objection to it is
     the dust in the unpaved streets. I have made no acquaintances, but
     every one I meet appears good natured and hospitable. They look as
     if they wished to say, 'Don't go around here like a hermit; ask and
     we will answer.' In the mean time it is quite hard for me to make
     the first advance; and, even should I do so, I am not certain
     whether I should be as contented as I now am in my seclusion.

     "When I rise in the morning, which I do very early, I go down to
     the bank of the Lake to see what it is going to do through the day.
     Lake Welter is the most beautiful as well as the most eccentric of
     our inland waters. In one moment it will be as smooth as a mirror,
     and so clear that the fishes can easily be discerned in its depths.
     In the next moment it will arouse itself, and play such a rough
     game with its waves that even the Baltic would be envious. Then it
     is not mere child's play, and, although it is nothing but a lake,
     its rage strikes one with awe and admiration. It appears the most
     magnificent in the decline of the evening. Then one may stand upon
     its shore and look over to the eastern side, where the romantic
     Omberg towers up in the heavens. The steeples of the surrounding
     villages glitter in the rays of the setting sun; and when, at
     length, the sun sinks behind the mountain it leaves its shining
     marks glowing and quivering on the bosom of the lake, which,
     according to the belief of the villagers, are the foot-prints of
     St. Brigitta, as she walks over the lake to Vadstena. All this
     cannot be witnessed without the beholder confessing that Lake
     Welter possesses characteristics which can never be forgotten.

     "Beyond the southern gate of Hjo, near the shore of the lake,
     stands a hill called Cossack Hill. I often visit it to think over
     the events which are said to have occurred there. After the battle
     of Narva, when a throng of Cossack captives were brought to Sweden,
     and twenty-five were quartered at Hjo, all of the unfortunate
     Russians died, and as the village pastor deemed them unworthy of
     burial in consecrated ground, they were buried together in a hill
     of sand. But they found no rest in Swedish land, which does not
     wish to hold a Russian in its lap. Often at night, when the lake
     is buried in a deep mist, one can see the troop of Cossacks,
     clothed in their light armor, and mounted on horses, ride over the
     water, until they vanish in the east, towards their own homes. Even
     I, one foggy evening, thought I saw them thus engaged. I will now
     stop, and finish my letter to-morrow.

     "At length I can say that I have formed an acquaintance. Every day
     I looked out upon the lake endeavoring to see a ship, but could
     discover nothing save a few insignificant fishermen's boats. Last
     night, however, when I went to the wharf, I saw a full-rigged ship,
     and a veritable sailor standing upon the dock. This was a grand
     thing for me, for I have long wished to see a sea vessel, and a
     genuine sailor, and many moments had not elapsed before I opened a
     conversation with the Gothland captain. He complained of the
     exorbitancy of the pilot's fees, and of the difficult passage
     through the canal. He also grumbled a great deal concerning the
     chart, which had no landing places designated, so that he was
     obliged to employ a pilot, which would have been unnecessary had it
     been otherwise. 'As true as I am an honest man,' said the good
     captain, 'it cost me fifty-six thalers _banco_, to get into this
     miserable barber's basin. But,' he added, 'if I once get out, my
     ship shall never trouble it again.' The old tar appeared to me like
     a whale which has accidentally found its way out of the broad ocean
     into a small rivulet.[1]

     "This is all I have to say at present. To-morrow, if the wind is
     fair, I shall make an excursion over to the Omberg.

                           "With lasting love,
                                         "Your,
                                            "Charles Augustus."


[Footnote 1: Charles Augustus had good reason for surprise to see a
sea-captain in Lake Welter at the date of our story.--_Authoress._]

It would have been an interesting study to peruse Mistress Agneta's
countenance as she read this letter. At the commencement she read
rapidly, but when she arrived at the words, "at length I can say that I
have formed an acquaintance," a little romance entered her head, and her
mortification can be imagined as she found that the acquaintance had
nothing to do with a wealthy father and his daughter, but spoke only of
an old sea-captain, and then the letter closed. She could not expect
much from the next letter, for what would a journey to the Omberg
Mountain amount to? "Yes, yes," said she to herself, "everything that
Charles Augustus writes is very nice and pleasant, but it could have
been made far more entertaining."

Mr. Kemner, however, said, when he read the letter, "That is something
at any rate, my dear Agneta. I hardly thought that he would be able to
distinguish a fishing-boat from a ship. I find that he is becoming more
attentive to what he sees; that which he said of the Gothland captain is
not very bad. It proves that he is beginning to think of what he sees
and hears. The nonsensical stories of the mountain, lake, and Cossacks,
don't amount to much; but as a whole the letter is a very good one. Fill
my pipe, Agneta, and brew me a drink. I wonder why he did not go to the
Omberg before--but this is just like him."




                                CHAPTER V.


More impatient than before, Mr. Kemner now awaited the coming of the
next letter. It was not long before he received it. It was longer than
the two preceding ones, and contained the two departments, as the old
man said, one consisting of foolishness and the other of common sense.
The letter was dated at Hjo, and written on the evening of Charles
Augustus' return from the Omberg. It was as follows:

     "Beloved Parents:

     "I can now say that I have lived, indeed. Yes; I have really lived
     during this day, and have had joy, much joy.

     "In my last letter I informed you that I intended to ascend the
     Omberg, the crown of East Gothland. It looks so enticing, when one
     views it from the opposite shore, that he feels an intense desire
     to ascend to its summit. So I felt.

     "One beautiful morning I hired a small boat, and procuring a couple
     of stout men to manage the sails, and row the boat, for both sails
     and oars are necessary here, set sail for the western shores of the
     lake. I had supplied myself with a chart of the lake, a telescope,
     and my dear _Oxenstjerna_,[2] to amuse myself during the sail. The
     light breeze, which was favorable on the start, died away, so that
     our sails were useless. In the mean time, I confess that I was
     rejoiced at this fact, for I would have had but little pleasure in
     observing my fresh water sailors had they been obliged to battle
     against the wind and waves. Their method of managing the sails was
     very awkward, and their rude attempts with the helm were so
     ridiculous that the veriest dunce from our sea-coast would have
     laughed at them. I had no hesitation in telling them so, when one
     of them answered me quietly, "Well, if we do not go fast, at least,
     we can go slow." This, of course, I could not contradict; and as
     the boat was propelled very slowly by their laborious and awkward
     rowing, I had sufficient time to compare them with our more expert
     seamen.

[Footnote 2: A celebrated Swedish writer.]

     "'Come here, Calle,' one would say, 'let us drink;' and he would
     put the flask to his lips with such a cunning twinkle of his eye,
     that plainly proved how well he liked the liquor. 'Certainly,' the
     other would reply, and although he did not drink as much, still, by
     their united efforts, the bottle was soon emptied. The cake,
     however, which they nibbled at from mouth to mouth, was not half
     consumed, when seven hours after we arrived at Halstholm, at the
     southern base of the mountain.

     "During the passage from shore to shore, the grotesque Omberg is to
     be seen, changing its form as it is approached, until its whole
     magnificence is disclosed, and one is involuntarily moved with
     feelings of awe as he looks upon the perpendicular rock, as it
     springs from the water to its great height. The water is said to be
     two hundred feet deep at the base of the rock. This is the deepest
     portion of the lake, and as the other shores are flat, it is
     supposed that the gigantic mountain was thrown from the bottom of
     the lake, by some great convulsion of nature, to its present
     location. But be that as it may, the giant now stands there in all
     his majesty, raising his forest-crowned head far above the
     surrounding country, and covered with verdure from base to summit.
     It is also a protector of mariners, being a landmark that can be
     seen at a great distance.

     "It was sunset when we arrived at Haltsholm. I ordered a room, and
     after partaking of some refreshments, returned to the boat, and
     directed my men to row me into the grottoes. This remarkable
     mountain has at its base large grottoes or caverns--their entrances
     being so placed that they can be easily entered with a boat. I
     shall never forget that evening; the sky--the water--every thing
     was replete with beauty, such as my eye never before beheld, and
     perhaps will never again behold.

     "As the boat glided along upon the smooth surface of the water, the
     setting sun glowed upon it in purple and gold. It was not water,
     but liquid gold the oars disturbed. Behind us the moon shone forth
     from a light purple cloud, which dissolved itself into airy shapes.
     As the boat shot over the water, the rays of the moon followed in
     our wake kissing the bubbles of spray, which were encircled with
     the purple glow of the declining evening, like pearls set in
     crimson coral. And on that beautiful night, there stood the giant
     mountain with water at its feet, and the sky its canopy, clothed in
     a shadowy mist, and the nearer we approached, the more distinctly
     the open mouth of the mountain-cavern yawned upon us.

     "We stopped in front of the Redfork grotto, which is the largest of
     them all.

     "The entrance, or rather doorway--for the mountain bears no small
     resemblance to a huge castle--is draped grotesquely with
     overhanging cliffs. On the south side the wall, or rock, is split
     in twain, admitting light into the cavern. Through this aperture
     the moonbeams streamed, casting a pale mellow light throughout the
     cave. Soon, however, the moon hid itself behind a cloud, and night
     enveloped the Omberg in its dark mantle. From the interior, I
     thought I could hear long deep-drawn sighs--sighs of the imprisoned
     spirits of the mountain; or, perhaps it was Queen Omma, from whom,
     tradition says, the mountain derived its name, who was performing
     her evening devotions.

     "I could scarcely breathe, as the boat slowly entered the dark
     cavern. The waves dashed sullenly against the black walls, and the
     flash of the oars was feebly reiterated by a dull echo. The sighs
     were heard more distinctly as we advanced towards the centre of the
     mountain.

     "But I wished to make the scene as magnificent as possible, so I
     directed the boat to be landed at the foot of a sloping rock, which
     I ascended, and having piled up the wood I had brought with me, set
     fire to it. The bright flames glared out upon the surface of the
     water, illumining the picturesque objects around me; the craggy
     roof--the jutting walls--the water--the boatmen, and every thing
     around me, was lit with supernatural glow, and as I looked, my
     sensations were such, that pen cannot describe them. Looking
     towards the ceiling, to my surprise I saw a large bird seated upon
     a jutting rock springing from the wall. It was dead. Why had it
     come hither? Why had the free bird of the air sought refuge in the
     dark bowels of this mountain? Had the storm raged without, and
     forced him to take refuge here; or had the water suddenly arose and
     driven him into this cell? Perhaps old age had come upon him, and
     he stole hither, that he might die in peace as an old hermit, weary
     of life and liberty. Who can tell? None. With great difficulty I
     succeeded in dislodging the body of the falcon from its resting
     place, and preserved the wings to take home with me. I again
     returned to the boat, and ordered the men to push out into the
     Lake. The moon shone clearly upon the blue waters--for now that
     evening had fairly set in, nature assumed its ordinary garb. The
     flames of my fire arose in the cavern, the sparks rising in the
     darkness; and when far from it on the water, its appearance was
     enchanting and mysterious. We continued our sail towards the north,
     passing the mouth of several caverns; but none of them were so
     remarkable as the Redfork."

Thus far Mr. Kemner and his wife had perused the letter in silence, for
before he commenced he had promised not to interrupt himself by remarks.
Suddenly his promises and good intentions lost their power. With a
crafty "What nonsense!" Mr. Kemner at length gave vent to the impatience
which for a long time had boiled within him.

"Well, what is the matter now?" inquired his wife, who foresaw the
coming storm.

"What is the matter? I don't know, but I know this much, that a man must
be a fool who would fill two whole sheets with nothing but "enchanting
sky," purple sea, and charming mountain scenery. I almost think that the
boy is possessed with the devil. Did he not commence sensibly and
modest? And when he explained the difference between a fresh water
sailor and the seafaring man, my heart leaped with joy. But now he is
carried into the stream, which is wilder than the mill race at our
foundry, and now you see how his mill is driven. It's all nonsense,
nothing but fantasy, romantic sentimentalities of dead falcons, which
would do for a lovesick girl, but do not become the heir of an iron
foundry and--"

"Your landed property," added his wife.

"Yes, indeed, my landed property. Shall my wheat-fields be cultivated
with falcon wings and purple waters? Give me my pipe and the newspaper."

"Then I will read the rest myself."

"You might as well leave it until to-morrow. I am certain there is
nothing in it that will repay you for the trouble."

But whether the newspaper was not interesting, or whether Mr. Kemner,
despite his pretended anger, was really anxious to read the letter, we
cannot say; but he soon cast aside the paper with "Let us hear the rest
of the nonsense."

Agneta filled a tumbler with foaming beer, and presenting it to Mr.
Kemner, said,

"And now what does he say more?"

"Ah!" replied the old man, drawing a sigh of satisfaction as he wiped
the beer-foam from his lips. "You brew an excellent beer, dear Agneta. I
do not believe there is another glass of beer like it in Lindafors. But
now we will proceed with the letter."

     ----"I remained at Hoestholm all that night, and arose the next
     morning quite early, to see as much of the mountain as possible.
     The country around about is highly favored by nature. The road
     winds along through large fields of waving rye, green meadows,
     lonely valleys, and forests of beech. But the ruins of the
     monastery of Alvastra attracted my attention most of all."----

"God save us now!" said the old man; "if he begins to talk about old
monasteries, then farewell to all common sense."

"My dear John," said his wife, "it would be better if you would go on,
for your criticisms are very much in the way, and not sensible either.
As for monasteries, it can be said, at least, thank God, that there are
no more, and that is something sensible, at any rate."

"Well, then, be silent and listen."

     ----"I entered the ruins, which were supported by huge wooden
     arches which have bade defiance to centuries. The wind whistled
     through the hollow walls, from which, in olden times, many a prayer
     ascended, and so holy did it seem that I felt as though I could
     pray myself, and repented of many a thought, and many an act, and
     many hours spent in idleness. But afterwards I became so elated
     that I felt as though I could join in the chorus with the birds of
     the air, who were chanting loudly from their resting places amid
     the branches of the trees."----

"Ahem," said the old gentleman; "I hope these sentiments have taken
root. But let us go on."

     ----"I contemplated the ruins of the cells, and sighed for those
     who once lived there, longing for the joy and endearments of life.
     I saw also the ruins of the apartment which I am sure was the one
     in which the young novice was received after she had exchanged her
     worldly garb for the costume of the order, and had consecrated
     herself to the church. But I will write no more of this, for the
     sake of my dear father."----

"Good, my brave boy, that is the most sensible remark you have made. In
the mean time, dear Agneta, I am glad he visited the monastery, for his
thoughts were quite good while among the ruins."

     ----"I had half completed my journey to the summit of the mountain,
     from whence I hoped to have a grand view of the surrounding
     country; but I found before I arrived there that I would have to
     engage a guide. I advanced to the gate of a large park, at the end
     of which stood a red cottage, which looked comfortable and pleasant
     as the rays of the sun shone upon it through the green branches of
     the trees. I, however, did not enter, for a peasant boy happened to
     pass by, and offered his services as guide. He informed me that the
     house was the residence of the Chief Forester. I went on my way
     regretting that I had not had an opportunity of entering the house,
     for I never before was so much attracted to a particular spot."----

"Has he become insane?" said Mr. Kemner, turning to his wife.

Mistress Agneta contented herself with a "How can you talk so!" but
from the expression of her countenance the old man saw that she, too,
was dissatisfied.

     ----"I will not detain you with long descriptions, but will merely
     say that, after a long and fatiguing journey, I arrived safely at
     the top of the mountain, and was rewarded for my trouble far beyond
     my most sanguine expectations. My eye could roam from East Gothland
     to West Gothland, from Smaland to Nerike. I could see six villages,
     nearly sixty churches, and, far off in the western horizon, I could
     see the peak of the Kinnekulle. Like an immense carpet the lake lay
     spread out at my feet, jewelled by the rays of the sun. On one side
     stood Visingsoe, and on the other side the Virgin. In fact, all
     nature appeared like one immense panorama. I must confess, however,
     that neither my soul nor heart has yet found a resting-place.

     "The morning had nearly passed before I commenced my descent.
     Before doing so, however, I stopped to read the many names which
     were inscribed on the stone which is said to mark the grave of the
     mystic queen Omma. This species of fame I did not court, so my name
     will not appear against me as guilty of sacrilege.

     "As I descended the winding path several ideas presented themselves
     to my mind; but I now remember that father dislikes such
     sentiments, and I will, therefore, not insert them. Before I left
     the mountain I made a visit to the eleven beech trees, and here, at
     length, I met with an adventure. But what do I see? It is nearly
     ten o'clock, and at that hour the mail closes. I shall, therefore
     postpone the narration of my adventure until my next letter, and
     wishing my parents all joy,

                                       "I am their,
                                         "Charles Augustus."


Although Mrs. Kemner, as we have already said, was determined never to
complain at disappointments, her elongated countenance, however, spoke
more plainly than words. The old man, on the contrary, although quite
vexed that Charles Augustus had deferred his adventure until the close
of the letter, could not refrain from saying:

"Well, good wife, what do we know? We have just reached a point where
something was to happen; when, as quick as thought, the clock strikes
ten, and the mail is ready to close."




                                CHAPTER VI.


Throughout the whole night Mrs. Kemner was restless, and wakeful,
thinking of the adventure that Charles Augustus had hinted at in his
letter. Although always composed in the presence of her husband, as well
as in her domestic duties, still, when alone, she frequently gave way to
the most singular whims. Nay! she would have been a downright
enthusiast, if her connection with Mr. Kemner, who was a purely
worldly-minded man, had not forced her to control her imagination.

After the old man had gone to the foundry the next morning, she called
her old servant Eliza, and bade her go immediately to Soedratorp, and
order an old woman who bore the title of Old Cart, to come to the
mansion as soon as possible. Eliza immediately understood why the old
woman was sent for, and knew that if she went immediately she would
profit by it. She therefore paid but little attention to Mrs. Kemner's
exhortations that the old woman must be brought through the back door;
but hastened on her errand.

Before we introduce the old woman to our readers, it will be well to
give an explanation of who she was, and why she bore her uncouth name.
She had lived, from youth in the house of Mrs. Kemner's parents, where
her time was employed in attending to the wants of Agneta. After Agneta
was married, Margaret accompanied her to Lindafors. As Mrs. Kemner was
an exceedingly sensitive woman, she frequently had unhappy moments, and
at such times, she would pour her grievances into the willing ear of
her faithful servitor. But Margaretta was not one who would assent to
everything her mistress said. She was possessed of a certain refinement,
and as she was more sensible than her mistress, she would tell her how
wrong it was to complain of things which had no existence. Nay, it was
through Margaretta's influence that Mrs. Kemner, instead of a
sentimental sighing woman, was a lively and thrifty housekeeper. Some
time after the marriage of her mistress, Margaretta married also, and
from this circumstance she gained her uncouth nick-name. Although her
husband had applied for permission to change his name, Cart, because his
wife was called Old Cart; and it was accordingly changed to Easy, it was
still worse, for then their witty neighbors would call her Easy Cart.

Margaretta was now a widow and lived in a small cabin near the mansion.
She was now, as ever, an indispensable counsellor for her former
mistress. During the latter years she had taken up the business of
fortune-telling, and was considered throughout the country as a true
oracle. All maidens without suitors, and all trembling lovers, visited
old Easy Cart. Nay, even those of the higher classes would visit her
lowly cabin. And, at this time, Mistress Agneta, as she ever had done,
determined to call Margaretta in counsel, concerning the matter which so
sorely troubled her.

Mrs. Kemner walked the room uneasily. She well knew that her husband,
although generally very mild, would be highly displeased did he suppose
that his wife had stooped to the folly of employing a common
fortune-teller to assist her in unravelling the secret of her son. But
what difference would it make? Easy Cart would be there in a few
moments, and all would be over in half-an-hour, and Mr. Kemner be none
the wiser, for he never returned home from the foundry until nearly
dinner-time.

"Welcome, Margaretta," said Mrs. Kemner kindly, as her guest entered the
room through the back-door of the dairy room, which had been chosen as
the spot where Charles Augustus' future fate was to be exposed. "I hope
that you have brought your pack of cards. I did not think to speak to
Elizabeth about them."

Margaretta made a deep bow to her old mistress, and having taken off the
white handkerchief which she had tied over her bonnet to preserve it
from the rays of the sun, she whispered,

"I have; I thought of them because I was told to come through the _back_
door."

"Sit down, dear Margaretta," and they both sat down upon a bench, on
which was placed pans of fresh milk, and which was near a table covered
with cream pots, skimmers and other dairy utensils.

"Will you not have some bread and fresh milk, while I tell you all about
why I sent for you?"

The invitation was accepted, and Mrs. Kemner commenced: "You know, my
dear Margaretta, that Charles Augustus was never very fond of the girls;
you also know that he is now upon a journey, and, although I had not the
courage to tell him, yet I am and was sure that, during this journey, he
will meet the one whom he will love. Yet until now--eat, Margaretta, I
know the bread and milk are good--until yesterday I never knew that he
had met with one. In his last letter he speaks of an adventure, and does
not tell what it was, for the mail was just starting. However, he said
that he would speak of it in his next letter. But I am sure that no
adventure will happen to my Charles Augustus without a woman having
something to do with it, and if this should be the case, no one can tell
how it will turn out. You now know what I mean; but we have no time to
lose, for my husband might return."

Margaretta did not reply; but removing cream-pots, skimmers, and pans
from the table, took from her pocket a greasy pack of cards, and wetting
her finger with her tongue, commenced shuffling and dealing the cards.

"Well, how does it come out?"

"Patience, madame; this art is not to be hurried."

"How? speak!"

"I wish to think before I speak," replied Easy Cart. "You must have
patience, madame. I cannot solve it so soon." And her face assumed a
still more important expression.

"I hope he is well. Tell me that, at least."

"Yes; he is well."

But whoever was acquainted with the real object of the old woman, would
have readily seen that her evasive answers were thrown out only to
increase the mystery of her art.

"Speak out. Does nothing of love appear?"

"No; nothing yet; but, I think, it is not far off. Mr. Charles Augustus
seems to have been quarrelling with some one; but everything else is
indistinct."

"Does the quarrel look dangerous?"

"O, no; I think not. At all events, it is over."

"O, I hope no accident has happened him. How I wish I never had thought
of looking into these abominable cards!"

"Rest easy; the cloud vanishes as soon as it comes. I will read the
cards again."

Mrs. Kemner awaited the next words of the oracle with the utmost
impatience; but as the old woman had just laid the last card in its
place, Mr. Kemner's heavy steps were heard in the hall. Mrs. Kemner
turned pale, and would have swooned had not Margaretta, with that
presence of mind which never deserted her, thrown the pack of cards into
a large jar filled with milk, pressing them down into the milk until
they were completely covered.

In the mean time Mrs. Kemner was in great fear, for she remembered she
had taken the key out of the lock. She quietly unlocked the door, and
was rejoiced that her husband did not seem to notice that she had been
closeted with Easy Cart, whom he saluted in a friendly manner. She told
him that she had come to advise with Mrs. Kemner in relation to the
wedding of her daughter, which would soon take place. She did not know
what to think about it, for the young man, Jerker, was a nice young man,
but very poor.

"O, I hope they will get along," said the unsuspecting Mr. Kemner, as he
seated himself on the bench. Mechanically, he took up a spoon, which
laid on the table, and began probing and stirring the contents of the
milk jars.

"I wish you would not do so," said Mrs. Kemner. "You will spoil the
cream."

"Excuse me, I was not thinking;" and not wishing to place the spoon upon
the cleanly-scoured table, he thrust it into the large milk jar that
stood on the floor, the very one in which the cards had been concealed.
Unfortunately, one of the cards had the impoliteness to arise to the
surface of the milk. Mr. Kemner surmised what had been going on, and
quickly stirred up the contents of the jar, disclosing many more of the
dangerous papers. Mrs. Kemner trembled and turned pale, and even Easy
Cart lost her presence of mind. Mr. Kemner, however, said nothing, but
immediately left the room.

"O, how will all this turn out!" exclaimed Mrs. Kemner.

"Do not be alarmed," said Margaretta, consolingly. "Act as though
nothing at all had happened. It was fortunate that he was so angry that
he could not speak, for now his anger will cool, and you will have time
to devise some plan of escape."

"Alas! I do not know what to do," said Mrs. Kemner.

"The truth is, that when he is angry it frightens me very much, although
I conceal my feelings from him."

"O, this can easily be remedied. It was just so with me when my poor
Easy and I quarrelled; but I was not to be trod upon, and carried my
head all the higher. Do not be afraid, therefore, everything will turn
out right."

But Mrs. Kemner could not be so easily consoled. Her anxiety concerning
Charles Augustus, and her vexation at her own folly, troubled her so
much, that she could hardly wait for her husband to speak about it
first. He did not say anything, however, and she had almost forgotten
that her husband had cause for anger, when she was reminded of it in a
very painful manner. They were seated at the dinner-table when Charles
Augustus' long expected letter came to hand. But as the book-keeper was
present, it did not appear strange to the anxious mother that Mr. Kemner
placed the letter in his coat pocket. But how different were her
feelings when, after dinner, she asked her husband why he did not open
the letter, she received the answer, "Because, I wish to wait until I am
alone in my own room."

"O, no," entreated she. "Open the letter now."

"No! I say no, as true as my name is John Kemner. For eight days you
shall not see it, to punish you for your foolishness in endeavoring to
look into futurity by means of those silly cards."

For a moment Mrs. Kemner thought she would entreat him with tears, but
she would not grant him that triumph. Her only consolation during the
long eight days was in her husband's look of composure, from which she
believed that the letter contained no bad news. But she vowed never
again to endeavor to penetrate into futurity.




                               CHAPTER VII.


At length the eighth day arrived; and Mr. Kemner, faithful to his word,
handed the long wished for letter to his wife early in the morning.
"Forgive me, my dear Agneta," said he, "if your punishment has been too
severe; I only carried it out, for the sake of the effect it would have
upon you. Why did you not ask me to show you the letter?"

Woman has always been cunning, and Mrs. Kemner did not belie her sex. "I
thought that I deserved this punishment," answered she.

By this, Mrs. Kemner regained the former esteem and love of her husband.
She now eagerly grasped for the letter; the cause of disobedience, her
punishment and repentance.

Mr. Kemner left the room, and with beating heart she read as follows:--

     "Dear Parents--

     "At the conclusion of my last letter, I was about mentioning the
     visit I made at the _Eleven Beeches_; this name is derived from a
     very remarkable beech tree, that grows there. It is a very large
     tree; and from the trunk, about two feet from the ground, several
     large trees spring forth. In olden times there were twelve, and the
     tree was called the Apostle tree. A fanatic, however, thought it
     wrong that Judas should be in company with the other Apostles, he
     therefore lopped off one of the trees, and it is now simply called
     the Eleven Beeches. There are only nine of the eleven now
     remaining; and three of these will soon follow their comrades. The
     branches of the other six are so woven together that they form an
     uncouth room, which might contain six or eight persons; and are so
     free from decay, that they seem as though they would last for
     centuries. I went to this singular room, which no person would
     leave unvisited. I now repent saying in my last letter that I had
     met with an adventure; for it was nothing but an every-day
     occurrence."

"Ah, ha!" said Mrs. Kemner, drawing a deep breath. "There's his old
modesty."

     "No adventure happened me; but as I stepped forth from the thick
     underbrush, which surrounds the Eleven Beeches, and looked towards
     the tops of the trees, I beheld a young lady--and that was all. I
     did not speak to her; and in truth she did not see me. I could see
     her face distinctly, however, and I must confess that I never
     before beheld such a beautiful and kindly looking countenance. She
     was busily engaged in sewing; but frequently ceased her work to pat
     the head of a little fawn--which stood close by the trunk of the
     tree--fondling at her feet. Occasionally she would look up towards
     the branches of the trees in which her feathered friends were
     singing joyful songs. At length she commenced singing; and the
     tones of her voice, fell upon my ear like the soft murmurs of an
     olian harp. I could have listened to her for hours; but although I
     scanned her closely, I am not able to say whether her eyes were
     black, or blue; her hair dark, or light; or whether she was large,
     or small. I saw the whole, only; and this whole appeared like the
     image of modesty and beauty, shunning the contaminating touch of
     the earth, and finding refuge between heaven and earth. But
     suddenly, I was disturbed from my reverie, by a harsh voice:

     "'Alma, Alma; what are you doing? Do you think the clock has run
     down?'

     "I cannot describe how much was my grief when I saw the girl shrink
     back at the sound of this voice, as though in the utmost fear. She
     hastened from the tree; but before she could disengage herself from
     the bushes, a man--with a countenance which I will ever
     remember--stepped out from among some underbrush toward her.

     "He was an old man, but of remarkable agility. He was tall and
     slim; but his every motion evinced great strength. His sharp
     features betokened boldness and resolution. His glittering black
     eyes indicated a power of conception wonderful in one so old. He
     was clothed in a dark-colored dressing-gown. On his head he wore a
     green hunting-cap ornamented with a cockade. He held a pipe in one
     hand, and under his arm he carried a bamboo cane. In his other hand
     he held a watch which he extended towards the girl, angrily
     exclaiming--'Show me yours!'

     "'Ah! papa,' replied she, 'I cannot tell why I forgot myself so;'
     she bowed over and kissed his hand. The old gentleman snatched it
     away, as though he was fearful of being moved to compassion.

     "'You are a sentimental goose, Alma,' said he, (looking sternly
     upon the trembling girl.) 'Yes, confound it, you are an unbearable
     little goose, which is as little fit to be the daughter of a chief
     forester, as my poorest rifle. Answer; and do not look at the grass
     with your blue eyes, instead of your father.'

     "'Papa'--

     "'Papa, papa; yes, that is all you know. If your poor, dead mother
     was alive--for although she made me angry twenty times a day, still
     she was a good woman, a perfect pattern--she would be ashamed of
     you, to know that you had forgotten to prepare dinner, and stand
     there as silent as a statue.'

     "'But what shall I say, dear father?' said she, vainly striving to
     look into her father's face.

     "'Say--say what you please; but don't stand there like a cod-fish.
     O, my poor wife! when she was alive, I could eat twice as much as
     now. Anger created an appetite. Such a woman never before lived, or
     will live again. But go home now, and look sharp. I tell you when
     the clock strikes three, coffee must be ready and on the table.'

     "The girl was about to hasten away, when her father called her
     back. And now I could have kissed the old fellow's hand; for with
     the same severity of tone, but with a different expression in his
     eyes, he said, 'Kiss me, girl.' His daughter flung her arms around
     his neck; and her cheeks crimsoned with joy, as he pressed another
     kiss upon her brow, and then she disappeared in the undergrowth as
     she descended the side of the mountain, followed by her pet fawn.

     "And this was my adventure; I had seen the chief forester and his
     daughter.

     "I returned to Hjo, in the evening, and intend remaining here a few
     days longer, to look over upon the beautiful Omberg, and to witness
     the Cossacks, as they roam in the evening, over the surface of the
     lake.

                                         "Charles Augustus."


"And that is all," said Mrs. Kemner, as she refolded the letter. "I am
afraid he will go away without seeing the girl again." But still the
matter was of sufficient importance to warrant a consultation with old
Margaretta. And, although the cards were not studied this time; still,
Easy Cart could give her some advice. For instance: "Mrs. Kemner should
take good care not to interfere in the matter; for love was like young
spinach, which is so tender that a single leaf cannot be dissevered,
without destroying the entire plant."

"You always know what to say, my good Margaretta," said Mrs. Kemner,
"and I thank you for your good counsel. In the mean time I will
cultivate the spinach, as much as possible, if it proves to be a plant
at all."

But we will now leave Lindafors, and conduct our readers to Charles
Augustus, in person.




                              CHAPTER VIII.


Charles Augustus was still at Hjo, ten days after his first visit at
Omberg.

Every day he would say to himself, "Well, I must go to-morrow, surely;"
but the morrow would come and find him sitting upon his favorite seat, a
grassy knoll close to the waters of the lake. Whether the old proverb of
that country, "Whoever has the dust of Hjo on his shoes, will find it
difficult to leave," would have proved true with Charles Augustus, is
hard to say, if he had not become acquainted with one of the villagers,
who had for a long time wished an opportunity of speaking to the
youthful stranger. He, therefore, accosted him one day, asking if he
could not be of some service to him. The conversation in the first place
related to the lake; next to Visingsoe, and at length, although Charles
Augustus endeavored to evade it, to the Omberg and its singularities.

"Well," inquired the villager, "how did you like the old mountain, with
its rocks and trees? Did you visit the Virgin?"

"The Virgin?" stammered the youth; and if he had not remembered the old
gentleman, with his rough voice and bright eye, he would have thought
the whole scene at the Eleven Beeches nothing but a dream. "What do you
mean?" he inquired, after a moment's reflection. "Do you mean the
island?"

"No; do you not know that the western shore of the lake is lined with
large fantastically shaped rocks, which are named according to their
forms; for instance, the Virgin, the Monk, the Pulpit, and various
others. These are what I mean. The Virgin, however, is of a different
color from the rest, being light yellow, while all the others are black.
She is mounted on a huge black rock, and is an object of admiration to
all who visit the Omberg."

"Then I must visit the Omberg again," exclaimed Charles Augustus, with a
vivacity altogether uncommon with him. Rejoiced that he had a pretext to
visit the Omberg, he heartily thanked the stranger for his
communication, and hastened to his room to make preparations for his
trip the next morning. The morning came, and it was warm and sultry. The
lake was still and blue, and every object upon its bosom could be seen
with the utmost distinctness. Sails were of no avail, and it was a long
time before Charles Augustus arrived with his boat propelled by oars
alone at Hoestholm.

But it is not without cause that Lake Welter is celebrated far and near
for its fickleness. A slight breeze first arose, gently filling the
sails of the vessel, which had been hoisted to take advantage of every
breath of air. Then it suddenly increased, until a very hurricane swept
across the lake, lashing the waters into fury. The boat was left at the
mercy of the waves, and the men, although they worked manfully, could
not control it. Occasionally Charles Augustus could see the Red Fork
Cave, as the waves beat high up upon the rocky shore, rushing far above
the mouth of the cavern, and then receding, leaving it visible, dark and
reeking. It resembled the mouth of an enormous monster drinking huge
waves of water, and then forcibly ejecting them. But it is not our
intention to weary the reader with a description of the lake. After
much exertion Charles Augustus safely reached the shore, and took up his
old quarters at Hoestholm. The storm abated in the afternoon, and the
sun shone forth clear and bright, and Charles Augustus determined upon
another journey to the Omberg.

The air was filled with perfume and the sun shone with mellow rays. A
breeze would occasionally sweep the mountain, leaving a gentle coolness.
The flowers and grass bathed themselves in the fresh pearls which the
rain had left.

Charles Augustus was a true admirer of nature, and as he walked along
under the shade of the beech and linden trees, he experienced a soothing
sensation of joy, which, however, did not prevent him from meditating
how he might be able to gain an entrance to the house of the Chief
Forester. But he could think of no plan by which he could effect his
object. The most simple one, to enter and ask for a glass of water, was
not to be thought of; for the celebrated monastery well was close at
hand, with its cup ready to refresh the thirsty traveller. He
determined, however, to summon sufficient courage to enter the wicket
gate of the park, at least, if he did not go farther. "The rest,"
thought he, "will come of its own accord."

While our hero was thus meditating, and conning over all the advantages
with which nature had endowed him, the sky suddenly became overcast, and
he thought that the shower would furnish his best excuse for entering
the Chief Forester's house. But it was some distance to the house, and
the hovering black clouds plainly betokened that the storm would come on
before he could arrive there.

A vivid flash of lightning streamed athwart the sky, the thunder
followed in deafening peals, and a wind arose which seemed as though it
would shake the mountain from its very centre. The clouds became dark
save when illumined by the frequent flashes of lightning. The dust and
sand rose in great clouds, borne along by the whirling wind, and the
rain commenced falling in torrents. Charles Augustus hurried on and was
rejoiced when he found shelter in the ruins of the cloister of St.
Alvastra.

For nearly half an hour he stood here listening to the resounding
thunder, and watching the storm with mingled awe and admiration.
Suddenly he thought he saw, as a flash of lightning streamed forth, the
fluttering of a female dress, seeming to belong to one who had sought
refuge from the storm in an old arched doorway. He could see nothing
plain without looking out of the door of his cell, so he placed his head
forth into the tempest, and with beating heart recognized the fair one
who for the last few days had constantly occupied his thoughts.

Around her head she had placed a white handkerchief, displacing the
bonnet which was lying at her feet. She was seated upon a stone, resting
her head upon her hand.

"Is she afraid, or does she pray?" thought Charles Augustus. If either
was the case, he thought it would not be advisable to show himself. She
uplifted her head, her face was deathly pale, tears were in her eyes,
and she clasped her hands closely together. In his anxiety to behold the
damsel, Charles Augustus forgot to withdraw his head, and as she turned
her head to look at the storm, Alma, with a slight cry, discovered him.

It was now impossible for him to remain longer where he was. Her extreme
timidity emboldened him, so stepping forth from his place of refuge he
advanced towards her. She trembled, which Charles Augustus perceived,
and hastened to reassure her. "Pardon me, I have only taken refuge from
the storm as well as yourself." As he said this, he bowed gracefully and
politely, which salute Alma returned with timidity, mingled however,
with pleasure at having a companion.

"If I can be so bold as to offer my services, I should be happy to go to
the mansion yonder and procure a carriage for you. And if you would
permit me----"

"O, no, do not," said she with much apparent agitation. "I live near by,
and the rain will soon be over. I can then return."

"To the Chief Forester's house," exclaimed Charles Augustus, and
immediately blushed at the thought that he had betrayed his secret.

"Yes, he is my father."

"I will no longer intrude," said Charles Augustus, after a few moments
of silence. "I will go to yonder arch."

Alma gazed up into his face and her cheek glowed with a delicate blush
as with open frankness she said, "I am afraid to be left alone."

Charles Augustus was happier than he had ever been before. _She_
certainly did not know that he was the heir of a rich father, and he
advanced closer to his beautiful neighbor.

They again were silent, save only a few remarks concerning the storm.
Sometimes they would both look out into the vacant space of the ruin,
and when they withdrew their eyes their gaze would meet, and confused
they would sink to the wooden floor. Suddenly a vivid flash of lightning
more brilliant than any of its predecessors, illumined all objects until
they seemed in flame, followed by such a tremendous crash of thunder
that it seemed as though the earth's centre was shaken. For a few
moments Charles Augustus was stupefied, but when he saw a huge column of
smoke ascending from the centre of the ruin he recovered his presence of
mind, and lifting Alma carefully in his arms, bore her through flame and
stifling smoke into the road. He did not stop here, however, but
hurried on with her as fast as he possibly could.

Alma remained senseless, her head reclining upon his bosom, when
suddenly the horrible thought flashed upon him that she might have been
struck by the lightning. He laid her upon the grass, and to his joy
discovered that she had only fainted. He then attempted to resuscitate
her, when a voice but too familiar to him, cried out roughly, "Let the
girl alone. If she wants assistance I am at hand myself."

Quicker than if a deluge of Cologne had been poured upon her, Alma
revived at the sound of her father's voice. It would have been a novel
sight for an uninterested beholder to have witnessed the rapidity of the
old man, as with cane in hand and pipe in mouth, he ran towards the
youthful couple.

"Well, what is matter?" said he to the somewhat confused Charles
Augustus. "What are you doing with the girl, and what do you mean, Alma,
to faint away in the high road for the pleasure of wandering knights?"

"Papa," stammered Alma, looking tenderly upon her father, "the lightning
struck the old ruins, and I would have been burned if----"

"Nonsense! burned! And pray sir, what was your business in the ruins. I
do not admire such romance."

"Perhaps you would have been more pleased never to have seen your
daughter again," replied Charles Augustus, somewhat irritated.

He had hardly uttered these words, when the old man made a spring into
the air which would have been the envy of a much younger person. "Sir!"
he exclaimed with an indescribable comical air, "Is that the way to
speak to an old man like me? Thank God, _I_ have no son, and your father
would do so also should he be deprived of the pleasure of being called
your papa."

Charles Augustus did not know whether to be angry or merry, but, at all
hazards, he desired to gain the old man's good will, and therefore
answered politely, "My father would not lose much if that was the case;
but then I would have lost the opportunity of forming an acquaintance
which I hope," here Charles Augustus took advantage of the moment, "will
not cease where it has commenced."

"Ah! your very obedient servant; and why not," said the Chief Forester,
who was evidently adverse to this short acquaintanceship. "Do you think
that it is my duty to perform here, upon the high road, a little drama;
that I should bless you, make a speech to you, because you have saved
the life of my daughter? No, no; put those thoughts out of your head. I
am not so old but that I can remember the time when I was young myself,
and what do you think I would have given for such an adventure as this?
To save such a beautiful girl as Alma from death, and that in the midst
of thunder and lightning,--O, I could not have had more happiness. To be
able to carry such a beautiful girl in my arms," here his eyes glistened
with pride, "I would have dared death itself!"

"Papa, papa," whispered Alma, gently shaking her father's arm; "please
do not talk thus."

"Aye! aye! my little lamb, be silent and thank God that you have a
father who can take care of a girl only seventeen years old. But----"
and here he turned towards Charles Augustus, "I must now take my
daughter home. Again I congratulate you upon your romantic adventure.
Your very obedient servant."

And before Charles Augustus could regain his composure, the old man was
conducting his daughter towards his home. Charles Augustus remained
standing upon the spot, gazing towards the departing girl. Alma turned
her head and gave him a parting salute, and then he thoughtfully left
the place.




                                CHAPTER IX.


At the time when the incidents of our story occurred, the residence of
the Chief Forester of the Royal Park of Omberg was only one story high,
and did not display by far so neat an appearance as the present one. But
the old hunter's energy, his strict sense of order, and the vigor of
youth, which he retained even in his old age, were everywhere to be
seen. The neat garden, as well as his private rooms, presented a correct
copy of his character. On the left of the hall was the kitchen, which
played an important part in the business of the house. On the right was
the parlor, and at extremity was the Chief Forester's private rooms,
consisting of a small recess and a large apartment, which were his all
in all. In the hall there hung a large black tablet which bore the
inscription that, at a certain time, several members of the royal family
had taken breakfast at this house during their visit to the mountain,
after having condescended to shoot, with their own exalted hands, a
dozen stags in the park. This tablet, during the reign of the
predecessor of the present Chief Forester, had graced the parlor; but
now it was ignominiously hung behind the hall door.

More conspicuously, however, were displayed the antlers of several
stags, concerning each of which the old man could relate a story of his
youthful exploits. It is a singular fact, that this man who, at first
sight, appeared rude and harsh, was, at the bottom, a person of the
warmest sentiments. He would often break off in the midst of a thrilling
hunting story, and relate, with tearful eyes, how much it grieved him
when the poor stag turned its imploring gaze towards him, as it was
struggling in the agonies of death. "I can see this very moment," he
would say, "how the poor creature implored for mercy; but I do not like
to speak of such things. I never liked to kill a dumb animal, even if it
was a poor magpie."

But we will return to the hall again.

The opposite side was hung with rifles, pistols, and shotguns, together
with powder-flasks, game-bags, shot-pouches, and the feathers of birds,
all arrayed in an artistic and attractive manner. In one corner stood a
stuffed bear, erected upon his hinder extremities, a memento of youthful
hunting excursions. The balance of the space was occupied with a few
minor hunting utensils, volumes of romances, and other articles which
the old man considered of little value. The furniture was clumsy and
old-fashioned, consisting of high-backed chairs with leathern cushions,
and a large table drawn up in front of the windows, and surmounted with
a vase of beautiful flowers. We will now enter the old man's _sanctum_,
a cheerful-looking apartment. Against the wall, between the stove and
bedstead, were suspended three rifles of the choicest workmanship, and,
mingled with them, their appurtenances,--powder-flask, game-bag, and
shot-pouch, and also a telescope, two hunting caps, a knotty cane, a
hunting horn, a brace of pistols, and several hunting whips. An
uninitiated beholder might have thought these collections rather odd
chamber companions; but one who was acquainted with the daily avocations
of their owner, would have known how useful they were to him, and had
been so to-day the same as yesterday, and yesterday the same as forty
years before. Directly opposite, on the other side of the stove, were
several other remarkable objects, besides the extensive collection of
pipes. The writing-desk in one room, with its pigeon-holes neatly
labelled, excelled that of many belonging to gentlemen of a higher rank.
The table near the window was strewn with pamphlets and magazines, which
were taken away at certain seasons and replaced by those of later dates.
The old ones were placed among the romances in the hall, or, if worthy,
neatly bound, and placed in the library in the parlor, which contained
the books by the best writers in all branches of science and literature.

The Chief Forester was a man of extensive attainments, and kept pace
with the times in which he lived, and would have been ashamed could he
not have spoken of every writer of his own country, from the most
celebrated to the most unimportant. On a little table placed before a
luxurious sofa, for the old man loved his ease, were placed the
newspapers of the day, assisted by which he wiled away an hour after
dinner, until he had read himself to sleep.

A portrait hung immediately over the sofa. The old man prized this
portrait above all other things. It was the picture of a beautiful
woman, clothed in a graceful morning-gown, reclining upon a sofa. The
Chief Forester had been an ardent admirer of the ladies when he was
young, and in his old age he had not degenerated, for, as he informed
his confidential friends, he saw but a few years before a beautiful
lady, at a watering place, who so much attracted his admiration that he
begged her to allow him to have her portrait taken. "The picture hung
there, where it now is," the old man would say, "when the husband of the
fair one visited my house." "How much that resembles my wife!" exclaimed
he, when he first saw the portrait. "Yes, that may be so," I answered.
"I do not know whether my guest was pleased with my admiration of his
wife or not." The old man would then complacently stroke his chin, and
his eye would twinkle roguishly.

The Chief Forester was quite advanced in years when he married, and his
choice had been so fortunate, that the death of his wife, which occurred
two years before the date of our story, was a source of the utmost grief
to him. She deserved his love, for none knew so well how to soothe him
when angry, or please him when mournful; and the tact which she used in
managing his unequal temper was exceedingly successful. He would never
have been happy had he not had occasion to quarrel with his wife at
least six times a day; for it was his belief that the happiness of
marriage consisted in the inequality of character in husband and wife.

The following anecdote is related of the old man: As the twenty-fifth
anniversary of his wedding-day approached, his wife was anxious to
celebrate her silver wedding-day.[3] But he answered: "O, no my dear
wife, let us wait five years longer, and then we will celebrate the
thirty years' war!" But the good woman was not allowed to celebrate
either event, for before the silver wedding-day she died; and her
husband was so much grieved that for the first year after, he wasted
almost to a shadow. After the first year of his widowhood, and he had
regained his strength, his only complaint was, that his house was not
kept in such good order as when his wife was alive; and although he
deeply deplored the loss of his Mary, still he never spoke much
concerning her.

[Footnote 3: The twenty-fifth anniversary of a marriage, is called the
silver wedding-day--the fiftieth anniversary, the golden wedding-day.]

The Chief Forester, however, soon discovered that he must have some
female hand to assist him in managing his house--not to take the place
of his sainted Mary--for that none was able to do. But he must have one
to take charge of the house, who possessed sufficient tact and
knowledge to preside over the domestic affairs, where a man of his
eccentricity ruled.

His little favorite Alma, was competent to do this; but he did not wish
her to do so. He was not able to address the sensitive girl--as he
called her--in a harsh manner; and if he did so occasionally (for
instance when she committed the greatest crime that could be committed
in his house, the want of punctuality; to guard against which there were
clocks and watches in every room,) he repented immediately after.

"Water your flowers and bake your ginger-cake, my little pigeon," said
he to Alma; "but I must have some one here who will not tremble, when I
speak roughly." And the Chief Forester searched around the country after
a housekeeper, at last finding an old maid who had presided for fifteen
years over the household of another widower.

Miss Neta was known far and wide as a skillful and neat housekeeper.
Nay, she was not fearful of doing the work of a man. She could saddle a
horse, manfully split a log of wood, and swing the scythe bravely. And
she would do all this for the purpose of giving the idle maid-servants a
good example. But as she also knew how to esteem the usefulness of her
qualities, she never would, as she used to say, allow herself to be
snubbed. She well knew how to wear her dignity; and even the Chief
Forester, when in his anger he would make his highest springs into the
air, could not terrify her; for then Miss Neta would also spring into
the air with equal agility. And the Chief Forester would either run away
angry at being overcome; or else laugh loudly at his singular
housekeeper, when she would immediately become calm. Such irruptions,
however, were not frequent, and only occurred after extraordinary
quarrels. And it was in this, that Miss Neta differed from the late wife
of the Chief Forester; she would carry on a conversation with just
enough spice to entertain her husband; but had sufficient tact to put
an end to it before it had arrived at a boiling point. Miss Neta,
however, quarrelled in good earnest, determined to have her own way.

But we will return to our story, and to the day on which Charles
Augustus met with his adventure in the ruins of the old monastery.

The Chief Forester had come home from his afternoon excursion in the
Park earlier than usual, on account of the storm, and found that Alma
had not returned from her visit to the ruins.

"Zounds!" he exclaimed, vexed that his favorite should be exposed to the
storm. "Zounds! how unfortunate it is to have no wife! A mother would
not have allowed her child to go out, when even an idiot might have
known it was going to storm."

These words were addressed to Miss Neta, who was standing before the
kitchen fire preparing some blackberry jelly. _Miss_ Neta was somewhat
piqued at this remark, and answered sharply: "That a girl like Alma,
eighteen years old, ought to know what she was about; and that she,
(Miss Neta,) was not weather-wise, and was not employed to do the duties
of a barometer!"

"And you are nothing else," cried the Chief Forester, (waving his pipe
threateningly in the air.) "Nothing but an old barometer. Have you not
got the gout, rheumatism, and a dozen other barometers about you?" "Yes,
but I caught them here," screamed Miss Neta, throwing aside the spoon
she had held in her hand, "yes, in this leaky old house. But some one
should go in search of the poor child. Alma is certainly much
frightened; she is too timid yet."

"True," muttered the old man; and placing an old umbrella under his arm,
steered his course for the old monastery.

The position in which he found his child, and the sight of her youthful
companion were the causes of his harshness to Charles Augustus. The old
man had exerted all his ingenuity to prevent young men from visiting his
house, for it was a favorite idea of his to marry Alma to a rich old
major, in whose honest heart he hoped to find that happiness for his
child, which was not to be found in all the protestations and vows of a
young lover.

"Love," would he say to Miss Neta, who shared in his paternal hopes and
cares, "Love is like a glass of champaign--it is all froth--but
fidelity, friendship and respect, are the true juices of life, and a
marriage which is founded upon these qualities will always thrive,
provided"--and it was for this very reason that he took such pains to
bar his door against all young suitors--"provided they do not drink of
the sweet draught in advance."

"Well, what were you doing in the ruins?" said the Chief Forester to
Alma, as they were riding homeward in a cart which he had hired at a
neighboring farmer's. "I hope you were not with him in the ruins."

"Yes, but not very long; he had sought refuge from the storm there,
also; and when he saw me, and perceived that I was frightened, he
politely came to me. Immediately after, the lightning struck the old
building, and what followed I know not."

"Neither is it necessary for you to know," replied the Chief Forester,
reassured, "but he is a very pert fellow."

"O, no! he is not," said Alma, contradicting her father for the first
time in her life.

"What do you say?" said the old man, full of anger.

But Alma had lost all courage to contradict further, so she chose
another weapon. "I feel unwell; it is so cold," said she.

"Poor child!" said her father, throwing his unoccupied arm around
Alma's waist. But now the rain descended with renewed violence, and our
travellers were rejoiced at the sight of Miss Neta, who was seated in a
little cart, driving towards them. When they arrived within sight, the
Chief Forester signalled Miss Neta that all was right. Alma was
transferred to Miss Neta's cart; and now arose a severe contest as to
who should drive. Miss Neta, who had a passion for driving, and was as
skillful in the art as a Lieutenant of Dragoons, claimed the right, at
all hazards, of holding the reins. His great pride, however, prevented
the old man from readily relinquishing his claim. He had no idea of
being driven along more like a stick of wood than like the Chief
Forester, Nils Bruse. As neither of them would give up, the Chief
Forester settled the matter by exerting all his strength in lifting Miss
Neta from the front seat into the rear part of the wagon, and, taking
the reins himself, drove on. The old maid did not fancy this summary
proceeding, and commenced scolding and grumbling; but Alma, mustering
courage, spoke mildly to her, and at last smoothed her ruffled feelings.

To their great joy, the party arrived safely home, and Alma, after
patting the head of her little fawn, who welcomed her with many
demonstrations of joy, retired to her apartment. The old man changed his
wet clothes, and Miss Neta busied herself in preparing a cup of warm
tea. Alma, however, thought of nothing save the handsome youth, who had
so bravely saved her life. She vainly endeavored not to think of the
young man in any other light than her preserver; but she could not help
regretting that her father had treated the stranger so rudely that he
must have been shocked and angered. She heartily wished that she might
see him _once_ more and return her thanks for his generous behavior.

And then she reflected upon what place the young stranger resided. Had
he come by land, and visited Omberg as he passed by? Or had he crossed
the lake and taken a room at Haestholm? Perhaps he was there yet! How
anxious was she to know all this. But she could find no means to satisfy
her curiosity; and, as reality afforded her so little consolation, she
pictured his whereabouts in her imagination.

"Dear Alma, who do you think has come here in the rain?" said the good
Miss Neta as she entered Alma's room with a cup of hot tea. "Guess."

But Alma dared not guess. After what had happened it could not possibly
be the stranger. But why did Miss Neta look so joyous?

"Ah! why do you not guess, you little rogue? But I see in your eyes you
know who I mean."

"No, I do not; certainly not."

"Yes, I say. Only drink your tea now, and know that the Major himself
has been here."

"The Major," reiterated Alma, not overjoyed, "the Major, indeed!"

"Do not try to make me think you are not glad to see him, the grand
Major, almost as grand as the King himself."

"True, the Major is not a bad man; but is there anything remarkable in
his being here? Was he not here only last week?"

"It is so much the more remarkable that he comes again so soon. He who
comes into a house often must have some certain motive."

"I hope you do not mean that he comes to see me?"

"Are you crazy, girl? Who else should he come to see? If you are in
doubt, let me assure you that he comes to see you only; and you, if you
have any eyes, will soon see his intentions in his own."

Alma was about exclaiming, "God preserve me from that," but her
suspicion of Neta's proneness to tattling closed her lips. Such an
expression would be immediately taken to her father, and then he would
prosecute the scheme with renewed zeal. She therefore called woman's
cunning to her aid, and said that she never would have believed that
such an insignificant girl as she would have attracted the attention of
such a man as the Major. Rejoiced at an answer so becoming to a young
lady, Neta returned to the kitchen; but Alma thought, "the Major--no, O
no, not the Major!"




                                CHAPTER X.


In the mean time Charles Augustus thoughtfully walked back to Haestholm.
Alma's face was no longer indistinct in his memory; but he could trace
each lineament in his mind. The singular conduct of her father, or as
Charles Augustus properly styled it his rudeness, disconcerted him on no
other ground than he feared that it would render another interview with
Alma more difficult, and he was much grieved that he had drawn the
ill-will of the Chief Forester upon himself. But he had sufficient sense
to see that a man like the Chief Forester could neither be abusive nor
uncultivated,--but was only eccentric. He considered him a rash,
hot-headed old man, who would wish to have the whole world bow to him.

Resolved to remain a few days longer at Haestholm, Charles Augustus made
arrangements for a room, and having obtained one to his satisfaction,
procured his writing materials, and was about to commence writing, when
upon looking through the window, he saw a boy with a letter in his hand.
He ran down to the court yard, in joyful anticipation, and found the boy
inquiring for the stranger who lodged there.

"Yes, it is my letter," said Charles Augustus, as he read the
superscription, "S. T. the wandering knight of the ruins."

"Wait a moment, my boy," said he, as he returned to his room, anxious
to discover whether the letter contained an apology or further sarcastic
congratulations.

He tore the seal open and read as follows:

     "As I do not know to whom I have the honor of writing, you must be
     satisfied with the superscription "S. T." My reason for writing is
     to invite you, if you remain in the place longer than to-morrow, to
     honor my modest cottage with your presence. I dine at two o'clock,
     precisely, and after dinner, if the weather should prove favorable,
     will show you all that is worth seeing in the vicinity.

                                               "Nils Brouse."


Although this could not be called an apology, still Charles Augustus
congratulated himself upon his good fortune, and was of the opinion that
such a letter from such a man might be considered a formal apology. At
present, however, he was obliged to keep his joy within bounds, and
answer the letter. This was a source of much trouble. How could it be
done properly? Perhaps a verbal answer would do? No, he must write. For
the first time in his life Charles Augustus was chagrined that he had no
title. "Charles Augustus Kemner," thought he, "sounds too plain, for the
Chief Forester cannot know that an iron foundry and twenty estates are
attached to such a name." For the purpose therefore, of giving some
weight to his name, he concluded to attach to it his father's title.
Kemner, Iron Foundry Proprietor, certainly did not sound bad, and
although Charles Augustus blushed at this search for a title, he
nevertheless determined to use it. His answer was as follows:

     "As it is my intention to remain an entire week in this
     neighborhood, I gratefully accept your kind invitation, and will
     therefore honor myself by meeting you at the appointed hour.

                                     "Charles Augustus Kemner,
                                           Iron Foundry Proprietor."


Charles Augustus gave the bearer of the notes two rix dollars, upon
hearing which the Chief Forester plainly saw through his intentions.
After the message had been sent, Charles Augustus endeavored to shorten
the weary hours by building the most fanciful castles in the air. He
could not write a letter home, and could find no rest in or out of
doors. Never before had he experienced such excitement of mind. That
night he could not sleep, and his mind was much troubled concerning the
title he had assumed. He feared that the old man might question him upon
the subject, and now he much regretted that he could not exchange a word
with his father. His sleepless night, however, had one advantage at
least, for falling asleep towards daylight, the forenoon was much
shortened by a long nap. The balance of the time he spent in carefully
arranging his toilet, and when the clock struck one, he ordered the
landlord to prepare his best carriage, and was soon on his way to the
Chief Forester's house.

When he arrived at the gate before the house, Charles Augustus
dismounted from the carriage and with beating heart entered his long
wished for Eden.

He hoped and feared that Alma might first present herself; but hopes and
fears were equally fruitless. The Chief Forester, elegantly dressed,
stood on the steps and received him warmly.

"Your servant, Mr. Kemner. Welcome to my frugal fare. I do not know what
Miss Neta, my house dragon, I mean my housekeeper, has prepared for us;
but I do know that she never strives to make things too good for us."

"The plainest fare," said Charles Augustus, shaking the proffered hand
of the old man, "is most welcome to me. I am no epicure."

"Ah! then, you think more of other pleasures. O, I well know the tastes
of our modern gentlemen. But please enter, some one is within who would
like to return thanks for your noble conduct yesterday."

Charles Augustus felt the blood rushing through his veins. "O, how will
the charming Alma look? Will she greet me kindly or with joy?" thought
he, and as he followed his host he hardly dare lift his eyes. It was
impossible for him to distinguish any object. "Mr. Charles Augustus
Kemner, Iron Foundry proprietor," said the old man, introducing him. And
now Charles Augustus raised his eyes, and to his surprise and confusion,
did not see Alma, but the large form of a good-natured looking man, who
was extending his hand towards him, and the Chief Forester's words, as
he said "Major Kling, my friend and neighbor," fell painfully distinct
upon his ear.

"I am exceedingly rejoiced," said the Major, benevolently, "that I can
say that I join in the gratitude which my friend has this day expressed
to you."

"All right, all right," interrupted the Chief Forester. "Let that matter
drop. I returned thanks to God last night, and now we will drink a glass
of wine. I have told Miss Neta to bring us a bottle of prime old Madeira
from the cellar."

"Our good host is rather eccentric," said the Major to Charles Augustus,
in an under tone; "but if you knew him as well as I do--"

"Never mind, never mind," interrupted the old man. "Your host needs no
defenders. Do you think, Major, he could not defend himself, if he
thought it necessary? Now, Mr. Kemner, what do you manufacture at your
foundry?"

"Iron utensils," replied Charles Augustus.

"That's all very well; but where is your foundry located?"

"In Sudermannland, where my parents reside. The foundries have been in
the possession of our family for many generations, and I frequently hope
the time when they shall fall entirely into my hands may be far
distant."

"A reasonable desire. Are you the only child?"

"Yes; the only remaining one of four children."

"My daughter's case, precisely. My late wife, the most excellent of
women, presented me with four girls, and this was a source of much grief
to me, for I wished much to have a son. O, I wish they still lived; but
the whooping-cough, scarlet fever, and other evils carried them off,
leaving only Alma. And yesterday I almost lost her also; but, thank God,
she was saved, who, to speak sincerely, I loved more than all the rest."
Here the old man took out his watch. "It is three minutes to two,
gentlemen; now we will see whether there is order and punctuality in my
house."

The gentlemen entered the dining-room where Miss Neta, with a neat pink
ribboned cap, and clad in a stately merino dress, stood bowing at the
head of the table. But no one else was there; and Charles Augustus was
disagreeably surprised to see that plates were set for only four
persons.

"You miss something," said the old man, fixing his eyes, with a cunning
expression, upon Charles Augustus. Completely overwhelmed, the young man
grasped the water pitcher, and poured out a glass of water, that the
action might conceal his confusion. The Chief Forester then began a
speech complimenting the excellent qualities of the water of the Omberg,
relating a tradition of the water-nymphs, who each morning bathed their
beautiful feet in the spring from whence the water was brought.

"Have you ever been present at their toilet?" said the Major, as they
seated themselves at the table.

"Certainly, I have often gone out to see them, and they were not afraid,
for they knew I was seventy-three, and neither water nor other nymphs
care for such an age. Still, I never lost heart; but consoled myself
with my beautiful nymph, Miss Neta, here, at home; who, on her side,
bestows upon me all the gratitude I deserve. You must be thankful, Miss
Neta, that I here acknowledge the force of your charms, at a season when
they are forgotten by every one else."

"Mr. Bruse is pleased to jest at proper and improper times," replied
Miss Neta, with the utmost dignity; but her hand trembled so violently
that she nearly overset the soup-tureen.

"I believe the soup is boiling over," remarked the old man. "There's a
screw loose somewhere."

Miss Neta did not reply, fearing she would say too much.

Now, the Chief Forester turned the subject of conversation upon hunting,
saying, that he had once made a journey to Stockholm, for the purpose of
taking a load of stags thither which he had slain. Their antlers were
longer than any to be found in that city, even though they had the
greatest deer park in Sweden. But soon the roast was placed upon the
table, and after it the Madeira, which so cheered the old man's heart
that he made a gay speech, the last words of which, however, were from
the heart. Not a word was said concerning Alma's absence, and Charles
Augustus waited the whole afternoon in the vain hope that this riddle
would be solved. The Chief Forester became still more friendly, inviting
the gentlemen to coffee and pipes in his private apartment, where he
displayed all of the ornaments and pieces of rare workmanship which
decked the room, and told a long story concerning each one. After a
promenade in the park, until nearly evening, they returned to the house;
but Alma had not yet made her appearance.

Charles Augustus could not summon sufficient courage to inquire after
her, and at last was obliged to take leave without the hope of ever
returning; for, although he frequently hinted that he intended spending
a week in the country, the old man pretended not to hear him; and now,
when he parted with his guest at the park gate, he wished him a pleasant
journey, without asking him to repeat his visit. He said it had given
him much joy to make this brief acquaintance, and entreated Charles
Augustus, whenever he thought of this journey to the Omberg, not to
forget the old hunter.

"No," added Charles Augustus, seriously, "I shall never forget my visit
at Omberg, nor the adventure at Alvastra. I hope that no illness--"

"No, no, only the consequence of the fright, nothing more. But did you
ever behold such a beautiful day. I have always said that such water and
such a sky is to be found nowhere else. The Omberg is a paradise!"

"And the Chief Forester is the door-keeper," Charles Augustus ventured
to remark.

The old man laughed. He took the idea, and stroking his chin, as was his
wont when in good-humor, said jestingly: "The gatekeeper should not
allow any one to jest with him; but return in a year and the gates of
paradise shall be open to you."

"What do you mean?" cried Charles Augustus, with illy-concealed emotion.

"O," replied the Chief Forester, "by that time the bird of paradise will
probably find another nest. But I detain you--thank you again for your
pleasant company."

After a hearty shake of the hand the old man turned, and left Charles
Augustus standing near the gate. The young man seemed unwilling to leave
the spot which he had already learned to love. His pride, however,
conquered his tardiness; the gate shut behind him, and Charles Augustus
felt himself expelled from his Eden.




                                CHAPTER XI.


"How is my little darling this evening?" said the Chief Forester, as he
entered Alma's apartment. "Do you feel like taking a short walk?"

"I am pretty well," answered Alma, "only I am tired of staying in bed so
long. Why did you wish me to do so?"

"I never tell you to do anything unless prudence requires it. After one
has been wet to the skin, and drank a couple of cups of hot tea, it will
not do to leave the bed the next day. You should be careful of those
rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes."

"But now, I hope, you will allow me to rise, dear Papa. I do wish to see
Goldfoot so much,"--this was the name of Alma's little fawn,--"and I am
sure he is also grieved that he has not seen me since yesterday."

"Ah, yes, and there is somebody else who wishes to see you--the good
Major; and, I had almost forgotten to tell you, the young gentleman who
saved your life yesterday, took dinner with us to-day."

"You jest, father?"

"No. I sent a message to him last night, inviting him to dine with me."

"Is he here still?"

"No, he has just gone. He is the owner of an iron foundry in
Sudermannland."

"And pray, why did you not acquaint me of this, that I might have
dressed and gone down to thank him?" said Alma, scarcely able to conceal
her vexation. Her voice increased in loudness, and the natural color of
her cheeks was heightened.

"What mean you, my child?" exclaimed the Chief Forester. "Do you blame
your father for inviting a guest without your knowledge, or because that
gentleman did not ask for your company at a time when it was not
needed?"

"Not needed, father? You have often told me yourself, that you always
felt as though something was missing when I was not at the dinner
table."

"Certainly, my child; but the time has come when I must accustom myself
to your absence. Girls are not always to stay at home, merely for the
happiness of their parents; they are moveable merchandise, to be
transferred from one hand to the other; that is to say, from the hand of
the father to that of the husband. But rise now, my child; we are
waiting for you."

He left the apartment, and, a short time after, Alma appeared in his
room, where the Major was seated on a sofa reading a newspaper.

The Major was about fifty years of age; perhaps a little less. He had
been renowned in his youth for three prominent qualities, which were,
his skill at cards, his love of horses, and disinclination for home. But
having attained the years of manhood, he discarded these follies, and
never played cards, nor traded horses, and felt perfectly uneasy when
away from his own house, which required nothing save a wife.

The Major did not agree with the Chief Forester in the idea that one
should live up to the times. On the contrary, he always read second-hand
newspapers, and the only books he studied were on agriculture. But
although he did not study the sufferings of humanity in books, still his
heart was open to all real affliction, and his mild and benevolent
heart was ever ready to comfort the sorrowful. In this path, he so
frequently met the Chief Forester, that they became indispensable to
each other.

No distinct declaration had taken place between these gentleman in
relation to their sentiments concerning Alma. But the Chief Forester
knew full as well, that the Major had no higher desire than to call Alma
his wife, as the Major knew that his friend closed his doors against
every young suitor, that the wished-for union might have no stumbling
blocks.

Satisfied with these convictions, the two friends had allowed the matter
to rest. Alma, in spite of her eighteen years, was a mere child, and for
this reason it was concluded that she should be left in peace and
retirement for a short time longer. At all events, she would know it
soon enough.

"I hope," the Forester would say to himself, "that no young buck will
get fastened into the fence and spoil our plans."

As Alma entered the room the Major laid aside the newspaper, and,
rising, met her on the threshold. He kissed her forehead, as had been
his custom from her early girlhood. She bowed before him deeper than
usual, and was confused to feel her face glow with a blush.

But why did she blush? For years the Major had saluted her in this
manner, and she thought nothing of it. Nay, she had frequently offered
her brow to him herself, when, at later periods, he had modestly sought
to kiss her hand.

But _now_ Alma knew that which she had not known before, that the
Major's visits were influenced by certain intentions upon her own
person. This frightened her, and she therefore blushed, and almost
trembled, when the honest Major looked into her eyes with an uncommon
expression of tenderness.

"Thank God," said he, earnestly, "that you were preserved from that
horrible death! How fortunate it was that the young stranger arrived so
opportunely."

"Ahem, ahem!" coughed the Chief Forester; and this "ahem!" signified,
"Devilish fortunate that the stranger was a young man."

"Yes," answered Alma, "and it is for this reason I feel grieved that I
could not speak a single word of gratitude to him."

"Your father has told him all that was necessary," said the Chief
Forester, hastily. "He was quite satisfied, exceedingly satisfied--was
he not Major?"

The Major smiled, and did not entertain the same opinion, but
considered, with Alma, that it would have been better had she thanked
him in person.

"Heigh ho!" exclaimed the Chief Forester, and such a peculiar glance
shot from his eyes, that Alma did not know whether he was in earnest or
only jesting, as he said: "You incite the girl against me, brother. She
becomes as obstinate as the----"

"As the turtle dove, which places its head beneath its wings at the
slightest appearance of danger," amended the Major.

"The deuce take it, I abominate such whining sentimental doves, whether
they wear feathers or petticoats. Lift your eyes, Alma. Show that you
are the daughter of a man, who can look into any man's eyes; nay, does
not fear the Prince of Darkness himself. Tell us plainly that you are no
turtle dove. Why, you might just as well be a crow or a raven; in one
word, I do not wish to have any doves in my house."

Alma laughed heartily, and ran into her father's arms. "I am no dove,
father, but I lack courage. But that may come with years, and perhaps
some fine day I shall prove that I can have my own way." These words
were spoken in an unthinking and gay manner, and it was not until after
she had spoken that she thought of the manner in which they might be
construed, and feared that the time might come when her will would be
contrary to the wishes of her father.

But Alma had not much time for thought, for the Chief Forester said,
"You see, brother, the girl is making a woman of herself; but put on
your hat, and we will go and see how the garden looks after the rain."

In the garden they found Neta, seated upon a bench with her
knitting-work in hand and "Rinaldo Rinaldini" in her lap, the ribbons of
her cap glistening in the rays of the evening sun, and her spectacles,
which rested upon her pug nose continually slipping off, and the lady as
continually adjusting them. Thus knitting, and reading, and rolling her
eyes, for Miss Neta had strong romantic sentiments, she heard and saw
nothing. And the Chief Forester beckoned his companions to remain silent
as he slowly advanced behind the old lady, and suddenly clapped his
hands over her eyes, or rather over her spectacles, and then, in a
gruff, unnatural voice, shouted in her ears. The old lady, excited with
the romance she was perusing, fancied that she was surrounded by a gang
of robbers, and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help, help! robbers!
murderers!"

"What are you about, you villains?" cried the Chief Forester, in his
natural voice, rushing before Miss Neta, in pretended pursuit of the
robbers. Emboldened by his presence, Miss Neta grasped a stick which was
lying at her feet, and bravely followed him.

"This way, this way," shouted the old man, in glee at the thought of the
joke he was playing. Springing with youthful agility over a fence, he
was followed by the old maid with streaming dress; and the wild chase
lasted until the seventy years claimed their rights, and the Chief
Forester giving up to them, sat down upon the grass and indulged in
such a hearty fit of laughter, that the surprised Neta also stopped to
inquire what it all meant.

"Nothing but that we have had April fool's day in the midst of summer,
and that it was I who was the brave Rinaldo Rinaldini." At this
explanation a greenish-yellow flush o'erspread Miss Neta's cheeks.

"I tell you," said she, in a tone of offended dignity, "I am too old to
be made a fool of, and will not stand it, so I hereby notify you that I
shall leave your house next Michaelmas day."

"Miss Neta, Miss Neta," replied the old man with a cunning look, "if you
leave me I shall surely die. You know that the old dragon cannot live
without his she dragon."

"I wish you would not talk so to me," shouted the old woman, her eyes
flashing with rage. "I am too old a woman to be made an object of
ridicule."

"That is true. You do not know how to take a joke; but, seriously now,
let us make friends. You know we always lived like cats and dogs
together."

"Yes, because you are such a fire-eater that you always seek a quarrel,
and----"

"What do you say? Take care that you do not let your tongue run away
with your reason," said the Chief Forester, bridling at her words. "Take
back all you have said."

"Not a word, not a letter, not a quarter of a letter!" shouted Miss
Neta, putting her elbows akimbo and looking impudently into the face of
her enraged master.

"Then I shall give you notice to quit, remember that, you old shrew. I
do not wish to have such an awkward, wild and saucy piece of a woman in
my house. Do you understand, Miss Dragon, my dearest dragon, my charming
dragon?"

"I am going, I am going," screamed Miss Neta, tearing the ribbons from
her cap and rending them to fragments.

But now the major and Alma appeared. The Chief Forester, not deeming it
advisable to allow his future son-in-law to be the witness of such a
scene, turned about with a laugh and said; "Miss Neta and I have had a
little confab, as you may have heard, brother."

Miss Neta despised such concealment, and, besides this, her disturbed
toilet bore evidence against it. Therefore, as the quarrel could no
longer be continued, she left the field of battle with long majestic
strides.

The Chief Forester, who had not quite recovered from the effects of the
late battle, turned in another direction, leaving the Major and Alma
alone again.

"We should not have gone so far," said the Major; "I am afraid you will
take cold, Alma."

"O no!" said she; "it is so beautiful a night that I love very much to
be here in the open air."

"As much, perhaps, as you would love another place, were you attached to
it by bonds more tender," said the major with a peculiar intonation of
voice.

Alma looked around her, and answered slowly, "If that should prove to be
so, then everything must be much altered."




                               CHAPTER XII.


On the same evening that the incidents described in the last chapter
transpired, Charles Augustus stood upon the shores of the lake at
Haestholm, and looked over upon the blue water.

He thought of the lost hopes of the day, and felt disinclined to
continue to write to his parents. He thought of the probability of again
seeing Alma, but it seemed an impossibility. In short he thought of all
these little things which at last united and formed one distinct
inclination, when suddenly his attention was called to a very remarkable
object. As he looked he could scarcely credit his vision.

He beheld the large form of a giant, illumined by the rays of the
setting sun, and trembled at the ghastly appearance of the phantom. The
figure altered its position several times; seeming to move its arms, and
beckon with its head. Gradually there arose behind it high walls and
steeples, which, however, soon transformed themselves into lofty trees
and thick shrubbery. The whole spectacle continued nearly a quarter of
an hour before it disappeared. The giant remained visible the longest;
but a light breeze springing up, the misty phantom was gradually wafted
away until it had completely vanished. Charles Augustus stood for a long
time in mute admiration of the scene, and was about leaving the spot,
when upon taking one more look, he involuntarily shrunk back; for there
the giant stood again. He soon discovered, however, that this time he
had to deal with flesh and blood--although the visitor was an uncommon
one. Near Charles Augustus, stood a man of colossal frame, supporting
his weight upon a knotty stick; his dark hair streamed in tangled locks
over his grizzly eye-brows; his eyes were set deep in their sockets and
were nearly concealed by his deep black eye-lashes; his complexion was
between copper-red, and olive-yellow; a bushy beard covered his chin,
and hung down over a much worn cravat; his clothing betrayed that he had
been, or was a sailor.

"Good evening," said Charles Augustus, bowing, to the stranger, whose
countenance bore an expression of stubborn doggedness.

"Evening," was the strange response of the man, in a cracked and harsh
voice.

"Did you see the phantom yonder on the lake?" inquired Charles Augustus,
pointing to the water.

"Yes," answered the man, "I have seen it very often; it comes
frequently, and betokens stormy weather."

"What?"

"The Lady of the Lake," answered the man, "who often performs such
scenes upon the lake, where every thing is subject to her."

Surprised to hear this man speak so childishly, Charles Augustus
inquired, "Do you live in this neighborhood?"

"Yes, I was born near the lake; but when I became a man, I went on board
a sea-bound ship as a carpenter; and since then have served through many
a storm as a pilot. But when I became old, I longed for home; for my own
Lake Welter has not its equal in the world."

"What is your name?" inquired Charles Augustus, becoming interested in
the stranger.

"My Christian name is John; but," he added modestly, yet not without
pride, "they have called me the great pilot. I now reside in this
neighborhood, gaining my livelihood by making and repairing boats. My
home is a lonely hut up there on the top of the mountain."

"Come, let us sit down," said Charles Augustus, seating himself upon a
large stone, "tell me some of your adventures."

"My adventures are too insignificant to be entertaining to a fine
gentleman," replied the pilot; "but if it will not displease you, I will
tell you something about our lake--which, perhaps, you have come from a
great distance to see."

"Thank you," replied Charles Augustus; "but first tell me whether you
really believe in the Lady of the Lake, and her power."

"In truth, I do," replied the pilot, glancing over the lake. "Long ago,
before I was born, there were those who heard her speak."

Charles Augustus curled his lip.

"Yes, you may laugh; it makes no difference. A long time ago some people
wished to sound the depth of the lake; but not knowing the use of a
sounding lead, they affixed hatchets, axes, and other heavy objects to
their line. And then the Lady of the Lake displeased that the people
should be so impudent as to attempt to measure the extent of her
dominions, took off the axes and hatchets, and attached a large
horse-bone to the line. But as the people were not yet satisfied, the
Lady of the Lake called out in a loud voice, which re-echoed from shore
to shore: "The depth of my dominion is equal to its length--measure it."

"That was a grand answer," observed Charles Augustus, involuntarily
entering into the sentiments of the old man.

"Yes, and she has every reason to be grand; but still she is very
good-natured, that's certain. When one sees such things as you saw just
now, then the Lady of the Lake gives warning of a storm, and removes
with all her palaces, castles and churches into another country. A
lucky person--for instance one born on Sunday--can see her little silver
feet as she treads the water, as though it was a firm road. But behind
her the mist of the lake arises, so that none can see where she goes
to."

Charles Augustus listened attentively to this story. There was so much
poetry in the superstition that he much admired it, and almost felt as
though he believed it.

"They say," said the pilot, "but of course no one can know anything
about it, that there is an underground passage from this lake to a lake
in Switzerland. If one can believe this, then they might easily think
that the Lady of the Lake visits Switzerland, when the weather becomes
stormy."

"That may all be; but have you ever seen this phantom before?"

"Certainly, and many more remarkable things that I will tell you. When I
was a boy I once went out on the lake with two or three companions on a
fishing excursion. We each of us had a boat to ourselves. The lake was
calm, there was not wind enough to move a feather. As I was sitting in
my boat and was about taking some fresh tobacco, I looked upward, and as
true as I am a Christian, I saw one of my comrades sitting in his boat
above my head at least sixty feet in the air. The whole boat, sails and
all, and even Peter himself, glowed with all the bright colors of the
rainbow. You will hardly believe it; but I saw every thing so clearly
that I even saw Peter put a new bait upon his hook."

"That must have been a beautiful delusion," said Charles Augustus.

"Don't talk that way," said the old man, somewhat vexed. "Delusions! Am
I such a blockhead that I should not be satisfied with that which God
designed to reveal to me without immediately naming it, so that I could
grasp it with my hands? No, young man, such delusions are as real as
the phantom which appeared on the lake, although the foolish unbelievers
call it nothing but clouds of mist. My belief was confirmed, because
Peter, my comrade, was drowned the year after. That there is really a
Lady of the Lake, and that the belief in her is approved by the priests,
is proved by the fact, that the priest who presided here at the time
when the lake was measured, gave to the persons thus engaged a letter to
her for a safeguard against danger."

"Yes," replied Charles Augustus, "but it might have been a cunning trick
to overcome the terror of the people."

But now the Pilot arose, and pushing back the hair from his forehead,
exclaimed, in his deep voice, "What obstinacy! I well know that such
things are printed in books, but books lie in this respect, as well as
in many others. Good-night, sir; whoever visits this lake must bring
faith with him, and not be troubled with compunctions of conscience, or
he might as well stay at home, for it is faith which makes us happy in
this world." He bowed, and replacing his hat upon his head, left the
spot.

But Charles Augustus hastened after him, and tapping him upon the
shoulder, said, "Wait a moment, my friend, do not be rash; but tell me
before we separate, whether you really believe that faith brings us that
happiness we seek?"

"Yes; and as a Christian, you know that as well as I do myself," replied
the old man, smiling kindly upon Charles Augustus. "Faith is the best
gift of God. What I firmly believe, and wish to believe, I can surely
carry into effect, for the will goes hand in hand with faith, providing
neither have sinful inclinations."

"Have you ever experienced the power of faith when you wished to carry
out a good design?"

"Often, very often; and once to a certainty, I believed that a
beautiful girl whom I----. It's all the same now, love is equal with
high or low. I would have given my life for her. I believed that I could
move her heart towards me merely by my looks. One cannot think of more
self-pride than that. She was rich and beautiful; I, on the contrary,
was poor and ill-looking. She visited the lake shore every morning, and
I fixed my eyes upon her so earnestly that I soon attracted her
attention. After I had succeeded in this the rest soon followed, and I
pursued her so steadfastly that she soon said yes. For a time I was
happy, thinking of her alone. In later years I took a voyage upon the
sea to gain money, and returned home with full pockets. I had saved
every farthing that I might lay it at her feet, so she could see what I
was able to do for my heart's beloved."

Here the old man paused in his narrative, affected by his recollection.

"When I returned home," he continued, "my betrothed was no longer to be
found. Her father had endeavored to force her to become the wife of a
wealthy suitor, but she did not wish to be unfaithful to me. One Sunday
morning she disappeared, having been seen for the last time on the
Starlych meadow, near the shores of the lake. The water of the lake is
clear and tempting to the unhappy. She had the firm belief that we
should meet again hereafter, knowing that I would never wed another, and
she, therefore, went to become an inmate of the palace of the Lady of
the Lake, until I should be ready to follow her, and accompany her to a
better world. Now, my dear sir, I thought a long time that I would
follow her immediately, but faith regained its power over me. 'If you do
so,' said a voice within me, 'you will never meet hereafter.' I
therefore returned to my seafaring life, and at length became a pilot. I
have saved many a ship from inevitable destruction, and have put my life
in danger many a time. But after I had worked until my powers were
exhausted, and I found that I was unfit for the service, I returned to
the land, and built me a little hut, and now live in the firm belief
that we shall soon meet again."

"Many thanks for your story," said Charles Augustus, much affected, "it
has done my heart good."

"Yes, and it is because I saw that you really had a heart that I have
told it to you. I never told it before, except to one. But see, here we
are before the door of the old pilot's cabin. Do not despise entering."

Charles Augustus accepted the invitation. But if the exterior of the
cabin was the type of poverty, the interior presented stronger evidences
of it. The entire furniture consisted of a bundle of straw upon a low
bench which served as a bed, a rough table, an old chair, and a few
tools, which were hanging up against the wall.

"Do these suffice you?" said Charles Augustus, seating himself upon the
bench.

"They more than suffice me," was the answer. "The lake furnishes me with
fish and water, for food and drink for the summer; and by my trade as
ship-carpenter I earn sufficient bread for the winter."

"But your clothing?"

"Clothing," said the Pilot, placing his hand upon his well-patched
jacket; "this is my summer coat, and there," pointing towards a frieze
coat, hanging against the wall, "is my winter friend. They will last as
long as I live, for my neighbors are good-natured. Their wives give me
patches, which I sew together, and thus provide myself with warm
clothing."

"But did you not say that you gained considerable money in your youth on
your journeys? What have you done with it all?"

"Every one has his secret, and so have I," answered the old man,
gloomily. "Let us not talk of the money any more."

"You excite my curiosity, and would please me much if you would tell me
how you applied it. From your manner of speaking, I think there is
something strange connected with it."

"It is for that very reason I dislike to speak of it. Many things may be
plain to one, while they are incomprehensible to another. Let us,
therefore, change the subject."

But Charles Augustus urged the old man so strongly that he finally said:

"Well, so be it, then. Ever since I was a child I entertained the
belief, and one which must be sinful, for it has caused me much misery,
that a suicide could never reach heaven. After I had long thought how
horrible it would be if my loved one and myself should be eternally
separated, I remembered of having heard and seen in Catholic countries,
that they said mass for the eternal happiness of the dead. Although I
did not believe in the effect of these masses, still I thought, God
knows why they do it. He looks at the motive only. It can be done by a
Protestant as well as a Catholic. In this conviction, I again went to
sea, and in the first Catholic country I visited I besought the priest
to say masses to the whole amount of my treasure for the benefit of my
betrothed. He promised to do so, and said the money was sufficient to
purchase the salvation of one who had been guilty of the darkest crimes.
Highly elated, I returned, for I was convinced that there was a Being
above me, who saw that I had made myself poor to save her soul."

Without answering, Charles Augustus pressed the hands of the Pilot, and
looked into his face with an expression which satisfied the old man
that his story had been truly appreciated.

They both reascended the hill which faced the little hut. There stood an
old oak. The Pilot pointed to the top. "There," said he, "resides the
only companions I have had for many a year."

Charles Augustus looked up into the branches of the tree and saw an
unusually large birds' nest.

"It is the nest of two sea eagles," said the old man, "which have taken
up their abode here. Other people are afraid of them, but I love them.
Whenever any of my dinner is left, I give it to them."

In parting, Charles Augustus slipped a few dollars into the old man's
pockets, but he took the money out and returned it, saying, "What shall
I do with this? I do not desire to have my condition bettered, for I
live in the firm belief that the more I humble myself the better hope I
have of meeting my loved one above, which is the last dwelling-place for
us all. But now, good-night, young gentleman. Thanks for your pleasant
company; the old man has not for a long time enjoyed such pleasant
conversation as he has this evening."

With a light heart Charles Augustus returned to Haestholm. He felt as
though the conversation with the old pilot had heightened his courage
and assurance; and he determined not to leave the Omberg until he had an
opportunity of seeing and conversing with Alma, even if he should be
obliged to remain here for years.




                              CHAPTER XIII.


After the lapse of a week Charles Augustus changed his determination,
and for the purpose of lulling to sleep the suspicion of the Chief
Forester, he thought he would take a short excursion into the
surrounding country.

He had long hoped for an opportunity of again seeing Alma; but the Lady
of the Lake had not removed her palaces and castles for nothing--a
severe rain storm came on and lasted for a whole week. Under such
circumstances it would be impossible for him to see his beloved. On the
morning of the day before he was to leave upon his excursion, Charles
Augustus visited the old pilot, who had not made his appearance at his
bench in the ship-yard for the past two days. The storm had ceased, but
the sky was still dark, and uncouth clouds flitted over the tops of the
tall trees of Omberg. High above the mist, however, a distinct object
was to be seen. It was a descending sea-eagle, who, in wide circling
flight, was in search of his prey.

Charles Augustus watched the motions of the bird, and saw him suddenly
shoot from his high elevation into the thicket. Immediately a loud noise
was heard, and then a stag rushed forth from the forest, with the eagle
fixed fast upon his head. The eagle screamed fiercely, and flapped his
strong wings upon the head of the unfortunate animal; and while one of
his talons made gory marks upon the neck of his victim, he held the
other aloft, and finally grasped with it the trunk of a small tree, and
thus endeavored to stay the further progress of the stag. But for this
boldness he met with a horrible fate. The swiftness of the stag was such
that the eagle was rent in twain, one-half hanging quivering to the
tree, and the other portion borne along upon the head of the stag.

Charles Augustus was so intent upon this singular battle, that he did
not perceive the approach of the old pilot, who greeted him with,
"Good-morning, young sir."

"I come to take leave of you. Why were you not at the ship-yard,
yesterday? Were you ill?"

"No; but I had an engagement somewhere else. The Chief Forester had a
little job, which he thought I might do as well as anybody else."

"What was it?" inquired Charles Augustus, who was interested in the most
insignificant circumstance relating to the father of Alma.

"O, nothing, only Miss Alma desired to have a little cabin built upon
the top of the mountain, where she loves to sit and look down upon the
lake; and, as we are good friends, she wished me to assist her."

"Indeed," replied Charles Augustus, with assumed indifference, "then you
are on friendly terms with the Chief Forester's daughter."

"Yes, to speak without boasting, she thinks much of me. She is not
afraid to be seen in company with the old pilot. Yesterday she came to
my cabin with a whole basketful of good things, and sat nearly two hours
with me."

"Two hours! and yesterday--only yesterday!" and Charles Augustus'
vexation knew no bounds that he had not visited the old pilot the day
before.

Although Charles Augustus had endeavored to give firmness to his voice,
still it trembled, so that the old man now knew why it was that one who
had seen all that was to be seen at the Omberg, remained there so long.

"When do you think of crossing the Lake?" inquired the old man.

"I intended to visit Visingsoe to-day, but it looks as though it would
not be clear enough."

The pilot smiled. "The fog will soon be gone," said he; "it will all be
clear before noon. But, if your old friend does not miscalculate, your
business here has not come to an end."

"Business!" reiterated Charles Augustus, blushing. "My only business is
to view the country."

"As you please, that cannot be wrong. Still I believe that you wish to
see something more, which cannot be very well accomplished without the
guidance of a pilot who is familiar with the channel; but I cannot stay
with you longer. If you wish to see our pretty bower, then you must turn
to the right when you reach the top of the mountain, and, if the fog is
no thicker than it is now, you may have a fine view this afternoon."

Surprised that his secret had already become known, Charles Augustus did
not endeavor to retain the old man. It was not until the old patched
jacket had disappeared beneath him, as the old man rapidly descended the
steep sides of the mountain, that Charles Augustus started on the path
which had been pointed out to him.

He had reached about the midway of the mountain when he stopped and
leaned his back against an old oak. Here he meditated, striving to
analyze the sentiments that drove him onward in this journey. Could he
really love a girl whom he had seen but twice and conversed with only
once? His heart answered, and the answer was such that it hurried him on
his way still faster. He soon arrived at the place on the mountain
where the forest became less dense, and shortly after he saw the little
cabin built of twigs and bark.

He could see into the interior. Around the walls on the inside of the
bower was placed a low bench of green moss, from which one could have a
fine view of the lake through the capacious doorway. Several sail boats
were skimming over the surface of the water, lending additional beauty
to the scene.

Charles Augustus seated himself upon the bench, the same bench which the
lovely Alma was to occupy a few hours later. Suddenly he was struck with
the idea of ornamenting Alma's little bower with fresh flowers, and to
carpet the floor with green moss. No sooner thought than commenced; but
he had not yet concluded his labors when a low exclamation greeted his
ears.

He looked up quickly and saw Alma, her face beaming with joyful
surprise. She held a little cord in her hand, by which she conducted her
little favorite Goldfoot, who snorted and hung back, fearing the
stranger.

"I beg your pardon," stammered Charles Augustus. "I came here
accidentally. Excuse my boldness--I did not know----"

"Why do you call it boldness?" said Alma, who had recovered from her
surprise at again beholding the youthful stranger, whom she thought had
gone long before.

"Because I was aware," replied Charles Augustus, as he bashfully patted
the fawn's back, "that the little bower belonged to one who might
misinterpret this liberty of a stranger."

"Why do you say _stranger_?" inquired Alma in a low tone. "You cannot be
a stranger to one that----but it hardly needs my assurance to convince
you that I have not forgotten the storm at Alvastra."

Alma, at other times so modest, would not have spoken thus had she not
remembered the treatment the stranger had received from her father, and
had she not thought it was her duty to make amends. She had hardly
finished the sentence, however, before the blood rushed to her temples.

Charles Augustus eagerly drank in every word she uttered. "And those
ruins," said he, "which I have visited nearly every day, have gained an
almost holy significance; they remind me of those things which shall
never be wiped from my memory. I there met with that which will have an
influence upon my whole life."

Alma could not answer him. She did not even know that she was
disarranging with her tiny foot the moss carpet which Charles Augustus
had laid down so nicely. She withdrew her foot. "Look," said she, "the
moss is being upturned, even before it has taken root; that is not to be
envied," and without thought she stooped down and began to place it in a
proper position.

In these words Charles Augustus thought he discovered the first
confession of an innocent love, and his heart burned with a joyful
flame. But he did not desire to increase Alma's confusion, and therefore
endeavored to compose himself. He told her of the battle he had
witnessed between the eagle and stag.

During this story, which Charles Augustus greatly ornamented by
additions from his poetic imagination, Alma seated herself upon the
bench near the entrance of the bower, and our hero placed himself near
her side.

One story followed another, until nearly an hour had passed by; and
Alma, looking at her watch, declared that this was her father's
breakfast hour, and she should not be missing.

Charles Augustus arose, and prepared to leave her. "Will you allow me to
tell the old pilot," he said, "that the bower is admired by its owner?"

"O, yes, certainly. You know our old pilot then, there up on the hill; I
love to hear him talk of his adventures and his beloved one."

"I have also been acquainted with his grief and pious superstition; but
such love must be strong in faith, and faithful to death."

A slight blush was Alma's only answer. And taking the string which was
fastened to Goldfoot's collar, from Charles Augustus' arm, she sprang
from the seat and they both descended the hill together, until they
arrived at a path where they halted, mutually thinking that here they
must separate.

"Can I wish you a happy journey in case we should not----." She finished
her sentence with a slight bow.

"That was not my intention," said Charles Augustus, gazing with a
peculiar expression into the young lady's face; "but if these words
should contain a _wish_ that I should leave the Omberg, it shall be done
this very day."

Alma had not the courage to reply to this. "How should I think of such a
thing?" she stammered. "I----I have nothing to think."

Charles Augustus bowed silently, and Alma left him; but fearing that her
words had offended him, turned to look again at him. With a lovely smile
she answered his parting salute, and with her mind at ease she hurried
on her way home, followed by the frolicking and gamboling Goldfoot.

"What a charming creature! what child-like innocence!" thought Charles
Augustus. During the whole day he revelled in the hope that he had
finally found his Eden; and that evening he wrote home as follows:

     "I entreat you, my dear parents, not to be troubled if you should
     not hear from me again for some time to come. I am healthier and
     happier than I have ever been before. For not writing, I know my
     father will be grateful; and my mother--the dearest of
     mothers--will pardon me. For it is impossible for me to call my
     attention from the beauties of the surrounding scenery to the
     material thought, "To-day I must write home." I am sure you
     understand your

                                         "Charles Augustus."

     "P. S.--After my return, my father will find that I am no inactive
     dreamer. Now, I really live."


This letter Charles Augustus carried that same night to Hjo, where he
did not stay any longer, however, than was necessary to settle his
affairs and pack up his baggage. The next morning he removed to
Haestholm, and engaged a room by the month; for he had determined to
remain longer in the country, for the purpose of "botanizing."




                               CHAPTER XIV.


"Your father has inquired three times for you already," screamed Neta to
Alma, whom she had gone in search of.

"Inquired for me?" said Alma. "It is not after the breakfast hour."

"No, it is ten minutes to ten; but where have you been so early this
morning?"

"It was not early, Neta. I went to see the pretty bower which the great
pilot built for me."

"Well, you might have looked at it some other time; but see, there is
your father beckoning and nodding his old head, as though a life was at
stake. I cannot think what he wants of you."

"Nor I," said Alma, much fearing that her father had already heard of
her interview with the young stranger. She hastened her steps, and
arrived almost out of breath at the foot of the steps.

"O, you need not run so fast that you will catch the galloping
consumption. You have yet five minutes left." And then the Chief
Forester returned to his sanctum, and after the five minutes had passed,
Alma followed him.

"Now, my child," commenced the old man, as he walked hurriedly around
the room, rubbing his hands. His face, however, beamed with a joyful
expression, and proved that nothing unpleasant was to come. "You look
like a frightened snipe. What are you afraid of? Do you fear a little
examination?"

"Examination!" said Alma, turning pale.

"O, you need not look so timid. I think every thing will turn out well;
but should I begin with the question, why have you become so pale? you
would answer with (and here the old man changed his voice to falsetto,)
'Dear papa, I do not know why I am pale.'"

"No, father, I should not say that; for I really felt the blood leaving
my cheeks."

"And why so?"

"Because I was frightened. I did not know why you were going to question
me."

"You shall know immediately; but you look as though you were the
daughter of a rabbit, rather than a Chief Forester. Go into your room
and recover your courage, until I have done breakfast--then you can
return."

"Yes," said Alma, rejoiced at the respite. And when she returned to her
room, she commenced bothering her little head with such vain
conjectures, that at length she considered it would be a relief if she
could discover what her father meant, even though he told her. And at
the close of half an hour the poor child summoned her courage, and again
entered her father's apartment.

"Well, have we recovered now?" said he, placing himself upon a sofa, and
pointing to a chair opposite him, in which Alma seated herself.

"Yes, dear father."

"Have we endeavored to guess something?"

"I could guess nothing, father."

"Pay attention to what I say. I did not ask whether you had guessed
anything, but whether you had endeavored to do so."

"Yes; I tried to do so."

"Well," said he, "on what subjects have you exercised your ingenuity?"

"O, father!"

"Come here, and do not let us play blind-man's-buff; but let us rather
play hide the ring. Do you not like rings, you little rogue, you?"

"No," said Alma, blushing; "I care nothing for rings."

"What do you say? I almost fear you are telling me a fib--you must not
do that. Girls are girls, and I am sure that my Alma also likes rings."

"She does not, father. Alma thinks nothing of them," said Alma, using
the childish custom of speaking of herself in the third person, to
please her father, and looking up so entreatingly in his face, that, to
gain time, he stretched forth his pipe to have her refill it.

"Well, so be it; but what have you to say against them?"

"That I know not; it is something which I cannot explain."

"If that is the case, we will no longer talk about it; so instantly take
off the rings you have on your fingers and give them to me." The last
words were spoken very decidedly.

Alma stretched forth her little fingers and allowed her father to take
off the rings with which she loved to decorate them, and the tears
almost started to her eyes at the thought of losing them. He placed the
rings in a little box, which he afterwards locked up in his private
drawer.

"At length these stumbling blocks are removed, and we can now talk of
something else. What would you say to a pretty white pony, graceful, and
as gentle as a lamb, and a handsome English side-saddle, with a
riding-dress which would fit you nicely?"

"O, a pony, a saddle, and a riding-dress, that would be nice," and her
eyes sparkled with joy.

"I do not doubt that; but would you be willing to give something as a
recompense for it?"

"What can I give _you_?"

"Give me--what are you thinking of? Do you think that I should be so
foolish as to throw away so much money upon you? O, no, that I leave to
those who are anxious to obtain the favor of a beautiful girl."

Alma was silent, the roses of joy vanished from her cheeks, and she
turned her eyes to the floor in confusion.

"Well, you need not hang down your head; on the contrary, you have
reason to hold it proudly erect. Know, then, that you have a suitor who
has determined to give pony, saddle, and dress, as his bridal-present."

"Oh, father, but--"

But Alma could not finish the sentence. She was cowed by the glance
which her father shot forth from his gleaming eyes.

"No _but_, I never liked that word; but I will allow you to finish what
you intended to."

"I do not wish to wed," sobbed the girl, laying her head upon her
father's knee.

The Chief Forester's countenance here assumed a peculiar expression. He
did not storm as usual, when angry, but his voice could have been heard
from afar, when he thundered, "How long is it since you have had a will
of your own?"

Alma was silent; but after the question was repeated, she answered in a
low voice, "I did not know, myself, before, that I had one."

"Nor did I," replied the Chief Forester; "but as the idea is so new, I
hope you will rid yourself of it without difficulty. Do you not think
so?"

"O, father, speak openly, speak kindly to me. You make me fear you when
you speak in that tone."

"With pleasure. Listen: I wish you to be married. Next year we shall
have a wedding, and I hope that all the guests who attend the wedding
will speak of the beautiful and happy bride of Omberg."

"And the bridegroom?" stammered Alma. "He is the best man who ever bore
a Swedish name, who ever swung a Swedish steel, or who ever plowed
Swedish soil. The king's most faithful vassal, major and knight, the
high-born Sir Savante Kling, owner of the large estate of Svarvik, and
several tons of clanging gold, which, however, is not worth as much as a
single drop of blood of his noble heart; the most honest, the bravest,
and truest which was ever laid at the feet of a maid."

"Alas! he is so old, so very old," sobbed Alma.

"O, never mind; he is not very old; he has a youthful heart, and is as
sprightly as a squirrel. You should be ashamed; he is only forty years
old."

"I say he is more than fifty, and it is impossible for me to marry the
old Major." And Alma lowered her eyes, so that she might not see the
result of her boldness.

But the Chief Forester merely answered, "We shall see about that." And
then he arose, with the remark that it was nearly time for his walk in
the park.

Alma breathed freely again. She was now left to her own meditations; but
she was not much to be envied, for she became the prey of the most
conflicting thoughts.

To marry the Major, whom she was accustomed to reverence as much as her
own father, seemed to her to be as impossible as a serious resistance
against her father's commands. True, her first resistance had turned out
more favorably than she had expected herself, but it did not follow that
the next time she would prove so fortunate. Ah, no! Alma knew but too
well, that her father was not to be moved by such a novel method as the
will of his daughter, who, until now, had been subject to his guidance
even in the most trifling matters.

Although the subject which occupied Alma's mind was so important, still
she also occasionally thought of the scene in the bower; and as often as
she thought of the moment when she surprised Charles Augustus, as he was
engaged in strewing the floor with moss, her cheeks would glow, and upon
her lips would play a smile, in spite of all her unhappiness, which
plainly displayed the workings of joy and pain within her innocent
heart.

In the mean time the Chief Forester, with lips firmly compressed, walked
through the park. Arriving at a certain spot, where he was accustomed to
rest when alone,--for it was his weakness to appear youthful, although
he felt the pressure of years,--he withdrew from his breast-pocket a
letter, and for the second time perused the welcome and long-expected
contents:

     "Dear Brother:

     "I suppose you have long seen how I am situated."--

     "Certainly, certainly," muttered the Chief Forester; "and it was
     for this reason we should have made use of the time, for delay
     spoils the best plan; but, by heaven! it shall not mar this."--

     "And I hope that you will have no objection to the sentiments,
     which, however, I can hardly approve of myself, as I fear it might
     displease the one who is the object of them.

     "I am not able in words to put my ideas in a shape which would
     please the young girl; and therefore dare not propose this, my
     desire, to your daughter myself. I beseech you to ask your Alma,
     kindly, not with fear of compulsion--for that is not my
     desire--whether she thinks that she can be happy with a man, who,
     if such proves the case, would then become young again. Perhaps she
     will say no; if such is the answer, I entreat you not to force her.
     What would be the happiness of a few years to me, if Alma would
     have to suffer by it?

     "I do not set any particular time for the answer. I shall remain at
     home for a few weeks awaiting your reply. If I do not receive a
     favorable one, I shall at any rate, visit you as an old friend.

                        "With respect and friendship,
                                         yours faithfully
                                                 "Sv. Kling."


"You old, good-natured jackass, if you had said only so six months ago,
she would now have been your wife," thought the Forester. "Her own
will--Aye! what is the world coming to? Such a little girl wants to have
her own will. But I know what my will is; and I also know what would be
the wisest for her to do. I wonder if the worthy knight of the ruins,
has yet left Hoestholm? I must go and make inquiries immediately. If
poachers are around, one must keep wide awake."

On that very evening the Chief Forester went down to the lake on a
fishing excursion--an amusement which at other times he abominated. He
stopped at Hoestholm to visit the ship-yard where the old pilot worked.
The inn-keeper lifting his cap, bowed low to the Chief Forester.

The old man returned his salute and inquired: "Well, have you many
guests now?"

"I cannot boast of many; but I had a gentleman here who has remained a
whole week."

"Is he to stay here longer?"

"No; he has just gone; you can see his boat on the lake now. He has gone
to Hjo, from whence he came."

With a lightened heart the Chief Forester returned home. As he believed
himself now perfectly secure, he resolved to take a journey to
Svarvik, and tell the Major to write to Alma, himself; as he might count
upon his paternal assistance.




                                CHAPTER XV.


A few weeks elapsed.

The Chief Forester had made his journey; but had missed his object,
namely: to cause the Major to write to Alma.

"No, brother," answered the honest man. "Alma knows me too well to need
a display of my merits to her. If she desires to make me happy with her
heart and hand, she can do it without a letter."

The Chief Forester grumbled a little about the ignorance of females; and
then after entreating the Major to visit him within two weeks, he
returned home.

During all this time, Alma heard nothing concerning the Major's suit;
and began almost to believe that her father had sacrificed his own
inclination to the happiness of his daughter. The roses of joy therefore
began to bloom anew upon her cheeks, for Alma had other reasons for
happiness--reasons which she carefully kept concealed within her own
bosom. She had met the young stranger several times--of course, merely
by accident; and perceived by his actions, for he did not speak
decidedly, that he remained in the country for her sake alone. Still,
she experienced a certain kind of pain she had never felt before; and
her conscience sometimes smote her that she kept the secret from her
father. It was true that her meetings with Charles Augustus were never
preconcerted; still, it was true that she never attempted to escape
them, which would not have been very difficult if she had but confined
her walks to the park and the neighborhood of her father's house. For
two long days she did not wander far from the house; but the third day
she lost all power over her little feet, which felt an irresistible
desire to visit the bower--the Eleven Beeches--the Stockleyck meadow,
and various other places,--where, as accident would have it, she
invariably met Charles Augustus.

"If my father should----." Alma dared not finish the sentence as she
intended, ("surprise me,") but changed to "find out that I should meet
some one else, (although without intending to do so) when I take a walk,
I wonder if he would be angry?" And as often as she put this question to
herself, her heavy beating heart would answer a decided "Yes."

"Did you hear the magpies chatter on the roof to-day?" inquired Miss
Neta, one morning as she entered Alma's room.

"No; what do you mean?" replied Alma, looking at her watch, and then
commencing to dress herself for breakfast.

"What do I mean?" said Miss Neta, taking such a huge pinch of snuff from
her box, that one half of it fell and besprinkled her snow white apron.
"Either we have guests to-day, or else we shall have news. When the
magpies chatter for a single morning, then we have guests; but when they
chatter on the roof for three mornings in succession--as they have done
for the last three--then we shall have some very important news."

"What can it be, dear Neta?"

"I am certainly not a soothsayer; but yet I can divine something, if I
can only get a clue."

"And is that the case now?"

"As one may take it. Have you heard that next week we are to have a
festival--a real festival, with music and dancing?"

"With music and dancing?" inquired Alma, becoming pale.

"Why; what is the reason you look so frightened? Do you not know that
there is a little girl in this house, who will be presented on that day
with a beautiful wreath?"

"I know well enough that my birthday comes next week; but it never was
celebrated in such a manner before."

"The first time must come. Perhaps it is your father's wish that the
festival should have a double meaning."

Alma dared not reply to this hint; her brain became dizzy, and her pulse
beat feverishly. Her birthday fell upon Sunday, (she heard the news on
Thursday) and on Sundays she was accustomed to extend her walks. These
walks occurred so regularly every third or fourth day, that if she
should change the order and go sooner to the bower, she would probably
not find _somebody_ there.

And why did the dim hope of meeting before that very Sunday, the one she
called _somebody_, occupy her mind? Because--but this was not clear to
her, only a surmise--somebody would be obliged to say something which
would require an answer, or a half declaration; and this must be
sufficient to guard her against anything that might happen her on the
ensuing Sunday. For if she did not meet somebody, she would not have the
courage to resist the desire of her father.

Alma hastened down stairs, kissed her father's hand, and poured out a
cup of coffee for him; but she did not perform this service with her
usual grace and skill.

"Why do you tremble?" inquired the Chief Forester, taking his pipe from
his mouth, and looking at the girl seriously.

"I do not tremble," stammered Alma; but now she trembled so violently,
that the contents of the coffee-urn were spilt upon the white table
cloth. "I beg your pardon, papa."

The Chief Forester coughed, and, taking the pipe from his mouth, blew
one long cloud of smoke into the room.

Alma was silent, and poured a few drops of coffee into her cup, into
which she had before placed a few crumbs of cake; but the cake soaked up
the coffee, and she put only the empty cup to her lips.

"That is a singular method of drinking coffee," said the Chief Forester,
after a long pause.

Alma had no answer, but, confused, looked first into her cup, and then
up to her father's face.

"Did you not sleep well, last night?"

"O, yes."

"You may have heard an owl screeching, this morning. Has the old dragon,
Neta, been in your room already?"

"Neta? yes, she visited me this morning."

"I thought so; and has she given you such a bitter draught, that you
must tremble at the first dose?"

"I think, dear father, that she has not guessed rightly."

"Is that the reason why you are so sad. Well, no matter, we may make her
prophecy come true."

"That is just the very reason which--"

"Which gives you joy. I understand--it is quite natural."

"No, dear father, it is the very thing which grieves me."

"How, you self-willed, ungrateful girl, you are not glad when your
father gives a party for you! Are you not ashamed?"

"Oh, I would be as glad as any body, so glad that you never saw such a
happy girl before, if only--"

"Ah! I wish you would rid yourself of that stupid habit of breaking off
in the middle of a sentence! We are not in a theatre, here, where a
prompter whispers the cue into an actor's ear, when he loses the thread
of his conversation. Speak openly, and right from your heart. What did
you mean, when you said, 'If only?'"

"You would ask no more of me," stammered Alma.

"Ah, ha!" exclaimed the Chief Forester, springing from his chair with
his usual vivacity. "Is your little head filled with such things? I only
wish to tell you, in all confidence, that such thoughts should not turn
a little girl's head, every time the wind blew. If I once say that
to-morrow shall be the betrothal, it shall be so, and you will give me
no other answer than yes."

The Chief Forester then left the room, and shortly afterwards Alma heard
his voice up in the garret, where Miss Neta was busily engaged in
spreading out mint upon the floor; and, although Alma stepped into the
hall to listen, she could not understand a word, for the whole
conversation consisted of exclamations, which crossed each other so
rapidly, that they sounded like the roaring of a river.

Alma took a walk into the garden; but how contracted everything appeared
to her, for in a few moments, she had walked through every path. The
poor child had so much on her heart, that she required more space to
walk in. After she had crossed the garden to and fro several times, she
reached a little back gate, which led into the large deer park. But, as
if she feared something wrong, she stepped back and endeavored to shut
the gate, but the gate did not desire to be shut. Alma experienced an
irresistible inclination to step through into the park, and now, trees
and flowers appeared so enticing to her, that she could not withstand
the temptation.

It was singular, however, that the further she advanced, she found the
more distant trees and flowers still more beautiful and charming, and
these trees and flowers which she passed one after the other, conducted
her so far, that it would have been exceedingly foolish not to visit the
beautiful bower upon the top of the mountain, and enjoy the fine view of
the lake, which must be very charming on such a day as this; and Alma
thought she could do so, innocently, for she did not expect anybody
there to-day.

She therefore went to the bower.

But, whether it was accidental, or whether it happened so every day, the
little bower was ornamented with beautiful flowers, which were strewn
over the moss that formed the floor. No one was to be seen, however.
Alma seated herself; she could not explain all the hopes, all the
thousand little fears which arose within her heart.

With a half sigh, she said, "I must go,"--but still she remained. It
seemed as though a charm was spread over the little bower.

But suddenly she sprang from her seat. Familiar steps were heard
approaching the bower. She would have hid herself. Her heart beat
quickly with fright. It would be horrible if she was found here at a
time when she never visited the bower, and she fervently hoped that
_somebody_ would not see her. But when this hope seemed about to be
fulfilled, for the steps began to retreat, Alma looked through a small
window that had been formed in the bower.

She saw Charles Augustus standing upon the path, looking out upon the
lake. "If I should go before he comes in," thought she, "will it not
give him pleasure to repose upon the little bench?" No, evidently he did
not care for it. Alma forgot her former wish to remain unobserved. It
caused her pain that she had not betrayed her presence by some noise or
motion.

She overcame the strong temptation, with much difficulty; but at every
step that Charles Augustus took, which led him from the spot, a tear
fell upon the flower-strewn floor, and at length, when he had entirely
disappeared, the unrestrained tears gushed forth so rapidly that Alma
was astonished herself.

"Why should I weep for the ungrateful man? If he had thought of the
bower, often, very often, he would certainly have entered. But I should
like to know who ornamented the floor with flowers? Perhaps it was the
old pilot." The latter thought was extremely painful to her, and seemed
the more probable, as all hope vanished of seeing somebody return.

"I do not care the least, O, not the least where he goes; he may go and
come wherever he pleases," and tear after tear flowed down Alma's
cheeks. "I wish I had never seen him. O, if he had not preserved me from
the ruins! But listen, there comes some one else. O, I hope he will not
come in now." Alma placed her handkerchief over her face and hastily
entered the bower.

It was really Charles Augustus who returned, and this time Alma had no
time for hopes and fears, for he suddenly stood before her in the little
bower. The poor girl still held her handkerchief before her weeping
eyes, and, between fright and joy, hardly knew what to do.

"Alma!" exclaimed Charles Augustus, who in his surprise forgot all
restraint.

This single name, which she had never before heard uttered by his lips,
sounded extremely beautiful. It had never appeared so pretty a name
before. "O," thought she, "if he would only speak it again!" and this
hope was soon fulfilled.

"Alma, Alma," said Charles Augustus, as the girl still concealed her
face, "do you weep?"

"My head aches," replied Alma, endeavoring to look unconcernedly upon
the lake. "I did not intend to come here, but the morning air was so
fresh and beautiful."

"I am convinced," replied Charles Augustus, emboldened by the knowledge
that none would hear him, except one who was still more timid than
himself; "I am convinced that it is not the headache that causes you to
weep. Have you no grief upon your heart?"

"No. I am so childish,"--and she endeavored to appear more cheerful.

"I dare not be presumptuous," said Charles Augustus, taking her hand,
which, in her confusion, she allowed him to retain, "but you have wept,
and a single tear of yours makes me unhappy. There are sentiments which
cannot be explained. A certain sympathy told me that you would come to
the bower to-day, and therefore I decorated it for you."

"I also thought so," replied Alma, frankly; "but you did not enter when
you first came." She suddenly ceased and violently withdrew her hand.
She could not pardon herself that she had displayed so much weakness.

But at the same time Charles Augustus wound his arm around her waist,
and the holiest entreaties could be read in his love-filled eyes.

"Alma!" whispered he, "my life, my happiness is in your hands. I cannot
live unless you love me and will become my own."

Alma's heart was too full for words.

"A word, a single word!" entreated Charles Augustus.

"I cannot," replied Alma, nestling her head in his bosom. "I am so much
afraid."

"Afraid only, and no more? dear Alma, I beseech you to have confidence
in one who will never grant his faith, love or heart to any other. Are
you only afraid?"

"No, I am also happy," whispered Alma; and at this moment the bond was
sealed. "But O, what will my father say?"

"Be not afraid. Why should we fear when we are in a perfect heaven? We
will go immediately in search of him?"

"To enjoy that pleasure you need not go far," exclaimed the Chief
Forester, who at this moment with glittering eyes entered this little
heaven. "Yes, sir, here is her father already. Yes, sir, here he is to
prove that you have acted like a scoundrel. Don't become pale, like a
gallows rogue, and like a coward, as you are; for have you not enticed
the girl to have secret meetings with you without the knowledge of her
father, that you might gain possession of her heart? Are you not ashamed
of yourself? It is a great wonder that I do nothing more than to entreat
you to take yourself off."

During this outbreak of the Chief Forester Alma had retreated to the
further corner of the bower, and gathered the little presence of mind
left her, that she might see how her lover would behave to her father.
She was anxious to know whether Charles Augustus would answer her
father, and although she considered it would be better not to answer at
all, nevertheless she was pleased when she saw in Charles Augustus' pale
features an expression which was nearly as severe as that of her
father's. His eyes flashed and his lips quivered as he spoke in a voice
far different from that which he had ever used towards her.

"Take care, take care, Mr. Bruse; remember that no father has the right
to call the man a scoundrel who courts his daughter's love. You may
thank the presence of your daughter that I answer your insult in a
manner different than I would have used had we been alone. But now I
entreat you to hear my prayer, to clothe which I now lack fitting words,
and which prayer I would have addressed to you in a more pleasing
manner, had not this interference taken place."

"Yes, upon my soul, you complain of the want of fitting words," replied
the Chief Forester, putting a restraint upon himself, although he could
not help approving of the calm, as well as the bold answer of the youth.
"Indeed these words are not fitting for a lover, of whom one knows
nothing except what he has seen fit to communicate himself. In the mean
time it makes no difference, for you can never marry my daughter. I have
already betrothed her to a suitor who has a wiser head than you, and
knows how to take hold of the matter at the right end."

"What, sir! have you already betrothed your daughter, without her
knowledge?"

"No, sir, not without her knowledge. Come here, my angel, and say for
yourself whether you know that your father has destined you for another
suitor. Well, let us hear. Speak openly and frankly, that your knight
here may understand you. To speak the truth, it is rather a superfluous
kindness on my part; but I shall grant it nevertheless."

"This demand," said Charles Augustus, "is made in such a manner that
Miss Alma must be frightened. She may, therefore, answer as she chooses.
I shall hold her to her former assurances." Then he turned to Alma and
spoke in a soft voice. "Speak, dear Alma, was it with your knowledge
that your father promised your hand?"

"Dear Alma!" mimicked the Chief Forester, making a wry face. "Sir, love
whomsoever you choose, but I must entreat you to speak less familiarly
with my daughter. Well, can't you speak, girl?"

Alma looked first upon her father, then to her lover, and answered: "I
certainly knew papa's desire; but I also declared that I would not marry
the Major."

"A declaration," added the Chief Forester, "which means just nothing.
Come along home with me; for I now consider the matter all settled."

"No, my dear Mr. Bruse, not at all," said Charles Augustus, who saw the
necessity of composure. "Let us not separate in such a manner. I am sure
that if Miss Alma should go in advance of us, and you would permit me to
tell you my circumstances, you would be perfectly satisfied with them;
for if I was not able to support a wife I would never have entertained a
desire to wed."

"This is all spoken to the wind; although I believe you are an honest
man, and would be able to support the girl if you married her; yet you
must have seen that such an occurrence can never take place. My whole
conduct towards you, even from the first, was rebuking enough."

"It was this very circumstance that forced me to seek Miss Alma here,
because her father's house was closed against me. But may I ask you from
whence came this strong feeling against me, a total stranger? You
evinced your dislike to me when we first met at the ruins."

"This," said the Chief Forester, taking his daughter's hand, "arose from
the fact, that I saw in your behavior that you had already fallen in
love with the girl. Now, as it is impossible for me to have two
sons-in-law, I shall choose the one with whom I am best acquainted, and
who has long been my friend."

"But I am in possession of Alma's consent and love, and these are claims
which I am not willing to relinquish; on the contrary, I shall do all in
my power to maintain them."

Thus speaking, Charles Augustus looked upon Alma with tender love
beaming in every lineament of his countenance, and without waiting for a
reply, went on his way down the winding foot-path.

"Very well, very well; I will look out for you," muttered the Chief
Forester, and departed with his daughter.

Alma endeavored to cast an imploring look up into her Father's face, but
could not. She momentarily expected a violent outbreak of passion from
him, but he said in an unusually quiet tone, "I do not comprehend how
such a stupid goose as you could dare contradict the will of your
father, and commence a love affair under his very nose. At all events,
it seems that you are not so very stupid."

Nothing more was spoken this evening; but that which was not said was
thought, and Alma felt that every day brought its own sorrow.




                               CHAPTER XVI.


The Major arrived late on Saturday evening. Alma remained in her room,
which she had not left since the interview between her father and lover,
except when expressly bade to do so. Suddenly she heard the footsteps of
her father. But when he opened the door she shrank back--never before
had she observed such a serious expression upon his countenance.

"I have told you, Alma," said the Chief Forester, taking her hand within
his, "I have told you that I would give you sufficient time to spell the
word, yes; and now I give you half an hour to do so. You have long known
my determination, and you also know that it is not my custom to change
it."

"But father," replied Alma, striving to regain her courage, "I can never
give my consent to two."

"You did not give it to that impudent boy. The few words you may have
spoken to him are dissolved by the will of your father. To-night you
will give your consent to the Major; to-morrow we will celebrate the
betrothal--and that's all."

"Father, father, I shall die, if you compel me."

"Don't anger me, girl;" thus speaking, the Chief Forester uplifted his
hand threateningly, and glanced so sharply at the poor girl, that she
turned her head in fear. "That devilish love," muttered the old man,
and returned to his sanctum.

"I am fearful that you have not told me the plain truth, brother," said
the Major, with an inquiring look. "Alma has certainly a dislike to me,
which you strive to conquer, and conceal from me."

"Dislike, dislike!" exclaimed the Chief Forester, with a flushed face.
"I hope there is no use in speaking when I command."

"But," replied Major Kling, "I cannot be satisfied with your commands.
Alma's preference is necessary."

"The deuce take the witch," exclaimed the Chief Forester, losing his
temper. "I really believe you intend to take back your word. If you wish
to have my daughter stand, and bow down before you, exclaiming in a
voice sufficiently loud for all to hear, 'I wish to be the wife of the
honest and honorable Major Kling,' then I am willing that the matter
should cease; for so much I can tell you, the girl will not come of her
own accord and say, 'here I am, take me!'"

"Do not be so passionate," replied the Major; "but you must excuse me,
if nothing will satisfy me except an answer from Alma's own lips. If she
says no, then my suit will cease."

"Take yourself off with your foolishness! Is it possible that a modest
girl can say yes, at the first breath? My late wife, my lamented Mary,
said no, ten times; but I did not lose my courage. It spurred me on to
still greater exertion, and believe it or not, I beat four rivals out of
the field in one month. You, however, will not contend with a single no,
nor a single rival."

"What do you mean?" said the Major, in consternation. "Have I really a
rival?"

"Ah! what do you think, brother?" replied the Chief Forester, erecting
himself proudly. "Do you think my daughter has but one lover? Alma is
beautiful, and although I say it myself, is rich enough to have as many
lovers as her dear mother had, and this would certainly have happened at
all events, and perhaps twice as many suitors would have been here, had
I not shut my doors against all young gentlemen."

"And pray, from whence did this _one_ come?"

"I almost think that he came down on a flash of lightning, when Alma so
narrowly escaped in the ruins of Alvastra. It is the young Iron
Proprietor, who, in revenge for the trick I played him at the dinner
table, has secretly wooed the girl."

"And her answer?"

"Is of no importance. I hope you will believe me that I would not give
her to you for a wife, did I not think that it would bring her
happiness. Alma is exceedingly good, but very sentimental, and needs a
husband who will assist her in her weakness, in a friendly but energetic
manner. You are such a man. You will treat her kindly, and will never
behave to her in a weak manner, still less with harshness. It would be a
great misfortune to her if she should marry one of those young
scapegoats, who love their wives for a short time, and then let them
sink down, step by step, until they become almost nothing, having no
ambition but to take care of their children, and attend to their
domestic duties. I do not wish that my child should meet with such a
fate. She is a gem, and whoever wears her must know how to value her."

While this conversation took place in the Chief Forester's room, during
which the old man frequently looked at his watch, Alma sat in her own
room, with her watch in hand, counting the minutes which she could yet
call her own. Her soul abhorred the thought of transferring the promise
she had given to Charles Augustus to the Major. But when could she find
the courage to declare this to her father in the Major's presence?

As she sat there, thus wrapped in her meditations, a rap was heard upon
the window-pane, and she saw a bushy, black head peering into the room.
It was the old pilot, who, with a friendly nod, inquired whether she
liked the bower? Alma advanced to the window, but she had scarcely
lifted the sash, ere she received a little note, and the pilot
immediately departed. She bolted the door--broke the seal--and read for
the first time the writing of her beloved.

     "My Alma:

     "I trust in you, as I do in the word of God. Stand battle for our
     love, and appeal to the Major's honor. But if their words are
     beyond your power, if you cannot avoid obeying the command of your
     father to-morrow, and must accept a connection, which you know is a
     forced one, do so; but remain faithful, for sure as I am that your
     heart will never belong to another than me, so sure am I also that
     you, even if you should be ten times betrothed to the Major, would
     never become the wife of any save your Charles Augustus. In your
     father's present disposition, a new proposal from me, nay, even our
     prayers, would injure our cause. We have, therefore, to await our
     time. God have you in his keeping, my own dear one, is the prayer
     of,

                                         "Your,
                                             "Charles Augustus."

     "P. S.--Later this evening the pilot will pass your window again.
     Prepare a letter for him. O, how I long for it."


Alma placed the note in her little table drawer; and, looking at her
watch, was frightened when she saw the hand pointing at the decisive
moment. She knew that hesitation would irritate her father still more;
and, without a fixed plan, but with a firm determination to leave all to
God, and to confess everything to the Major, she entered her father's
room.

"See, here comes the bride," said the Chief Forester taking her hand.
"Give the other to the Major, my child. You could not find a better
bridegroom among the whole male population of Sweden."

"Father!"

Alma looked up into her father's face; but received a look which
immediately sealed her lips.

"Will you allow me to speak alone with Alma?" said the Major, in a tone
which forbade refusal.

"As you please--but do not be foolish. Take my advice; if you should
take it into your head to play the romantic, and succumb to the girl's
sentimentality, I shall once for all declare, that this would not be
able to further Alma's other wishes. As long as I have a head upon my
shoulders, she shall not wed the one who has marred my most favorite
plan. Now do as you please, brother," he added, and left the room.

"Good as gold; but as hot-headed as gunpowder," said the Major,
conducting Alma to a sofa.

"O, yes," replied Alma, somewhat composed by the Major's hearty and
frank tone. "He is good, but sometimes harsh; and then I fear him."

"But I hope you will not fear me, for I mean nothing but to add to your
happiness."

"I believe so--but suppose you could not render me happy?"

"In making you my wife, you mean?"

"Yes," replied Alma, in a low tone, "suppose I should say that I do not
wish to be your wife, would you be angry at me?"

"Indeed, Alma, it would cause me much grief; for you cannot imagine how
much I have hoped for you; but, Alma, I could not be angry with you, for
you do not wish to injure me intentionally."

"Ah, so it is," replied Alma, gaining courage, "it cannot be helped when
one loves a certain person, and is entirely indifferent to another."

"Indifferent! That word is a little too hard. Am I then so indifferent
to you?"

"A short time ago I liked you very much; as much as one can like one
whom she does not--"

"Love," added the Major with a blush. "And now?" he continued.

"Afterwards I was told you wished me for your wife, and then I felt an
indifference towards you."

"Consider a short time, Alma; did you feel nothing but indifference?"

"O yes, something more; but it was so wicked that I dare not tell you."

"Tell me, notwithstanding. What did you feel?"

"I could not think of you except with horror. I would rather have died
than become your wife."

"I understand," interrupted the Major, "but what do you think of me
now?"

"Now," replied Alma, "you are so kind to me that I cannot thank you
sufficiently. Still, I am filled with the utmost pain and fear. I will
be sincere with you. I love another, and will belong to none but him."

"Thanks for your confidence, dear Alma. I know whom you mean. But now
let me enter a little upon my own defence; you shall find that I love
you too much to see you unhappy. The first question is, whether you
would be unhappy with me or not. I have long since relinquished vanity,
but still some self-pride is left me; and I have my doubts whether my
rival can render you happier than I could."

"Ah," replied Alma, frankly, "we are not fit for each other. He is
young; but you, Mr. Kling--"

"I am not yet so old, Alma, but that the winter of the young man can
come on as soon as mine. He stands a youth. I am a man. But years have
nothing to do with a life of love. As long as the latter remains fresh,
one year after another passes by, and we never become old."

"I am so very young," interrupted Alma.

"Woman's grace and beauty--you have said so yourself very often--fades
after a few years. In such a case, a young husband may become
indifferent towards his wife; such examples are of frequent occurrence.
An older man, however, does not feel the loss of beauty so much--the
woman is still young enough for him, for he is linked to her by the
closest bonds of soul and heart. He was delighted when he saw the rose
in full bloom; but when it becomes withered, he draws it nigher his
heart to shelter it from every blasting wind that might injure it."

Alma knew not how to reply. Why had the quiet and sedate Major said all
this to her? His words made a deep but not unpleasant impression upon
her heart. How horrible it would be to become old before her time, to
grow thin and wan, and for these reasons be neglected by her loved one!
Then, O then--but why should _she_ meet with such an unhappy fate?

"What have you to say?" said the kind Major, taking Alma's hand.

"I am moved," said she, "but I cannot consent to be your wife. Dear Mr.
Kling, save me from my father. If I am forced to say yes, I assure you,
my lips will speak only."

"Perhaps you may be right, Alma, but you shall not escape me without a
trial. Many girls have neglected men with whom they could have been far
happier than with those for whom they passionately sacrificed
themselves. Alma! you must become my betrothed, not so much for my sake
as for your own. If you now refuse me, or if I am forced to resign your
hand, you well know what you must expect from your father, who anxiously
desires our union. But if you do not oppose me, I will promise you, that
after the lapse of one year, you shall be free again if your
inclinations are unchanged."

"Alas!" replied Alma, half grieved and half rejoiced, "that is a hard
condition; still, it gives me hope, and if I should accept your
proposal, will you promise me that I can communicate the conditions, as
well as the reward, to the one whom--"

"Who, from this day, is no longer your lover. Yes, I promise that, but I
demand that he must not write to you or visit you openly or secretly.
After the year has passed, however, he shall have the right to appear
again. If you are then convinced, Alma, that you can be happy with him,
you may then become his bride."

"And my father?" inquired Alma, anxiously.

"I will tell him that you have consented to my proposal, but desire no
public celebration; and that nothing shall be said of the wedding until
a year has passed. Leave the rest to me."




                              CHAPTER XVII.


"How long before the council will end?" inquired the Chief Forester,
knocking impatiently upon the door with his cane.

"Now--and completely agreeable to our wishes," replied the major,
opening the door, and inviting the old gentleman to walk in, with a
smile, which, to a close observer, would appear forced.

Alma stood blushing in the centre of the room. She did not contradict
the major's words, even with a look.

"Is it possible!" cried the Chief Forester, and, overjoyed, performed
one of his grandest leaps into the air. "By the universe! you are the
pet child of fortune, brother, or you would not have been able to
persuade the most intriguing little imp that ever walked in the
sunshine, to dance to your music. Hurrah! children, let us have a
frolic! we now have a bride on the Omberg. Come, girl, and kiss your
father!"

Alma threw herself into her father's arms, and the old man dashed his
pipe and cane to the floor, that he might embrace her without
incumbrance, and also leave a place on his shoulder for the honest old
major. The indescribable expression of glee and happiness that gleamed
in every lineament of his countenance, stung Alma to the heart. She felt
that it would have been far different if her father only knew the
truth, and the half-reproachful look which she cast upon the major,
plainly told him that he had wronged the tender sentiments of her heart,
by placing her in a position which he vainly hoped might in time become
more natural.

"All right! all right!" said the Chief Forester, after he had heartily
embraced them both. "Let us now be reasonable," he continued, as he
wiped away a joyful tear which had nestled among his silver gray
whiskers. "I will dance at the ball so lightly, that all the girls will
fall in love with me; and I tell you in advance, Alma, as soon as you
leave the house, I intend to marry again. Many a man, much older than I,
has tried the same experiment. What will the little Mrs. Major say, when
she has a step-mother as young and beautiful as herself?"

Alma suffered intensely. "If you marry, father," said she, endeavoring
to jest, "I shall be jealous."

"And you, my dear, would not be the first one who was jealous of me.
When I was young, I made a great deal of noise among the ladies--so
much, that I am answerable, in their opinion, for a great many sins; but
sit down here and prattle, while I go and embrace my dear dragon. I feel
great need of becoming reconciled to her; she has grumbled the entire
day. And you, my little sweet!"--here the old man drew Alma to his
heart--"believe me, I know the value of the sacrifice you have made, as
you call it, although I do not say much; but I assure you, this will
form a source of the greatest happiness to you. No, no, my little dove,
no tears; but yes, tears belong to the ceremony, therefore you had
better go to your room for a few moments."

In the solitude of her little room, Alma knelt down and prayed fervently
that this year would not drag heavily for her, and that she might soon
have an opportunity of communicating to her father the friendly
compromise she had made with the major. In the mean time, the minutes
passed rapidly by. The note should have been written before.

Alma took the pen, but she could not arrange her ideas. She had never
before written to any man save her father, and now, to write to one she
loved, how difficult that was, especially when she was considered the
betrothed of another. But write she must, and, to study the form of a
love-letter, she opened the one she had received from Charles Augustus,
and read and re-read the address, "My Alma."

The word "My," before her name, appeared too confidential. She
experimented, and wrote, "_My_ Charles Augustus;" but then her heart
beat so strongly, that she could scarcely write six words, and she
concluded to omit the address altogether. But even the commencement of
the letter was difficult; and after many attempts, spoiling many sheets
of paper, at length the following was produced:

     "I have commenced ten letters, without knowing exactly what or how
     to write; although I have read your dear letter time and again. But
     after to-morrow, I shall not be allowed to do so; for from that day
     I shall be considered the betrothed of Major Kling. But I know it
     all by heart; and shall recite its contents to myself every day.
     After a year has passed I shall be free again. The Major has
     promised me as a man of honor, that if, after the lapse of one
     year, I shall continue to insist that it is impossible for me to be
     happy with him, of which there is no doubt, I may be at liberty
     again. But alas! during all this time we are not to be allowed the
     privilege of seeing or communicating with each other. This is too
     cruel. But believe me, Charles Augustus, that I remain eternally

                                                  "Your Alma."

     "P. S.--If this letter should not be as it should be, then excuse
     your own Alma; it is but lately that she has loved, and she cannot
     express herself as her heart bids her to do. But believe me, under
     all circumstances, I will remain your

                                                       "Alma."


As soon as the letter was sealed, Alma stepped to the window and
anxiously awaited the appearance of the old pilot. But he remained away
so long, that, fearing she might be called before he came, she went to
the back gate of the garden to look for him.

The sun had set and twilight come on, and the beech trees cast such a
shadow that she was unable to discern anything beyond them. She,
therefore, listened intently, and soon heard the sound of approaching
footsteps. The pilot arrived, and his sharp eyes, which were familiar
with darkness, soon perceived Alma behind the hedge. But in spite of her
impatient beckoning he pretended not to see her, and went on his way
with his large fish-basket perched upon his shoulders.

Alma stepped through the gate to hurry after him, when suddenly she was
seized by some unknown person, and the next moment she reposed in the
arms of her lover.

"Alma, dear Alma, you see that God is on our side; for you have come at
the very moment." He took the note from her hand and whispered, "These
lines shall be my consolation--let me hear now all that has happened."

"I cannot remain long," sighed Alma, trembling with joy and fear.

"What! Alma, my dear Alma! Dare you not console, even for a few moments,
the one who has suffered, and will suffer, so much for you? Did you
speak to the Major?"

"The letter will tell you all--but I pray you, dear Charles Augustus,
let me go--for a whole year I dare not belong to you--Read, read."

"A year!" exclaimed Charles Augustus. "Alas, Alma, what have you
promised?" He tore open the letter, and by the fading light of the red
glow which the sun had left in the horizon, Charles Augustus read his
doom. He then entreated Alma to tell him all that had been said and
arranged. She did so.

During the few moments that they had been thus engaged, a change had
taken place in his countenance. It was not merely the passion of love
that glowed on his cheek; it was desperation, madness at the thought
that he was compelled to surrender the object of his adoration to
another for an entire year. "No, no," he exclaimed hastily, "that shall
not be done; some terrible plot is concealed beneath it. Your father,
dear Alma, must know all. I will go to him and tell him all myself, at
all hazards."

"O, no; do not if you love me. You would repent it a thousand times. My
father has already declared, that I, even if the Major should renounce
his claims, shall never----But I entreat you to confide in me; believe
me I shall never become Major Kling's wife. Did you not tell me
yourself, that we must gain time?"

"At that time I did not think that so long a separation was before us;
but----" Charles Augustus endeavored to restrain his passion, "for
_your_ sake, I will leave you for a whole year; but as soon as that has
expired I shall return and demand your hand. And now, Alma, I will not
ask you to swear to be faithful to me; for if I should demand further
assurances than your lips now give me, I should be infinitely unhappy.
Your kiss is more sacred than an oath. But one thing I entreat you upon
my knees--grant him no favors. Do not allow him to kiss you, except in
the presence of your father."

"Fear nothing," said Alma, smiling through her tears. "I will be careful
of that; and now farewell, farewell."

"Farewell, my own Alma--forget me not."

Alma released herself from the arms of her lover, but he drew her to his
bosom once more; and the seconds perhaps might have extended themselves
into minutes, had not the Chief Forester's voice been heard calling
Alma. Another farewell and Charles Augustus left her, and Alma was
received into the embrace of her father as she sprang through the gate.

"You know too well," said he, in a far different tone of voice than he
had used before, "that your father is too old a hunter to be deceived
easily. Who is that running through the trees?"

"Charles Augustus, dear father. The Major himself has allowed me to
notify him of what has happened."

"Indeed," said the Chief Forester. "Do you say the _Major himself_ so
soon; but do you know, my little rosebud, that you must look out, or
your father himself will take your honor into his keeping. If I discover
that secret meetings or love-letters take place, then----but I need say
no more. I perceive we understand each other."

The following day was celebrated as Alma's birthday. It was only by the
most urgent entreaties of the Major that the Chief Forester was
persuaded not to hurt Alma's feelings by a public betrothal. At length
the old man came to the conclusion that the Major was right in this
respect. The important subject should remain a family secret until
Alma's heart and sentiments, which the old gentleman thought were easily
moulded, had forgotten their old impressions, and had received new
ones, which could not fail from being very forcible.

A few weeks afterwards, the Chief Forester and Alma made the Major a
visit. All honor was given to the beautiful girl; but often she was
obliged to hear from the Major that the time might come when she should
seek for happiness in this house, where she would find nothing wanting
which could add to her pleasures.

"But," said Alma one day, when the Major spoke of such a time, merely as
a possibility, but still with warmth, "is not that contrary to our
agreement? That time will never come. What is the use of speaking of it
at all."

"Be not so cruel, Alma, and do not deprive me of all hope," replied the
major, with a deepness of feeling which frightened the girl.

She esteemed the major too highly to think that he had caught her in a
snare, having betrayed her into consenting to a fraudulent betrothal,
which would turn out a true one; but still he displayed his sentiments
but too openly, and therefore she replied seriously, "I cannot give you
the slightest hope, even should the trial continue for ten years."

The major did not answer. He did all in his power to render her visit
pleasant. Yes, the good major, in truth, rendered himself ridiculous in
his attempts to appear younger than he really was. He dressed himself
with more than usual care, and exhibited in conversation and gestures an
unnatural liveliness. He displayed himself for the best, however, and
even Alma was obliged to confess herself that he looked extremely well,
when he was mounted on his horse, and caused the animal to make many
lofty maneuvres. But when he dismounted and endeavored to attract the
attention of Alma in any other way, her applause ceased, and if his
gallantries overstepped in the least the bounds which had been laid
down before the betrothal, Alma became backward and sad. She felt that
she was caught in a snare, from which she saw no escape.

In the mean time she heard not a word from Charles Augustus. Often, as
she walked in the park, she thought she saw the shadow of her lover, but
she was always disappointed. His name was never mentioned to her,
neither did she ever utter it herself, but the remembrance of him was
deeply engraved on her memory.

"I should advise you to be married at Christmas," said the Chief
Forester one day to his future son-in-law. "The girl begins to look
moon-struck. If she is once married her foolish whims will be all driven
away, in case there are any remaining with her, which I much doubt."

The major shook his head.

"I have given Alma one year," said he, "and this she shall have;
although it much grieves me that, instead of approaching, her love seems
to turn from me each day more and more."

"It is all your own fault, brother. The betrothed should be allowed to
follow wherever her whims may lead her. A wife, on the contrary, who has
been educated in the principles which my deceased wife implanted in my
daughter's mind, will never dare to soar too high. I, who understand
women better than you do, tell you that she will soon leave off her
foolishness and make you a good wife. But if she is left too much to
herself, she will, for the very want of occupation, spend her time in
foolish love intrigues, so that in the end she will not know where her
heart or head is."

"I cannot prevent that," replied the major; "but I will tell her that I
am much grieved."

"Grieved! A plague upon grief! Let boys be grieved; and do not forget
that it ill becomes a man of your age to play the fool with a girl
eighteen years old. Do not be so confounded anxious to do everything
which she desires, and to avoid all things that she does not desire. She
may open her mouth and speak right out if she desires anything.
Bestow--this is my principle--bestow upon your wife all liberty, love
and tenderness, as long as she knows how to appreciate those gifts; but
as soon as you discover that nothing will take, then use a different
tone. At first she will be surprised, afterwards offended, and at length
she will begin to think over the matter seriously. Even if these
thoughts should not turn out to your advantage, they will at least be of
their originator. In dealing with women you must always keep their
ungovernable whims under control. Once sure of that, you can lead her
wherever you choose. This is the way I managed my late wife Mary."




                              CHAPTER XVIII.


At Lindafors everything wore a dreary aspect. Autumn had set in, and no
news had been received from the beloved son. Mrs. Kemner had read and
re-read the little letter which Charles Augustus had written from
Hoestholm, as well quietly to herself as to her friend Margaretta, so
often that it was almost worn out, and much blurred with her tears.
Still, as usual, she endeavored to conceal her sorrow from her husband;
but it was an unsuccessful attempt. Mr. Kemner observed her anxiety, but
as he was as anxious himself, for Charles Augustus' prolonged absence
troubled him so much that he was not able to afford consolation, he
frequently sent to Margaretta himself, that his wife might find courage
and hope in the wisdom of that wonderful woman.

"You see now," said Mrs. Kemner to Margaretta, who surprised her one day
as she was dusting out Charles Augustus' room, in which were the poor
decoy birds that looked gloomy and deserted themselves, "you see now,
Margaretta, I believe that the boy has thrown himself into that
confounded Lake Welter. Alas! how much pain he causes me; but if he ever
returns you may be sure that----"

"You will forgive him from the bottom of your heart," exclaimed a voice
from the door, and the good woman found herself encircled within the
embrace of her long expected son. Margaretta hurried from the room,
that she might convey the joyful tidings to Mr. Kemner.

Charles Augustus was overwhelmed with questions from his father and
mother; and at length was obliged to relate the full particulars of his
unlucky love affair. He, however, said nothing of the hope which glowed
within his bosom, of the happiness which awaited him in the future.

Mrs. Kemner could scarcely comprehend all this; first, that her Charles
Augustus should receive a denial from any father in the world; second
that he with his sanguine temperament, had not battled more earnestly
for his love. "I hardly know you, my boy," said she.

"Why, wife," said Mr. Kemner, "you cannot expect that the boy should
have acted like a fool in the matter. Be rejoiced that he has acted so
reasonably. Charles Augustus always evinced a firm disposition; he
inherited it from his grandfather."

Charles Augustus took his father's hand and assured him that he was
determined to uphold the dignity of his grandfather's character. "From
this day forward I am a changed man; and it is my intention to become a
more industrious farmer than even my grand or great-grandfathers were."

"Let me embrace you, my son," exclaimed the delighted Ironfounder. "It
is now that I am really proud of you. Blessed be the mitten! it was
given you in a fortunate hour."

Charles Augustus kept his word so faithfully that Mr. Kemner said to his
wife, "He is too rash, mother; he has too many plans, and might ruin
himself were they not so insignificant."

Soon afterwards it was decided that Charles Augustus should take the
long talked of trip to England. This he gladly assented to--partly to
gratify the innate activity which existed within him--and partly to pass
away the time, which had become tedious since his separation from Alma.
Accordingly he made the journey; and after his return he threw aside
his insignificant plans, and projected gigantic ones, as the old
gentleman used to style them. And now for the first time since his
return from the Omberg, the father and son had frequent disputes. The
old man was no friend of new inventions, which were expensive. Charles
Augustus, however, who had extravagant notions in his head, rejected all
the old methods of his father and grandfather as useless.--The
consequence of all this was, the old man one day, when highly enraged,
proposed a division of the property; and to Charles Augustus' great
delight, he became the owner of the beautiful estate of Rosenbund, with
the liberty of doing with it as he chose.

When the old gentleman heard of the new arrangements, not only in regard
to agricultural implements; but concerning new machinery and spinning
jennies, which were to be imported from England, he shook his head
dubiously. But when he became acquainted with the fact that Charles
Augustus was to construct a new mansion in which to reside with his
Alma, Mr. Kemner elevated his eye-brows, and remarked to his wife: "that
it would have been much better had Charles Augustus remained a dreamer,
and spent his time with his decoy ducks, rather than to have hit upon
such extravagances, which would only turn out bad in the end."

Afterwards, however, when Charles Augustus' schemes had turned out
favorably, he would say, "My son, who without boasting is the most
experienced farmer in the country, does so and so, uses this and that
implement;" and held him up as an example worthy to be imitated by all
farmers.

In the mean time, however, before this had come to pass, the old man
would say, "Well, well, young people have their whims; and have to pay
dear for their experience. I will not fetter his efforts; for thank God,
he has sufficient means to try any experiment he chooses, and they will
do him good--even if he gains nothing but the knowledge that the
methods of his father and grandfather, are worth something also."

A short time after Christmas--when a remarkable heavy frost compelled
Charles Augustus to abandon for a time his works at Rosenbund--he
secretly determined to make a visit to the Omberg, to discover how
matters stood there. Therefore, under the pretence of making a business
journey to Gothenburg, he departed, with a thousand hints from Mrs.
Kemner, that he should make a better trial this time. For the good lady
had heard that there were many beautiful girls in Gothenburg.

Charles Augustus smiled. There was none whom he could love except one;
and if he could see _her_, even at a distance, he would return to his
labors with renewed hope; and thus endeavor to shorten the long year.

"Only favor me with not returning with any new-fangled notions,"
entreated his father; "for although I am fool enough through my great
paternal love, to allow you to carry on your foolish plans; still, I
shall be the first one to tell you of their uselessness."

Charles Augustus pressed his father's hand. "I am convinced, my dear
father," said he, "that you will finally confess their merits, for you
cannot but be just."

"All right, my son," answered his father, "show me their use; but the
old mansion at Rosenbund was good enough for a bachelor; you bestow your
money upon things of no use."

"That may be," said Charles Augustus, blushing, "that is, if you think I
shall always remain a bachelor----"

Mrs. Kemner gestured to her husband. "I am no woman," said she, "if
Charles Augustus does not entertain thoughts of marriage. All this
activity in a young man of his character, must have certain reasons for
displaying itself. Such miracles cannot be effected save by love, and
successful love. He is certainly engaged. But it is not right that he
should conceal it from his parents, who would willingly give their lives
for him."

"I assure you, my dear mother, that it is not so. On the contrary, the
one I love is the betrothed of another. But a secret voice tells me,
that in spite of all, she will yet be my wife."

"My dear Charles Augustus," said his father, "when you were a child I
could not understand you, and now I comprehend you less than ever. To
build a house and make preparations in the hopes of gaining the hand of
another's betrothed--that was not the fashion when I was young, and I
would advise you to get such whims out of your head. The sooner you do
so the better."




                               CHAPTER XIX.


As a child is soothed by Christmas presents, so did Neta endeavor to
amuse Alma, during the long winter evenings, by displaying to her all
the beautiful gifts which the Major had presented her. But Alma pushed
them aside and said, "They do not give me joy, dear Neta."

"How can you say so, child? Only look at this magnificent necklace. Now,
how much do you think it cost?"

"I know nothing about them; but I do know that I do not wish to wear
those pearls."

"Certainly, not before the wedding; but O, how well they will become you
then!"

Alma was silent.

Miss Neta carefully replaced the jewels in their case, and took from a
drawer an old-fashioned ivory jewel case. "Look here, Alma," said she,
"here is something which you will like to look at. It is a family
heirloom, which has descended from one generation of the Klings to the
other. Is there anything more beautiful than this exquisite chasing?"

"Then it would be better for it to remain in the family to which it
belongs," said Alma, peevishly.

"Well, that was his opinion when he gave it to you, for you are to be
one of the family."

"Dear Neta, do not trouble me any longer," entreated Alma; "lock the
trinkets up in the drawer."

"Immediately, dear child, immediately. I only wished to amuse you; but,
at least, look once at this ruby cross. The wife of the late Col. Kling
received it from the own hands of Queen Louisa Ulrica, as a bridal gift.
She was the lady in waiting of the Queen."

"What! Queen Ulrica's lady in waiting! She must have been a very old
woman."

"Never mind," replied Neta, cooly, "if she was not Queen Ulrica's lady
in waiting, she was that of some other Queen. But it was a royal gift at
any rate, and," added the old lady, as she replaced the jewels in their
case, "it is a great pity that the Major should lavish such gifts upon
one who does not know how to value them. Well, well, I did not mean
anything wrong; be a good girl and I will go out, and bake you a cake."

When Neta had departed, Alma rested her head upon her hand, and thought
over her sorrows. The Major had not spoken of her lover since the day of
the betrothal, and had not alluded to the conversation they had held on
that occasion since. And now Alma shed tears, that she had not the
courage to speak to the Major, as she constantly feared the question:

"Are you sure that he will return?"

She remembered but too well how she had compelled Charles Augustus to
promise that he would not communicate with, nor present himself to her
for one entire year. But was there no other means by which she could be
assured that he was awaiting the conclusion of the year with as much
impatience as herself?

As she sat there in the bright moonlight, she fancied she saw a form
moving behind the garden hedge. She looked more earnestly, and was
convinced she saw the image of the one whose features were ever before
her eyes. Her heart beat with redoubled rapidity. Did he not beckon to
her? O, yes! it was he, it must be him. But Alma was too much excited to
be able to give the slightest sign that she had discovered him. Suddenly
Miss Neta entered the room with a light to search for her keys. The form
near the hedge vanished, and Alma sat back in her chair to compose
herself. "He is gone--is gone," said she to herself, "but why should he
have gone so soon? Perhaps it was not himself--suppose it was his
apparition!" Alma was filled with horror at the thought that her lover
was dead, and that she had been visited by his apparition. The gesture
he had made was his last farewell.

As she thus meditated, Charles Augustus, who had accomplished his
purpose without knowing what sorrow he had caused Alma, hastened towards
the cabin of the old Pilot. He saw from a distance, through the window,
the fire burning on the hearth, and before it sat the old man fashioning
a spoon out of wood. Charles Augustus knocked at the door. "Who is it
that comes at this late hour?" said the Pilot, in a gruff voice.

"An old friend," replied Charles Augustus, and the old man sprang to his
feet, and opened the door.

"Welcome; are you tired of being out there, near the sea coast?"

"I longed to return here, but I do not wish to have it known. You will
not betray me?"

"I never betray a friend," replied the old man, and handed Charles
Augustus the only chair, which stood before the hearth; "but to speak
sincerely, if my sweetheart should have been so cruel as to become the
betrothed of another, I would not have walked three steps to see her."

"Of the affairs of others you cannot be so good a judge," said Charles
Augustus, evasively. "I only wished to see her. That is not wrong, I am
sure."

"But nothing good can come of it. The girl might wish to see you
herself, and then you would hold a secret interview."

"You are too severe, old friend; but what news have you from the Chief
Forester's house?"

"O, everything is all right there," replied the old man, although he
well knew that the people talked altogether in a different manner; but
he was fearful of raising Charles Augustus' passion, for he thought that
a secret interview between the lovers would turn out badly for their
cause.

Charles Augustus observed the hesitation of the old man, and allowed the
conversation to slacken. But now the question arose as to how the guest
could be accommodated for the night? Charles Augustus left the
arrangements to the old man, as he was not particular how they were
settled.

He remained concealed in the old man's cabin until the next evening,
when he went out and carefully approached the spot which caused his
heart to beat warmly. There were lights to be seen in several windows of
the Chief Forester's mansion. The Chief Forester and the major were
seated near the window of the old man's apartment, each smoking
vigorously. The curtains were drawn up, and Charles Augustus could see
into the interior of the room.

Alma's window was also illuminated, and Charles Augustus stole carefully
towards it in the shadow of the hedge. Suddenly Charles Augustus'
attention was turned from Alma's window by hearing the Chief Forester
speaking so loudly that he could overhear every word.

"Tell me, brother," said the old man, "what do you think of
somnambulism?"

"In truth," replied the major, "I have given the subject but little
thought. Why do you ask me?"

"Because I fear that Alma is slightly tinged with that infirmity."

Charles Augustus, who was just about departing, could not do so when he
heard Alma's name mentioned, and therefore advanced nearer the window,
that he might listen to the conversation better.

"Listen!" continued the old man. "When I returned last evening I went
into her room to kiss her good night. Everybody has his weakness, and
mine is that I cannot sleep well if I do not see the girl before I go to
bed. Very well, I opened the door quietly, for I thought she might be
asleep; but what did I see? Alma was sitting close to the window,
talking to herself; but words which, I am convinced, she would never
have thought of, much less spoken, had she been awake. I heard her speak
of her lover as dead, and she thought she was conversing with his
spirit."

"And do you really believe that she was asleep?" inquired the major,
with illy concealed mistrust.

"Certainly. She was as I have described her, and I carried her to the
bed without her speaking to me."

The major's face assumed a serious cast. "Excuse me, brother," said he,
"but I believe she was really awake, and it was no ghost she saw."

"What!" replied the Chief Forester; "do you mean to say that she really
saw something?"

"Why, could she not have seen his shadow? In the moonshine, you know,
everything looks mysterious."

"Zounds! you do not think that he is in the neighborhood, do you? But,
if she had seen him, why did she not answer?"

"Perhaps fright sealed her lips; perhaps stratagem to prevent an
explanation."

Now the Chief Forester sprang from his chair, and kicking his favorite
dog, which was reposing in the corner, swore that he would commence a
search around the house that very evening.

"What for?" said the major, soothingly. "I hope you do not intend to
doubt the honor of your own daughter?"

Charles Augustus thought it unadvisable to remain where he was any
longer. Filled with despair at the evil which his necessary _incognito_
created, he fled, with the determination to leave the country as soon as
he had an opportunity of explaining to Alma the unfortunate mistake.

The Chief Forester remained standing in the centre of the room. His face
was flushed with anger. In one hand he flourished his pipe, and with the
other brandished his cane with such violence that the furniture was in
danger.

"That was an infamous idea you just advanced," said he at length. "How
could you speak so? A lover beneath Alma's window! Impossible! My Alma
is as pure and innocent as the holiest can be; and that she should feign
to be in a faint to her loving father, whom she has good cause to love
in return! Do explain yourself, if you can."

"The matter is very plain," replied the major. "All girls have singular
ideas."

"Yes, yes; you have fine notions. I tell you that Alma has no such
ideas, and never had, neither will she ever have them. But I am
determined to be satisfied in this matter. If ghosts were walking last
evening they will probably return to-night. If you please, we will take
a little walk around the park."

The major consented, and if Charles Augustus had not been warned by
their previous conversation he would have been discovered; but now he
took the precaution of going to the old pilot's cabin by a roundabout
road. The Chief Forester and the major bent their steps towards the
garden, where they soon found traces, which the major with a certain
triumph, and the Chief Forester with increased anger, declared did not
belong to any of the family. The footsteps, however, crossed and
re-crossed so intricately that the two gentlemen, who did not think fit
to make any noise, did not deem it best to lavish their time, where so
little hope of success might be expected. To have a pretext to place
watchers in the garden, and thus prevent the possibility of another
visit, the Chief Forester took several pieces of linen from the
clothes-line, which Neta had hung there to dry, and having concealed
them, the Chief Forester shouted, "Thieves! thieves!" at the top of his
lungs. Nothing more was needed. Miss Neta, at the head of her kitchen
scullions, hurried to the spot, and having discovered that several
pieces of linen were missing and that the balance were frozen stiff,
demanded that the Chief Forester should have a watch placed in the
garden for the rest of the night.

"There you see," whispered the Chief Forester to the major, "this is
just as good as a wolf-snare. What a disturbance a love affair does
make!"

"Have you seen nothing else?" inquired the major, with a certain
timidity.

"No. What else could I see?"

"Nothing particular; but why was it that Alma extinguished the light in
her room?"

The Chief Forester was astounded at the Major's impertinence.

"Was there a light when we first came into the garden?" he inquired with
a trembling voice. "I thought she was unwell."

"She had a light in her room even at four o'clock, when I took a little
walk into the garden."

"Probably she intends to sleep," replied the Chief Forester, composedly.
"I shall look into the matter."

They entered the house, and the Chief Forester taking a light, proceeded
to Alma's room, and opening the door peered into the room. The Major
stretched his head over the old man's shoulder that he might see also.
But the Chief Forester turned to the Major, and said, pressing his hand,

"As true as I am an honest man, something is going on here. There, look
for yourself."

The Major advanced, and turned pale as he saw Alma kneeling before the
open window. Her head was placed upon the window-sill, and with one hand
she grasped the window-shutter. "Now you can see whether it is
somnambulism," whispered the Major, half in anger and half in pain.

"Alma, my child," said the Chief Forester, who did not like to
relinquish his poetical belief, "what are you doing here?"

But Alma did not reply. She had swooned.

With indescribable anguish the old man bore his child to the sofa, and
now the house was filled with as much confusion as had pervaded the
garden a short time before. Alma recovered from her fainting, but was
seized with a violent fever, which was attended by delirium. The Chief
Forester rushed to and fro, at one time quarrelling with Miss Neta, and
at the next blessing her that he had some one to find fault with, for he
could not endure this silence, this stepping upon tiptoe, and this
suppressed whispering.

                    *    *    *    *    *

The Pilot reported to the anxious Charles Augustus, who had remained
concealed in the cabin, all that had transpired in the house of the
Chief Forester. Our hero repented that he had not possessed sufficient
courage to advance to Alma's window and exchange a word with her. But
had he not promised upon his honor that he would hold no secret
interviews with her? And now that his foolishness had met with an
unexpected punishment, he would readily have broken his vows, and
written a few lines, at least, had he known how he could send them to
her. The thought, that, in spite of all his anxiety, he would be forced
to leave the Omberg, without learning what course her illness had taken
and without being able to communicate with her.

In this manner a week passed away, when one day the old Pilot returned
from his work and brought the joyful tidings, that Alma had nearly
recovered. "And now, my dear friend," said he, "it is time for you to
move. Her people have observed that I have visited the mansion more than
usual, and I must confess that I was somewhat conscience-smitten, when
the Major said to me, the other evening, 'You must have good wages,
John, that you carry home more provisions than usual. You never seemed
so fond of good living before.' And then he looked as one would when he
caught a man committing a crime, but at the same time seemed to mean,
finish the matter at once, or else I will place the Chief Forester upon
your track."

"He will not do that," said Charles Augustus.

"I think not," replied the old man, "for the Major is an honorable man;
but conscience, my friend, cannot be tampered with. I must tell you,
plainly, that if there is an investigation to be made, I shall confess
everything. I have this cabin from the Chief Forester, who, in truth, is
an honest old fellow."

"You are right," said Charles Augustus, thoughtfully. "I must leave you
this very evening."

"It pains me," replied the old man, as he kindled the fire upon the
hearth, "but right is right; and if she was not the betrothed of
another, I would willingly assist you in eloping with her, even if it
was from the church."

"But you must promise me one thing."

"Willingly, if it is not a secret message."

"No, only a little pebble, which I found on the beach; if you will place
it in the hands of my Alma, all will be right."

"Ahem!" coughed the old man. "I do not know what good that pebble will
do her; but I do not think it will harm her at any rate."

"It must not fall into other hands than hers, however. The one who gives
it to her must be alone with her and say that it came from me."

The next morning, after Charles Augustus had left the Pilot's humble
dwelling, the old man wended his way towards the Chief Forester's house.
He beckoned to a servant girl, and told her that he brought a message
from her lover.

The young girl, who frequently employed the old man in such service,
hastened to him, and received from his hand, instead of the expected
letter, a little shining pebble, with the direction that she should give
it to Miss Alma, when she should happen to find her alone.

"With pleasure," said Sophia; but unfortunately she forgot the most
important part of the message, which was, that Alma should be alone. The
girl had no idea of a love affair, and therefore laid the little stone
upon Alma's bed, in the presence of the Chief Forester, saying that it
was an exceedingly rare stone which the Pilot had found and sent to her.

At the mention of the Pilot, a blush mantled Alma's cheeks; and before
she was able to grasp the stone, her father had already seized it. He
held it close to the window, and when he discovered the three letters
"C. A. K." scratched upon it, with an effort he repressed his anger and
exclaimed: "What foolishness! It is one of those stones which the
ignorant consider as protections against sickness; but which on the
contrary are so cold and damp that they are quite dangerous."

"O, dear father, give it to me," entreated Alma.

"Excuse me. I shall not do so," replied the Chief Forester, "it is a
very dangerous stone;" and with these words the Chief Forester placed
the unfortunate pebble in his pocket.

Alma looked at her father beseechingly; and her supposition became a
certainty.

"Let me see it at least," said she, "that can do no harm."

But now she received a look which plainly said: "Beware how you trifle
with me!" And the Chief Forester left the room without speaking.

But Alma, the poor Alma, who had feared that Charles Augustus would
forget her; and then that his apparition had appeared to her, was
convinced that her fears had been groundless. She now understood the
traces of the linen thieves, and the fact that her father would not
allow her to look at the little pebble confirmed her hopes. Surely
something was inscribed on it, which might be considered a message. Alma
clasped her hands in quiet happiness. That kind Being who had allowed
this consolation to be given her, would certainly, after the hard year
of trial had passed, give Charles Augustus the means whereby he could
bend the proud spirit of her father.

And now Alma rapidly recovered: and the cause of her sudden illness, was
never afterwards mentioned.




                                CHAPTER XX.


Again had the Spring sun shone with golden rays upon the rich parks of
Omberg. The lake had long before broken its fetters, and was again free.
The Lady of the Lake had returned from her long journey, with her
castles in the air, and the inhabitants of earth, water and air felt the
regenerating influence of Spring.

It was on one of these beautiful days that the Major invited Alma to
walk with him upon the green borders of the lake; and from thence take a
row out on the water around the mountain.

Alma took her bonnet, rejoiced at anything to vary the monotony of her
life.

"Good," said the Chief Forester, "the betrothed ones should always enjoy
the bounties that God gives us, together."

"But I hope they will not ride out alone, together;" observed Miss Neta,
who had already the breach of decorum before her eyes.

"Why not?" said the Chief Forester. "They will soon celebrate their
marriage."

"Has the betrothal been publicly announced?" inquired Miss Neta,
triumphantly. "Who knows that they are to be married?"

"That shall soon be discovered. The wedding will be all the more
piquant. But now go, my children," and with a gleeful smile the Chief
Forester looked after the Major and Alma, convinced that his friend on
this walk--which was the first one he ever proposed to his future
bride--would undoubtedly pray that the wedding-day should be fixed.

Alma breathed with more calmness, as each day shortened the year of
trial. She had already received the certainty from the old pilot, of the
question which her heart had often asked. And she did not doubt but that
Charles Augustus would return upon the very day that her liberty was
pronounced by the Major, and demand her hand.

The present day was the first of the last month of the year. Alma had
paid but slight attention to the hints of her father; and had given
herself up entirely to bright anticipations. In the mean time she said
nothing to the Major concerning her hopes. He had become more and more
suspicious after the affair in the garden. She intended to wait until he
should open the conversation upon that subject, himself.

During the walk through the park, they were accompanied by Goldfoot, who
sauntered by their side, detained by a ribbon with which Alma led him.
But when they arrived at the margin of the lake, the Major, who had been
extremely pleased at the gambols of the little favorite, said:

"You must now separate from your pretty companion; we will tie him to
this tree."

"O, no; let him go along with us," replied Alma, who felt as though
Goldfoot would protect her from the advances of the Major. "He will
enjoy it much, for he never was on the lake before."

"He will be in the way."

"Not in mine," replied Alma, stooping down to the little creature, who
placed his head confidingly under her arm. "You want to go with us,
don't you Goldfoot? I see you do."

"As you please, Alma," said the Major, visibly chagrined. Alma,
however, observed the emotion of the Major, and joyfully drew Goldfoot
into the boat after her. But Goldfoot seemed to be adverse to this; and
decidedly manifested that he did not wish for a pleasure excursion upon
the water.

"O, lift him in," entreated Alma; but the latter declared that such a
move was against his principles. "Just now," said he, "I gave up to your
wishes, and allowed Goldfoot to go with us, but now----"

"It is my turn," interrupted Alma. "And I must give up to Goldfoot; I
only do it to show how well I can profit by a good example."

Goldfoot was fastened to a tree; and his young mistress entered the
boat, not without a slight palpitation of her heart. "Alas! alas!"
thought she, "how glad I will be when we have returned to the shore."

Alma imagined that the Major would immediately commence upon the
awkwardness of their position, and the difficulty of breaking the
subject to the Chief Forester; but he was silent, seeming to be lost in
the contemplation of the beautiful scenery with which they were
surrounded.

In the mean time the boat glided over the surface of the water, until it
had arrived in the neighborhood of the wonderful cave. And the Major was
delighted with the proposal from Alma, that the boat should be run into
the mouth of one of the caverns.

It gladdened his heart that Alma, who at first was timid and backward,
now gave herself up to the pleasure of his company, although they were
alone. But alas! how much was the honest Major mistaken! Never before
had Alma been less alone with him than at this moment. She forgot that
the Major was with her. Her every thought and feeling were placed upon
the object she adored, her lover. His image was brought before her by
every object she beheld. She walked with him upon the banks of the
lake; she sat with him upon the mossy seat in the bower on the mountain;
she was now with him in the grotto; for had not _he_ described it to her
for the first time? In short, the illusion was so great that she even
expected to see the dead falcon in the cleft of the rock, as Charles
Augustus had seen it. She enjoyed the scene to its fullest extent;
closing her eyes that she might better hear the dashing of the water
upon the rocks. She dropped her head upon her bosom. She did not bestow
a thought upon the Major; but soon she was reminded of him.

"What are you thinking of, dear Alma," said the Major.

"_Dear_ Alma!" O, how that word offended her ear! The Major had not used
it so expressively before; and Alma thought he did so now, as a prelude
to what she might think an accidental allusion to their wedding-day.

"I must begin," said she to herself, and when she lifted her eyes and
saw the Major looking at her with an expression of uneasiness, she
regained her courage. It appeared to her as though the spirit of Charles
Augustus was near her in the grotto, and she was glad that the painful
declaration would be made upon this spot, for a secret voice told her
that the Major would not now have such control over her opinions.

"I think of the time," said she, "which is fast approaching."

"What do you mean?" inquired the Major, with palpitating heart, at the
thought that she referred to their wedding-day.

"My meaning is plain; there is but one month remaining of the year of
trial which has been set down for me."

"Therefore," replied the Major, with a faltering tone, "you still
consider it a year of trial, and not a year of betrothal?"

"I never considered it otherwise even for a moment, and always held fast
to the promise you made me, when you said--'if, after the lapse of a
year, you still--'"

The Major gestured with his hand. "Enough, enough. Alma you need not
repeat those words. I remember them but too well, and will not take them
back now, although _you_ have not been faithful exactly to your word."

"How have I broken it?"

"You have seen him since that time. He has influenced you. That was
against our agreement."

"That meeting, if it can be called one, was an involuntary one," she
replied, in a low voice.

"Never mind; it has wrought a work which would never have been done had
it not occurred; at least, that is my opinion."

"O, yes, yes."

"It pains me much that the uninterrupted tenderness which I have
bestowed upon you for a whole year, and my exertions to gain even a
small place within your heart, have been fruitless. And I will not deny
that, without being selfish or dishonorable, I have zealously prayed
that your sentiments would turn from the stranger youth."

The Major spoke so seriously that Alma was overcome with a painful
uneasiness; but at his last words, all the pity she felt for him changed
into anger, and with a blush she answered: "I do not understand the
difference which exists in love, but one thing I know certainly, and
that is, I love but _one_ only; and I have to blame myself that I was so
weak as to reject the one I loved so well for a whole year, that I might
evade the anger of my father."

At this decided language, the Major turned deathly pale. But he retained
his presence of mind, and answered by a mute gesture which was
expressive enough to tell Alma that she had deeply offended him.

Now, she turned pale also. What had she done? Where had her rashness led
her? Was it not enough to have her father against her, that she must now
offend the Major, from whom she hoped to obtain the surest protection?
What would become of her?

They were both silent for a moment. Nothing was heard but the dashing of
the waves, and the monotonous patter of the water as it dropped from the
ceiling of the cave.

Alma's soft heart would not allow her to bear the certainty that she had
offended the man who had treated her with so much generosity. "Pardon
me," said she, "I was ungrateful, reckless; do not be angry with me,"
and these entreating words were too much for the soft nature of the
Major.

"You were unjust," said he, mildly but earnestly. "Do not think that I
hold my happiness for a moment above yours. But I am a man; and it
wounded me to the heart when I saw my pain treated with indifference,
and my endeavors to reach the goal of future happiness treated with
contempt. But now enough of me. Our fate is still united. Fear nothing.
This play, which I fondly hoped would prove a reality, must come to an
end."

Alma bowed her head. Her eyes spoke more than her lips. The Major seized
the oars, and soon the grotto was left far behind them. Goldfoot was
waiting for their return at the tree, pawing the ground, and impatiently
pulling at his ribbon. Alma hastened up to him and caressed him, while
the Major was untying the knot. When Alma accidentally touched the
collar around the fawn's neck, she felt something like a folded paper,
and tremblingly discovered that it was a letter.

Her cheeks turned red and pale by turns. She saw that the Major was so
much engaged with the knot that he did not observe her. She played with
the little animal, and, throwing her shawl over his head, succeeded in
taking the dangerous paper from its hiding place, and concealed it in
her glove.




                               CHAPTER XXI.


A few days before the incidents described in the foregoing chapter had
occurred, Mrs. Kemner said to her husband, "Aye, aye, you always had
such singular ideas."

"What do you say? I tell you I have always followed in the path of my
father and grandfather."

"That's it; just because you have always travelled upon old paths, you
have not kept pace with the times."

"Ah! does the wind blow that way; but that is something you do not
understand. I do not despise keeping up with the times, when it is
reasonable. But it is altogether unreasonable to consent to all the wild
notions that originate in the head of my son. I cannot approve of them.
I will say nothing about the manufactories; for, as extravagant as they
appear, they may amount to something; but the bird's cage he has built
up there--is that a house for a reasonable man? Why, he will make
himself a laughing stock."

"But do you know, husband, that you are making yourself ridiculous by
condemning something which you have not even seen yet?"

"I have seen the same thing, the plan of it, and should I see the house
itself, it would drive me mad."

"But," replied Mrs. Kemner, "is it right that you should be so
obstinate? Can you retain Charles Augustus' love and esteem, if you
laugh at all his plans as though they were fit for nothing? Although he
is so much engaged, he rides over here twice a week, and asks you to go
and see his operations. But you scarcely listen to him, and answer
neither yes nor no."

"He ought not to have gone away from us," answered the old gentleman,
with softened accent. "I was much happier when he was here at home with
us, although he did nothing but roam all day in the forest. Then, I saw
him at least three times a day; but now, only twice a week, and then
only for a short time."

"Well, husband," said Mrs. Kemner, feelingly, "if you would like to see
him oftener, ride over and visit him yourself."

"And if I should dare to interfere, or give him some advice, you will
see how welcome I am."

"Try it once. Charles Augustus will certainly listen to you with respect
and attention. Suppose we go and surprise him. O, I will order the
carriage; and even though you will not confess it, still, I think, you
would much like to see him."

"That is just what makes me angry. He should have remained at Lindafors,
and there have carried on as he pleased."

"Yes, yes; is it his fault that he left us? Who was it that proposed a
division, and--"

"O don't bother me, that cannot be altered. But as the day is pleasant,
and weakness will have its vent at any rate, let us ride over to
Rosenbund, and give the boy a joyful surprise."

For this resolution Mr. Kemner was rewarded by a tender embrace and a
flood of warmest endearments.

"God bless you, my dear wife," said the old man, much moved. "I am
convinced that no woman has been a happier wife than you are."

Although Mrs. Kemner had some slight doubts on this question, she did
not betray her opinion to her husband; but left him in the happy opinion
that he had never denied her anything she ever wished for.

About two miles from Lindafors was situated the beautiful estate of
Rosenbund, bounded on one side by a heavy forest of oak, and on the
other by a beautiful lake, dotted with little green islands, which
Charles Augustus had decorated with little pleasure-houses and bowers.

In gay humor the old gentleman had seated himself in the carriage to
take a trip to Charles Augustus' little paradise, as he used to call it;
but hardly had the road taken a turn and given him a view of the estate,
till he somewhat changed his sentiments.

"What the devil, Agneta," said he, pointing towards one of the little
islands, "is that chest of drawers with a staircase in it good for? I
hope he has not added to his eccentricities the folly of taking
observations of the stars."

"Not at all," replied his wife, who had been much interested in all the
new arrangements of her son. "That is a new kind of a pleasure-house.
Only think, one has a fine view of Lindafors from its top."

"Zounds! is it that?" exclaimed the old man, much moved at the thought
that Charles Augustus had raised the observatory merely that he might
have a spot from which he could see the loved home of his childhood. "If
that is the case, I have nothing to say against it."

But when the worthy couple had driven a little further, they saw another
island, on which was constructed a little temple composed of stone and
moss. Mr. Kemner viewed this structure in silence. He could see no
entrance to it, and wondered what was its use.

"Confound me," said Mr. Kemner, "at least, he cannot see a single tree
of Lindafors from that building. Now, mother, how much do you think all
that stone cost? Is it not enough that he should erect manufactories,
without building such card-boxes also? I tell you it gives me much
sorrow to see him so extravagant."

"You have had your hobbies also. What do you think of your water-works,
and all your gods and goddesses, which are yet standing, like phantoms,
in our garden?"

"That was refined--but this stuff here!"

Here they arrived at a spot from whence they obtained a full view of
Rosenbund, with all its natural and artificial adornments.

Charles Augustus' new house, which was situated in the centre of the
park, formed an octagon. It was surmounted by a small cupola, with glass
windows. Beneath the cupola was a circular hall, which was pierced with
doors leading into little rooms, to which Charles Augustus had given
divers names, referring partly to the beautiful views which could be
seen around Rosenbund, and partly to the day when the little angel
should be admitted to rule the pretty mansion with the sceptre of love.

"There is the birdcage!" exclaimed the old man, as they drove up to the
gate of the mansion we have described. "It is not so bad a thing after
all; but it is strange that he does not come out to meet us."

"Do not blame him for that; he is probably much engaged, and does not
dream of the surprise that is awaiting him."

One of the laboring men offered to go and inform his master of their
arrival; but Mr. Kemner decided that it would be better to announce
themselves.

"Go first, wife, you know the way," said he.

"There is only one room furnished, and I can find him there." With these
words, Mrs. Kemner hastily ascended the staircase. Much confusion was to
be heard coming from the room mentioned by Mistress Agneta; and when Mr.
and Mrs. Kemner entered, they found Charles Augustus busily engaged in
opening and shutting drawers, and packing a half-filled valise.

But as soon as the door opened Charles Augustus cast aside a new black
coat, which he was just placing in the valise, and extending both his
hands, gave his parents a hearty welcome, dancing around them, and
crying, "Hurrah! here you are at last."

"I have thought of this long ago," said the old man, mournfully.

"What do you mean, husband?" said his wife, wishing in her heart to join
with her son in his frolics.

"I say I knew so long ago," answered the old man, with an expressive
look.

But now Mrs. Kemner laughed, long and loud. "Be quiet, Charles
Augustus," said she; "I see that your father considers you mad."

"O, dearest father!" exclaimed Charles Augustus, "perhaps I am--but it
is only with joy. Listen: I have contended for the last few days with a
longing for a journey, the time for which has not yet come. I cannot
restrain myself, however, any longer, and had determined to go to
Lindafors this afternoon, and proceed on my journey to-morrow morning. I
was in doubt whether to go or not, and so was packing my valise, in a
state of uncertainty, when I suddenly saw you. My father, who has never
before visited me, comes this very day above all others. Is not that a
good omen? Is it not the right day for my journey? Does it not seem
that you have come here for the purpose of saying, 'Go, God be with you;
take our blessing and be happy?'"

"Ahem! ahem!" coughed the old gentleman, half-timidly and half-vexed. "I
have made a very awkward mistake, but you must pardon an old man, who
does not understand this new-fashioned way of expressing joy. But if
your intentions are, what I think they are, honest, go, and God be with
you. I have come here that my blessing may not be wanting in your
house."

"Never has a more grateful son received such tender parents in his house
before," said Charles Augustus, much moved. "In the old house," he
continued, as the recollection of past times brought a blush to his
face, "I was often obstinate; but here in this new home, which my father
has given me, when reason and holier sentiments have caused me to look
into my former imperfections, which I am slowly discarding, there can be
no greater joy to me than to take the advice of my father in all
things."

Mrs. Kemner's cheeks were bedewed with tears of joy; but the old man
forced back the dew which moistened his own, and said,

"I now understand you perfectly, my dear son. God bless you for those
words. This is the happiest moment of my life. If you should remain long
absent, I shall be happy to come here and superintend your affairs. But
now we will take a look at your summer house, for it is a summer house,"
said he, smiling.

"And I shall not call it anything else," said Charles Augustus, as he
conducted his happy parents through the house. "When everything is
arranged here, I intend to make Lindafors my winter residence under all
circumstances."

It needed nothing more to complete the happiness of the parents, for
Charles Augustus had laid particular stress upon the three words, "under
all circumstances."

The next morning after this family reunion, which had so greatly
softened Mr. Kemner, that he found fault with nothing, although he could
not refrain from making a few playful remarks, Charles Augustus departed
on his journey, and arrived at Hoestholm the same day that the Major and
Alma made their excursion upon the lake. He had sauntered through the
park, and accidentally saw them as they walked to the lake. Unobserved
he followed, and discovering that Goldfoot had been left behind, he took
advantage of the occasion and sent his Alma a message, by placing a note
under the collar of the fawn. He concealed himself in the thicket and
awaited their return. His cheeks burned and heart throbbed when he saw
Alma manage to gain possession of the letter.

With a long drawn breath, he left the spot, the fear of being discovered
causing him to renounce the happiness of contemplating the object of his
affections for a longer time.




                              CHAPTER XXII.


The Chief Forester met the Major and Alma some distance from the
garden-gate; but his eyes could not find an expression of joy and
contentment upon the Major's countenance, and for this deficiency Alma
had to account.

"You seem to have been a very gay companion," said he, throwing a
piercing glance at the girl "I do not wonder that the Major does not
demand that the wedding-day should be fixed. But I tell you the longer
you delay the worse the affair will become. If you are satisfied, Major,
the banns shall be proclaimed next Friday, and the wedding shall take
place on Alma's twentieth birthday."

At this decided declaration, the tone of which proved that hesitancy on
the part of the Major would be considered an unpardonable offence, Alma
trembled violently. Where now was her courage? Where the joyful
anticipation with which she had regarded the close of this month? She
only wished that the single month could be extended to three.

"I am grateful for these words," replied the Major. "They evince that
your opinion has not changed; but I----"

"What is the matter now?" exclaimed the Chief Forester, forgetting, in
his anger, all propriety. "What do you mean by saying that my opinion is
not changed? I hope that a new head has not grown upon your shoulders.
I shall say nothing more; perhaps you have spoken unguardedly."

"I am sorry," replied the Major, evasively, "that you have received us
in such ill-humor. I merely wished to say that Alma might complain if I
did not keep my promise. You remember that she was to have a whole year,
counting from her last birthday----"

"Before she should be made a bride. Yes, I remember it very well; and
this agreement will be carried into effect, if she is not _married_
before that day."

"Not altogether. I have to fulfill my promise."

The Major perceived that the utmost caution was needed here, and he
fervently wished that he had never entertained the false hope that one
year would eradicate the impression that the stranger had made upon
Alma's heart. Yes, he wished, from the bottom of his heart, that he had
at that moment the courage to renounce all claims to Alma's hand, as, at
all events, he had nothing to hope from her heart.

Alma feared to breathe. With the little note firmly held in her hand,
she awaited the result, discreetly determining not to engage in the
controversy until it was absolutely necessary. The Chief Forester
meditated for a few moments, and then said, knitting his brows so that
Alma turned her head, "As you please, Major. One month from to-day we
will converse upon the subject again; but then I shall expect you in the
morning. It will be Friday, and therefore suitable for the business,
which I intended to commence to-morrow. I hope you have no objection to
that?"

"I will be with you early in the morning," replied the Major, who
thought that a gradual preparation would be better than a sudden
announcement.

"As you will; and now nothing more about it until the day arrives."

Thus saying, the Chief Forester adjusted his cap and vanished among the
trees.

"Trust to me, my child," said the Major, assuming a tone of paternal
tenderness. "I will give you this consolation, that, if it costs me my
heart-strings, I will set you at liberty."

They entered the house, and Alma hastened to her room to read the little
note which was burning beneath her fingers. She tore open the paper and
read.

     "The anxiety of my heart has forced me to come here a month too
     early; but fear nothing; I will remain at Hjo, and visit this place
     only occasionally, that I may be for a few hours near you. O, my
     loved Alma! I count the hours and days with the utmost impatience.
     Whatever your father may do or say, at all events, you may now be
     free from the restraint which has divided us for an entire year. I
     dare not say more; but one favor you must grant me. Come to the
     ruins of Alvastra, either this or to-morrow evening. I will await
     you there. If you refuse me I do not know what may happen to me. I
     cannot live without seeing you.

                                         "Your
                                             "Charles Augustus."


Alma's cheeks glowed warmly. She shrunk back from the bold proposition
of a secret meeting, supposing her father should discover them; but, on
the other hand, if she denied his request, what rashness Charles
Augustus might be driven to. Perhaps he would come immediately to the
house, and cause a declaration from her father, which, if once made, he
would never retract. To seek the Pilot and ask him to carry a letter to
Charles Augustus, her modesty would not permit. The Pilot considered her
the affianced of the Major. What would he think of her? Perhaps he would
refuse her request entirely. Here Alma's thoughts became a chaos; but
at length she determined to meet Charles Augustus for a few moments,
only to persuade him to leave the Omberg as soon as possible.

The Chief Forester returned shortly after, in better humor than when he
departed; and Miss Neta, who was fond of playing cards, proposed a game
to the two gentlemen. They both accepted the proposal with pleasure, for
they needed something to soothe their ill-humor.

Alma sat for a short time by the window with her knitting work, but when
she found that no one spoke to her, she thought she would not be much
missed that evening. Accordingly, without speaking, she went to her
room, and held a brief consultation with herself. At length love
conquered, and Alma thought reason also; for, if she did not go to him,
Charles Augustus might be tempted to visit her window, as he had done on
a former occasion.

She threw a shawl over her shoulders and catching up her bonnet, in a
moment she left the house behind her. She sped down the hill with more
rapidity than even Goldfoot could have done.

In the mysterious shadows of the arches of the monastery ruins Alma and
Charles Augustus again met; but where were all the important
counsellings they were mutually to give each other? The words had died
before passing their lips.

Suddenly they heard a loud clapping of hands together. Charles Augustus
arose hastily, and Alma shrunk back.

A bushy head was thrust through one of the decayed windows, and the
Pilot said in a gruff voice,

"Squalls ahead, Captain!"

"Honest old man, have you come hither of your own accord to keep watch
for us? Thanks, a thousand thanks for your kindness," answered Charles
Augustus, and clasping Alma to his bosom, he whispered, "I will leave
you, my dear one, so rapidly that none will observe me. Some one is
approaching, or else the old man would not have warned us."

"Quick, quick!" said Alma, frightened; "and I beseech you do not return
before the close of a month. Until that time nothing will be done which
requires your presence."

"All clear now, captain; but make haste, or we will be boarded," said
the Pilot.

"Courage, my dear one, courage!" said Charles Augustus; "after the storm
the calm sets in."

Quick as thought Charles Augustus' slender form disappeared behind the
ruins. In a few moments afterwards the Pilot again thrust in his head,
and beckoned to Alma, who approached him immediately.

"The old man," said he, "has done his duty as a pilot, and will go on
his way. Your father is already to be seen coming through the trees; he
will soon be here. But my dear Miss Alma, think of the Major, and do not
come here again. There is not always a good friend close at hand."

Before Alma could answer the Pilot walked away as unconcernedly as
though nothing had happened.

Alma's anxiety increased every moment. Her father's eyes were remarkably
sharp; and that he even followed her, betokened suspicion. What if he
had really seen Charles Augustus! She sat down under a tree near a
broken arch, and pretended that she did not hear the footsteps of her
father, as he gradually approached her; but suddenly he quickened his
steps, and nearing her, said,

"What are you doing here, girl, at this hour?" at the same time casting
a penetrating look round about him.

"I was sitting here giving way to my own thoughts," replied Alma.

"Confound such thoughts! I also had such thoughts when I accidentally
stepped into the porch, and saw you hurrying to your dear ruins. But
beware! such thoughts may become dear to you; for the future, you shall
make these walks only in the company of your father, or with your future
husband."

"You did not forbid my doing so before," stammered Alma.

"Then, I forbid it now; and you know that I require obedience. Go home,
now, immediately."

Rejoiced that she had escaped so easily, Alma hastened on in advance,
followed by her father, who closely compressed his lips, knitted his
brows, and whipped the air with his pipe-stem, muttering between his
teeth, "Confound that boy! it was he, and no one else, whom I saw
loitering around the park this noon. But wait, wait! all your cunning
plans will avail you nothing."

After that evening Alma was so strictly watched that she feared to leave
the house, lest she might meet Charles Augustus, and be discovered with
him. But he had long before taken his quarters in Hjo, and every evening
visited the shores of the lake, partly to gaze at the Omberg, which
contained the being in whom his future happiness was centred, and partly
to contemplate the foot-prints which St. Brigetta had left, as the sun
sunk beneath the horizon. Sometimes his fancy would cause him to believe
that he saw the Cossacks, as they spurred their horses over the surface
of the water; and thus occupied he spent his time until the decisive day
approached.




                              CHAPTER XXIII.


A cloudy sky, announcing rain and storm, ushered in Alma's twentieth
birthday.

No guest had been invited this time. No noise was to be heard in the
kitchen, not even Miss Neta's shrill voice. Every thing was silent, as
though the day was not a significant one.

Alma was dismayed. She wept, and prayed fervently. "O, that the evening
had come," she often sighed.

"Good morning, my poor child," said Neta, at the door, as she entered
with a small wreath of flowers in her hand and advanced to the bedside.
"There," said she, depositing her gift upon the quilt, "take this
wreath, as you do not wish a better one. You should have worn a wreath
and a crown to-day, then it would have sounded altogether different in
the house."

"Have you seen my father, this morning?"

"Yes, of course. He rung the bell so violently that I thought the rope
would break. I sent Lizzie in, but she came back and said that the Chief
Forester wished to speak with me only."

"And how did he look when you entered the room?"

"Just like the weather to-day, as cloudy and gloomy as you ever saw
him."

"I should like to know," said Alma, in a trembling voice, "why he awoke
in such rage. I should think that nothing had happened so early to make
him angry."

"So I thought; but I found out that he had been aroused. Guess, once,
how?"

"Ah! I cannot guess. Perhaps the servants neglected something last
night."

"O, it is something still worse. When I entered he sat up in his
bed--and--should I live to say it--just think, he himself had forgotten
to wind his watch! He has not neglected for forty years to wind every
clock in the house, and now he forgot to wind his own watch! He cursed
himself! No, he could not have been so careless; but the watch had run
down at any rate; and at length, from this remarkable fact, he concluded
that this would prove the most remarkable day he had witnessed for forty
years."

Alma drew the quilt up to her chin. "Dear Neta," said she, "would you
think it a great sin if I--should feign--to be ill to-day?"

"What do you mean, Alma?" inquired Neta, with a piercing glance.

"Alas! I am so afraid, I cannot bear my father's anger to-day. Should I
not arise, if I should say----"

"Be silent, and do not let me hear again that you are such a little
coward! No, my little girl, as you bake so you must brew. With my
consent, no such trick shall be performed."

"You are severe to-day, Neta." With these words, Alma hastily sprang
from the bed and commenced dressing. "If I could only see the Major
before breakfast," she continued.

"You can neither speak with the Major nor any one else until you are
called for, and this will not be at breakfast, for your father wishes to
be alone. Then he will wait upon the Major and afterwards call for you.
I think that will be soon enough."

"And in the mean time," said Alma, "I shall become sick with anxiety. I
am forbidden to speak with any one, to take counsel with any one. Alas!
that my poor mother is not here. She would not have thrust back her Alma
with harshness."

"Am I not doing even more than I should with a clear conscience," said
Neta, somewhat softened by Alma's words, "when I concealed all I knew
about your matters?"

"I do not understand you," said Alma, in a low tone.

"Indeed, you do not understand that the old ruins have ears as well as
yourself! Now, don't faint; if I can remain silent for a whole month I
can do so to-day."

"Neta, Neta!" Alma trembled so violently that she was unable to utter
another word.

"Well, compose yourself, it was no one but Sophia, who had a meeting
with her lover by the side of the opposite wall. But I gave her a pair
of old shoes if she would close her lips."

Now Alma's cheeks burned with shame. "I assure you, Neta," said she, as
a feeling of pride gave her almost superhuman power. "I assure you,
Neta, that I shall tell my father every particular to-day. All shall
see, you as well as he, that shall become acquainted with the facts,
that none can reproach me for this meeting."

"The Lord preserve me!" said Miss Neta, clasping her hands in surprise;
"how bold you have become all at once, my child! I hope you will be so
when you stand face to face with your father."

                    *    *    *    *    *

The Chief Forester was seated at the breakfast table. He had placed the
napkin upon his lap three times, and three times he had removed it.
Miss Neta, who waited upon him, took the cover from the dish which
contained the cutlet, and three times had replaced it, for she saw that
the proper time had not yet arrived.

"Give me the plate, if you please," said the Chief Forester, at length,
in such a polite manner that Miss Neta, who was not accustomed to this
treatment, feared for his health.

"Do you wish some salad with your cutlets?"

"No, I thank you."

"Or red beets?"

"No, I thank you."

"Some pickles?"

"Go to the----." Here, however, he stopped, and without tasting a single
dish, removed the napkin from his lap, and said: "Remove the table."

Without waiting for a new command, Miss Neta hastily cleared the table,
glad to escape so easily.

She had hardly placed her dishes in the cupboard, however, before the
bell summoned her again.

"Has the Major been to breakfast?"

"He is now eating it."

"Good; you may go."

"I am anxious to learn," thought our spinster, who possessed the
combined patience of a lamb and an angel this day, "whether I shall get
a bite before the gravy is cold?" But she had hardly had time to
convince herself that the cutlets had been cooled remarkably well, when
she was again disturbed in her pleasant occupation, by the impatient
bell.

She now made a brief prayer, (which we will suppress on account of our
tenderness for Miss Neta's reputation as a good Christian) and hurried
in.

"Is the Major ready?"

"I heard him walking in his room just now."

"Bring me a bottle of wine, and then tell the Major to honor me by
taking a glass of wine with me."

Miss Neta was about going.

"Wait a moment. Have you seen Alma this morning?"

"Of course."

"Well?"

Miss Neta did not know what answer would be suitable for the Major, at
the present moment, and merely said: "What is your pleasure?"

"Never mind; do as I bade you."

Left alone with his thoughts, the Chief Forester paced the room with
rapid strides. One could see that strong emotions of varied character
were contending within his soul for the mastery. Sometimes he battled
with his pipe in the air, as though he wished to drive away something;
probably there were milder feelings which he feared would gain advantage
over him.

A few moments afterwards, Miss Neta appeared with the wine. She was
followed by the Major, who was as composed as usual; but his countenance
was deadly pale.

"Leave us," said the Chief Forester to Neta.

The gentlemen sat down to the table. With systematic precision the Chief
Forester slowly drew the cork from the bottle, and after carefully
wiping off the pieces of wax from the mouth, filled the glasses and
replaced the bottle upon the table.

"Well, dear brother, we have a festal day, which probably is not
altogether indifferent to you."

"Certainly not--it is Alma's birthday."

"Of course; and the anniversary of your betrothal with the----. Let us
drink to the health of your bride."

"Alma's good health!" stammered the Major.

"Why mention her name without the title?--Heigho Major! I drink to the
health of your _bride_; and you refuse to do the same."

"Listen to me, brother!"

"I will listen," said the Chief Forester, placing his hand upon the
table. "I am all attention; but reflect well upon what you are about to
say."

"I have reflected. It cannot--it must not be. I have pledged my
honor--my word. Alma is free from this day."

"Ah! Your very obedient servant. This is interesting indeed!" replied
the Chief Forester with a sneer; his face turning almost purple with
passion. "Do you believe that the Chief Forester Bruse, is a man who
will allow another to jest with him? O, no; he has not come to that yet.
One does not crave a daughter's hand from her father; and then push it
away. No sir; I say that is not the way, without finding out that he is
disappointed in the man whom he has so greatly offended."

"Brother, brother," said the Major in a tone which somewhat allayed the
passion which raged in the Chief Forester's breast. "This is going too
far. Do not make my sacrifice more than it is already. Be calm, for the
sake of our long friendship."

"On that account I will be calm."

"The matter could not be avoided. Still I bear the only blame. I cannot
forgive myself that I did not tell you all at the time; but my
weakness--my weakness. I persuaded myself that Alma would soon forget an
impression which I considered only a slight one. I entreated a private
interview with her, and persuaded her to consider herself as my
betrothed for one year only; and I pledged her my word of honor, that
after the lapse of that time, should she still be of the same
inclination, to give her her liberty. At that time I thought I was
acting wisely, because," he added slowly, "because I was a fool. For
none but a fool could believe that the affection of an old man could
heal the wound that love, beauty and youth had once inflicted."

"You have merely played upon me," said the Chief Forester, bitterly.
"And my daughter, whom I thought as pure as snow, has deceived her
doting father for a year--a whole year." The tears started to his eyes;
and his brow was bent with an expression of intense pain.

"For God's sake, brother," entreated the Major, "do not let your anger
fall upon her; it was I--I that induced her to act so. I have seen her
dislike to deceive you. And let me confess to you, brother; but pardon
me if my frankness adds to your pain. It was fear--fear alone, and of
you, which compelled Alma to purchase at any price, safety from the
anger of her father."

"Weakness! it was miserable, contemptible weakness!" exclaimed the Chief
Forester. But his voice was no longer filled with rage; it was hollow,
like a reed which has been broken.

"I persuaded her, brother. Mine is the blame."

"It is so, indeed," replied the Chief Forester, slowly regaining his
usual composure; "but now you are in duty bound to heal the wound you
have given."

"That is my fervent desire."

"Then act as a man. We will change the play into reality. She _must_
become your wife."

"Leave off this deception; it is an impossibility. Her heart is
irrecoverably given to another; you cannot--you dare not desire her to
be miserable for life."

"I know better what is good for her, as you well know. Leave me now,
Major. I wish to arrange my thoughts. I will visit the girl, and see
whether she can look me in the face."

"Brother, brother."

"Brother, brother; the devil is your brother, if you raise such silly
stories. But if I do not become honorably your father-in-law, our
friendship, as well as my esteem for you is gone. Go now, go, that I may
compose myself."

The Chief Forester drank a couple of glasses of wine, rubbed his
forehead, and threw himself upon the sofa; but arose again to await the
coming of his daughter.




                              CHAPTER XXIV.


The door opened slowly, and Alma stepped over the threshold and entered
the room.

Her cheeks were pale and transparent as lilies. Her eyes were downcast,
and expressed fear, but at the same time entreaty.

"Come here, my child," said the Chief Forester, in a sorrowful tone.

Alma uplifted her eyes; they were filled with tears, which fell upon her
father's hand, as she fervently pressed her lips upon it.

"I wish to speak to you, daughter; but I pray you do not answer like a
whipped child every time, but speak openly, as a daughter should to her
only and best friend."

"You are too kind to me," said Alma, surprised at her father's mildness.
"I have not deserved it."

"I think so," replied the Chief Forester; "but you can amend it all. To
the repentant daughter the father will always be forgiving; but to the
disobedient--but you do not mean to belong to the latter class--let me
believe so, my Alma."

"Ah! father, I----"

"Did I not tell you a little time ago not to indulge in Ahs or O's?
Come, speak plainly."

"That is my desire."

"Very well, then, let us commence. When you entered into the
arrangement with the Major, and allowed your father to consider you his
betrothed--as I still do--did you think yourself anything else?"

"I thought I was forced to play the part of his betrothed for one year;
but I soon discovered that he hoped that this force would be changed
into desire. But it was not----"

"You now answer more than I ask you. Did you not think that you had
duties to perform towards the Major, as due to the man with whom you had
formed such an important connection?"

"Yes; I also gave my promise to the Major."

"And you have broken it."

The Chief Forester went to his bureau, and taking out a little pebble,
held it before Alma's eyes. He had, undoubtedly promised himself much
from this strategem, supposing that Alma would, full of anguish and
repentance, pray for pardon; but this did not occur. Alma took the
pebble in her hand, and gazing tearfully at the three loved letters,
said quietly, but with much feeling, "This was sent to me without my
knowledge. I will confess, however, that I saw Charles Augustus two or
three times from my window; but he has never approached me, he has never
spoken to me."

"But you," replied the Chief Forester, in a cold and sneering tone, "you
have talked all the more with him. Do you remember that night when I
came to you, and found you in a feigned faint? I can hardly believe it!"

"Yes; but the horrible anguish and fright caused me to be so."

"It is becoming richer and richer," said the Chief Forester, biting his
lips, and with great difficulty suppressing his rage. "Well, have you
seen your Adonis since that time?"

"Yes; but only once," replied Alma, who had made up her mind to tell
all.

The Chief Forester made a wry face.

"Yes," said he, "you have kept your promise right well; you have even
overstepped the bounds of modesty."

"Never! I could not do otherwise than I did without fearing something
worse."

Alma now related everything; how she found the note under Goldfoot's
collar, and how she determined to meet Charles Augustus in the ruins.

"At which meeting I probably disturbed you."

"Yes, and before we had spoken one word to each other. But I am
convinced that Charles Augustus asked for this meeting with no other
desire than to warn me and entreat me, that I might not again be so weak
as I had been before. And now, dear father, I assure you by all I hold
sacred, that this is the only time I met him since I gave my promise to
the Major."

"Very well, that may be so; in the mean time I hope that you will not
think that this will change in the least the plan I have formed for your
future happiness."

"True, I hope so from the bottom of my heart, and with good grounds, for
the Major released me from my promise to-day."

"Released you!" replied the Chief Forester. "He has, indeed, made
earnest endeavors to do so; but you will not be surprised when I tell
you that I am not the man who will allow others to jest with his honor.
He has asked for you as his wife; you have consented, and I shall not
allow the best plan which I ever concocted to be destroyed by romantic
whims."

"Father!" exclaimed Alma, with painful surprise, "it cannot be so. Does
not the Major withdraw his suit?"

"No wonder if he does, when he sees himself rewarded in such a manner.
But, Alma, if you had seen the honest man as he gave up all his hopes of
happiness, and seemed pressed down with grief, as though he was at
variance with the whole world; if you had seen this, and heard how
warmly he prayed for you, and generously excused you, I scarcely believe
that your heart is sufficiently hardened to have remained unmoved. The
deep grief of a man is far different from the passing pang of a
headstrong boy."

Alma was much moved by her father's words. The Chief Forester was
possessed of a peculiar art of imparting to his voice a touch of pathos
which none could hear unmoved. His control over Alma was at this moment
greater than ever. He saw his power, and said, "Alma, you have caused me
the most bitter agony that I ever before experienced. You will dig the
grave of your father if you do not comply with his wishes."

"O, father, father! I would rather die than do so;" and she broke forth
in such a violent fit of weeping that the Chief Forester shrank back at
the aspect of despair so visible in her countenance. "We will sleep
together in the grave. Forgive, forgive your poor Alma; she can neither
live nor die."

"Weep not so much, my dear Alma. Your father is not a tyrant," said the
Chief Forester, and embraced his daughter long and fervently. "But now
listen to the reasons which have prompted me, for at this moment let us
have complete confidence in each other. Listen, now, quietly."

"I will, father," said Alma, seating herself by his side.

"A soft-hearted, weak woman, Alma, needs a more serious associate; one
who, because he is not young, is satisfied enough if his young bride
will only smile upon him. You, my Alma, are a soft-hearted, weak woman,
even though you have evinced great courage upon some extraordinary
occasions. You are--I have said we would speak frankly--not richly
endowed. True you have much beauty, but lack reason. I am sorry that I
am obliged to tell you so, and I see that you do not like to hear it;
but that which is true must so remain. Now, I have not the slightest
fear that you will miss this advantage, should you become united with
the Major; but should you marry another who is more perceptive, more
imaginative, he might cause you to feel that you are wanting in some
respects."

The Chief Forester paused, and then, smoothing Alma's forehead tenderly
with his hand, he continued:

"When the first charm of love has passed, the young, hot-headed man will
search for other treasures than beauty and childish prattle. He wishes
for some one with whom he can converse rationally, and gain instruction
and entertainment from her conversation, to soothe the fatigue of his
day's labor. But if he discovers that she is not capable of doing so,
she will find that he has cooled towards her, and how will it be then?
She will be seized with the deepest grief; she finds that she is no
longer the sole treasure of her husband, and, knowing her imperfections,
she is reserved, nay, she does not even know how to make use of the few
advantages which nature has bestowed upon her. Grief is a worm which
gnaws at the blossom of life. She loses her beauty, and with it one of
her most powerful weapons. In despair she cares for nothing, and her
gracefulness departs, and the once beautiful young girl is transformed
into an ugly, peevish old woman, who gives happiness neither to her
husband nor herself."

"Father, father!" exclaimed Alma, raising her face. "Does this example
apply to me? Am I really such a stupid being?"

"By no means. You are somewhat better, and if you had allowed me to
conclude, I would have proved to you that the capacities you possess
would have added to your happiness, should you marry the Major, who is
an honest man, and will do everything to please you. He will never ask
anything of you that is not necessary, and you may become one of those
few happy women, who, in the exercise of their duties as a wife and
mother, and surrounded by the highest honors, respect, love, and
comfort, do not experience that humiliation which is the tomb into which
many have buried their life's happiness. And now, my dear Alma, I have
told you all. Consider that your father, who has watched you from
childhood, must know you better than you do yourself; and understand
that his only desire is your happiness."

Alma could not answer immediately. Her cheeks had been flushed with
crimson, and her eyes had glistened with painful excitement. At length
she arose, and quietly placing her hand in her father's, said in a calm
and decided tone:

"Pardon me; but I--I dare think that you are somewhat mistaken."

"What do you say, Alma?" said the surprised father. "A mistake?"

"Yes, father. I never before felt as I now do; but an inner voice tells
me that your words do not apply to me. If you will permit me to do so, I
will explain to you why a connection with the Major must have been
disagreeable to me even had I not become acquainted with Charles
Augustus. Imagine a young girl, slightly endowed by nature; but who has
been accustomed to servile obedience all her life, which did not even
allow her to think for herself. Gradually this girl arrives at a period
when she thinks that she is also of some importance; and that she has
the right to think and act for herself. Her first wish, then, is to
follow a man who will not only provide for her, but will endeavor to
please her, should she be so unfortunate as to be obliged to separate
from her father. But above all, she wishes to go with the one of her
choice, whom she could love and esteem."

"What mean you, girl?" said the Chief Forester, moving uneasily in his
chair. "Where did you find all this?"

"In my own heart, dear father; but how could you have known that your
Alma understood more than mere childish whims and words, had I not
spoken thus? I never dared to speak openly to you before to-day, when
you yourself opened the path. But, dear father, give me the right to
speak, and then you will see that I am not the one who lacks reason,
power, or love. But if I should be forced, by your power or persuasion,
to enter into an unwilling connection, then you would have to reproach
yourself for making me a peevish old woman, who would perform her duties
with a heavy heart, and render herself unhappy by her blind obedience."

The Chief Forester's countenance, during Alma's words, had evinced much
excitement, but when Alma ceased, he said, in a soft voice:

"Come to my heart, my dear Alma, you should have done this long ago. I
am contented with you. God knows, that I only wished for your
happiness."

"And now--" stammered Alma, placing her glowing cheeks upon her father's
face.

"Now, we must consider, my child. I shall say nothing certain. But one
does not like to give up his favorite plan, especially at my age. I will
try and find some expedient by which the matter may be compromised. But
now leave me. You have convinced me that you are not the one I fancied
you, and I rejoice that I have discovered my nineteen years' mistake. I
give you freedom of speech upon every subject."

"I will not abuse this permission," replied Alma, kissing her father's
hand, and bedewing it with her tears. "I never before felt so much the
want of repaying your tenderness and love by perfect obedience, than at
this moment."

"Right, my child. I knew that something extraordinary would happen
to-day."

The Chief Forester at this moment thought of his watch, which he had
neglected winding for the first time in many years.

But how great a revolution had taken place in his realm! The Major
retracts from his proposal; Alma entirely alters her character; and the
Chief Forester discovers the great mistake he had labored under for
nineteen years.

The same afternoon, after the Chief Forester had shut himself up alone
in his room for a long season, the Major and the old man held an earnest
conversation together--concerning what, no one knew. But when they
joined the family, reconciliation and peace beamed in their
countenances. And besides this, there was a certain twinkle in the Chief
Forester's eyes, which proved that he was in good-humor.

"Are you now satisfied, Alma?" said the Major, earnestly, when they
parted for the night.

Alma knew not how to answer; but she pressed his hand in a manner which
convinced him as to the state of her feelings. She did not see the tear
that glittered in his eye.




                               CHAPTER XXV.


The following day after these occurrences at the Chief Forester's
mansion, Charles Augustus arrived at the Omberg from Hjo. He walked
through the park, and meditated upon visiting the father of his beloved
Alma, and how he could best carry out his plans, when unexpectedly he
met the old gentleman face to face.

"Your very obedient servant, Mr. Kemner. Have we the honor of another
visit?"

"My visit, this time," said Charles Augustus, with a deep bow, "is
pursuant to your invitation."

"What do you mean?" said the Chief Forester, snatching his pipe from his
mouth. "I should much like to know when you were invited hither?"

"A year ago, on the same day that I had the honor of dining with you.
When we separated at the gate, you said, 'Come here in one year, and the
gates of paradise shall be open unto you.'"

"Yes; upon my faith, I remember it. And as I accidentally tendered the
invitation, it is no more than right that I should welcome you. Although
if we should settle more closely, your intrusion into paradise would
have been punished by eternal banishment. But jesting aside, I will ask
you not to take this willingness on my part as an evidence that I
receive you with open arms, and entreat you to wed my daughter, although
I am informed by the Major that you belong to an honorable and wealthy
family. In short, I have a plan by which it might be a possibility,
mark! a _possibility_, that you may become my son-in-law."

"This oversteps my highest dreaming," exclaimed Charles Augustus. "How
can I thank you!"

"I have no doubt about that; but fate may yet prevent it. A girl like my
Alma, sir; one who is endowed with beauty, goodness of heart, and mind;
yes, sir, mind; such a girl is not to be found in the streets every day.
She must be combatted for before the eyes of your rival! You must
deserve her, sir!"

Charles Augustus was much frightened; but held firmly to one point
"_Rival_, rival!" he repeated. "I dared to think I had none since
yesterday."

"I am sorry," said the Chief Forester, maliciously, "that I must
undeceive you; that is not the case, not at all. The Major, who is a man
of honor, has given up his former claim upon Alma's hand; but this has
not prevented him from beginning his suit anew. You two gentlemen are
both suitors, and skill and fate can alone decide which of you shall
have the glory of winning the Bride of Omberg."

"Thank God!" replied Charles Augustus, who was uncertain whether to take
the matter in earnest or in jest, "that skill has equal share with fate
in the combat. I do not appeal to fate, for it has thus far favored me;
but I shall exert my skill to the utmost. When will you give me further
particulars?"

"Is not this news a good plaster for your impatience? But take dinner
with me that we may become better acquainted." Here the Chief Forester
tipped his cap, and led the way towards the house.

Charles Augustus stood as in a dream, lost in a labyrinth of surmises
and conjectures. But as he was unable to extricate himself, he concluded
to await until he could see the old Pilot, and relate to him his good
fortune.

                    *    *    *    *    *

Alma was not able to divine how her fate was to be decided. Her father
looked so joyous, so mysterious, so cunning, and the Major had not
returned home, as she expected, but remained--seemingly renewing his old
hopes.

"I do not understand all this," said Alma, "but something is going on."

"I wish you would dress up a little," said the Chief Forester, "We have
a guest to dinner."

Now Alma began to see clearly.

The looking-glass was consulted; the wardrobe overturned; drawers flew
open and shut; and, in half an hour, Alma appeared before her father,
neatly dressed, and blushing with happiness.

"The deuce!" exclaimed the Chief Forester, turning her around. "You look
charming to-day. A bevy of Cupids must have assisted at your toilet." He
kissed her tenderly, and added with a twinkle of his eye: "You look
almost too happy."

"Should I not do so?" said Alma, with a lovely look of innocence. "A
short time ago, I was not permitted to think without fearing--you know
who. And now, I dare think and feel happy under your very eyes."

"That is right; your highest happiness lies in the consciousness of your
father's approval. But you need not think the matter entirely settled.
We will try the young gentleman. Do not think he can obtain you so
easily. You have not yet heard the condition."

Before Alma was able to answer, the door opened, and, upon the
threshold, stood Charles Augustus, blushing as much as she did herself.

"Do not be bashful, children; manna has fallen before." The Chief
Forester extended his hand to Charles Augustus.

Charles Augustus advanced to Alma. His utterance failed him; but his
eyes spoke volumes, for Alma appeared satisfied.

"I call that a deaf and dumb conversation," said the Chief Forester;
but, as he looked out of the window in search of the Major, Charles
Augustus pressed a burning kiss upon Alma's hand, and whispered: "Is
this reality, or am I in a dream? Ah! Alma, I hope it will not turn out
a horrible delusion!"

"Fear nothing. Yesterday was an important day. My father is conquered.
If you knew how hard it was for him to give up his dearest wish, you
would know how much he loved me. But how or when our joy is to come, I
know not; but here comes the Major. Speak friendly to him; he will
not--"

At this moment the Chief Forester withdrew his head from the window;
and, shortly after, Charles Augustus and the Major had stiffly saluted
each other. Miss Neta's tri-colored cap ribbon was to be seen glimmering
through the door. This was the signal for dinner. Although it was
difficult for the two rivals to feel comfortable in each other's
presence, the Chief Forester endeavored to establish harmony, and
succeeded; for they responded heartily and joyfully to his many witty
remarks. At the close of the dinner, the old man called for a bottle of
his 'old genuine.'

The glasses were filled, and all the guests were silent. The Chief
Forester arose, and, giving his head a preparatory stretch, made the
following peroration:--

"Yesterday was my daughter's birthday; and, according to my
calculations, it would have received another honor, had not--but the
deuce, do not look so hard at me! Do you think I will vanish before your
eyes?" These passing words were addressed to Charles Augustus, who
turned aside, somewhat confused. "Yes, that day would have received
another honor had not yonder girl exhibited some qualities which
particularly attracted my attention. But, as a family connection with
Major Kling has always been my favorite thought; and as, aside from
that, he has my word, from which even he, himself, cannot release
me--for, gentlemen, I never retract a promise once made, even though one
should voluntarily release me from it--I have resolved, with my friend,
the Major's consent, to save my honor in a manner which will accord with
my promise to Alma, not to use force. There was once a time, gentlemen,
a time of chivalry; when it was considered a great honor to battle in
tournament for the hand of a maiden. As I am somewhat endowed with a
chivalrous spirit, I have always chosen to settle my disputes in such a
manner. But, as we cannot now have a tournament which would compare with
those of olden times, we must be content to settle the matter in a
different manner, but evince the same spirit." Here the Chief Forester
paused, and looked from Charles Augustus to Alma, with an expression of
satisfaction. They both sat almost immovable; and Miss Neta, who was in
the act of slicing a melon, dropped the knife, and looked at the Chief
Forester, with a stare of surprise.

"Six weeks from to-day," continued the Chief Forester, "the fifteenth
day of August, I shall not only invite my friends and neighbors, but
also the peasantry, to take part in the great shooting match which it is
my intention to give on that day. The sport shall commence with target
shooting, for which I shall provide lesser prizes; but after that,
gentlemen, the play shall be turned into earnest. Then shall come the
two rivals. The one of you who shall hit the mark set by me, shall win
the highest prize--the hand of my daughter!"

Charles Augustus now felt as though he should speak. "What mean you, Mr.
Bruse--to set your daughter up as a prize to be won at common target
shooting? It is impossible! You must be jesting!"

"Sir!" shouted the Chief Forester, elevating his wine-glass, "I thought
we should have been able to drink to my scheme without interference; but
certainly I was not prepared for your objections. To end the matter, Mr.
Kemner, I request you to speak at once in favor or against my proposal.
I give no time for hesitation when it concerns my daughter. He who shuns
any means to obtain her does not deserve her. Look out you little witch!
Do not tear my coat sleeve; that will not help you! He who shuns any
means to obtain her does not deserve her. These are my last words."

"But consider, there is danger of losing."

"Yes, if you do not win," replied the Chief Forester, sarcastically.
"What have you to say, Major, do you remain by your former declaration?"

"Yes," replied the Major, "as your sensitive sentiment of honor cannot
be satisfied in any other manner, I cannot hesitate."

"And you, Alma?"

"I say that I accept your proposal in the anticipation of a happy issue.
The Major is an expert shot; but I do not doubt Mr. Kemner's skill; I
rely upon it, she added, casting a look upon Charles Augustus, which
caused his heart to swell with pride and joy.

"Very well; so let it be," said he. "I shall employ my time in
practicing. I will do nothing but shoot, and I hope to succeed."

"Every one may keep his hopes to himself. And now let us drink to the
enterprize; for I flatter myself that everybody would not have thought
of such a happy expedient."

The toast was drank with much glee; it was followed by one to the bride,
another to the two rivals, and one to the future son-in-law. Joy and
mirth now reigned to such an extent that the Chief Forester proposed to
toast his dear dragon, Miss Neta, as the person on whom the
responsibility of the entire preparation would rest. Half angry and half
pleased, Miss Neta responded to the toast with a full glass.

"One word more," said the Chief Forester. "I propose that both the
rivals may practice at their own homes, that no disturbance may be
created; and that they avoid the Omberg until the festival. But, Mr.
Kemner, I wish you to invite your parents; and I hope they will honor me
with their presence."

"Agreed!" said the Major.

"Agreed!" repeated Charles Augustus, "and I gratefully accept the
invitation for my parents."

"The session is adjourned," said the Chief Forester, arising. "After
taking coffee, we will go out into the park and select a suitable place
for the shooting ground."

During the walk, the young couple found a few brief opportunities of
whispering to each other their mutual hopes.




                              CHAPTER XXVI.


"What news? What news?" exclaimed Mrs. Kemner, early one morning to her
friend Margaretta, who was driving her cart into the court-yard.

The reason why Mrs. Margaretta had been elevated to a cart and horse
was, that she had given up fortune-telling, and had been appointed to
superintend Rosenbund during Charles Augustus' absence. Margaretta
entered the house, and was met by Mrs. Kemner, in the hall.

"Well, dear Margaretta, what is the news?"

"All kinds of news, my dear madam." And the two ladies entered the
parlor. Mrs. Kemner was prepared to hear either of a love affair, or a
robbery at Rosenbund; but she entertained more serious thoughts when
Margaretta said, "I bring news of the utmost importance."

"I hope the overseer has not run away with the till?"

"No; but Master Charles Augustus arrived last night."

"And you can speak so coldly. But what has happened? You look so
serious, I hope he is not ill?"

"Compose yourself, and I will tell you all."

"Thank God, if he is well," said Mrs. Kemner, drawing a long breath, and
seating herself upon the sofa.

"I cannot say whether he is sick, or well; but the matter appears so
strange, that I thought I would come and tell you before you saw him.
At twelve o'clock last night, when we were all sound asleep, somebody
knocked at the door so furiously, that the very house shook. It was
Master Charles Augustus. Nothing remarkable seemed to ail him, only that
he appeared in extremely good humor."

"'Are you here, my honest Margaret?' said he. 'Mother has been extremely
fortunate in selecting you; you must not leave my house for a long
time.' 'Much obliged,' I replied; 'if I can do any thing for you, I
will.' I lighted him up stairs. He said he did not wish to eat any
thing, for he was sleepy; but that I must awaken him early in the
morning, as he wished to ride over to Lindafors."

During Margaretta's recital, Mrs. Kemner remained in her seat like a
statue. But as soon as Margaretta paused, she said--

"Speak on! speak on!"

"I had gone to bed, and dawn was almost come--but you must not be
afraid, for no misfortune happened--when suddenly I heard the report of
a rifle in the garret. I rushed up stairs, and there stood Master
Charles Augustus, with a rifle in his hand. He had shot; but only at a
crow or something like it."

"It was a trial shot, so that he might be sure that he would not miss
himself," said Mrs. Kemner, wringing her hands. "Alas! he has been
unfortunate in his love affairs. Father! father!" She screamed so loudly
that the old gentleman rushed into the room, half-dressed. "Go to
Rosenbund. Charles Augustus is about----. O, poor unfortunate mother,
that I am. But what did he say, Margaretta, when you surprised him?"

"He laughed at my fright, and said, 'What a fool you are, Margaretta!'"

"That's what I say, too," said Mr. Kemner, puffing and straining at his
coat sleeve, which was rather tight. "What is the matter? What has
frightened you so, Agneta?"

"You can stand there quietly, when perhaps, even now, you have no son;
perhaps he has put a ball through his head. Have you never heard of
unrequited love?"

The old gentleman turned ashy pale at the words of his wife, and bade
Mrs. Easy to have the carriage ordered immediately; but he was forced to
sit down, for his trembling limbs refused to sustain his weight.

"It is not necessary," exclaimed a strong and joyful voice from the
entrance of the hall, where the exclamation of Mr. Kemner, as well as
the whole conversation had been overheard. "Mrs. Easy has given a false
alarm; but I divined her intentions, and followed her hither. And now,
dear parents," (here Charles Augustus closed his father and mother in
one embrace,) "now you have me here again, I am so far from the wish to
leave this earth, that I most urgently press you to make preparations to
go to my wedding."

"But the shot, the shot?" exclaimed Mrs. Kemner, before her husband
could recover from his joyful surprise.

"It was a trial-shot, dear mother. I shall practice day and night, for
fate wills that I shall win my bride by a shot."

"How foolish!" exclaimed Mrs. Kemner, who could not embrace her son
sufficiently.

Mr. Kemner, after many vain attempts, at length spoke. "Win your bride
by shooting!" said he; "it is impossible, my dear boy. Know you not that
you might gain a hundred brides by only mentioning your name, and--"

"Your iron foundries and twenty estates," chimed in Mistress Agneta.

"Yes; that would do you no harm."

"Certainly, if we spoke of common people; but my future father-in-law is
not like other men. He is full of odd whims, which I will explain to
you as soon as I have drank a cup of coffee, for my housekeeper eloped
and left me with an empty stomach."

Margaretta, who was generally a shrewd woman, now stood abashed and
confused, playing with her apron strings; but when Charles Augustus
spoke of his empty stomach she took courage, and advancing, said, with a
happy mixture of friendship and reverence, "Those who have not a key to
this mystery could not help thinking strangely about it; but come now,
speak a friendly word to Margaretta, that she may not stand abashed
before you."

"You need not be sorry," said Mrs. Kemner, protectingly. "You intended
well, we all know, although, thank God, you were mistaken."

"But she shall not escape unpunished," said Charles Augustus. "Father,
you must discharge Mrs. Margaretta, and banish her to Rosenbund, where,
perhaps, she will give her excellent advice to a young and inexperienced
housekeeper."

"I will serve her faithfully, until death," replied Mrs. Easy, wiping
her eyes with an old faded pocket-handkerchief.

The coffee was brought in, and Charles Augustus sat down to the table
opposite his father and mother.

"Speak reasonably, now," said the old gentleman, as Mistress Agneta
procured a lighted match that he might light his pipe.

And now Charles Augustus related minutely his adventures on the Omberg;
describing his lovely Alma; his rival; but more especially the Chief
Forester; reporting at last, the most original of all his originalities,
the shooting-match of the Omberg.

"I do not believe that during my father's or grandfather's time such a
story was ever heard of," said the old gentleman, adding force to his
words by emphatic nods.

"The thing is very uncommon, certainly," said Mrs. Kemner; "but I
believe, husband, that it would not have turned out so well had not you
given Charles Augustus your blessing the evening he started on his
journey; for it is a perfect miracle, and no one can solve the riddle to
me, how the fierce old man of the mountain has so suddenly become as
gentle as a lamb."

"All right," said the old man; "but still, I believe the Chief Forester
is not all steady under his cap; but if I had been placed in such a
position as Charles Augustus, when I was young, I never would have gone
to that place a second time. For all I would care, the old muddle-head
might have kept his daughter."

"O, you must not say that," said Charles Augustus, quickly; "for you
have not yet seen my Alma."

"At all events," said the matron, raising her head proudly, "everybody,
north and south, east and west, will talk of Charles Augustus; and if we
accept the invitation, which we must do, husband, I think I already see
how the people will stare at us! 'See, see!' they will say, 'there goes
the rich iron proprietor from Sudermannland--and the lady by his side is
his wife, the mother of that handsome young man, who intends to win his
bride by a master-shot!' O, how romantic! I can hardly restrain myself
when I think of it."

"Yes, yes! we can show ourselves as becomes those who are not fearful of
observation," remarked Mr. Kemner; proving that Mistress Agneta's words
had fallen like seed upon a fruitful soil. "In the mean time it is
disagreeable to be the object of such attention."

"Disagreeable?" said Mrs. Kemner, who well knew how to take advantage of
the vanity she had already kindled within her husband. "We might say so
if Charles Augustus' parents were poor, and not able to present a
becoming appearance; but with your dignity, and aristocratic manners,
the part which you will have to play will be an easy one."

"Ahem!" said the old man, complacently stroking his chin, "if Charles
Augustus promises me, upon his word of honor, that he will not miss the
mark, I will undertake the journey. But this much I will say, I do not
mean to represent the father of a rival who is to be made a
laughingstock of."

"You are jesting, dear father," said Charles Augustus; "how can any man
pledge his honor that he will hit the mark, especially one which he does
not yet know? I can only promise this much, by my honor, and by my love,
that I shall do everything that a skillful marksman can do. Let the
result be what it may, none shall dispute my skill, at least!"

"With that I am satisfied," and the treaty was ratified by a hearty
shake of the hand.

From this day a new and stirring life began at Lindafors. Charles
Augustus spent the most of his time in shooting at standing as well as
flying objects, calling into use the dear old decoy birds, placing them
here and there upon the tops of trees, frequently tearing them into
rags.

Mr. and Mrs. Kemner were also busily engaged in preparing for the
journey. They intended this time to make such a display as had not been
seen during their own time, or their father's or great-grandfather's
time.




                              CHAPTER XXVII.


"Upon my word!" said Miss Neta, as she stood near the hearth, the day
before the great festival which was to take place on the Omberg. She was
surrounded by a whole army of frying-pans, pots, and other kitchen
utensils. "Upon my word, I shall run mad if you do not leave the
kitchen, and make your noise in some other place. Thunder away about
your dogs, your servants, about man and beast as much as you please, but
leave me alone. I know what I am about."

"Confound you, you old she dragon!" muttered the Chief Forester; "we
will settle accounts together yet."

Thus much concerning the day before the festival. We shall not describe
at length the many complimentary welcomings with which the Chief
Forester greeted Mr. and Mrs. Kemner that evening. Mr. Kemner had made
up his mind that he would find a foolish old man, with bearish
disposition; but was agreeably mistaken. The Chief Forester well
understood how to treat Mistress Agneta, who had determined to appear
"haughty," but now could not seem anything but amiable. Charles Augustus
and Alma exchanged tender glances, and the old couple were delighted
with her. The Major, who had taken good care to remain at home until
the eventful day, was not there. The thoughts of the whole company were
placed upon the next day, and we shall therefore hasten on to it.




                             CHAPTER XXVIII.


The 15th of August had arrived.

The first rays of the sun had hardly gilded the top of the Omberg before
the Chief Forester, with a troop of rustics, was hard at work upon an
open space near the summit of the mountain.

Benches had been erected for the ladies around an amphitheatre, which
was intended for the accommodation of the gentlemen. The inventive mind
of the old man had taken advantage of every knoll and rock which gave a
view of the lake. Even in the branches of the trees little seats had
been placed, which were reached by ladders, for the benefit of those who
wished to avail themselves of such aerial perches.

Opposite the amphitheatre, on the road which conducted to the Eleven
Beeches, were placed the targets and marks, which the Chief Forester had
erected with due solemnity and care. A slight fence had been erected
around one of these targets, concealing it from view. It was the one
which was to decide the suitors' dispute, which had become known far and
wide throughout the country. The fence was so arranged that when an iron
hook which bound one corner of it together was loosened, the boards
would fall and expose the target to the view of the spectators.

The breakfast-bell sounded at eight o'clock, after all the arrangements
had been completed. The Chief Forester looked over his work again, and
found it good. In gay spirits he went home to quarrel a little with his
dear dragon, and to receive the guests, who were already arriving to
partake of the festal breakfast, which was spread under a canvass
pavilion erected in the yard.

Towards nine o'clock hosts of people were to be seen ascending the sides
of the mountain, and crowds of boats were crossing the lake. In a short
time the forest was thronged with peasant boys and girls, old women and
men, arrayed in their holiday suits, and here and there, like a flower
in a cabbage garden, might be seen the uniform of a soldier, or the
gayly-decorated bonnet of a lady. The seats were soon taken possession
of, except those set aside for the Chief Forester's guests. The benches
in the trees were filled with little boys, who joined in screams of
laughter as a branch broke, and down toppled a group of young fellows,
unharmed, into the bushes beneath.

"Don't you think," said a peasant of West Gothland, after a long
deliberation with himself, pointing to a long rope extended between two
trees, "don't you think that that thing yonder is put up for rope
dancers?"

"Yes; probably they will shoot at them when they stand in the middle of
it."

"But they will have to pay for that pretty well," said the first
peasant, philosophically; "for one of the marksmen might hit his aim."

"Of course," replied the other; "but those rope-dancers are so swift
that they bewitch one's eyes."

The rope which gave rise to these sage remarks was extended between two
trees, at the height of about twenty feet from the ground. At one end of
it hung, on a ring which encircled the rope, a little wooden bird, and
the marksmen were to shoot at the bird as it was drawn by a string from
one end of the rope to the other. This was done with the utmost
rapidity, and it required a sharp eye and a skillful hand to hit the
swiftly flying object.

As the day wore on the crowd increased, and the anxiety arose in
proportion, especially as the Chief Forester had distributed a couple of
barrels of beer among the peasantry.

"There comes Eric of Faglas," was shouted from all sides, as an old
peasant came tottering along, evincing strong symtoms that he was
slightly under the influence of the potent god, Bacchus; "he wants to
shoot too."

"The same to-day as yesterday, and to-morrow as to-day," hiccuped Eric,
without heeding the pine-cones with which the boys pelted him from the
tops of the trees. At length, when the missiles came thick and fast, he
placed his rifle to his shoulder and aimed at the mischievous group, and
thus succeeded in securing peace.

But suddenly the mirth was interrupted by the music of bugles, and the
road from the Chief Forester's house was thronged with gaily-dressed
ladies and gentlemen. They approached the amphitheatre, the front
benches of which were decorated with green boughs.

At the head of the procession, at the rear of the musicians, walked the
Chief Forester, with his daughter by his side. Alma's beauty was
displayed in a higher degree than ever before. The uneasy feeling,
produced by the knowledge of being the centre of all beholders, caused
her cheeks to glow with a crimson hue. Her modest demeanor was mingled
with a charming and almost childish expression of joy, and her whole
bearing evinced that elasticity which bestows such a bewitching charm
upon beauty.

Her dress was rendered conspicuous only by its simplicity. A white gauze
gown, nearly concealed by a gracefully flowing shawl, displayed her
perfect form to the greatest advantage. Her only decoration was a wreath
of flowers placed lightly upon her head.

The Chief Forester, who knew how to impregnate his whole bearing with an
air of dignity, signified to Alma by a wave of his hand, that she should
seat herself upon the foremost bench. On either side sat Mrs. Kemner,
and a few of the Major's kinswomen. After the balance of the guests had
taken their places, and the gentlemen--among whom were the two
rivals--had placed themselves on both sides of the amphitheatre, the
Chief Forester stepped out in front of them all, and a general silence
prevailed.

It had been decided that the general festivities should precede the
principal feature of the day. The first prize was a small silver
drinking-cup, which the Chief Forester had caused to be made for this
occasion. This was followed by smaller prizes, such as powder-flasks,
shot-pouches and other sporting implements. But the whole assemblage
anxiously desired that these small games should come to an end, that
they might witness the great one; the prize of which was the most
beautiful maiden and the purest heart of East Gothland.

The ladies were unanimous in their good wishes for the fortune of the
handsome young stranger, who had won their good favor. The gentlemen,
however, with the exception of a few, who stood in the vicinity of Mr.
and Mrs. Kemner, whispered to each other, "The Major is a fool if he
allows the finest pearl to be taken from its native country."

But see. Leaning against a large oak which grew near the side of the
road, stood a warm heart; it was the Old Pilot, who "firm in faith,"
gave up to the hope that God would assist true love.

A powerful blast of the trumpet resounded throughout the forest. Every
eye was strained to the utmost.

The Chief Forester took a paper from his pocket, and in a loud voice
read the following rules:--

     " 1. The shooting match is now opened. Every free born Swede, has
     a right to take part in the game.

     " 2. Whoever that is guilty of using witchcraft, charmed bullets,
     or other unholy means of securing success, shall be delivered over
     to the legal authorities.

     " 3. If any one shall offend a cripple or deformed person, who
     shall enter the lists, the offending party shall be excluded from
     the game.

     " 4. If one or more ladies, (here the Chief Forester bowed deeply
     to the front seats of the amphitheatre,) should follow any of the
     marksmen with favorable or unfavorable glances, she shall be placed
     before the judgment-seat of her own conscience, and there prove or
     disprove her innocence."

The Chief Forester read several other rules, which we will not repeat.

The signal had scarcely been given before twelve competitors appeared
for the silver cup, and were received with general applause.

Among the marksmen was a young soldier from the grenadier regiment of
East Gothland.

With a proud step, the young soldier advanced to his post, bearing his
glittering rifle in his hand, and looked as sure of success as though he
had the cup in his hands already.

When he arrived at the centre of the amphitheatre, he stopped and looked
around, as if in admiration of the beautiful ladies who surrounded him.
Then, with military precision, he placed the gun to his shoulder, and
quietly awaited the signal from the Chief Forester.

The signal was given, and the marksman fired; but the bird was drawn so
rapidly along the rope that it hung unharmed at the further extremity.

Without changing a muscle of his countenance, the grenadier shouldered
his musket; and, turning to the right, marched gravely off.

He did not heed the puns with which the boys greeted him, in the least;
but there was something in his look which prevented the boys from adding
to the force of their remarks by pelting him with pine cones, for which
purpose they had filled their pockets.

Now stepped forth a young rustic, and saluted the audience with a deep
bow; but he fared no better than the soldier. On the contrary, his
retreat was rendered more ignominious by the shower of cones which
greeted him from every side.

We are grieved to relate that of the whole twelve not one man was able
to hit the flying bird. The cup remained safely in Alma's hand.

The Chief Forester was about to open the lists anew, when a peasant
advanced, using his rifle as a walking cane.

"The same to-day as yesterday, and to-morrow as to-day," taunted the
boys from the trees. "Hurrah for old Eric!"

"Yes, just so;" said the old man, and asked permission to try his skill.
The Chief Forester smilingly consented. But now taunts came from all
sides; and Eric was forced to use every endeavor to retain his
composure. The Chief Forester gave the signal; and, raising his rifle
with the utmost ease, the old man dropped the bird to the earth.

Laughter and jokes were now changed into surprise and admiration. But
Eric stood there, quietly and unconcerned, as though he did not
comprehend why they made so much ado about so small a matter. He placed
his lips upon the muzzle of his gun, and blew out the smoke, and would
have remained on the spot longer, had not the Chief Forester taken him
by the arm and led him up to Alma, from whom the old man bowingly
received the silver cup.

"How was it possible for such an old toper as you to see such a little
bird?" said the Chief Forester.

"One little bird!" said old Eric with a vacant stare; "there were a
dozen at least, and I aimed at all of them."

"Indeed!" said the Chief Forester with a laugh, looking around upon the
mirthful spectators. "That explains the whole matter, ladies and
gentlemen."

In the mean time, Eric sauntered away, holding the envied cup in his
hand, and reciting his old proverb over and over again.

But now the Chief Forester turned, with an altered air and serious mein,
towards the assemblage and said: "The lists are closed, gentlemen. Now
comes the principal prize;" and his eyes roamed to the spot where the
Major and Charles Augustus were standing.

The whole assemblage seemed as though shocked by an electric battery.
Some were so excited that even eau de Cologne and Hoffman's drops were
necessary to keep their spirits up. Among these, Mistress Agneta was not
the strongest, and Mr. Kemner alone knew how he himself felt. In the
mean time he endeavored to keep cool by coughing and aheming; but the
exertion forced large drops of sweat to his forehead. He glanced at
Charles Augustus, as much as to say: "My reputation is at stake, boy. Do
your duty to-day. I shall never dare show my face again if the other
party snatches away the bride from our very nose."

Charles Augustus _appeared_ to be composed; but the fast-changing color
of his cheeks seemed to indicate doubt and fear. He cast
half-courageous, half-melancholy looks towards Alma, upon whose cheeks
the roses gradually vanished, and became lilies.

She had no doubt that Charles Augustus would be her husband, whether he
succeeded in the trial or not; but she felt how humiliating it would be
if he, in case he should miss the mark, should be obliged to receive her
from the Major as a boon of mercy. She therefore feared and trembled. If
Charles Augustus was not a complete _victor_, the joy of the festival
would be interrupted.

The Major stood with folded arms, as though he was a mere spectator,
instead of one of the principal actors.

The Chief Forester had assumed a haughty manner, that none might surmise
his thoughts. His whole attention seemed to be fixed upon the target,
which was yet enclosed.

The distance was measured; and, at the sound of the bugle, the fence
suddenly fell to the earth, disclosing the target, which was a finely
modelled Cupid with fluttering paper wings, standing upon a slender
column. The far-sounding voice of the Chief Forester proclaimed that
whoever of the two rivals should pierce with his ball the left eye of
the Cupid, should be rewarded by the hand of his daughter Alma.

Death-like stillness pervaded throughout the whole audience.

The Chief Forester gave to his daughter two tickets, which were to
decide who should shoot first. Alma's hand trembled so violently that
she could hardly present the two cards to the gentlemen. The Major and
Charles Augustus drew the cards. The first shot fell upon the Major.

"All right!" exclaimed the Chief Forester.

With a firm step the Major advanced; and, after carefully examining the
lock of his gun, placed it to his cheek and took a deliberate and steady
aim. This might have injured his aim; for, in spite of his seeming
coolness, a close observer might have seen that his hand began to
tremble. He fired, and Cupid's eye was pierced--but it was the _right_
eye.

The Major's countenance evinced nothing but coolness and indifference.
He blew into the muzzle of his gun, and returned silently to his former
place with an expression which seemed to refuse compassion or
consolation.

The Chief Forester rubbed his grizzly beard vigorously; but no other
traces of anxiety were visible in his demeanor.

And now Charles Augustus looked into Alma's eyes so long and so
earnestly, that it seemed as though it was his last look upon her adored
face. _Her_ face was pale; _his_ was flushed. And with a rash step he
advanced to the post.

All was again quiet. Alma heard the beating of her heart.

Charles Augustus lifted his rifle; and slowly lowering the muzzle, as
soon as the object was sighted, he fired.

At the same moment a low exclamation was heard. It was an exclamation of
joy from Alma, which she could not suppress. The left eye had
disappeared. Cupid now was entirely blind.

Three deafening cheers resounded through the forest of the Omberg.
Intoxicated with victory, Charles Augustus knelt at the feet of his
bride.

Mr. Kemner removed the handkerchief with which he had concealed his face
during the shooting, and condescendingly listened to the congratulations
of the audience. And taking a well filled purse from his pocket, the
wealthy man--as proud as his father, grandfather and great-grandfather
had been before him--threw silver coin among the peasantry.

But let us turn to the Chief Forester as he stands before the whole
assemblage, and joins Alma's and Charles Augustus' hands together;
listen as he proclaims with a broken but distinct voice: "This young man
has won the hand of my daughter, according to the method I have selected
to choose between two esteemed and excellent men. I now give him, with
my blessing, the treasure of my heart. Three cheers for the bride and
bridegroom of Omberg!"

And again the three cheers mingled with the loud blasts of the bugles,
and the popping of champaign bottles rung gaily through the forest. But
that the effect might not be destroyed, the Chief Forester concealed the
fact that Charles Augustus and Alma should have been united at all
events. The Major and himself had agreed between themselves that if the
former should prove victorious, he should generously renounce his claim;
and for such an exigency, which the Chief Forester considered almost
certain, for the Major was an expert marksman, the old man had concocted
a neat speech. But now that Charles Augustus had spared him that
trouble, he was rejoiced that his future son-in-law had displayed before
so large an audience, that he was man enough to gain a bride by his own
skill.

"We," whispered the Chief Forester to the Major, "we will retain our old
friendship."

"Until death!" replied the Major.

The company now formed themselves into a procession; and with the blind
Cupid at their head, they commenced their march towards the residence of
the Chief Forester.

The guests adjourned to a magnificent supper, after which came music and
dancing.

It was not until after Mistress Agneta had been invited to dance the
first minuet, and not until old Mr. Kemner had seated himself at the
whist table, and the guests had distributed themselves in various parts
of the park, which was illuminated by bonfires, that Charles Augustus
and Alma found opportunity to interchange their happiness with each
other. They walked away from the noise and confusion and ascended the
mountain. They arrived at Alma's little bower, which they entered and
sat hand in hand, looking first into each other's eyes, then upon the
blue bosom of the lake, over which the sky had stretched forth its
star-decked canopy.

While they were thus engaged, they were suddenly enfolded in a warm
embrace. The Chief Forester had sought for his children at the place
where he had once separated them, that he might bless them, and give
vent to his joy unseen.

And night spread her mantle over the lonely groves of the Omberg. Still
the guests thronged the park. And at the amphitheatre--where the Old
Pilot provided refreshments for the peasantry--cheers and songs were to
be heard, frequently mingled with Father Eric's proverb:--"To-day as
yesterday, and to-morrow as to-day." The light of the fires flickered
here and there, illumining the green arches of the forest.

In the house cheers upon cheers followed each other in rapid succession,
and the ball-room was thronged with merry dancers, who frolicked
gleefully in the mazes of the waltz. Perched upon the shoulders of his
son-in-law and several of his guests, the Chief Forester overlooked the
happy scene.

"Long live the Chief Forester--the first--the best--the happiest host.
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"

"Let me down you rascallions! It's all right, it's all right."

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! Long live our host, the Chief Forester of the
Omberg!" And they circled around him again, with cheers that made the
old building tremble.


                           The End.




                    J. T. HEADLEY'S WORKS.


NAPOLEON AND HIS MARSHALS. By J. T. Headley, 2 vols. 12mo. cloth, gilt.
  Illustrated with 12 Portraits, $2 50. 25th Thousand.

WASHINGTON AND HIS GENERALS. By J. T. Headley, 2 vols. 12mo. cloth,
  gilt. Illustrated with 16 Portraits, $2 50. 22d Thousand.

THE SACRED MOUNTAINS. By J. T. Headley, Illustrated with 12 engravings,
  by Burt, with designs by Lossing, 20th Thousand.
  Do.     do.     do.,     12mo. cloth, gilt, $1 25.

SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS. By J. T. Headley, with 12 Illustrations.
  Designed by Darley, 4th Thousand.
  Do.     do.     do.,     1 vol. 12mo. cloth, gilt, $1 25.

LETTERS FROM ITALY AND ALPS AND THE RHINE. By J. T. Headley, 1 vol.
  12mo. cloth. A New Edition. Revised and Enlarged. With a Portrait of
  the Author, $1 13. 8th Thousand.

LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL. By J. T. Headley, 1 vol. 12mo. cloth, gilt,
  with Portrait, $1 25. 6th Thousand.

HEADLEY'S MISCELLANIES. Authorized Edition, 1 vol. 12mo, cloth, $1. 2d
  Thousand.

ADIRONDACK; OR LIFE IN THE WOODS. By J. T. Headley, with Original
  Designs from Gignoux, Ingham, Durand, etc., 1 vol. 12mo. cloth, $1 25.
  4th Thousand.

SKETCHES AND RAMBLES. By J. T. Headley, 1 vol. 12mo. cloth, 75c. 2d
  Thousand.

THE IMPERIAL GUARD OF NAPOLEON. From Marengo to Waterloo. By J. T.
  Headley, 1 vol. 12mo. with Illustrations, cloth, $1 25. Just
  Published.

J. T. HEADLEY'S WORKS--Uniform Edition, 12 vols., in sheep, for
  Libraries and District Schools.

  "Mr. Headley's peculiarities as an author are universally known. He is
one of the most vigorous and spirit-stirring writers of the day,
especially graphic and powerful in narratives of exciting events. No one
can fail to get from his descriptions most graphic, vivid, and lasting
impressions of the scenes of which he speaks."--_N. Y. Courier and
Enquirer._

  "His descriptions are graphic, his history correct, and his summing up
character scarcely suffers by a comparison with similar pages in
Tacitus."--_N. Y. Evening Post._

  "He speaks heartily, earnestly, truthfully; and the warm heart answers
to his voice."--_N. Y. Observer._

  "Each one of his Biographies is a grand historical picture, conveying
in a most impressive way, a true idea of the events of the time."
--_Cincinnati Herald._

  "Mr. Headley is truly eloquent in his description of character. He
presents to you the strong points of the man with a clearness that seems
to place him before you as an old acquaintance."--_Cleveland Herald._

  "Whatever critics may choose to say, Mr. H. will never lack readers.
The stir and fire of his descriptions will touch a popular chord. In
describing the battle field and the tumultuous stirring life of the
camp, Mr. H. is what Cooper was upon the Sea."--_N. Y. Evangelist._

LIVING ORATORS OF AMERICA. By Rev. E. L. Magoon. 1 vol. 12mo., with
  portraits. Price, $1 25.

THE ORATORS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. By Rev. E. L. Magoon. 1 vol.
  12mo., with portraits. Price, $1 25.

  Mr. Magoon is a decided original. Both his thoughts and his manner of
expressing them, are peculiar and striking.--_N. Y. Evangelist._

  Mr. Magoon, who is a vivid, nervous writer, has thrown a charm around
the character of the men whose history he has delineated, that will
cause the book to be read with unusual interest.--_Christian Secretary._

  These volumes contain exceedingly clear sketches of our greatest
orators; so arranged, contrasted and compared, that the peculiar powers
and excellencies of each are set before the mind in a strong
light.--_Springfield Republican._

  Every American will read these works with national pride, and have his
better feelings and sentiments enkindled and strengthened.--_Western
Literary Messenger._

THE WOMEN OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. By Mrs. E. F. Ellet. 8 vols.
  12mo., with portraits. Price, $3 50.

  The work fills a place in our Revolutionary history that would
scarcely be complete without it; indeed, we consider it as one of the
most valuable contributions that have been made to the history of our
country in a long time.--_Hunt's Magazine._

  We counsel especially the young women of our country to lay aside
their novels, at least until they shall have read "The Women of the
Revolution." Those of them who have souls will find it replete with
interest and instruction.--_N. Y. Tribune._

  The narratives are brief, spirited, and profoundly interesting;
especially as showing how the toils, the privations and dangers of the
war, made themselves felt, perhaps even more keenly, in the homes than
on the battle-fields of the Revolutionary champions.--_N. Y.
Commercial._

  The authoress has succeeded in collecting a large amount of new and
important facts, illustrative of the heroism evinced in action and
suffering, by the women who bore their part in the Revolution, which
have no place in the political histories of the time, and have been
derived almost entirely from private sources.--_N. Y. Journal of
Commerce._

  The rich store of information contained in these volumes, has been
procured at the cost of much and laborious research, from the surviving
relatives of the heroines, scattered through various parts of the union.
Personal recollections have been recorded, family papers and letters
examined, and the work thus made a faithful and vivid exhibition of the
domestic scenes of the war.--_Charleston Inquirer._

  The conception of the book is at once beautiful and patriotic, and its
execution is worthy of its subject, and worthy of the reputation of its
gifted authoress.--_Albany Atlas._

  These sketches are of thrilling interest, as we gather from a hasty
glance at their pages. The narrative is clear, concise, and very
agreeably written.--_N. B. Mercury._

THE PLANETARY AND STELLAR WORLDS; A Popular Exposition of the Great
  Discoveries and Theories of Modern Astronomy. In a Series of Ten
  Lectures By Prof. O. M. Mitchell. 1 vol. 12mo. Price, $1 25.

  For a practical, comprehensive exposition of the principles of
astronomy, as they are now understood, no better work can be found.
Written in a glowing style, the great principles and facts of the
science are stated in that popular language which every reader can
understand, and which presents the author's thoughts in the clearest
manner. For the use of schools, and for private reading, we think it
will win its way at once to an universal popularity. It is illustrated
by a series of admirable engravings, which add, of course, incomparably
to the excellence and utility of the work.--_New York Evangelist._

  In itself considered, this is one of the most interesting,
entertaining, instructive and valuable works that we have perused in
many a day. We have read it with feelings glowing more and more with
the finishing of every page; and have longed to put it into the hand
of every inhabitant of earth whose soul leaps after the systems of
worlds and suns which circle above him, and onward to immortality and
heaven.--_Spectator._

  The work gives a most admirable popular exposition of the great
discoveries and theories of modern astronomy, and cannot fail to be
universally read with the greatest profit and delight. We commend it to
attention and favor.--_Courier and Enquirer._

  The work throughout displays a most familiar and extensive knowledge
of the subjects of which it treats, and is written in a style of glowing
eloquence that is in accordance with the magnificent scenes and objects
which it describes.--_American Literary Magazine._

LECTURES ON SHAKSPEARE. By H. N. Hudson. 2 vols., 12mo. Price, $2 50.

  Many of the lectures have been re-written a dozen times; and probably
few books of the size ever published in the country, have been the slow
product of so much toil of analysis and research. Almost every sentence
gives evidence of being shaped in the "forge and working-house of
thought." All questions which rise naturally in the progress of the work
are sturdily met and answered, however great may be their demand on the
intellect or the time of the author. Everything considered, subtilty,
depth, force, brilliancy, comprehension, we know of no work of criticism
ever produced in the United States which equals the present, either in
refinement and profundity of thought, or splendor and intensity of
expression. Indeed, none of our critics have devoted so much time as Mr.
Hudson to one subject, or been content to confine themselves so rigidly
to the central sun of our English literary system. We doubt, also, if
there be any work on Shakspeare, produced on the other side of the
Atlantic which is so complete as the present in all which relates to
Shakspeare's mind and character. It not only comprehends the highest
results of Shaksperian criticism, but it is a step forward.--_Graham's
Magazine._

  They are the work of a man of an original turn of thinking and
expression, and are full of brilliant thoughts, and acute, often novel
speculations.--_Evening Post._

  They contain, on the whole, the most satisfactory estimate of this
prince of the drama to be found in our language. The style in which they
are written is unusually chaste and beautiful, and the writer has so
entrenched himself in the very soul of his subject, that there seems to
be a perfect community of thought, feeling, even pulsation.--_Albany
Atlas._

  Mr. Hudson has here brought together not only all the authentic facts
that have come down to us in regard to the life and character of
Shakspeare, but all the really valuable criticisms that throw light upon
his intellectual history and his moral and intellectual
character.--_Boston Evening Transcript._

  We regard it as decidedly the ablest and most valuable book of
criticism ever published in this country.--_Courier and Enquirer._

LECTURES ON ART--AND POEMS. By Washington Allston. Edited by Richard
  Henry Dana, Jr. Contents--Lectures on Art, pages 3-167--Aphorisms,
  sentences written by Mr. Allston on the walls of his Studio, pages
  167-179--The Hypochondriac, pages 179-199--Poems, pages 199-317.
  1 vol. 12mo. Price, $1 25.

  "There is a store of intellectual wealth in this handsome volume. It
is a book of thought. Its contents are the rich and tasteful productions
of the scholar and artist, who had mind to perceive and skill to portray
much that is unseen by ordinary minds, as well as intelligence and power
to exhibit whatever is grand and beautiful both in the physical and
moral world."--_Christian Observer._

  "These are the records of one of the purest spirits and most exalted
geniuses of which this country can boast. The intense love of the
beautiful, the purity, grace and gentleness which made him incomparably
the finest artist of the age, lend their charm and their power to these
productions of his pen. * * * There are in his poems feeling, delicacy,
taste, and the keenest sense of harmony which render them
faultless."--_N. Y. Evangelist._

  "As a writer we know of no one who in his writings has exhibited such
an appreciation of what constitutes beauty in art, correctness in form,
or the true principles of composition."--_Providence Journal._

  "We commend them to the intellectual and the thoughtful, for we know
that no one can read them without being wiser, and we believe the
better."--_Albany State Register._

  "The production of a most ethereal spirit instinctively awake to all
the harmonies of creation."--_Albany Argus._

  "The exquisitely pure and lofty character of the author of these
lectures and poetic fragments is well expressed in them. It gave their
structure a freshness and calmness, and their tone a purity that remain
to charm us, and that are equally admirable and delightful."--_The
Independent._

  "His lectures possess great attractions for every one aiming at
cultivation of mind and refinement of taste, while his poems, which
elicited so high praise when published singly, are sure to receive it
when as now embodied in a more classic form."--_Natchez Courier._

  "The lovers of American literature and art will rejoice in the
possession of these matured fruits of the genius which seemed alike
skilled in the use of the pen and pencil."--_Newark Daily Advertiser._

                    *    *    *    *    *

POEMS AND PROSE WRITINGS. By Richard Henry Dana. 2 vols. 12mo.
  Price, $2 50.

  "Mr. Dana's writings are addressed to readers of thought, sensibility
and experience. By tenderness, by force, in purity, the poet paints the
world, treading in safety the dizziest verge of passion, through all
things, honorable to all men; the just style resolving all perplexities,
a rich instruction and solace in these volumes to the young and old who
are to come hereafter."--_Literary World._

  "Mr. Dana is evidently a close observer of nature, and therefore his
thoughts are original and fresh."--_True Democrat._

  "In addition to the Poems and Prose Writings included in the former
edition of his works, they contain some short, practical pieces, and a
number of reviews and essays contributed to different periodicals, some
of them as much as thirty years since, and now republished for the first
time--as the expression of the inmost soul, these writings bear a strong
stamp of originality."--_N. Y. Tribune._




           N. P. WILLIS'S SELECT WORKS, IN UNIFORM 12MO. VOLS.

RURAL LETTERS, AND OTHER RECORDS OF THOUGHTS AT LEISURE, embracing
  Letters from under a Bridge, Open Air Musings in the City, "Invalid
  Ramble in Germany," "Letters from Watering Places," &c., &c. 1 vol.
  Fourth Edition.

  "There is scarcely a page in it in which the reader will not remember,
and turn to again with a fresh sense of delight. It bears the imprint of
nature in her purest and most joyous forms, and under her most cheering
and inspiring influences."--_N. Y. Tribune._

  "If we would show how a modern could write with the ease of Cowley,
most gentle lover of nature's gardens, and their fitting accessaries
from life, we would offer this volume as the best proof that the secret
has not yet died out."--_Literary World._

PEOPLE I HAVE MET, or Pictures of Society and People of Mark--drawn
  under a thin veil of fiction. By N. P. Willis. 1 vol., 12mo. Third
  Edition.

  "It is a collection of twenty or more of the stories which have
blossomed out from the summer soil of the author's thoughts within the
last few years. Each word in some of them the author seems to have
picked as daintily, for its richness or grace, or its fine fitness to
his purpose, as if a humming-bird were picking upon his quivering wing
the flower whose sweets he would lovingly rifle, or a belle were culling
the stones for her bridal necklace."--_N. Y. Independent._

  "The book embraces a great variety of personal and social sketches in
the Old World, and concludes with some thrilling reminiscences of
distinguished ladies, including the Belles of New York, etc."--_The
Republic._

LIFE HERE AND THERE, or Sketches of Society and Adventure at far-apart
  times and places. By N. P. Willis. 1 vol., 12mo.

  "This very agreeable volume consists of sketches of life and
adventure, all of them, the author assures us, having a foundation
strictly historical, and to a great extent autobiographical. Such of
these sketches as we have read, are in Mr. Willis's happiest vein--a
vein, by the way, in which he is unsurpassed."--_Sartain's Magazine._

  "Few readers who take up this pleasant volume will lay it aside until
they have perused every line of its contents."--_Jersey Journal._

HURRYGRAPHS, or Sketches of Scenery, Celebrities, and Society, taken
  from Life By N. P. Willis. 1 vol., 12mo. Third Edition.

  "Some of the best specimens of Mr. Willis's prose, we think, are
herein contained."--_N. Y. Evangelist._

  "In the present volume, which is filled with all sorts of enticements,
we prefer the descriptions of nature to the sketches of character, and
the dusty road-side grows delightful under the touches of Willis's
blossoming-dropping pen; and when we come to the mountain and lake, it
is like revelling in all the fragrant odors of Paradise."--_Boston
Atlas._




                        IK. MARVEL'S WORKS.

                       THIRTEENTH EDITION OF

REVERIES OF A BACHELOR, a Book of the Heart. By Ik. Marvel. 1 vol.
  12mo., with Illustrations by Darley.

  The Illustrated Edition, with Twenty-five Illustrations, will be ready
about the middle of October.

  "Quotations give but a faint idea of the depth of feeling, the
beautiful and winning frankness, the elastic vigor of soul, and the
singular fidelity of expression which characterize this remarkable
volume. Its quaint ingenuity of arrangement is wholly lost in extracts;
and in order to enjoy the delicious adaptation of form to sentiment
in which it would be hard to name its equal, it must be read as a
consummate, artistic, gem-like whole."--_N. Y. Tribune._

  "The dreamy, shadowy haze of reverie, its fleet transitions, its vivid
and startling passages--more vivid, oftentimes, than anything of real
life--are admirably reproduced on these delicate pages. The dense and
deliberate style, though nowise itself dreamy and insubstantial, dealing
largely rather in the tough and oaken Saxon, that makes the strength of
our hardy tongue, is adapted with admirable pliancy to the movement and
tone of the fancy. There are passages in it--as those descriptive of
early separations, schooldays and their sequel--that will start the
memory, with a quick throb, in many hearts. And there are essential and
permanent qualities exhibited in it, both of intellect and of
sensibility, that give noble promise of a future, and that will make the
subsequent publications of the author events to be watched
for."--_Independent._

  "The writer who can lure a few of his fellow mortals away from the
bustle, and the strife, and the fret, and the wear and tear of a
restless existence--who can plant them in his own quiet arm-chair, and
think a little for them so easily and so costly that they shall fancy
his thoughts to be their own soliloquies--who can carry them off from
the engrossing present, backward to the fullness of youth, or forward to
the repose of age--who can peel off, here and there, the worldly rind
that grows ever-thickening over the heart, growing fastest and thickest
in the hothouses of fashion, and in the rank soil of wealth--the writer,
we say, who can do this--Mr. Ik. Marvel does it in his Reveries--shall
be welcomed to a place in our regards, and cordially recommended to our
readers' bookshelves."--_Albion._

  "This is a pleasant and clever book; racy, genial, lively and
sparkling. It is a book to put one in good humor with himself and all
the world."--_Southern Literary Gazette._

  "It is an exquisite production, the like of which the press has not
produced in this country or in England. Portions of it remind us
forcibly of some of the old, and almost unknown French authors, whose
sketches of thought and feeling we have never seen equalled for delicacy
and truth, until we read these Reveries. The book is especially welcome
as one of a new class in this country, which appeals to all the finer
feelings of the heart."--_Journal of Commerce._

  "Well has the author called it a book of the heart. Not of a heart
withered by selfishness, mistaking disappointment for sorrow, hatred of
the world's joys for philosophic contempt; but a generous, noble heart,
that has sorrowed as we have sorrowed, that can echo back from the
distant hills of its own experience our own cries--now of joy, now of
grief and our songs of quiet happiness."--_N. Y. Courier and Inquirer._

DREAM LIFE: A Fable of the Seasons. By Ik. Marvel. 1 vol. 12mo.

  A charmingly designed and beautifully written book. It will add to his
previous reputation.--_The Churchman._

  It is written in the same vein as the "Reveries of a Bachelor," by the
same author, but is on the whole a better book.--_N. Y. Daily Times._

FRESH GLEANINGS, or a New Sheaf from the Old Field of Continental
  Europe. By Ik. Marvel. 1 vol, 12mo.

  "This book should be read by all who can appreciate a style full of
grace, in a composition replete with original and striking
thoughts."--_Boston Journal._

  "Agreeable, quaint, humorous, philosophical, pathetic, charming,
glorious Ik. Marvel! It is as refreshing to the mind, wearied with the
thrice-told insipidities of continental travel to dip into his fresh
sparkling pages, as a plunge, this hot weather, into the cold, diamond,
deer-haunted waters of some mountain lake. We have turned over his soft,
thick, dainty pages, and our eye has glided along the stream of his
bright descriptions, pleasant thoughts, humorous expressions, and
characters painted with a few light touches, like daguerreotype
portraits--very Sterne-like and exceedingly fine--until arriving at the
end we are startled at the rapidity with which the feet of Time,
flower-muffled, have trodden."--_Albany Atlas._

  "A series of the liveliest, newest, most taking and most graphic
sketches of out of the way scenes, character and incidents, that were
ever done up between a pair of bookbinder's covers."--_Commercial
Advertiser._

  "This is decidedly the most agreeable book of the season. It reminds
one by an occasional association of ideas, rather than resemblance, of
imitation of Sterne's Sentimental Journey, and some of Longfellow's
transatlantic sketches; but its freshness, its variety, graphic
descriptive power, and genial sympathies, are all its own."--_Buffalo
Advertiser._

THE BATTLE SUMMER. Being Transcripts from Personal Observation in Paris
  during the year 1848. By Ik. Marvel. With Illustrations by Darley.
  1 vol., 12mo.

  "It is a series of pictures--sketches of scenes which passed under the
author's eye. It is most ably done, and shows the hand of one gifted
with genius and destined to make his mark on the literature of his
country."--_N. Y. Courier and Enquirer._

  "The book is filled with a series of pictures and sketches more
graphic it would be difficult to find."--_New York Recorder._

  "Like a talented and enthusiastic artist, he placed himself in the
best positions, and caught the lineaments of each scene to be
transferred to his canvas. * * * In truth, he has furnished a gallery
of portraits which are very life like."--_Presbyterian._

  "An elaborate history would fail to convey so vivid and truthful a
conception of the rise, progress and manner of the 'second reign of
terror' as is to be obtained from this work."--_Portland Transcript._

  "It is by far the most able and most impressive account of the scenes
in Paris, and reveals a power of description that will give the author a
name."--_N. Y. Evangelist._

IK. MARVEL'S WORKS. Uniform volumes. Style for Libraries.




                       LIEUT. LYNCH'S NEW WORK.

NAVAL LIFE--THE MIDSHIPMAN; or Observations Afloat and Ashore. By Lieut.
  W. F. Lynch, author of "Dead Sea Expedition." 1 vol. 12mo. Price, $1.

  "The style is spirited and commanding, the matter of the most exciting
character, and the deductions often drawn from incident and adventure
worthy of the head and the heart of the author."--_American Spectator._

  "Amid the rollicking and exciting scenes, so characteristic of a life
on the ocean wave the author has introduced others of a more subdued
kind--passages here and there of touching pathos--little gushings from
the fount of a chastened and sensitive nature, betraying a heart
susceptible to the higher and better feelings that adorn and dignify
man."--_Weekly Eclectic._

  "The adventures he and his shipmates met with in various quarters of
the globe, are narrated in an unpretending style, but with graphic
power. Several of these narrations are of exciting interest, and they
so closely follow each other, that the reader will find it impossible
to lay down the book until he has reached the last page."--_Portland
Transcript._

  "This is a delightful matter-of-fact volume, for which we predict a
great many readers."--_Christian Intelligencer._

  "It is a work which does credit to the moral and literary character of
the navy."--_N. Y. Evangelist._

  "It is well written, avoiding coarseness and slang, and will be a
pleasant companion for the winter evenings."--_Cincinnati Herald._

  "The author has a great variety of experience, and he has made out of
it not only an agreeable but instructive book."--_Albany Argus._

  "It is filled with lively portraitures of naval life, and must be read
with interest both by seaman and landsmen."--_N. Y. Tribune._

  "This is a pleasing book, abundantly teeming with the thrilling
casualties of 'hair-breadth 'scapes' which beset the paths of those who
plough the enchafed bosom of the deep, and is strikingly characterized
by the winning graces of modesty of tone and a refined simplicity of
narration."--_Washington Republic._

                    *    *    *    *    *

ANNALS OF THE QUEENS OF SPAIN. By Anita George. 2 vols. 12mo.
  Price, $2 50.

  "Of the manner in which she has performed her task, it is enough
to say that she has won the distinguished commendation of Wm. H.
Prescott."--_N. Y. Evangelist._

  "Mrs. George follows steadily the highway of her subject without
diverging to any bypaths of speculation and illustration. Her object
appears to be, to give as much information as possible in small compass,
in which she succeeds."--_Literary World._

  "The authoress has worked her way through the scattered rubbish of the
past and produced a work of immediate and lasting interest."--_Bangor
Courier._

  "The work is written in a clear and vivacious style, and is an
accession to the popular literature."--_Prairie Herald._




                        HERBERT'S NEW WORK.

THE CAPTAINS OF THE OLD WORLD--Their Campaigns--Character, and Conduct
  as compared with the great modern Strategists--From the Persian Wars
  to the end of the Roman Republic. By Henry W. Herbert. 1 vol. 12mo.,
  with illustrations, cloth. Price, $1 25.

CONTENTS.--The Military Art among the Greeks and Romans--Miltiades,
  the son of Cimon--His battle of Marathon--Themistocles, his sea-fight
  off Salamis, &c.--Pausanias, the Spartan; his battle of Plataia, &c.
  --Xenophon, the Athenian; his retreat of the Ten Thousand, &c.
  --Epaminondas, his Campaigns, battle of Leuktra and Mantineia
  --Alexander of Macedon, his battles of the Granikos, Issos, and
  Arbela, &c.--Hannibal, his battles of the Ticinus, Trebbia,
  Thrasymene, and Can.

  "The theme is full of interest, to which Mr. Herbert's known literary
ability and classical taste may be expected to give due exposition. The
work is an original one--the material of which he claims to derive, not
from modern books, but from the ancient authentic sources of history
which he has examined for himself."--_U. S. Gazette & N. American._

  "Mr. Herbert has succeeded admirably--and has produced a work that
will entitle him to a high rank with the best authors of his native and
his adopted country."--_Syracuse Star._

  "The exploits of those captains are detailed, whose achievements
exerted the most powerful influence on the destinies of the world. The
author is a well-read historian, and has contemplated the events he
describes with the eye of a philosopher and scholar."--_Philadelphia
Presbyterian._

  "This is a powerful and brilliant delineation of the captains of the
Old World--it opens with the three great Wars of Greece, and traces the
course of Hannibal in the most captivating style."--_Albany Spectator._

  "To a nervous and pointed style the author adds the research of a
scholar and the enthusiasm of a man of action. The strategies of
warfare--the arming of troops, and the stern conflicts of man with man,
are of course congenial subjects to one whose knowledge of skill in
woodcraft is proverbial, and Mr. Herbert consequently enters into them
with gusto and with clearness of perception."--_The Albion._

  "This volume which is intended to be the first of a series, includes
seven of the greatest generals of antiquity, beginning with Miltiades
and ending with Hannibal. The facts are all drawn from the most
authentic sources, and the characters displayed with uncommon skill and
effect. It was a bright thought, the bringing together of these
illustrious names in one group."--_Albany Argus._

  "The writer draws a comparison between them and the great modern
strategists, and gives an exceedingly interesting and graphic picture
of the celebrated conflicts of olden times from the Persian wars to the
Punic wars."--_N. Y. Observer._

  "This is an unique and able work. It displays sound and varied
scholarship, united with a knowledge of the military art rarely
possessed by a civilian. There is a truth and freshness about the
descriptions that show the author to be no second-hand compiler, but
one who has drawn his knowledge from a careful study of the Greek and
Roman historians in their native garb. We would recommend this work to
the attention of the young student, as a better manual of antiquities
relative to the military art, than any set treatise on the subject,
while its views of historical epochs and political relations are equally
valuable and trustworthy. His analysis of the character and strategy of
the great captains of antiquity is full of interest and
instruction."--_N. Y. Recorder._

RURAL HOMES; OR, SKETCHES OF HOUSES suited to American Country Life.
  With over 70 Original Plans, Designs, &c. By Gervase Wheeler. 1 vol.
  12mo. Price, $1 25.

  It commences with the first foot-tread upon the spot chosen for the
house; details the considerations that should weigh in selecting the
site; gives models of buildings differing in character, extent, and
cost; shows how to harmonize the building with the surrounding scenery;
teaches how healthfully to warm and ventilate; assists in selecting
furniture and the innumerable articles of utility and ornament used in
constructing and finishing, and concludes with final practical
directions, giving useful limits as to drawing up written descriptions,
specifications and contracts.

  "In this neat and tasteful volume, Mr. Wheeler has condensed the
results of an accomplished training in his art, and the liberal
professional practice of it.

  "We can confidently recommend this elaborate production to the
attention of gentlemen who are about building or renovating their
country houses, to professional architects, and to all readers of
discrimination, who wish to know what is truly eloquent in this
beautiful art, and to cultivate a taste worthy to cope with "judgment
of wisest censure."

  "The cost of such establishments is carefully considered, no less than
the comforts they should afford, the display they can (honestly) pretend
to, and all the adjuncts that go to complete the ideal of a convenient
and elegant mansion."--_N. Y. Mirror._

  "It is extremely practical, containing such simple and comprehensive
directions for all wishing at any time to build, being in fact the sum
of the author's study and experience as an architect for many
years."--_Albany Spectator._

  "Mr. Wheeler's remarks convey much practical and useful information,
evince good taste and a proper appreciation of the beautiful, and no one
should build a rural house without first hearing what he has to
recommend."--_Philadelphia Presbyterian._

  "Important in its subject, careful and ample in its details, and
charmingly attractive in its style. It gives all the information that
would be desired as to the selection of sites--the choice of appropriate
styles, the particulars of plans, materials, fences, gateways,
furniture, warming, ventilation, specifications, contracts, &c.,
concluding with a chapter on the intellectual and moral effect of rural
architecture."--_Hartford Religious Herald._

  "A book very much needed, for it teaches people how to build
comfortable, sensible, beautiful country houses. Its conformity to
common sense, as well as to the sense of beauty, cannot be too much
commended."--_N. Y. Courier & Enquirer._

  "No person can read this book without gaining much useful knowledge,
and it will be a great aid to those who intend to build houses for their
own use. It is scientific without being so interlarded with technical
terms as to confuse the reader, and contains all the information
necessary to build a house from the cellar to the ridge pole. It is a
parlor book, or a book for the workshop, and will be valuable in either
place."--_Buffalo Commercial._

  "This work should be in the hands of every one who contemplates
building for himself a home. It is filled with beautifully executed
elevations and plans of country houses from the most unpretending
cottage to the villa. Its contents are simple and comprehensive,
embracing every variety of house usually needed."--_Lowell Courier._

  "To all who desire a delightful rural retreat of "lively cottagely" of
getting a fair equivalent of comfort and tastefulness, for a moderate
outlay, we commend the Rural Homes of Mr. Wheeler."--_N. Y. Evening
Post._

THE FRUIT GARDEN. Second Edition. A Treatise intended to Illustrate and
  explain the Physiology of Fruit Trees, the Theory and Practice of all
  operations connected with the Propagation, Transplanting, Pruning and
  Training of Orchard and Garden Trees, as Standards, Dwarfs, Pyramids,
  Espaliers, &c., the laying out and arranging different kinds of
  Orchards and Gardens, the selection of suitable varieties for
  different purposes and localities, gathering and preserving Fruits,
  Treatment of Disease, Destruction of Insects. Descriptions and Uses
  of   Implements, &c., illustrated with upward of one hundred and fifty
  figures, representing different parts of Trees, all Practical
  Operations, Forms of Trees, Designs for Plantations, Implements, &c.
  By P. Barry, of the Mount Hope Nurseries, Rochester, New York.
  1 vol. 12mo.

  "It is one of the most thorough works of the kind we have ever
seen, dealing in particular as well as generalities, and imparting
many valuable hints relative to soil, manures, pruning and
transplanting."--_Boston Gazette._

  "A mass of useful information is collected, which will give the work a
value even to those who possess the best works on the cultivation of
fruit yet published."--_Evening Post._

  "His work is one of the completest, and, as we have every reason for
believing, most accurate to be obtained on the subject."--_N. Y.
Evangelist._

  "A concise Manual of the kind here presented has long been wanted, and
we will venture to say that, should this volume be carefully studied and
acted upon by our industrious farmers, the quantity of fruit in the
State would be doubled in five years, and the quality, too, greatly
improved. Here may be found advice suited to all emergencies, and the
gentleman farmer may find direction for the simplest matters, as well as
those which trouble older heads. The book, we think, will be found
valuable."--_Newark Daily Advertiser._

  "It is full of directions as to the management of trees, and buds, and
fruits, and is a valuable and pleasant Book."--_Albany Evening Journal._

  "The work is prepared with great judgment, and founded on the
practical experience of the Author--is of far greater value to the
cultivator than most of the popular compilations on the subject."
--_N. Y. Tribune._

  "This Book _supplies_ a place in fruit culture, and that is saying a
great deal, while we have the popular works of Downing, Thomas, and
Cole. Mr. Barry has then a field to himself which he occupies with
decided skill and ability."--_Prairie Farmer._

  "Among the many works which within a few years have been brought
before the public designed to give impulse and shape to practical
husbandry and horticulture, this is among the best, and in many
respects, the very best. It ought to be in every family in the
United States."--_Ashtabula Sentinel._

  "It is a manual that ought to be in the possession of every man that
owns a foot of land."--_N. Y. Observer._

  "Both to the active fruit grower and the novice in Pomology, this book
will be found invaluable."--_Arthur's Home Gazette._

VAGAMUNDO; OR, THE ATTACHE IN SPAIN. By John E. Warren. 1 vol. 12mo.
  Price, $1 00.

  "The author of the volume before us has evidently many of the
necessary qualifications for a traveller in Spain. Light-hearted and
gay, his good humor never deserts him, and he is disposed to view
everything through a _couleur de rose_ medium. Much of this illusion
may perhaps be ascribed to the _senoritas_ who appear to have exercised
unbounded sway over the susceptible heart of our Attache. In his eyes
Spain is a paradise of houries of bewitching beauty."--_London Literary
Gazette._

  "The Attache, enjoying peculiar advantages from his official position,
made the most of his privileges, and has given us a daguerreotype of
that singularly romantic country and people in a style at once lucid,
lively and readable."--_The Leader._

  "We have seen more elaborate works upon Spain than this, but few
abound more with agreeable incidents and pleasant descriptions. The
writer's imagination revels amidst the soft and beautiful scenes in
which he finds himself, and he contrives to make the objects which pass
before him almost as visible and palpable to his readers as they were to
himself."--_Albany Argus._

  "He seems to have made good use of his means, for the book is full of
incidents, told in a rather lively manner, and with due sensibility to
the romantic scenery as well as to the romantic history of Spain."--_N.
Y. Evening Post._

  "The author is a man of unquestionable talent and keen observation. He
paints with great power, and sketches manners and men with the hand of a
master. There is an intenseness and earnestness throughout the entire
book remarkable in these days of literary foppishness and
superficiality."--_Oneida Herald._

                    *    *    *    *    *

THE FALL OF POLAND. Containing an Analytical and Philosophical Account
  of the Causes which conspired in the Ruin of that Nation--Together
  with a History of the Country from its Origin. By L. C. Saxton.
  2 vols. 12mo. With Illustrations. Price, $2 50.

  "The entire work is no hasty utterance of crude opinions, for the
author has evidently fitted himself for the task he has undertaken, by
a study of history generally, and particularly by a careful collation of
those writers that bear upon the subject. In order to be more complete,
the various topics are arranged under different heads: as Religion,
Government, Great Men, Civilization, Society, &c., thus enabling the
student to refer directly to the subject which he may desire to see, and
fitting it, with its appropriate index, to make a valuable work for the
library."--_Newark Daily Advertiser._

  "It is the product of great thought and research, and presents a
complete and accurate view of the history, government, laws, religion,
popular character, and in short everything connected with Poland that
can have an interest for the scholar or the statesman. It is a solid,
symmetrical, and glowing incorporation of all the great points of
interest of one of the most interesting nations of modern times, and
deserves to be placed among the enduring ornaments of American
literature."--_N. Y. Courier & Enquirer._

  "He has gone into his subject with thoroughness--having been many
years in gathering his materials, and giving them symmetry and form."
--_Boston Transcript._

  "The author has set himself to the task with great zeal, and with
quite an extensive knowledge of the accessories of his subject."
--_Cincinnati Daily._




                         "THE FALL OF POLAND."

Containing an Analytical and a Philosophical Account of the Causes
  which Conspired in the Ruin of that Nation; together with a history
  of the country from its origin. By L. C. Saxton. 2 vols. 12 mo.,
  pp. 568, 621.

  "The entire work is no hasty utterance of crude opinions, for the
author has evidently fitted himself for the task he has undertaken, by
a study of history generally, and particularly by a careful collation of
all those writers that bear upon the subject.

  "In order to be more complete, the various topics are arranged under
different heads, as Religion, Government, Great Men, Civilization,
Society, &c., thus enabling the student to refer directly to the subject
which he may desire to see, and fitting it, with its appropriate index,
to make a valuable work for the library.--_Newark Daily Advertiser._

  "He has gone into his subject with thoroughness and a scrupulous regard
to accuracy in detail, having been many years in gathering his
materials, and giving them symmetry and form.--_Evening Transcript._

  "The work abounds with thrilling incidents and vivid, not to say
gorgeous descriptions, as well as in valuable historic detail.--_Albany
Argus._

  "It is the product of great thought and research, and presents a
complete and accurate view of the History, Government, Laws, Religion,
Popular Character, Literature, and in short everything connected with
Poland that can have an interest for the scholar or the statesman. The
author writes with great vigor and clearness, and his work is
constructed throughout upon the best principles of historical science.
It is a solid, symmetrical, and glowing incorporation of all the great
points of interest of one of the most interesting nations of modern
times; and deserves to be placed among the enduring ornaments of
American literature.--_Courier and Enquirer._

  "These volumes embody a full and continuous history of Poland from the
earliest ages of its existence, in which are included the several
dynasties under which it has been governed, with reference to every
subject which throws light on the principles of its government, its
varying prosperity, its literature, its distinguished men, its religion,
and the character of its people. The author has consulted everything
which has been written on the history of Poland which was accessible;
has placed his materials under a clear arrangement, and has subjected
the whole to a careful analysis. There is no other book extant, in which
so much has been compressed on the subject of Poland, and which may more
safely be referred to as an authority.--_Philadelphia Presbyterian._

  "A map and engravings add interest and value to a history which Mr.
Saxton has prepared with great labor and care. We know not where else to
look for so much in the same compass, relating to a nation whose tragic
career has drawn to it the attention and sympathy of the civilized
world. The construction of the work is in many respects a model for
books of this class, giving, as it does, an answer to the inquiries that
are naturally suggested to the mind of the inquisitive reader, who will
not rise from the perusal of so complete a survey of Poland and its
history, without feeling himself informed at almost every point to which
his inquiries may be directed.--_Watchman and Reflector._

  "The author's style is terse and vigorous; his conclusions enforced by
arguments based upon well established facts and sound philosophy; and
the work, as a whole, we consider a valuable accession to modern
historical contributions. It is worthy the patient study of the student
of history, and eminently deserving a place in every private as well as
public library.--_Troy Daily Whig._

  "It is a book which the statesman may read with profit, while it is
also well calculated to interest the general reader. Especially would
we commend it to the perusal of the student, who will find many things
"both new and old" within its lids.--_Freeman's Journal._

HUGH PYNNSHURST: HIS WANDERINGS AND WAYS OF THINKING By Donald MacLeod.
  1 vol. 12mo.

  "We have certainly since Thackeray had no such pleasant tourist;
incidents, adventures, comic as well as serious, anecdotes,
descriptions, poetry, and satire are most happily intermingled, and the
result is as delightful a volume for a summer day or a winter evening as
we have seen for a long time."--_Philadelphia Evening Bulletin._

  "This is an eminently clever and readable work, which we venture to
predict will at once secure its author a distinguished place among
American writers. It is a fine tissue of humour, wit and adventure,
pathos and description, woven into just enough of acting and moving
story to create a lively interest."--_Graham's Magazine._

  "This is a work of decided genius; witty, observant, finely
descriptive and poetical,--a kind of travelling idyl, sung out easily,
and for the pleasure of singing, by one whose heart was full of the
stir, associations, and beauty of European life."--_N. Y. Evangelist._

  "This is no ordinary book. It is written by one who has the eye and
the heart of a true poet; and the transatlantic scenes which pass in
review before the writer are touched with corresponding lights and
shadows, making each one of them a picture, and every picture a
gem."--_Knickerbocker Magazine._

  "A kind of prose Childe Harold, in which the choice scenes of a
Continental Tour are strung upon the silken thread of a graceful and
lively narrative."--_Christian Inquirer._

  "This is a quaint, chatty, and graphic book of travels, full of gems
of pathos, humour, fancy, and brilliant delineation."--_Watchman and
Observer._

  "This is a charming book, abounding with wit and humour, but abounding
also in genuine pathos."--_Hampshire Gazette._

  "The writer seems to have seen every thing worth seeing, and he has
depicted it all here, with a genius, with a wit, with a discrimination,
and with a poetical fancy that will challenge, and win the attention and
admiration of the reader."--_Baltimore Patriot._

  "The author is a man of education and practice, and swings his pen
with a free and easy dash, that is as amusing and captivating, as it is
ingenious and effective."--_Springfield Republican._

  "The work evinces great power of imagination and of description; and
the writer seems equally in his element whether he is describing the
overpowering grandeur of the Alps, or a ludicrous scene in a stage
coach."--_Albany Argus._

  "Pynnshurst is quite as good in its way as the famous "Reveries of a
Bachelor," and if we are not mistaken in the public taste, is destined
to as wide a circulation. It must become the book for the
watering-places this season."--_Arthur's Home Gazette._

  "A series of brilliant pictures, daguerreotyped from scenes as they
passed, with a vividness and dramatic life, that let us into the reality
as perfectly as if we had passed through the same experiences."--_Home
Journal._

  "Pynnshurst will be read with more than ordinary pleasure by whoever
can appreciate a well of English, pure and undefiled, drawn out by
talent, ready observation, quick perception, and fine taste."
--_Columbian and Great West._

  "This volume is as fine a specimen of what may be called the 'Romance
of Travel,' as we have ever met with. All his descriptions are
wonderfully vivid, and he is one of those travellers that are constantly
meeting with singular adventures, some simply amusing, some comical, and
others absolutely thrilling."--_Troy Budget._

  "The author has a lively fancy, a quick wit, and a genial heart; likes
legendary lore, understands life, affects Saxon English, and hits off
portraits capitally."--_N. Y. Courier and Enquirer._


BRACE'S HUNGARY IN 1851: With an Experience of the Austrian Police.
  By Charles Loring Brace. (Beautifully illustrated, with a map of
  Hungary).

  "Upon the particular field of Hungary, this is by far the most
complete and reliable work in the language; a work that all should
read who would understand the institutions, the character, and the
spirit of a people who just now have so urgent a claim on our sympathy."
--_N. Y. Independent._

  "There is probably not a work within the reach of the English scholar
that can afford him such a satisfactory view of Hungary as it now is, as
this work of Mr. Brace."--_Christian Intelligencer._

  "It will not disappoint public expectation. It bears the strongest
evidence of being most reliable in its descriptions and facts."--_Boston
Journal._

  "We have seldom taken in hand a book which bears the reader along with
an interest so intense and sustained."--_Watchman and Reflector._

  "It is a graphic picture of the people and institutions of Hungary at
the present moment by one who writes what he saw and heard, and who was
well qualified to judge."--_Troy Daily Post._

  "He mingled much in the social life of every class of the Hungarian
people, and there can be no question that he has presented a faithful
picture of the condition, manners, customs, and feelings of the
Magyars."--_Portland Transcript._

  "The best and most reliable work that we possess, in regard to
Hungary as it now is, and the only one written from personal
observation."--_Phil. Evening Bulletin._

  "It tells us precisely what the mass of readers wish to know in regard
to the condition of Hungary since the Revolution. Having travelled over
large portions of the country on foot, and mingling freely with the
inhabitants in their houses, the author relates his various experiences,
many of which are sufficiently strange to figure in a romance."--_N. Y.
Tribune._

  "This book is exceedingly entertaining. These are clear, unambitious
narratives, sound views, and abundant information. We get a perspicuous
view of the people, life, and character of the country, and learn more
of the real condition of things than we could elsewhere obtain."--_N. Y.
Evangelist._

  "Its narrative is fluent and graceful, and gives the most vivid and
complete, and the most faithful picture of Hungary ever presented to
American readers."--_Courier and Inquirer._

  "For graphic delineation, and extent of knowledge of the subject
described, Mr. Brace has no equal, at least in print."--_The Columbian
and Far West._

  "We have read it carefully, and have no hesitation in saying that it
presents a complete idea of Hungary and her people as they were and are.
Mr. Brace has the happy and rare faculty of making the reader see what
he saw, and feel what he felt."--_The Eclectic._

  "He has succeeded in gathering the fullest and most satisfactory
amount of information in regard to Hungary that we have seen. His
description of the Hungarian Church and the religious character of the
people are especially interesting, and the whole volume is a valuable
addition to our knowledge of the interior of Europe."--_Watchman and
Observer._

  "This excellent work is not one of prosy details and dry statistics,
but is composed of the most familiar and intimate glimpses of Hungarian
life, written in the most graceful style."--_Worcester Spy._




                             FOURTH EDITION.

                              LOS GRINGOS.

An Inside View of Mexico and California, with Wanderings in Peru, Chili,
  and Polynesia. By Lieutenant Wise, U.S.N. _Baker & Scribner._

  "Lieutenant Wise has certainly made the best use of his opportunities,
and given us a volume, which, for its fresh, joyous humor, its life-like
naturalness, its brilliant glimpses of character and manners, and its
power of expressive word-painting, we have not seen the equal of, for a
long time, in our critical hunt for readable books. No one who runs his
eye over the lively table of contents, can satiate his curiosity without
a perusal of the entire volume."--_Tribune._

  "He has given the pleasure that Dickens gives to millions, using
carelessly, profusely, and _jolily_, two or three of the rarest
qualities of genius. For that power of unexpected parallelism, which
brings together, suddenly and laughably, the most distant opposites in
grotesque similitude; for the quick analysis of a thought or feeling
which supplies material for wit; for the genial and irresistible humor
which makes what people familiarize by the phrase 'the merriest fellow
in the world,' we hardly know the equal of the author of Los
Gringos."--_Home Journal._

  "The work itself is one of the most charmingly natural, fresh, and
entertaining we have had the pleasure of dwelling over for years. It
consists of a series of adventures in California, Mexico, and the
Society and Marquesan groups in the far boundless Pacific, and from the
first spread of the noble frigate's canvas which bore our author, to the
last page, the interest is sustained to the most pleasurable degree by a
contiguity of bright-colored, graphic pictures of life on shipboard,
scenery, excursions in hunting, life in the rancho, life in the village,
city, and on the delightful plains and savage mountains of the glorious
regions through which he wandered."--_Albany Atlas._

  "It is a book not to be easily laid aside; something like a companion
who talks rapidly and amusing all the evening, whom you cannot find in
your heart to remind of the flight of time."--_N. Y. Com. Adv._

  "The author is a person of sharp observation, and has great powers of
lively description. His sketches embrace a great variety of subjects,
and are not only written in a most entertaining style, but contain much
useful information respecting the countries which he visited, and the
strange scenes which it was his fortune to witness."--_Boston Courier._

  "He evinces quick observation, a ready faculty of seizing upon
whatever is humorous, striking, or characteristic, and an admirable
manner of rehearsing a story, or sketching an incident. The book is
eminently readable."--_N. Y. Courier & Inquirer._

  "In the varied scenes and adventures he describes, he is entirely _au
fait_, and whether on ship or ashore, 'chasing the wild-deer,' or being
chased by the grizzly bear, shooting brigands or dancing fandangos,
swimming with the Sandwich Island girls, or 'doctoring' interesting
young ladies in fits, he is equally _at home_."--_Literary World._




                          TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Parts of letters are interspersed with dialogue of the reader(s) of the
letters. Although that dialogue is in plain text in the original book,
it has been italicized in this version.

The advertisement for the "Fall of Poland" on page 233 was incomplete so
the partial sentence at the end of the page was deleted. It read "This
work recommends itself to public notice by its clear and concise history
of a coun-".

Some words which appear to be typos or misspelled have been kept as in
the original book. The following changes were made to the original text:

Page 11: changed _eyebrows_ to _eye-brows_
Page 41: changed _door-way_ to _doorway_
Page 43: changed _commened_ to _commenced_ and
                 _Its all nonsense_ to _It's all nonsense_
Page 84 and 206: changed _Sudermaunland_ to _Sudermannland_
Page 86: changed _gentleman_ to _gentlemen_
Page 87: changed _your are_ to _you are_
Page 113: changed _Hoetstholm_ to _Hoestholm_
Page 114: changed _to to take_ to _to take_
Pages 117, 140, 183, and 198: changed _birth-day_ to _birthday_
Page 154: changed _strategem_ to _stratagem_
Page 157: changed _He people_ to _Her people_
Page 161: changed _lead_ to _led_
Pages 187 and 203: changed _surprized_ to _surprised_
Page 190: changed _a soft-hearted weak women_ to
                  _a soft-hearted weak woman_
Page 206: changed _mysel_ to _myself_
Page 223: changed _author s thoughts_ to _author's thoughts_
Page 226: changed _remarable_ to _remarkable_
Page 227: changed _Iu truth_ to _In truth_
Page 229: changed _Alexandor_ to _Alexander_
Page 234: changed _Thacakary_ to _Thackeray_ and
                  _daguereotyped_ to _daguerreotyped_
Page 235: changed _proesy_ to _prosy_




[End of _The Bride of Omberg_ by Emilie Flygare-Carln]
