at the shady little garden where the egg-shaped spots of sunlight glided slowly over the grassplot and paths in their snail-like passage from west to east—and she could not understand how the world could go on in its usual way as if nothing had happened. There were the hens walking about quietly, and scratching up the earth under the gooseberry bushes; and the magpies were flying about from tree-top to tree-top, chattering with all their might, just the same as yesterday. Behind the dyke she could see the back of the old brown mare shining in the sun, as it stood immoveable, letting itself be baked through; and she thought how well off was an animal like that. It had no sorrows, no fears, it knew nothing of this terrible oppression which made the heart beat till the whole body ached.
At last her friend came. With much shy beating about the bush, and many struggles with her tears, Hansine, sitting on the edge of the bed, confided to her all that had happened in the evening, at the same time taking a solemn promise from her that she would never divulge to any of her friends how it had come about.
Ane was not nearly so much astonished as Hansine had expected. She embraced her in an outburst of rapture and pride, but declared intrepidly that it was no more than she had long expected. The fact was, that she had had a dream one night in which she saw Hansine in wedding clothes dancing with a man who was exactly
