by that. She flushed crimson. Now she told him in a few words about the dream-pancake, of how in a dream she had seen him and his father, and what the father had said to her.
He put down his knife and fork, and stared in amazement.
"This must be something you have just made up," he said.
"You can ask Maja Persdotter if I did not recognize you and say who you were before you were out of the sledge, the first time you came to buy hay," said Mamselle Lisa Maja, turning to the housekeeper, who was then passing round the food.
"But why haven't you spoken of this before?" he questioned her.
"That, I think, you must understand," she answered. "I did not wish to hold you by any bond but your own desire."
For a long moment he sat silent—evidently much impressed by what he had heard. Presently he asked: "Can you tell me how the man looked who said he was Dean Lagerlöf of Arvika?"
"Yes," said she, and went on to describe him. Her description of the father must have been accurate, feature for feature, for the son was so startled he involuntarily jumped up from the table.
"But my father died the year I was born," he said. "You may have heard people speak of him, perhaps?"
