busy tongue was lamed; but at last he said, with singular firmness:—
“I will speak with my mother this evening; to-morrow everything shall be settled, and in a few days you shall go abroad in view of becoming my wife.”
He waited for an answer; he expected, at all events, that she would look up: but even this she did not do. He interpreted this in his own way: “You do not answer? You cannot! Rely on me; for from this moment you are mine! Good-night!” and he walked on.
She stood there as if in a cloud of mist. A feeble sense of alarm glided in and strove to part this; but the mist closed about her again.
With a power equal to that which Yngve Vold had exercised on her thoughts during the past three weeks, did this new wonder pave the way for a new series of dream images. He was the richest man of the town, belonged to its oldest family, and he wanted to raise her to his own level. This was such an unexpected change from all she had been dwelling on during the long period of suffering and indignation, that it was calculated to make her happy at once. She grew more and more so, however, after she had thoroughly reviewed her new and, in every respect, overwhelming circum-
