haste, and, as soon as she was alone, opened, with a certain solemnity, first the package—it contained a pair of French shoes. Rather disappointed she was about to put them away from her, when she felt that the toes were heavy. She thrust in her hand and drew forth from one a small parcel, wrapped in fine paper; it was a gold bracelet: from the other, likewise, a parcel neatly done up; it was a pair of French gloves; and from the right glove again she drew forth a paper parcel containing two plain gold rings. “Already!” thought Petra, her heart throbbing wildly. She looked for the inscription, and, sure enough, read in one, “Petra,” with the year and day of the month; and in the other, “Gunnar.” She grew pale, flung the rings and the whole parcel on the floor as if she had been burned, and tore open the letter. It was dated Calais, and read thus:
Dear Petra,—We have just arrived here, with a fair breeze from latitude 61 to 54, and later with a strong gale, which is unusual even for better vessels than ours, although it is a gallant ship under sail. But now I must tell you that all the way I have been thinking of you and what last happened between us two, and it was so aggravating to me not to be able
