her mother, heard him directed how to find her room. He was coming to fetch her. A shy joy came over her; she glanced around to see if all was in order to receive him, then she went to the door.
“Come in!” she answered softly to the low knock, and then stepped back a few paces.
That same morning, when Ödegaard rang for his coffee, he had been informed that the merchant, Yngve Vold, had already been twice at the door, asking for him. It jarred on him that a stranger had to be blended with his thoughts just now; and yet one who sought him so early must have some very important errand. He was, indeed, hardly dressed when Yngve Vold came again.
“You are doubtless surprised? Well, so am I. Good day!”
Greetings were exchanged, and the merchant laid aside his light hat.
“You sleep late; I have been here twice before. I have something important on my mind, I must speak with you.”
“Pray, be seated!” And Ödegaard himself sat down in an easy chair.
“Thank you, thank you, I prefer to walk, I am excited. Since day before yesterday I have
