"A deuce of a woman!" said Skarlie, all excitement. "Upon my word she could very easily turn a man's head."

And while he was sc.r.a.ping the ashes from his cutty, he added: "If she were not so kind-hearted she would be positively diabolical. She sees everything!"

Magnhild stood waiting for more.

He glanced at her twice, while he was filling his cutty from his leathern pouch; he looked pretty much as one who thought: "Shall I say it or not?" She knew the look and moved away. But perhaps this very action of hers gave the victory to his taunting impulse.

"She saw that there was light last night up over my workshop. I really thought she was going to ask whether"--

Magnhild was already in the kitchen.

At noon a wagon drove up to the door; Skarlie was obliged to go out into the country to buy meat for his workmen down on the sea-coast.

As soon as he was gone, the lady came running across the street. It was now as it ever had been. Scarcely did she stand in the room, shedding around her sweet smile, than every bad thought concerning her crept away abashed, and with inward craving for pardon, Magnhild yielded to the cordial friendliness with which the lady threw her arms about her, and kissed her and drew her head down caressingly on her shoulder. This time there was not a word spoken, but Magnhild felt the same sympathy in every caress that had accompanied every previous embrace and kiss. When the lady released her, they moved away in different directions. Magnhild busied herself in breaking off a few withered twigs from one of the plants in the window.

Suddenly her cheek and neck were fanned by the lady's warm breath. "My friend," was softly whispered into her ear, "my sweet, pure little friend! You are leading a wild beast with your child hands."

The words, the warm breath which, as it were, infused magic into them, sent a tremor through Magnhild's frame. The tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on her hand. The lady saw this and whispered: "Do not fear. You have in your singing an enchanted ring which you only need turn when you wish yourself away! Do not cry!" And turning Magnhild round, she folded her in her arms again.

"This afternoon the weather is fine; this afternoon we will all be together in the wood and in the house, and we will sing and laugh. Ah!

there are not many more days left to us!"

These last words stabbed Magnhild to the heart. Autumn was nigh at hand, and soon she would be alone again.

CHAPTER VII.

They were up-stairs in the afternoon, standing by the piano singing, when they heard Skarlie come home and go into the sitting-room below.

Without making any remarks about this, they went on singing. They sang at last by candle-light, with the windows still open.

When Magnhild came down-stairs Skarlie too had his windows open; he was sitting in the arm-chair in the corner. He rose now and closed the windows; Magnhild drew down the curtains, and in the mean time Skarlie struck a light. While they were still in the dark, he began to express his admiration of the singing to which he had been listening. He praised Magnhild's voice as well as the lady's alto, and of his wife's soprano he repeated his praise. "It is as pure--as you are yourself, my child,"

said he. He was holding a match to the candle as he spoke, and he appeared almost good-looking, so calm and serious was his shrewd countenance. But ere long there came the play of other thoughts. This indicated a change of mood.

"While you were singing her husband, the captain of engineers, arrived."

Magnhild thought he was jesting, but Skarlie added: "He sat in the window opposite listening." Here he laughed.

This so alarmed Magnhild that she was unable to sleep until late that night. For the first time it occurred to her that Fru Bang's husband might be repulsive to her, and she considered the lady's conduct from this point of view. What if those two people really loved each other?

Suppose it were her own case? She found herself blushing furiously; for at once Tande's image rose distinctly before her.

When she awoke the next morning she involuntarily listened. Had the tempest already broken loose? Hurriedly putting on her clothes she went into the sitting-room, where Skarlie was preparing to start off again. A portion of the articles he was to have taken with him had not yet arrived; he was obliged to go with what he had and come again in a few days. He took a friendly leave of Magnhild.

She accompanied him as far as the school.

Scarcely had she returned home than she saw a man with red beard and light hair come out of the house opposite, holding little Magda by the hand. This must be Magda's papa. The little girl had his light hair and something of his expression of countenance; but neither his features, nor his form; he was of a heavy build. They crossed the street, entered the house, and went up-stairs. Surely there could be no quarrel when the child was along? Magnhild heard Tande go dress himself, and she heard an audible, "Good-day! Are you here?" in Tande's voice.

Then nothing more, for now the door was softly closed. So filled with anxiety was she that she listened for the least unusual sound overhead; but she heard only the steps now of one, now of both. Soon the door opened, she heard voices, but no contention. All three came down-stairs and went out into the street where the lady stood waiting for them, in her most brilliant toilet, and with the smile of her holiday mood. Tande greeted her, she cordially held out her hand. Then the whole four walked past the house-door, and turned into the garden way to take the usual path across the fields to the wood and the mountains. At first, they sauntered slowly along in a group; later, the father went on in advance with the child, who seemed desirous to lead the way, and the lady and Tande followed, very slowly, very confidentially. Magnhild was left behind alone, overwhelmed with astonishment.

In the afternoon Magda came over with her papa. He greeted Magnhild with a smile and apologized for coming; his little daughter had insisted on his paying his compliments to her friend, he said.

Magnhild asked him to take a seat, but he did not do so at once. He looked at her flowers, talked about them with an air of understanding such as she had never heard before, and begged to be allowed to send her some new plants upon whose proper care he enlarged.

"It is really little Magda who will send them," said he, turning with a smile toward Magnhild. This time she was conscious that he was shyly observing her.

He looked at the pictures on the wall, the bridge at Cologne, the Falls of Niagara, the White House at Washington, the Caravan in the Desert, and "Judith," by Horace Vernet; examined also some photographs of unknown, often uncouth-looking men and women, some of them in foreign costumes.

"Your husband has been a traveler," said he, and his eyes glided from the portraits back to "Judith," while he stood stroking his beard.

"Have you been long married?" he presently asked, taking a seat.

"Nearly three years," she replied, and colored.

"You must put on your uniform so that Magnhild can see you in it," said the little girl; she had posted herself between her father's knees, now toying with his shirt studs, now with his beard. He smiled; certain wrinkles about the eyes and mouth became more apparent when he smiled, and bore witness of sorrow. Musingly he stroked the little one's hair; she nestled her head up against him, so lovingly, so trustingly.

He awoke at last from his revery, cast a shy, wondering look at Magnhild, stroked his beard, and said,--

"It is very beautiful here."

"When will you send Magnhild the flowers you spoke of?" interrupted the little girl.

"As soon as I get back to town," said he, caressing the child.

"Papa is building a fort," explained Magda, not without pride. "Papa is building at home, too," she added. "Papa is all the time building, and now we have a tower to our house, and all the rooms are so pretty. You just ought to see."

And she fell to describing her home to Magnhild, which, however, she had often done before. The father listened with that peculiar smile of his that was not altogether a smile, and as though to turn the conversation he hastily observed: "We took a short stroll up the mountains this morning (here the little girl explained where they had been) and then"--There was undoubtedly something he wanted to say; but a second thought must have flashed across the first.

He became absorbed again in thought. Just then Tande began to play overhead. This brought life to the countenance of Magda's father, a wondering, shy look stole over it, and bowing his head he began to stroke his little daughter's hair.

"He plays extraordinarily well," he remarked, and rose to his feet.

The next day the captain left. He might perhaps return later to meet the general of engineers, with whom he had to make a tour of inspection. The life of those left behind glided now into its accustomed channels.

One evening Magnhild appeared at Fru Bang's with a very carelessly arranged toilet.

As soon as the lady noticed this she gave Magnhild a hint, and herself covered her retreat. Magnhild was so much mortified that she could scarcely be prevailed upon to enter the sitting-room again; but amid the laughing words of consolation heaped upon her she forgot everything but the never-wavering goodness and loving forethought of her friend. It was so unusual for Magnhild to express herself as freely as she did now, that the lady threw her arms about her and whispered,--

"Yes, my child, you may well say that I am good to you, for you are killing me!"

Magnhild quickly tore herself away. She sought no explanation with words, she was by far too much startled; but her eyes, the expression of her face, her att.i.tude, spoke for her. The door was opened, and Magnhild fell from surprise to painful embarra.s.sment. Tande had, meanwhile, turned toward Magda, humming softly, as though he observed nothing; he amused himself by playing with the little one. Later he talked with Magnhild about her singing, which he told her she must by no means drop again. If arrangements could be made for her to live in the city,--and that could so easily be brought about,--he would not only help her himself, but procure for her better aid than his.

Fru Bang was coming and going, giving directions about the evening meal.

The maid entered with a tray, on which were the cream and other articles, and by some untoward chance Fru Bang ran against it directly in front of Magnhild and Tande, and her efforts to prevent the things from falling proved fruitless, because the others did not come speedily enough to her aid. Everything was overthrown. The dresses of both ladies were completely bespattered. Tande at once drew out his pocket handkerchief and began to wipe Magnhild's.

"You are less attentive to me than to her," laughed the lady, who was much more soiled than Magnhild.

He looked up.