"H'm; her heart's like the drawers in my store," said Nachmann. "In and out according to what's wanted."
Peter Oiland determined nevertheless to make an attempt. He would say nothing for the present as to the details of his plan; he had an idea, and hoped it might succeed.
Meantime, Emilie Rantzau continued her triumphant progress; she was leading society in Strandvik. Her dresses, her manner, were a standing topic among the ladies of the town, who hated and admired her at once. She on her part was happy enough, but at a loss to understand why Nickelsen was so unpardonably tardy in making his declaration; still, it could only be a question of time; she felt safe enough.
One day there came a letter from Christiania, which in a flash threw Strandvik and its entire society into the background. It ran as follows:
"My dear Emilie Rantzau,—Years, many years, have passed since we last met. Do you remember a fair young man whom you often saw at Mrs. Moller's, when you were a boarder there as a girl? But there were so many of us young students who were all more or less in love with you at that time, and I hardly dare suppose you would have any special recollection of my humble self. It would be only natural that you should have forgotten. But I have never, never forgotten Emilie Storm, as you were then.
"I was poor and unknown at the time, and poor, alas, I remained for many years, until at last I had no longer any hope of meeting you again, as I had dreamed—yet I have followed your career, and kept myself informed as to your circumstances. I learned of your husband's death, and that you are now obliged to earn your livelihood as housekeeper to an old bachelor in a little out-of-the-way place.
"To think that you—you, Emilie, who have never for a single day been absent from my thoughts, should be wasting away your life among the yokels of an insignificant seaport town.
"And I—I am alone and lonely now, back at home after many long years of toil in the great cities of Europe, and the fortune I have made is useless to me. For money cannot purchase happiness, or bring back the dreams of youth.
"Emilie, shall we try to come together? Shall we renew our old acquaintance, and see if we can find that mutual sympathy which binds one life to another?
"If you are willing, then let us meet. My name you need not know. I should prefer you to find me as I am now, not as the ardent youth I was when first we met, but as a man, sobered by trials and experience, who has nevertheless maintained the ideals of early days unscathed throughout the battle of life. You may reply to