"What shall I say?" continued Harald, in the highest excitement and disquiet; "much is obscure to myself——incomprehensible. But your narrative has at this moment called up in me recollections, impressions, which make me certain that I neither deceive you nor myself. At this instant I remember with perfect clearness, how I, as a child, one day ran my little sledge on the hill before the fortress, and how I was there addressed by the, to me, well-known Sergeant Rönn, but whose name till this moment had entirely escaped me, who invited me to ascend his sledge, and take a drive with him. I desired nothing better, and I got in. I remember also now extremely well that my hat blew off, that I wished to fetch it, but was prevented by the Sergeant, who threw a cloak round me, and drove off at full speed. And long did the drive continue——but from this moment my recollection becomes dark, and I look back into a time as into a dark night, which ever and anon is illuminated by lightning. Probably I fell then, into the heavy sickness which long afterwards checked my growth. I recollect it as a dream, that I would go home to my mother, but that my cries were hushed by the Sergeant, first with good words and then with menaces. I remember dimly, that I at one time found myself in a foul and wretched house, where hideous men treated me harshly, and I longed to die.—— Then comes, like a sunbeam, the impression of another home, of a clear heaven, pure air, green meadows, and of friendly, mild people, who, with infinite tenderness, cherished the sick and weakly child which I then was. This home was Alette's; and her excellent parents, after they had recalled me to life, adopted me as their son. My new relationships became unspeakably dear to me; I was happy; my illness and the long succeeding weakness had almost wholly obliterated the memory of the past. I had forgotten the names of both people and places, yet never did I forget my childhood's earliest, motherly cherisher. Like a lovely and holy image has she followed me through life, although, with the lapse of years, she, as it were, folded herself continually in a thicker veil.
"When I was older, I requested and received from my foster-father an explanation of my reception into his house. I then found that he had one day called on Mr. K—— in Christiansand, and had seen there a most feeble and pale child, who sate in the sunshine on the floor. The child began to weep, but hushed itself in terror when Mr. K——went up sharply to it, and threatened it with the dark room. Moved by this occurrence, my benefactor inquired to whom the boy belonged, and received for answer that it was a poor child without connexions, and who had been taken in charity and committed to K——'s care. Alette's father resolved at once, cost what it would, to take the child out of this keeping, and offered to take the boy himself, and try what the country air would do for the restoration of his health. It was in this manner that I came into the family which I thence called my own. I could obtain no explanation respecting my parents, nor respecting my peculiar connexion with Mr. K——. K—— died a few weeks after my removal from his house, and his wife either knew or pretended to know nothing whatever about me.
"But my excellent foster-parents never allowed me to feel that I had no real relatives. They made no difference between me and their own child, and Alette became to me the tenderest and best of sisters. Death deprived us of this beloved support; Alette's father has been now dead two years: Alette removed to some near relatives, in order after a certain time, to give her hand to a man whom she has long loved; and I sought in travel to dissipate the feeling of desolation which had seized on my heart. It was at this moment that business, or rather Providence, conducted me to you. Admiration, and an interest whose power I cannot describe, drew me towards you; perhaps, unknown to me, darkly operated in me the delightful recollections of my childhood. At this moment they have ascended in all their clearness. I seem now again transported into the years of boyhood, when I called you mother, and loved you even to adoration; and now—" and with passionate tenderness Harald seized the hand of Mrs. Astrid, while he stammered forth—"now ... what says your heart?... Can you trust this dim recollection ... this narrative without all testimony?... May I again call you mother? Can you, will you, receive me as son?"
"Do I wish it?... Feel these tears of joy! I have not shed many such upon earth. I cannot doubt ... I believe ... I am happy!... Thou art my sister's son, my child ... I have thee again. But oh! have I found thee merely to see thee die—die here—for my sake? Am I then born to be unfortunate? This moment is bitter."
"But delightful also!" exclaimed Harald, with warmth; "we have found each other; we are united."
"To die!"
"Rescue is yet possible!"
"But only through a miracle."
"Providence permits wonderful things to happen; we have just had evidence of it!" said Harald, with a gentle, admonitory tone.
"Thou art right, Harald; but I have been so unhappy! I have difficulty to believe in happy miracles. But, at all events, God be praised for this moment, and let His will be done!"