Ah, yes; he remembered well that far-off summer when life had been a holiday in the hills, and a girl making coffee over a fire had smiled at him for the first time. And he remembered the first sun-red night of his love on the shining lake-mirror, when his heart was filled with the rush of a great anthem to heaven and earth.
She stood there still. He had her yet. But for the first time in their lives she came to him now humbly, begging him to make the best of her as she was.
An unspeakable warmth began to flow through his heavy heart. But he did not rush to embrace her and whirl her off in a storm of passionate delight. He stood still, staring before him, and, drawing himself up, swore to himself with fast-closed lips that he would, he WOULD trample a way through, and save things for them both, even yet.
The lights were put out, and soon they lay in their separate beds, breathing heavily in the dark. Peer stretched himself out, with his face up, thinking, with closed eyes. He was hunting in the dark for some way to save his dear ones. And Merle lay so long waiting for one caress from him that at last she had to draw out her handkerchief and press it over her eyes, while her body shook with a noiseless sobbing.
Chapter XII
Old Lorentz D. Uthoug rarely visited his rich sister at Bruseth, but to-day he had taken his weary way up there, and the two masterful old folks sat now facing each other.
“So you’ve managed to find your way up here?” said Aunt Marit, throwing out her ample bosom and rubbing her knees like a man.
“Why, yes—I thought I’d like to see how you were getting on,” said Uthoug, squaring his broad shoulders.
“Quite well, thanks. Having no son-in-law, I’m not likely to go bankrupt, I daresay.”