"Let me tell you who I am, Elin. We spoke of Christian Christiansson the composer, and you sang his song to me and said you would like to hear something about him. I am Christian Christiansson."
The girl made a little involuntary cry, and his voice faltered for a moment.
"Yes, I am he, and the story I told you was the story of my own unhappy life, only--I have lost my daughter since I wrote that song, and now I am quite alone. Will you not come and take her place, my child? You shall be just the same to me as my own daughter, and you shall never know the difference. You will return with me to England and live my life, and whatever I do you shall do, and wherever I go you shall go also."
"Think of that, Elin!" said Anna. "You love music--you take after your poor father that way--and you will travel about just as your dear mother used to do!"
"It would be beautiful!" said Elin.
She had been standing all this time by the table with one hand resting lightly upon it, while her sweet face reflected the changing lights of alarm and pain and surprise and joy.
"I can't think of anything in the world I should love so much, but--I can not, I must not."
"Elin!"
"Grandma, didn't you tell me yourself when I came here long ago, and you put me to bed the first time, that I was never to leave Uncle Magnus, and if anybody ever came to take me away I was not to go? I was a little mite, but I gave you my word, I remember, and I am going to keep it."
"But I was thinking of somebody else then, Elin. I couldn't know that this gentleman would come--at a time like this, too----"