"What's the good of frousting here at Christiania;" asked R——, disappointed at my difference of opinion.
"Why, look at the scenery. Nothing in the world is like it," I said warmly.
"Pooh!" replied R——, disgustedly, "all my eye! I came to fish, not to look at scenery. I suppose you want to go up to that confounded hill again. But do as you like. I am for Larvig."
The sun mounted towards the zenith, and still his beams had no power upon the sluggish atmosphere; and the quiet and warmth of the day were unrelieved by a breath of air. R—— consulted D——, and found it useless to get under weigh. As soon as I learned the decision that had been come to, I jumped into a boat, and began to row myself towards the mountain where I had met Gunilda.
"Mind you keep a sharp look out," shouted R——, to me, "for should the wind get up, we'll be off."
I raised my hand in the air, in token of assent, and to intimate I heard what he said.
"We'll fire a gun," he added in a louder voice. Again, I raised my hand aloft; and then applying myself to the oars, soon reached the land. I made the boat fast to a tree's stump, and commenced my ascent of the mountain. No Gunilda, as yesterday, stood near the stone.
Musing, I sat, watching the crew on board the yacht making preparations for our departure, should the wind shift fair. I saw them running, like mice, up the shrouds, as they boused up the mainsail, and heard them chaunt a cheering chorus, as they heaved in the slack of the cable. It was mid-day. I rose, and turning to the left hand, took my way through the fir forest. I had proceeded about half a mile, when I discerned the kneeling figure of a woman through the closely-planted trees. I approached. It was Gunilda.
A little mound of earth, overgrown with flowers, denoted the humble grave of some one dear to the recollection of the Norwegian girl. A crucifix of black wood, round the top of which was wreathed a small garland of wild flowers, was fixed at one end of the grave; and on the cross the two Norwegian letters "G.H." signified the initials of the dead one's name. By Gunilda's side lay a basket of fresh flowers, culled while yet the morning's dew was sparkling on them.
"I did not think, sir, to see you again," said Gunilda, as soon as she had perceived me; and ceasing in her dutiful care of removing the weeds that had crept up since her last visit.