“But Ole wished his betrothed to witness it.  In fact, he particularly requested it in the last lines he ever wrote, and I think his wishes should be obeyed.”

“But the ticket is no longer in Hulda’s possession,” remarked Joel, “and we do not even know into whose hands it has passed.”

“Nevertheless, I think you both ought to accompany me to Christiania to attend the drawing,” replied the professor.

“Do you really desire it, Monsieur Sylvius?” asked the young girl.

“It is not I, my dear Hulda, but Ole who desires it, and Ole’s wishes must be respected.”

“Monsieur Sylvius is right, sister,” replied Joel.  “Yes; you must go.  When do you intend to start, Monsieur Sylvius?”

“To-morrow, at day-break, and may Saint Olaf protect us!”

CHAPTER XVI.

The next morning Foreman Lengling’s gayly painted kariol bore away Sylvius Hogg and Hulda, seated comfortably side by side.  There was not room for Joel, as we know already, so the brave fellow trudged along on foot at the horse’s head.

The fourteen kilometers that lay between Dal and Moel had no terrors for this untiring walker.

Their route lay along the left bank of the Maan, down the charming valley of the Vesfjorddal—­a narrow, heavily wooded valley, watered by a thousand dashing cataracts.  At each turn in the path, too, one saw appearing or disappearing the lofty summit of Gousta, with its two large patches of dazzling snow.

The sky was cloudless, the weather magnificent, the air not too cool, nor the sun too warm.

Strange to say, Sylvius Hogg’s face seemed to have become more serene since his departure from the inn, though it is not improbable that his cheerfulness was a trifle forced, so anxious was he that this trip should divert Joel and Hulda from their sorrowful thoughts.

It took them only about two hours and a half to reach Moel, which is situated at the end of Lake Tinn.  Here they were obliged to leave the kariol and take a small boat, for at this point a chain of small lakes begins.  The kariol paused near the little church, at the foot of a water-fall at least five hundred feet in height.  This water-fall, which is visible for only about one fifth of its descent, loses itself in a deep crevasse before being swallowed up by the lake.

Two boatmen were standing on the shore beside a birch-bark canoe, so fragile and unstable that the slightest imprudence on the part of its occupants would inevitably overturn it.

The lake was at its very best this beautiful morning.  The sun had absorbed all the mist of the previous night, and no one could not have asked for a more superb summer’s day.

“You are not tired, my good Joel?” inquired the professor, as he alighted from the kariol.

“No, Monsieur Sylvius.  You forget that I am accustomed to long tramps through the Telemark.”