The pale and delicate countenance of Nanna, who he thought was destined in all probability to droop and die like a water lily, which she so much resembled, carried the old man’s mind back to the time when his father had promised to wed his mother, and he sighed as he thought how different Nanna’s station in life would have been had that promise been fulfilled.  Instead of neglect and insult, homage from all would have been her portion.

Yet Nanna was the pride and joy of her father’s heart, for Ragnar, who at an early age was obliged to labor for his own support, had preferred to become a sailor, rather than to acquire a refined education, and Carl could scarcely comprehend more than that which was necessary for the performance of family worship.  Nanna, on the contrary, would listen to her father with the utmost pleasure and interest as he related and explained matters and things which were entirely novel to one placed in her position of life.

And then, with what eagerness would Nanna read those few books with which her father’s little library was supplied!  She fully comprehended all she read, and she could not resist from becoming gently interested in the characters described in her books.  She sympathised with the unhappy and oppressed, and although she rejoiced with those happy heroes and heroines who had passed safely through the ordeals of their loves, yet when she read of the fortunate conclusion of all their troubles, she would sigh deeply.

But after sighing for those who had lived, she sighed also for the living.

She looked forward, with terror, to the day when she should lose her father, whom she worshipped almost as a supreme being.

Her innocent heart shrunk within her as she thought of the time when a man,—­for these thoughts had already entered her little head—­should look into her eyes in search of a wife.  Who shall that man be? she thought.  Is it possible that he can be any other than a peasant or a fisherman?  Perhaps he may be even worse; a common day-laborer of the parish.

O, that would be impossible!

Such a rude uncouth husband would prove her death.  How could she entertain the same thoughts, after her marriage with such a boor, as she had before?  He could never sympathise with her.  No, she would be obliged to remain unmarried for ever.  Perhaps not even a laborer would wed her!  On St. John’s eve, when she had ventured to attend the ball, did any body request her to dance?  No, not one, no, they only gazed at Mademoiselle Nanna, with a stupid and imbecile stare—­she did not belong to their class.

* * * * *

The next evening after Nanna had encountered the young stranger near the spring, she was seated alone in her bed-chamber.  During the entire day she had endeavored to assist her sister-in law, in the various domestic duties, with her usual activity; which however it must be confessed, was mingled with much pensive abstraction.  But after the tea service was removed, she had retired to her chamber, that she might in solitude commune with her own thoughts.