“Right,” muttered Mrs. Ulrica hotly, as she hastily left the young man, “you shall repent this.”

Without wasting time by thinking upon this conversation with his aunt, Gottlieb hastened on the road towards the little cottage.  He had observed Nanna was not in the boat, and after proceeding to the spring, and fruitlessly searching for her, he hurried to the cottage, his heart beating with such rapidity as he stood before the door, that he was astonished at his great emotion.

“Illness could not have prevented her from going with them,” thought he, “certainly not, or they would have remained with her.”

Thus thinking he knocked at the door; but he was obliged to repeat the summons several times before he heard the sound of slow footsteps approaching.

“Who is there?” inquired a soft voice from within.

“’Tis I, Nanna!”

An exclamation of joyful surprise was the only reply.  The bolt was quickly thrown back; the door opened, and Nanna appeared upon the threshold, pale and careworn.  She was clothed in her only holiday dress, a black merino frock which fitted closely around her neck, thereby disclosing her graceful bust to its best advantage.

Without speaking, but overwhelmed with her joyful emotions, she cast herself in Gottlieb’s arms, and never was there a purer embrace given or returned than on this occasion.  With tender gentleness Gottlieb imprinted his second kiss upon her lips, and then said softly:—­

“Poor Nanna, poor child, you have at least one friend in your adversity.”

“Then Gottlieb is acquainted with—­” She blushingly withdrew herself from his embrace.  She had not thought that her greeting had been contrary to customary usage.

“Yes, I know your sorrow; and you may rest assured that I will give myself no rest, during the few days that I remain here, until I see your father at liberty and safely in his own house again.”

“O, if that were but possible!” she clasped her hands and lifted her eyes, confidingly, to the face of her youthful friend.

“It shall be possible, Nanna.  You have my word for it.  If I had been here it would not have happened.”

“I thought so.  An inner voice told me that if he would only come to us all would be well again.”

“I am grateful for your confidence and shall always remember it with pleasure.”

“Remember it!” exclaimed Nanna, “are you going to leave us again?”

Nanna again clasped her hands, and this action and the mournful expression of her countenance spoke more than words could have expressed.

“Will you miss me, Nanna?”

“Always.”

“And perhaps wish we had never met?” inquired Gottlieb earnestly.

“Ah, no,” replied Nanna warmly, “the remembrance of you will perhaps work a happier future for me than I would have had without it.”

“But tell me,” said Gottlieb changing the subject to one less dangerous, “why did not your sister apply to the proprietor of Almvik.”