“‘Carl, Carl, Carl,’ it said, calling my name three times, ’you will not live long.’”

“Your brain is weak, my boy, because you have worked too hard.  When your body has received rest, and rest it must have, you will feel much better.  But tell me, Carl, what you thought when you imagined you heard the voice.”

“I did not think, but merely replied, ‘indeed.’”

“But, Carl, with this superstition you will make your father sorrowful.”

“Sorrowful?  I do not think so.  Should he be sorrowful because our Saviour in his grace is willing to call me to his fold?  Instead of being sorrowful, the day of my departure should be a festive day.  How many troubles do we escape after we are placed in the earth!”

“But if you think in that manner, you will become mournful yourself, you will not be able to laugh any more.”

“Not laugh,” replied Carl, and without an effort he commenced laughing merrily.  His face glowed with mirthfulness, and his melancholy humor seemed to have vanished as if by magic.  It appeared so strange to him that Magde should desire him to laugh, that he forgot all about the life insurance or the warning voice, and once thus engaged, he took no farther part in the consultation.

An hour elapsed, and Magde, after having emptied the basket of its contents, experienced a return from the hope that had sustained her during the interview, to her former despondency, as the moment of parting approached.  Carl proceeded in advance to prepare the boat.

“In four days, at the furtherest, I shall return,” said Magde, pausing upon the threshold of her father’s cell, “and then, as I hope for Ragnar’s continued love, I shall bring you good tidings.”

“Thank you, my dear Magde.  Ragnar shall learn all that you have done for his old father.  Kiss Nanna, poor little innocent, for me, and tell her that she must not come here, for it will only make her heart more heavy and sad.”

A moment later, and the creaking doors resounded throughout the ruins, the prisoner was again alone.

But once more did he hear a dear voice, for when Magde arrived at the outside, she remembered with a feeling of uneasiness, that her youngest child had not been blessed by its grandfather.  In the haste of departure, the little one had been entirely forgotten; but as it was impossible for her to leave the prison with the dear child unblessed, she stood beneath the grated window, and exclaimed: 

“Father, dear father, please look through the window, and I will hold up the baby for you, that you may give it your blessing.”

Immediately the old man’s white head appeared at the window, and Magde held the child aloft in her hands towards him.

And now everything was performed rightly; the last farewell glances were exchanged, and then Magde and her children disappeared from the old man’s sight.

CHAPTER XV.