get us something to eat,’ said Michel, meaning to be cheerful and self-possessed.  ’We left Basle at five, and have not eaten a mouthful since.’  It was now nearly four o’clock, and the bread and cheese which had been served with the wine on the top of the mountain had of course gone for nothing.  Madame Voss immediately began to bustle about, calling the cook and Peter Veque to her assistance.  But nothing for a while was said about Marie.  Urmand, trying to look as though he were self-possessed, stood with his back to the stove, and whistled.  For a few minutes, during which the bustling about the table went on, Michel was wrapped in thought, and said nothing.  At last he had made up his mind, and spoke:  ’We might as well make a dash at it at once,’ said he.  ‘Where is Marie?’ No one answered him.  ’Where is Marie Bromar?’ he asked again, angrily.  He knew that it behoved him now to take upon himself at once the real authority of a master of a house.

‘She is up-stairs,’ said Peter, who was straightening a table-cloth.

‘Tell her to come down to me,’ said her uncle.  Peter departed immediately, and for a while there was silence in the little room.  Adrian Urmand felt his heart to palpitate disagreeably.  Indeed, the manner in which it would appear that the innkeeper proposed to manage the business was distressing enough to him.  It seemed as though it were intended that he should discuss his little difficulties with Marie in the presence of the whole household.  But he stood his ground, and sounded one more ineffectual little whistle.  In a few minutes Peter returned, but said nothing.  ’Where is Marie Bromar?’ again demanded Michel in an angry voice.

‘I told her to come down,’ said Peter.

‘Well?’

‘I don’t think she’s coming,’ said Peter.

‘What did she say?’

‘Not a word; she only bade me go down.’  Then Michel walked into the kitchen as though he were about to fetch the recusant himself.  But he stopped himself, and asked his wife to go up to Marie.  Madame Voss did go up, and after her return there was some whispering between her and her husband.  ’She is upset by the excitement of your return,’ Michel said at last; ’and we must give her a little grace.  Come, we will eat our dinner.’

In the mean time Marie was sitting on her bed up-stairs in a most unhappy plight.  She really loved her uncle, and almost feared him.  She did fear him with that sort of fear which is produced by reverence and habits of obedience, but which, when softened by affection, hardly makes itself known as fear, except on troublous occasions.  And she was oppressed by the remembrance of all that was due from her to him and to her aunt, feeling, as it was natural that she should do, in compliance with the manners and habits of her people, that she owed a duty of obedience in this matter of marriage.  Though she had been able to hold her own against the priest, and had been