A Hardy Norseman. Lyall Edna

said, by way of making a diversion. “Though I must tell you that we are considered here in Bergen to be rather English in some points. That is because of my father’s business connection with England, I suppose. Here, you see, in his study he has a real English fireplace; we all like it much better than the stoves, and some day I should like to have them in the other rooms as well.”

      “But there is one thing very un-English,” said Blanche. “There are no passages; instead, I see, all your rooms open out of each other. Such numbers of lovely plants, too, in every direction; we are not so artistic, we stand them all in prim rows in a conservatory. This, too, is quite new to me. What a good idea!” And she went up to examine a prettily worked sling fastened to the wall, and made to hold newspapers.

      She was too polite, of course, to say what really struck her—that the whole house seemed curiously simple and bare, and that she had imagined that one of the leading merchants of Bergen would live in greater style. As a matter of fact, you might, as Cyril expressed it, have bought the whole place for an old song, and though there was an air of comfort and good taste about the rooms and a certain indescribable charm, they were evidently destined for use and not for show, and with the exception of some fine old Norwegian silver and a few good pictures Herr Falck did not possess a single thing of value.

      Contrasted with the huge and elaborately furnished house in Lancaster Gate with its lavishly strewn knick-knacks, its profusion of all the beautiful things that money could buy, the Norwegian villa seemed poor indeed, yet there was something about it which took Blanche’s fancy.

      Later on, when the whole party had started for a walk, and when Frithiof and Blanche had quite naturally drifted into a tête-à-tête, she said something to this effect.

      “I begin not to wonder that you are so happy,” she added; “the whole atmosphere of the place is happiness. I wish you could teach us the secret of it.”

      “Have you then only the gift of making other people happy?” said Frithiof. “That seems strange.”

      “You will perhaps think me very discontented,” she said, with a pathetic little sadness in her tone which touched him; “but seeing how fresh and simple and happy your life is out here makes me more out of heart than ever with my own home. You must not think I am grumbling; they are very good to me, you know, and give me everything that money can buy; but somehow there is so much that jars on one, and here there seems nothing but kindliness and ease and peace.”

      “I am glad you like our life,” he said; “so very glad.”

      And as she told him more of her home and her London life, and of how little it satisfied her, her words, and still more her manner and her sweet eyes, seemed to weave a sort of spell about him, seemed to lure him on into a wonderful future, and to waken in him a new life.

      “I like him,” thought Blanche to herself. “Perhaps after all this Norwegian tour will not be so dull. I like to see his eye light up so eagerly; he really has beautiful eyes! I almost think—I really almost think I am just a little bit in love with him.”

      At this moment they happened to overtake two English tourists on the road; as they passed on in front of them Frithiof, with native courtesy, took off his hat.

      “You surely don’t know that man? He is only a shopkeeper,” said Blanche, not even taking the trouble to lower her voice.

      Frithiof crimsoned to the roots of his hair.

      “I am afraid he must have heard what you said,” he exclaimed, quickening his pace in the discomfort of the realization. “I do not know him certainly, but one is bound to be courteous to strangers.”

      “I know exactly who he is,” said Blanche, “for he and his sister were on the steamer, and Cyril found out all about them. He is Boniface, the music-shop man.”

      Frithiof was saved a reply, for just then they reached their destination, and rejoined the rest of the party, who were clustered together on the hill-side enjoying a most lovely view. Down below them, sheltered by a great craggy mountain on the further side, lay a little lonely lake, so weird-looking, so desolate, that it was hard to believe it to be within an easy walk of the town. Angry-looking clouds were beginning to gather in the sky, a purple gloom seemed to overspread the mountain and the lake, and something of its gravity seemed also to have fallen upon Frithiof. He had found the first imperfection in his ideal, yet it had only served to show him how great a power, how strange an influence she possessed over him. He knew now that, for the first time in his life, he was blindly, desperately in love.

      “Why, it is beginning to rain,” said Mr. Morgan. “I almost think we had better be turning back, Herr Falck. It has been a most enjoyable little walk; but if we can reach the hotel before it settles in for a wet evening, why, all the better.”

      “The rain is the great drawback to Bergen,” said Herr Falck. “At Christiania they have a saying that when you go to Bergen it rains three hundred and sixty-six days out of the year. But after all one becomes very much accustomed to it.”

      On the return walk the conversation was more general, and though Frithiof walked beside Blanche he said very little. His mind was full of the new idea which had just dawned upon him, and he heard her merry talk with Sigrid and Swanhild like a man in a dream. Before long, much to his discomfort, he saw in front of them the two English tourists, and though his mind was all in a tumult with this new perception of his love for Blanche, yet the longing to make up for her ill-judged remark, the desire to prove that he did not share in her prejudice, was powerful too. He fancied it was chiefly to avoid them that the Englishman turned toward the bank just as they passed to gather a flower which grew high above his head.

      “What can this be, Cecil?” he remarked.

      “Allow me, sir,” said Frithiof, observing that it was just out of the stranger’s reach.

      He was two or three inches taller, and, with an adroit spring, was able to bring down the flower in triumph. By this time the others were some little way in advance. He looked rather wistfully after Blanche, and fancied disapproval in her erect, trim little figure.

      “This is the Linnæa,” he explained. “You will find a great deal of it about. It was the flower, you know, which Linnæus chose to name after himself. Some say he showed his modesty in choosing so common and insignificant a plant, but it always seems to me that he showed his good taste. It is a beautiful flower.”

      Roy Boniface thanked him heartily for his help. “We were hoping to find the Linnæa,” he said, handing it to his sister, while he opened a specimen tin.

      “What delicate little bells!” she exclaimed. “I quite agree with you that Linnæus showed his good taste.”

      Frithiof would probably have passed on had he not, at that moment, recognized Cecil as the English girl whom he had first accosted on the steamer.

      “Pardon me for not knowing you before,” he said, raising his hat. “We met yesterday afternoon, did we not? I hope you have had a pleasant time at Bergen?”

      “Delightful, thank you. We think it the most charming town we ever saw.”

      “Barring the rain,” said Roy, “for which we have foolishly forgotten to reckon.”

      “Never be parted from your umbrella is a sound maxim for this part of the world,” said Frithiof, smiling. “Halloo! it is coming down in good earnest. I’m afraid you will get very wet,” he said, glancing at Cecil’s pretty gray traveling dress.

      “Shall we stand up for a minute under that porch, Roy?” said the girl, glancing at a villa which they were just passing.

      “No, no,” said Frithiof: “please take shelter with us. My father’s villa is close by. Please come.”

      And since Cecil was genuinely glad not to get wet through, and since Roy, though he cared nothing for the rain, was glad to have a chance of seeing the inside of a Norwegian villa, they accepted the kindly offer, and followed their guide into the pretty, snug-looking house.

      Roy had heard