Year: 1874




CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY.
Surely be had made u terrible mistake
woman penitant on account of some
guilty thing would have found relief in
confessing it to her husband; and one
still impenitent would have sought refuge
in some evasion or other. But Aasta had
neither confessed anything, nor had re-,
course to any evasion, but had sought
refuge in death when he had so torrnented
her. Such conduct showed no sign of
guilt. But why not? Some folks had
great dread of confessing anything. Aasta,
however, had no such dread for she had
already confessed there was something
about her life which she could never tell
him. Perhaps, then. the greatness of her
guilt made confession impossible ! But
she could not have had the burden of any
great guilt upon her; for she was often
joyous-nay even full of fun. She was
hasty and impetuous, it is true; but she
was also very full of tender feeling and
kindlness. Perhaps the guilt was some
other persons. and not hers at all ? Why
then had she never told him so ]? If She
had only done this, all would have come
right. But supposng there were no guilt
either on her side, or on that of anybody
else, how then? But she herself had said
there was something she could never tell
him. And then how about that foreign
skipper she was so afraid of? How was
it9 In the name Of goodness. how was
it? All, had he been still alive, he would
still have torme nted her. This thought
moved him deeply, and made him re-
proach and despise himself beyond meas
ure.


Still he began again perhaps she was
not SO guilty as she herself believed; or
perhaps not so guilty as others might have
quite innocently and only through ignor-
Thus Aasta had thought that he, who was
always full of suspicion. would not under
stand it. Out of one clear, simple answer
he would have found matter fora hundred
suspicious questions; and 50 she had cho-
sen to confide herself to death rather than
to him. Why could he never leave her in
peacep She had fled from the things of
her past life, and sought refuge with him
and then he, forsooth, must constantly
drag them forward and fling them in her
face She was truly attached to him, and
showed him all love and tenderness
what right had he, then. to concern him.
self about her past? And if he had any
such right, why did he not say so in the
beginning? Whereas, the more her affec-
ton had grown, the more his disquiet had
grown likewise-when she, not merely
through admiration and gratitude, but
also through love, had become wholly his
own, then, tOrsoOth, he must begin to
wish to know all about what she had done
and been in days gone by. The more,
too, she had pleaded for herself, the worse
he had thought of her. and the more he
had insisted that there was something he
ought to be told.


Then, for the first time, arose the ques-
tion. had he told her everything? Would
it really be right for husband and wife to
tell each other everythingp Would all be
understood if It were told. Most certain
ly not.


He heard two children playing, and he
looked around. He was sitting in the
green enclosure Aasta had spoken IA
little while ago, but he had not been aware
of it till now. Five hours had passed; he
thought it was few minutes. The chill
d!en had most likely been playing there for
a long time; but he heard them now for
the first time.


What was not one of them Agnes the
clergyman's little daughter of eight years,
whom Aasta had loved even TO idolatry,
and who was so like her. Good heavens
how like she was.


Agnes had just set her little brother up
on great stone, where he had to be in
school, while she was schoolmaster.


Say now just what | say" she com
manded: "Our Father"


'Ou Farvcr.,,'


"Who art in heaven


"Eb'm."


"IIallowed be thy name


"'Arvid be name"


"Thy Kingdom come


Mo-


Thy will be DONE


NO; SAINT"


Botolf crept away; not, however, be-
cause the prayer had touched him; in
deed, he had not marked that it was
prayer; but while he looked at and lis
tened to the children, he became. in his
own eyes, a horrible wild beast, unfit to
come near God or man. He dragged him.
self behind some bushes. SO that the chill
dren might not discover him: he was
more afraid of them than he had ever been
of any one in all his life. He skunk off
into the forest, far away from the high
road.


Where should he go? To the now
empty house he had bought and furnished
for Aasta? Or should he go somewhere
farther awayP 1t mattered nothing for
wherever he thought of going, he saw
Aasta standing there. IT. is said that when
folks are dying, the last object they see is
pictured upon their eyes; so, too, when a
man awakes to consciousness after doing
wicked deed, the first object he sees is
pictured upon his eyes, and he can never
get rid OF it. Thus, when Botolfnow saw
Aasta. she no longer appeared to him as
she had upon the mountain-slope so short
time before. but she seemed to be lit
tie innocent girl-in fact, to be Agnes.
Even the picture he retained of her figure
while she was sinking down the steep
was that of Agnes, with her little hands
uplifted. In whatever direction he turned
his thoughts and remembrances of the suf-
fering woman whom he had so suspect
ed, were met by this innocent child,
whom he had just heard repeating the
Lords Prayer. In every scene of his life
with Aasta-from the night OF the ship