The following day Hertha felt herself very much better. She wrote home to her father and sisters, fixing the day for her return, and the day following, with Eva Dufva crossed the Kattegatt to Copenhagen, where she restored the young girl to her family-not without having formed a close compact with her for the future—and then went to seek out Rudolph.

Well was it that she came to him at this moment! The unfortunate young man, pursued by unspeakable mental disquiet, by the horrible memories of the night of the fire, which seemed more and more strongly to rise up in his soul, was just about to leave the house into which he had been received, and to wander out into the world, without any other object than that of flying from himself.

Hertha did not dissuade him from this purpose; on the contrary, she strengthened him in his intentions of taking a long pedestrian journey, and in concert with the relative who had received him under his protection, laid out for him the route of such a journey, and furnished him with letters which would enable him to find friends and protectors at various places on his way, in case he needed them. This was good for the unhappy young man; but oh, how much more so was her presence, her strengthening, consolatory words, and the thought that she had come to Copenhagen merely for his sake; that he was something to her; that she had an interest about him. Joy and gratitude for this made him as a child in her hands. She, on her part, strengthened by the baptism through which she had so lately passed, talked to the poor son of the twilight with quite another wisdom and quite another power than formerly, comforting and strengthening him at the same time.

When Hertha had, with motherly care, provided the suitable equipment of Rudolph for his journey; after she had seen him, with his knapsack on his back, weeping but still happy, happy by her blessing, set out on his solitary way with his pilgrim-staff in his hand, she, without a single glimpse at the glorious works of art which are possessed by this northern

Athens, turned her face towards her own country and her own home.

Once more there she was received with unspeakable joy by her young sisters, whose tears and endearments made her feel what she was to them. Her father received her with dark and stern looks, but without saying a word, although within himself he cursed and swore at woman's emancipation. But he felt for his eldest daughter a high esteem mingled with fear. He needed her, and was afraid of driving her away. Aunt Nella, who was utterly, confounded and perplexed by Hertha's inexplicable journey and return, said a good deal about "Hertha's wild ideas," and muttered still more about their probable deplorable result, whilst she occupied herself with the interesting tangled skeins which she was getting ready for a great weaving which was to be done in the family.

The young sisters had a great deal to say about Yngve Nordin; how he had come to Kullen the very day that Hertha set off; how he was extremely annoyed by hearing of her sudden absence, and made many anxious inquiries about her, to which they could only give sorrowful and unsatisfactory answers. He had since then been there many times to learn if there were any tidings of her, and, finally, he had left a note for her. In this Hertha found only these words:

“Hertha, what is the meaning of this? I have a right to demand an explanation. YNGVE."

Why did Hertha press these words with a convulsive energy to her heart? It was because their frank spirit, challenging as it were her suspicion, conveyed to her soul, as with the speed of lightning, the conviction that they were written by an innocent and injured person, by one who in the candor of innocence demanded satisfaction. Oh, that it might be so that she had been mistaken! But how was it possible, credible ?-Dark enigma, how can it be solved?

ST. BRITA'S SUMMER.

Nor enchanting, as the North American Indian-summer, but yet tender, charming, and beautiful, is that time in Sweden which we call St. Brigitta's summer, or "the Brittsummer." It commences at the same time as the American after-summer, but it closes much earlier; its life is like a beautiful smile, which for a moment illumines a gloomy coun

tenance.

Already are housed the harvests of our fields, and nightfrosts and heavy rains, sometimes snow-flakes, have chased away the beauty of the meadows and the leafy trees; flowers have drooped their heads, and leaves become withered; when, at the commencement of October, occurs a time of bright sunshine and calm weather; when the Swedish landscape all at once presents a beaming autumnal splendor, with its many-colored leafage, its brilliant bunches of fruit, the wild-service, and the mountain-ash; its gorgeous sun-flowers, its whortle-berries in the heath, and its beautiful birds, circling about in the tree-tops, and, like the novice, putting on their most glorious attire, just at the moment when they are about to take leave of the beauty of life, and go into their wintry graves.

The northern saint, who sename-day occurs at this season, and whose inward warmth was such that she, during the severest winter, lay upon the earthen floor of the unwarmed convent-cell of Wadstena, and was not conscious of cold, was scarcely less remarkable than is this summer in the midst of the chill, autumnal life of November.

The wild-service and rowan-trees which grew round the parsonage of Solberga, were bright with crimson bunches of

fruit, and flocks of gay silk-tails were circling around them, in the brilliant sunshine of a fine morning in the Britt-summer. The parsonage itself, bright and clean as hands could make it, had altogether a holiday appearance, just as if its inhabitants were preparing for a festival. Fresh-gathered juniper twigs were strewn on the floor of the entrance and diningroom; the sun shone gaily through the bright window-panes upon the white tables and fresh flowers.

The pastor's wife had an incredible amount of things to do, she had set all her maid-servants to work, and might be seen herself, with her great bunch of keys, going from garret to cellar, from larder to dairy, from one press to another in the house, looking out table linen and silver and china.

Just at the very time when she was absorbed in the linenpress, in the agonies of choosing among several table-cloths, between the large rose and the little rose, the traveller and the star-patterns, the pastor came into the room and exclaimed:

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Well, my little old woman, it is no use trying to have a moment's conversation with you to-day, is it? It is really terrible to think what a great deal you have to do, and how much trouble these schemes and machinations,' as Mrs. Uggla would call them, cause you."

"What's that?" said good little Mrs. Dahl, cheerfully, "trouble! Don't you know that such trouble as this is my greatest delight, especially when it is for the benefit of the Infant School? And the object, and the occupation which it gives-may God bless them! They are my life and my pleasure, and without them I should not like to live. To-day I have been bustling about in the house like a flame of fire, ever since four o'clock this morning, and everything to-day has gone on so well, and fallen out as I wanted it, just as if it were under the control of some good angel. The dough has risen so beautifully that it is quite a pleasure to see it; andyou don't know what a nice present I have had this morning!" "I guess-a haunch of venison !"

"A haunch of venison? You are not very far wrong!

something quite as good as that: three hares and a woodcock! You know we must cook them for the feast."

"Three hares! a leap for every hare, and a kiss for the woodcock!" exclaimed the pastor, delighted; "I thought I smelt something uncommonly good in the kitchen. But, harkye now, could we not give the sexton's family one of these hares ?"

"That we'll see in the morning, father dear, that is to say, if there happens to be a hare left after our evening-feast. You must bear in mind that we shall have about thirty people. But, as for that, we might ask the sextons to come and eat a bit of the roast; and—(I think I'll take the little rose; it's true that it is somewhat worn, but nobody will see it by candle-light), and the old women in the poor-house shall each have her loaf for Sunday."

"You are an excellent woman, and a rare housewife," said the pastor, with all his heart.

"Ah! there is indeed some skill required in being a housewife, with no more means than I have. Do you know, my old fellow, that I have actually thanked God this very day because I was not rich, for in that case I should not know and feel as I do now, what a pleasure there is in planning, and scheming, and working, so that one's small means may be sufficient for all, and a little to spare! And when I have labored the whole week, and then at the end find that I have a little over, which I can give away, without detriment to the family, to some poor body or other, is it not a pleasant feeling? It is, indeed! Besides, there is a fresh life both for body and soul in these occupations which the rich never can experience. And when I, during the day, go about and look into the farm-yard, or the larder, or the garden; and thence over the fields, and see how green they are growing, or how the harvest ripens, or up to the sky, and see that it is bright as to-day, or that blue openings through the clouds are glancing towards me like friendly eyes, then I think that the earth is so beautiful, God so good, and life so glorious, that I am-ready to cry!"