self so beautifully, labored for others. Unhappy she was not, yet neither was she happy. The week-day-school was a continual strain upon her mind, and was by no means a satisfactory labor. The parents were often stupid and unreasonable, and either could not or would not understand what was best in the education of their children. And besides this, she had incessantly to combat with the small worries of every-day life. Within herself too, she struggled, and not always successfully, against the bitterness which her father's want of integrity towards her, awoke in her soul, together with his increasing parsimony in the house. But more than all, she suffered from the unspeakable tenderness and anxiety which she felt for Yngve, as his letters betrayed more and more the cruel want which he felt of her and of a home, and as it became more and more evident to her that his health was suffering in consequence. He wrote less frequently, and a certain painful depression was often perceptible in his letters, however rich they might otherwise be in the life of affection and thought. It was an understood thing between the two friends, that if any change took place in the mind of the Chief Director with respect to themselves, Hertha should lose no time in making it known to Yngve, and that he should then immediately return. But year after year had gone on and no change had occurred which would justify Hertha in recalling Yngve. Seven years had thus passed since the day when they plighted to each other their faith in life and in death, and had been obliged to part, and Hertha was now no longer young. At this time came another of these letters from Yngve, which, without uttering a complaint, nevertheless caused Hertha to press her hand upon her heart, as if she felt there an agonising pain, whilst the tears slowly filled those sorrowful eyes, which seemed to gaze into distance. After this letter she sate down and wrote: "Yngve, come home! Come home, beloved friend! I cannot bear any longer to be separated from you, to see you suffer and to experience in myself, because you suffer, feelings which are like pangs of conscience. For I see, Yngve, though you do not say so, that you are ill, both soul and body. Oh! come back, and let me once more be your physician; it will make me also young again, and God will once more bless what you once called my 'power of healing.' "I have nothing new to tell you, as regards my home; everything remains unaltered as far as my father is concerned; or if either looks darker, more impossible, because his temper is evidently more morose of late,—but still, still I say, ' Yngve, come home! A presentiment, an inexplicable presentiment, a trembling but delicious presentiment tells me that we soon, soon shall be united to part no more. This life is short, and come back, beloved Yngve! Your mother prays for this with your "HERTHA." To this summons Yngve replied by fixing the time for his return; the exact day he could only state on his return to Sweden. In about six weeks he would be there. From the moment that Hertha with certainty could look forward to Yngve's return, a quiet peace and joy settled down in her soul. During the spring-life which the thought of this gave birth to in her whole being, a new youth, as it were, blossomed within her. The beautiful form, which had seemed somewhat to stoop and become attenuated, resumed its rounded contour; everything about her seemed to become brighter,even the temper of her father, who, now that his daughter no longer needed money from him, but almost entirely furnished the house-keeping funds from her own means, ceased to interfere with her private affairs. Yngve's gentle mother, whose increasing weakness evidently showed that she was not long for this world, revived anew in the prospect of her beloved son's return, and she had now no other wish than to live to see him united to Hertha, the daughter of her heart. Whilst Hertha's home exhibits this cheerful aspect, and she herself awaits Yngve's return with a throbbing heart, and assisted by her young sisters arranges everything in the house as beautifully and charmingly as possible for his welcome, we will give ourselves a moment's repose, and inquire after old friends and acquaintances at Kungsköping, and see what changes seven years have made amongst them. The last time, that we and our readers made a round of calls in Kungsköping, they may remember that we found Ingeborg Uggla and Doctor Hedermann together, and he (the wicked Dr.) caused her a sleepless night pondering about "the question" which he had to ask her. As we have an especial little friendship for Ingeborg we will betake ourselves first to her in our round of inquiries at Kungsköping. AFTER the evening's conversations which we have already related in our 66 short visits," Dr. Hedermann remained absent from Ingeborg's home for several days. She began to fancy that he had forgotten her, and the question which he wished to ask, and this grieved her more than she was willing to confess even to herself. She was therefore glad to dissipate her uneasy feelings by active employment. And this she found daily the so-called "Children's Dormitory," which had been instituted by the doctor immediately after the fire, and placed under Ingeborg's charge. Thither went Ingeborg daily, whilst her mother sighed over all those new-fashioned undertakings which converted young ladies into servant maids, "and prevented all good matches" in the world. One day Ingeborg went to her "Children's Dormitory" without observing that the sky looked threatening and cloudy, and therefore without an umbrella. When she reached the children's home, it began both to rain and snow. She ordered a fire to be lighted, and let the small creatures gather round it. She took up a little weeping child, which probably missed its own mother's loving care, and walked up and down the room with it, softly rocking it in her arms; and on her warm bosom it soon was hushed. The fire burned and crackled cheerfully; the little children chattered and played merrily on the floor in its blaze, and the little fellow slept sweetly, resting his head on Ingeborg's breast. The cheerful comfort of the time stole into her heart. She felt with joy what it was which would help her to over come all its disquietude; silently thanked God, and clasped with still deeper feeling the little slumberer more closely in her arms. "Childless, and yet a mother," whispered she to herself; and whilst tears, not of pain, fell upon the sleeping little one, she softly sang-words which the moment and her own feelings improvised Though I without husband or children may live, A mother I still may be, For the friend of all children, the Saviour, may give Thus sang Ingeborg softly to herself, casting every now and then an inquiring glance at the window, against which pattered the down-pouring rain, and remembering that she had not brought an umbrella with her, and that her mother would soon be expecting her home to dinner. But her uneasiness was soon relieved, for, as good luck had it, she saw Dr. Hedermann coming up the street with a large umbrella, and presently both he and the umbrella were in the room. The children set up a shout of joy, sprang forward to meet him, and clung round his knees. He gave a friendly recognition to Ingeborg, set his umbrella down in a corner, and seated himself before the fire, whilst, with evident enjoyment, he permitted the children to climb his knees, his arms, his shoulders, and there perform every kind of evolution. Of Ingeborg he took no further notice, nor said a word to her. But when, after having laid the little one from her arms upon the bed, and had some conversation with the woman who had the charge of the establishment, she was ready to go home, the doctor hastily shook himself free of his young swarm, with a good-natured slap right and left, and rising up, let them all tumble helter-skelter around him. He then took up his great umbrella, and, without a word, followed Ingeborg out. Away went both through the pelting rain, and the doctor held his umbrella over Ingeborg. |