in the far distance.

Then he would look round for Marit, but when she had come he payed no
further attention to her.

At last there came a Christmas, when Oyvind and Marit might be about
sixteen or seventeen, and were both to be confirmed in the spring. The
fourth day after Christmas there was a party at the upper Heidegards,
at Marit's grandparents', by whom she had been brought up, and who had
been promising her this party for three years, and now at last had to
give it during the holidays. Oyvind was invited to it.

It was a somewhat cloudy evening but not cold; no stars could be seen;
the next day must surely bring rain. There blew a sleepy wind over the
snow, which was swept away here and there on the white Heidefields;
elsewhere it had drifted. Along the part of the road where there was
but little snow, were smooth sheets of ice of a blue-black hue, lying
between the snow and the bare field, and glittering in patches as far
as the eye could reach. Along the mountain-sides there had been
avalanches; it was dark and bare in their track, but on either side
light and snow-clad, except where the forest birch-trees put their
heads together and made dark shadows. No water was visible, but
half-naked heaths and bogs lay under the deeply-fissured, melancholy
mountains. Gards were spread in thick clusters in the centre of the
plain; in the gloom of the winter evening they resembled black clumps,
from which light shot out over the fields, now from one window, now
from another; from these lights it might be judged that those within
were busy.

Young people, grown-up and half-grown-up, were flocking together from