"To-morrow evening?"

"No; to-morrow morning, and he must not leave Moel until he sees me.
We will return to Dal together."

"Very well, Dame Hansen."

"Won't you take a drop of _brandevin_?"

"With pleasure."

The boy approached the table, and Dame Hansen handed him a glass of
the beverage which is such a powerful protection against the evening
fogs. It is needless to say that he drained the glass, then,

"_God-aften!_" he said.

"_God-aften_, my son!"

This is the Norwegian good-night. It was simply spoken, without even
an inclination of the head, and the lad instantly departed, without
seeming to mind in the least the long walk that he had before him. The
sound of his footsteps soon died away beneath the trees that border
the swiftly flowing river.

Hulda still stood gazing at Ole's letter. Think of it! This frail
envelope must have crossed the broad ocean to reach her, the broad
ocean in which the rivers of western Norway lose themselves. She
examined the different postmarks. Though mailed on the 15th of March,