through the tree-tops, the birches trembled in the breeze, the birds
mingled their song with the sound of a little stream rippling over its
stony bed.

How long the two sat there together, neither of them knew. At last
the dog startled them. He had made several excursions, and each time
had come back and lain down beside them again; but now he ran barking
down the hill. They both jumped up and stood for a minute listening.
But nothing appeared. Then they looked at each other again, and Hans
lifted her up in his arms. She had not been lifted like this since she
was a child, and there was something about it that made her feel
helpless. When he looked up beaming into her face, she bent and put
her arms round his neck--he was now her strength, her future, her
happiness, her life itself--she resisted no longer.

Nothing was said. He held her tight; she clung to him. He carried her
to the place where she had sat at first, and sat down there with her
on his knee. She did not unloose her arms, she only bent her head
close down to his so as to hide her face from him. He was just going
to force her to let him look into it, when some one right in front of
them called in a voice of astonishment: "Mildrid!"

It was Inga, who had come up after the dog. Mildrid sprang to her
feet, looked at her friend for an instant, then went up to her, put
one arm round her neck, and laid her head on her shoulder. Inga put
her arm round Mildrid's waist. "Who is he?" she whispered, and Mildrid
felt her tremble, but said nothing. Inga knew who he was--knew him
quite well--but could not believe her own eyes. Then Hans came slowly
forward, "I thought you knew me," he said quietly; "I am Hans Haugen."
When she heard his voice, Mildrid lifted her head. How good and true