passage. The larger one we use as a living room, and the other is
our sleeping apartment. We have no servant, but do everything for
ourselves. I fear sometimes Muriel must find it lonely. The nearest
human habitation is eight miles away, across the mountain, and not a
soul comes near us. I spend as much time as I can with her, however,
during the day, and make up for it by working at night after she has
gone to sleep; and when I question her, she only laughs, and answers
that she loves to have me all to herself. (Here you will smile
cynically, I know, and say, 'Humph, I wonder will she say the same
when they have been married six years instead of six months.') At
the rate I am working now I shall have finished my first volume by
the spring, and then, my dear fellow, you must try and come over, and
we will walk and talk together 'amid these storm-reared temples of
the gods.' I have felt a new man since I arrived here. Instead of
having to 'cudgel my brains,' as we say, thoughts crowd upon me.
This work will make my name."


Part of the third letter, the second being mere talk about the book
(a history apparently) that the man was writing:

"MY DEAR JOYCE,--I have written you two letters--this will make the
third--but have been unable to post them. Every day I have been
expecting a visit from some farmer or villager, for the Norwegians
are kindly people towards strangers--to say nothing of the
inducements of trade. A fortnight having passed, however, and the
commissariat question having become serious, I yesterday set out
before dawn, and made my way down to the valley; and this gives me
something to tell you. Nearing the village, I met a peasant woman.
To my intense surprise, instead of returning my salutation, she