It was the third Sunday after Arnfinn's
return. He and Augusta were climbing the hillside
to the "Giant's Hood," from whence they
had a wide view of the fjord, and could see the
sun trailing its long bridge of flame upon the
water. It was Inga's week in the kitchen,
therefore her sister was Arnfinn's companion.
As they reached the crest of the "Hood,"
Augusta seated herself on a flat bowlder, and the
young student flung himself on a patch of
greensward at her feet. The intense light of
the late sun fell upon the girl's unconscious face,
and Arnfinn lay, gazing up into it, and wondering
at its rare beauty; but he saw only the clean
cut of its features and the purity of its form,
being too shallow to recognize the strong and
heroic soul which had struggled so long for
utterance in the life of which he had been a blind
and unmindful witness.
"Gracious, how beautiful you are, cousin!"
he broke forth, heedlessly, striking his leg with
his slender cane; "pity you were not born a
queen; you would be equal to almost anything,
even if it were to discover the Polar Sea."
"I thought you were looking at the sun,
Arnfinn," answered she, smiling reluctantly.
"And so I am, cousin," laughed he, with an
other-emphatic slap of his boot.
"That compliment is rather stale."
"But the opportunity was too tempting."
"Never mind, I will excuse you from further
efforts. Turn around and notice that wonderful
purple halo which is hovering over the forests
below.
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