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if he waded in them over his knees, they gleamed
before his eyes in the darkness, he greedily drank
in their perfume.
“And you have done this?” he repeated.
He must answer her and put an end to her
anxiety, though he felt such great delight in it. Oh,
how warm and how fair everything seemed, when
he thought of the road she had crossed, of how wet
and cold and anxious she was, how tearful her voice
sounded!
“No,” he said; “I am not betrothed.”
Then she caught his hand again and caressed it.
“I am so glad, so glad,” she cried, and her heart,
which before had been frozen with fear, shook with
sobs.
There were flowers enough now in the poet’s
path, and all darkness, anger, and hate melted out
of his heart.
“How good you are—how very good you are,”
he exclaimed.
Before them the waves were storming against the
honor and glory of Ekeby. The people had no
leader; no one inspired their hearts with hope and
courage, and the breakwater fell. The waves plunged
over it, and then dashed exultantly against the
promontory where the mill and foundry stood. No one
fought them now; no one thought of anything but
of saving their own lives and their property.
It was quite a matter of course to those young
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