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slowly up the walk, sometimes stopping to look at a flower,
as though he had not noticed that there was any one else in
the garden. Presently he turned down a side-path, paused
a moment behind a large white syringa to smooth his
uniform and pull down his belt, took off his hat and ran his
fingers through his hair, then walked on. The path made
a turn and led straight to Sofie’s seat.
“Ah, Mistress Sofie! Good-day!” he exclaimed as
though in surprise.
“Good-day!” she replied with calm friendliness. She
carefully disposed of her needle, smoothed her embroidery
with her hands, looked up with a smile, and nodded.
“Welcome, Lord Gyldenlöve!”
“I call this blind luck,” he said, bowing. “I expected to
find none here but your uncle, madam.”
Sofie threw him a quick glance and smiled. “He’s not
here,” she said, shaking her head.
“I see,” said Ulrik Frederik, looking down.
There was a moment’s pause. Then Sofie spoke: “How
sultry it is to-day!”
“Ay, we may get a thunderstorm, if the wind goes
down.”
“It may be,” said Sofie, looking thoughtfully toward
the house.
“Did you hear the shot this morning?” asked Ulrik
Frederik, drawing himself up as though to imply that he
was about to leave.
“Ay, and we may look for heart-rending times this
summer. One may well-nigh turn light-headed with the
thought of the danger to life and goods, and for me with
so many kinsmen and good friends in this miserable affair,
who are like to lose both life and limb and all they possess,
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