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She was the child
of my dearest friend, and many years younger than myself. This friend of
mine, Erik Erlandsen, was the captain of a stout Norwegian barque,
running constantly between these wild waters and the coast of France. He
fell in love with, and married a blue-eyed beauty from the Sogne Fjord,
he carried her secretly away from her parents, who would not consent to
the marriage. She was a timid creature, in spite of her queenly ways,
and, for fear of her parents, she would never land again on the shores
of Norway. She grew to love France,--and Erik often left her there in
some safe shelter when he was bound on some extra long and stormy
passage. She took to the Catholic creed, too, in France, and learned to
speak the French tongue, so Erik said, as though it were her own. At the
time of the expected birth of her child, her husband had taken her far
inland to Arles, and there business compelled him to leave her for some
days. When he returned she was dead!--laid out for burial, with flowers
and tapers round her.


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