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As may be well imagined, the pictures she drew
of her future married life, as she sat and span with Britta on that
peaceful afternoon, were widely different to the destined reality that
every day approached her more nearly.
Meantime, while the two girls were at home and undisturbed in the quiet
farm house, the mountaineering party, headed by Sigurd, were well on
their way towards the great Fall of Njedegorze. They had made a toilsome
ascent of the hills by the side of the Alten river--they had climbed
over craggy boulders and slippery rocks, sometimes wading knee-deep in
the stream, or pausing to rest and watch the salmon leap and turn
glittering somersaults in the air close above the diamond-clear
water,--and they had beguiled their fatigue with songs and laughter, and
the telling of fantastic legends and stories in which Sigurd had shone
at his best--indeed, this unhappy being was in a singularly clear and
rational frame of mind, disposed, too, to be agreeable even towards
Errington.


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