LITMIR.BIZ

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me the whole term like some obscure, intangible menace. I have been troubled, have lost confidence in myself without knowing why. But last night it all became clear to me: I had wounded the heart that beats for me so tenderly. I knew that I could not work with any hope of success until I had made my peace with my mother.”

      The Baroness put a hand up to her brimming eyes, and the other went out to her son. “This is wonderful, Karl Arthur,” she said. “Tell me more!”

      “Across the hall from me rooms another Värmlander, Pontus Friman by name. He is a Pietist, and doesn’t mingle with the other students; nor had I come in contact with him. But last night I felt impelled to go to his room and tell him how it was with me. ‘I have the dearest little mother in the world,’ I told him. ‘I have hurt her feelings and have not asked her forgiveness. What must I do?’ ”

      “And he said——?”

      “ ‘Go to your mother at once,’ he said. I told him that that was what I wanted to do above everything; but to-morrow I was to write pro exercitio. Besides, my parents would not approve of my skipping exams. Friman wouldn’t listen. ‘Go at once!’ he repeated. ‘Don’t think of anything now but to make your peace with your mother. God will help you.’ ”

      “And you went?”

      “Yes, Mother, I went to cast myself at your feet. But I was no sooner seated in the cart than it struck me that I had been inexcusably asinine. I felt strongly tempted to turn back, for I knew, of course, that even if I stayed at Upsala a few days more, your love would pardon all. Well, anyhow, I drove on. And God did help me, for I found you here. I don’t know how you happen to be here, but it must have been He Who sent you.”

      Tears poured down the cheeks of both mother and son. For their sake had not a miracle been wrought? They felt that a kind Providence watched over them, and realized as never before how strong was the love that united them.

      For an hour they sat together at the inn, whereupon the Baroness sent Karl Arthur back to Upsala, bidding him greet dear Malla Silverstolpe for her, and say that his mother was not coming to see her this time.

      The Baroness did not care to go on to Upsala. The object of the journey had been accomplished. She could go home with her mind at ease, knowing that Karl Arthur would come through the ordeal with flying colours.

      * * *

      All Karlstad knew that the Baroness was religious. She went to church every Sunday as regularly as the pastor himself, and on weekdays she held a little devotional service, both morning and evening, with all her household. She had her poor, whom she remembered with gifts not only at Christmas but the whole year round. She provided midday meals for a number of needy schoolboys, and always gave a big coffee party to the old women of the poorhouse on Beata Day.

      But no one in Karlstad, least of all the Baroness, had any idea it was displeasing to our Lord that she and the Provost, the Alderman, and the eldest of the cousins Stake indulged in a quiet game of boston after dinner on a Sunday. And little did they dream it was sinful of the young ladies and gentlemen who dropped in at the Colonel’s on Sunday evenings to take a bit of a whirl in the grand salon. Neither the Baroness nor anyone else in Karlstad had ever heard of its being a mortal sin to serve a glass of good wine at a feast, or to strike up a table song—often composed by the hostess herself—before draining the glass. Nor were they aware that our Lord would not countenance novel-reading and play-going. The Baroness liked to get up amateur theatricals and appear in them herself. It would have been a veritable sacrifice for her to abandon that pleasure, for she was a born actress. Karlstaders were wont to say that if Fru Torsslow were but half as good an actress as Beata Ekenstedt, it was no wonder the Stockholmers raved so about her.

      Karl Arthur had stayed on at Upsala a whole month after having happily passed the bothersome Latin examination. Meantime, he had been much in the company of Pontus Friman. Friman was a strict and zealous adherent of the pietistic cult, and Karl Arthur evidently had imbibed some of his ideas. It was not a case of sudden conversion or spiritual awakening, but it had been enough to make Karl Arthur feel uneasy because of the worldly pleasures and diversions which prevailed in the home.

      One can understand that, just then, there was an especially intimate and tender accord between mother and son, so that Karl Arthur talked to his mother quite freely of the things he found objectionable, while she met his wishes in every way possible. Since it grieved him to have her play at cards, she pleaded headache the next Sunday afternoon, and let the Colonel take her place at the card table. Of course, she could not think of depriving the Provost and the Alderman of their usual game.

      As Karl Arthur disapproved of dancing, she gave up that pleasure also. To the young folk who came to the house that evening she said that she was getting on in years (she was fifty) and did not care to dance any more. But seeing how disappointed they all looked, she sat down at the piano and played dance music for them until midnight.

      Karl Arthur gave her certain books he wished her to read. She accepted them with thanks, and found them rather edifying and constructive. But how could the Baroness be content to read only these solemn, pietistical works? She was a woman of culture and au courant with the world’s literature. And one day, when Karl Arthur came upon her unexpectedly, he noticed that under the sacred book she sat reading lay a copy of Byron’s Don Juan. He turned away without a word, and she thought it dear of him not to chide her. The next day she put all her secular books into a large packing case and had them removed to the attic.

      The Baroness, indeed, tried to be as obliging as she knew how. She was wise as well as gifted, and understood that all this was only a passing zeal with Karl Arthur; that the less he was opposed the sooner he would get over it.

      Fortunately, it was summertime and the leading families were out of town, so that there were no social festivities going on. People went in for such simple pastimes as tramping in the woods, rowing on the river, berry-picking, and running-games.

      However, toward the end of August, Eve Ekenstedt and her lieutenant were to celebrate their nuptials. Then the Baroness was quite concerned as to how the event would pass off. She had to give them a grand wedding; otherwise the Karlstaders would again be saying that she had no heart for her daughters.

      Happily, her complaisance had a soothing effect upon Karl Arthur. He raised no objections to the proposed twelve-course dinner, or the garnished wedding cake, or the confections; he did not even protest against the wine and other potables ordered from Göteborg. Nor had he anything to say against a wedding at the cathedral and hanging garlands along the streets where the bridal procession was to pass, nor did he mind the magic lanterns, the tar casks, and the fireworks along the river bank. To tell the truth, he took a hand in the preparations; he laboured in the sweat of his brow at binding wreaths and nailing up flags, like any common mortal.

      There was one thing, though, on which he stood firm. There must be no dancing at the wedding. This the Baroness promised, pleased to let him have his way in that, since he had been so decent about everything else.

      The Colonel and the girls protested a bit; they wondered what they could do with all the beaux and belles, especially the young officers, if they were not allowed to dance all night. The Baroness assured them it would be a jolly evening anyhow. The young people would go out into the garden and listen to the regimental band, watch the rockets rise to heaven, and see the reflection of the pretty coloured lanterns in the waters of the river. What better entertainment could one wish for? Surely, this was a more dignified and fitting way to celebrate a marriage than to hop round on a dance floor! The Colonel and the girls gave in, as always, and the harmony of house remained undisturbed.

      On the day of the wedding the arrangements were perfect. The weather was propitious, the ceremony at the church impressive, and the numerous speeches and toasts at the wedding dinner went well. The Baroness had composed a charming marriage song, which was sung at the table, and the Värmland Regimental Band, stationed in the butler’s pantry, struck up a march as each course was served. The guests, finding themselves generously regaled, were in festive mood.

      But when they had risen from the table and had had their coffee, they were seized with an irresistible desire to dance.

      The

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