Minna made tea.

The repast over, each turned silently to his or her occupation; the pastor read the Incantations; Wilfrid pursued the spirit of Swedenborg; and the young girl continued to sew, her mind absorbed in recollections.

It was a true Norwegian evening--peaceful, studious, and domestic; full of thoughts, flowers blooming beneath the snow.

Wilfrid, as he devoured the pages of the prophet, lived by his inner senses only; the pastor, looking up at times from his book, called Minna's attention to the absorption of their guest with an air that was half-serious, half-jesting.

To Minna's thoughts the face of Seraphitus smiled upon her as it hovered above the clouds of smoke which enveloped them.