breathe forth for her. Thus in her excited mind alternated gloomy shadows and the brilliant light of morning, and all the tranquillising wisdom of the old philosophers was felt to be insufficient for the moment.

A DARK ROOM.

THE night which succeeded this day was spent by Rosa on deck under the open sky. She knew that she could not sleep, and she gave up her berth to a sick lady for whom otherwise one could not be found. The night was calm and beautiful, and Rosa was glad for once to see the peculiar life and character of night; its story of shadows and light. She therefore saw the constellations rise and set, the shadows deepen, then become less dark, and the dawn break as prophets of the coming day; saw the crimson of morning tinge the horizon in gold and purple, then pale, for a stronger light, and finally the sun, like a bright flame, kindle, and rise from the sea. At the same moment, too, she saw the spires of Wisby church, its beautiful ruins and white houses standing on terraces like hanging

gardens, tinged by its beams. And that which this night taught, Rosa inscribed in the depths of her soul.

Early in the morning, in the brilliant sunshine, Rosa hastened through the streets of Wisby to her father's house. All was yet perfectly silent there, and she had to knock some little time at the gate before it was opened by Paul Petterson, who, unable to say a word from astonishment and joy, could scarcely believe his eyes at the unexpected vision of his young lady, "the hope of the family," as he was accustomed to call her, and who was now so in a twofold sense. He began to cry aloud for

very joy.

“Hush, hush, dear Petterson!" besought Rosa. "Just tell me, how is my father?"

"Heaven alone knows, good Miss Rosa! He does not see any one, nor speak to any one; but, thank the Lord, you are now here!"

"And now, good Petterson, don't tell any one that I am here till I have been up to see my father. But perhaps he is still asleep?"

"No, Miss Rosa; he does not sleep. I have

heard him walking up and down his room ever since three o'clock this morning. I could not sleep; it is so melancholony like."

"Then I will steal up to him, Petterson; but don't let any one disturb us. I wish to be alone with him."

Rosa went hastily up-stairs to her father's study. She knocked softly at the door, but received no answer, and all was silent as the grave.

She turned the handle and the door opened. The window-shutters were closed, but not sufficiently to exclude the daylight; a ray of the morning sunshine streamed in, and by its light Rosa saw her father sitting at his writing-table, with his elbows supported upon it, and his brow resting in his hands. Was he asleep? or-no, he was not asleep; he hastily raised his head as if he would listen, and then said, "Rosa!" and he opened his arms as if to embrace her.

Rosa threw herself into his embrace and covered his breast, his cheeks and forehead with her warm kisses and tears. Ah, they felt so cold, so withered, these cheeks, this forehead; and the hair which fell

over it in disorder, how grey it had become! What

a change in a few months!

But Rosa did not see this at first.

"Rosa, my child, why are you here?" said Professor Norrby, at length, seeming both to speak and breathe with difficulty. "I thought you were far away!

"You have done me an injustice, father!" replied. Rosa. "You have let me remain in ignorance of what I, before every one else, ought to have known! Why have you done this, my father? Have I shown myself undeserving of your confidence?"

Professor Norrby took his daughter by the hand, and, leading her to the window, opened the shutters so that the full blaze of the sun lit up his figure. "Rosa, look at me!" said he, and turned towards

her.

Severin

She did so, ah, with what a pang! Norrby was merely the shadow of what he had formerly been. He was fearfully pale; deep furrows of gloomy melancholy had ploughed the noble countenance, and his former manly and handsome person was bowed and wasted away.