The sound of his footsteps soon died away beneath the trees that border the swiftly flowing river.
Hulda still stood gazing at Ole's letter.

Think of it! This frail envelope must have crossed the broad ocean to reach her, the broad ocean in which the rivers of western Norway lose themselves.

She examined the different postmarks.

Though mailed on the 15th of March, the missive had not reached Dal until the 15th of April.

Why! a month had already elapsed since the letter was written! How many things might have happened in a month on the shores of Newfoundland! Was it not still winter, the dangerous season of equinoxes?
Are not these fishing banks the most dangerous in the world, swept by terrible gales from the North Pole?
A perilous and arduous vocation was this business of fishing which Ole followed! And if he followed it was it not that she, his betrothed, whom he was to marry on his return, might reap the benefits?
Poor Ole! What did he say in this letter?
Doubtless that he loved Hulda as faithfully and truly as Hulda loved him, that they were united in thought, in spite of the distance that separated them, and that he longed for the day of his return to Dal.
Yes, he said all this, Hulda was sure of it.