ther as if she disappeared
within her own self. If some one explained something to her or developed
an idea, her face, her whole figure expressed the most intimate trust
and now and again, perhaps, also expectancy. William and his little
sister did not treat her quite like a comrade, but yet not like
a stranger either. The uncle and the aunt, the farm-hands, the
maid-servants, and the peasants of the neighborhood all paid court to
her, but very carefully, and almost timidly. In respect to her they were
almost like a wanderer in the forest, who sees close beside him one
of those tiny, graceful song-birds with very clear eyes and light,
captivating movements. He is enraptured by this tiny, living creature,
he would so much like to have it come closer and closer, but he does not
care to move, scarcely to take breath, lest it may be frightened and fly
away.

As Mogens saw Thora more and more frequently, memories came more and
more rarely, and he began to see her as she was. It was a time of peace
and happiness when he was with her, full of silent longing and quiet
sadness when he did not see her. Later he told her of Camilla and of
his past life, and it was almost with surprise that he looked back upon
himself. Sometimes it seemed inconceivable to him that it was he who had
thought, felt, and done all the strange things of which he told.

On an evening he and Thora stood on a height in the garden, and watched
the sunset. William and his little sister were playing hide-and-seek
around the hill. There were thousands of light, delicate colors,
hundreds of strong radiant ones. Mogens turned away from them and
looked at the dark figure by his side. How insignificant it looked in
comparison with all this glowing splendor; he sighed, and looked up
again at the gorgeously colored clouds. It was not like a real thought,
but it came vague and fleeting, existed for a second and disappeared; it
was as if it had been the eye that thought it.

"The elves in the green hill are happy now that the sun has gone down,"
said Thora.

"Oh--are they?"

"Don't you know that elves love darkness?"

Mogens smiled.

"You don't believe in elves, but you should. It is beautiful to believe
in all that, in gnomes and elves. I believe in mermaids too, and
elder-women, but goblins! What can one do with goblins and three-legged
horses? Old Mary gets angry when I tell her this; for to believe what
I believe, she says is not God-fearing. Such things h