feeling overmastered him so, that when he reached his little
shooting cabin, where he had a German officer with him this summer,
recruiting after the war, he left the guest to take care of himself,
and wandered farther up the mountain. He spent the night on the
heights, sometimes sitting, sometimes wandering about. He went home to
breakfast, but away again immediately. He was twenty-eight now, no
longer a boy, and he felt that either this girl must be his or it
would go badly with him. He wandered to the place where they had met
yesterday; he did not expect that she would be there again; but when
he saw her, he felt that he must make the venture; and when he came to
see that she was feeling just as he was--"Why, then"--and he raised
her head gently. And she had stopped crying, and his eyes shone so
that she had to look into them, and then she turned red and put her
head down again.

He went on talking in his low, half-whispering voice. The sun shone
through the tree-tops, the birches trembled in the breeze, the birds
mingled their song with the sound of a little stream rippling over its
stony bed.

How long the two sat there together, neither of them knew. At last
the dog startled them. He had made several excursions, and each time
had come back and lain down beside them again; but now he ran barking
down the hill. They both jumped up and stood for a minute listening.
But nothing appeared. Then they looked at each other again, and Hans
lifted her up in his arms. She had not been lifted like this since she
was a child, and there was something about it that made her feel
helpless. When he looked up beaming into her face, she bent and put
her arms round his neck--he was now her strength, her future, her
happiness, her life itself--she resisted no longer.

Nothing was said. He held her tight; she clung to him. He carried her
to the place where she had sat at first, and sat down there with her
on his knee. She did not unloose her arms, she only bent her head
close down to his so as to hide her face from him. He was just going
to force her to let him look into it, when some one right in front of
them called in a voice of astonishment: "Mildrid!"

It was Inga, who had come up after the dog. Mildrid sprang to her
feet, looked at her friend for an instant, then went up to her, put
one arm round her neck, and laid her head on her shoulder. Inga put
her arm round Mildrid's waist. "Who is he?" she whispered, and Mildrid
felt h