er tremble, but said nothing. Inga knew who he was--knew him
quite well--but could not believe her own eyes. Then Hans came slowly
forward, "I thought you knew me," he said quietly; "I am Hans Haugen."
When she heard his voice, Mildrid lifted her head. How good and true
he looked as he stood there! He held out his hand; she went forward
and took it, and looked at her friend with a flush of mingled shame
and joy.

Then Hans took his gun and said good-bye, whispering to Mildrid: "You
may be sure I'll come soon again!"

The girls walked with him as far as the soeter, and watched him, as
Mildrid had done yesterday, striding away over the heather in the
sunlight. They stood as long as they could see him; Mildrid, who was
leaning on Inga, would not let her go; Inga felt that she did not want
her to move or speak. From time to time one or the other whispered:
"He's looking back!" When he was out of sight Mildrid turned round to
Inga and said: "Don't ask me anything. I can't tell you about it!" She
held her tight for a second, and then they walked towards the
soeter-house. Mildrid remembered now how she had left all her work
undone. Inga helped her with it. They spoke very little, and only
about the work. Just once Mildrid stopped, and whispered: "Isn't he
handsome?"

She set out some dinner, but could eat little herself, though she felt
the need both of food and sleep. Inga left as soon as she could, for
she saw that Mildrid would rather be alone. Then Mildrid lay down on
her bed. She was lying, half asleep already, thinking over the events
of the morning, and trying to remember the nicest things that Hans
had said, when it suddenly occurred to her to ask herself what she had
answered. Then it flashed upon her that during their whole meeting she
had not spoken, not said a single word!

She sat up in bed and said to herself: "He could not have gone far
till this must have struck him too--and what can he have thought? He
must take me for a creature without a will, going about in a dream.
How can he go on caring for me? Yesterday it was not till he had gone
away from me that he found out he cared for me at all--what will he
find out to-day?" she asked herself with a shiver of dread. She got
up, went out, and sat down where she had sat so long yesterday.

All her life Mildrid had been accustomed to take herself to account
for her behaviour; circumstances had obliged her to walk carefully.
Now, thinking over what had happened