it some day, so I may just as well tell you now.
Mother has been out of her mind."

"My dear Froken--"

"And when she's at home my--high spirits are needed to help her to be
more or less herself."

He felt an impulse to rise and go to the girl, and take her head between
his hands. But she looked up, with a melancholy smile; their eyes met in
a long look, and she forgot to withdraw her glance.

"I must go ashore now," she said at last.

"Oh, so soon! Why, we have hardly begun our talk!"

"I must go ashore now," she repeated; and her voice, though still
gentle, was not to be gainsaid.

At last Peer was alone, rowing back to his saeter. As he rowed he
watched the girl going slowly up towards the cottage. When she reached
the door she turned for the first time and waved to him. Then she
stood for a moment looking after him, and then opened the door and
disappeared. He gazed at the door some time longer, as if expecting to
see it open again, but no sign of life was to be seen.

The sun's rim was showing now above the distant ranges in the east, and
the white peaks in the north and west kindled in the morning glow. Peer
laid in his oars again, and rested, with his elbows on his knees and his
head in his hands. What could this thing be that had befallen him today?

How could those peaks stand round so aloof and indifferent, and leave
him here disconsolate and alone?

What was it, this new rushing in his ears; this new rhythm of his pulse?
He lay back at last in the bottom of the boat, with hands clasped behind
his head, and let boat and all things drift.

And when the glare of the rising sun came slanting into the boat and
beat dazzlingly in his face, he only turned his head a little and let it
shine full upon him.

Now she is lying asleep over there, the morning streaming red through
her window--of whom is she dreaming as she sleeps?

Have you ever seen such eyebrows before? To press one's lips to them--to
take her head between one's hand . . . and so it is to save your mother
that you give up your own dreams, and to warm her soul that you keep
that flame of gladness burning in you? Is that the sort you are?

Merle--was ever such a name? Are you called Merle?

Day spreads over the heavens, kindling all the night-clouds, great and
small, to gold and scarlet. And here he lies, rocking, rocking, on no
lake, but on a red stately-heaving ocean swell.

Ah! till now your mind has been so filled with cold mechanics