' 'No,' she said,
'give it to me now; I will keep it just as it is, after you have worn
it.' And I gave it to her. Three years after, I met the same young lady
again. 'The kerchief,' I said. And she brought it out. It lay in a
paper, just as before; I saw it myself."
Edwarda glanced up at me.
"Yes? And what then?"
"That is all," I said. "There was nothing more. But I thought it was
nice of her."
Pause.
"Where is that lady now?"
"Abroad."
We spoke no more of that. But when it was time for her to go home, she
said:
"Well, good-night. But you won't go thinking of that lady any more, will
you? I don't think of anyone but you."
I believed her. I saw that she meant what she said, and it was more than
enough for me that she thought of no one else. I walked after her.
"Thank you, Edwarda," I said. And then I added with all my heart: "You
are all too good for me, but I am thankful that you will have me; God
will reward you for that. I'm not so fine as many you could have, no
doubt, but I am all yours--so endlessly yours, by my eternal soul.---
What are you thinking of now, to bring tears to your eyes?"
"It was nothing," she answered. "It sounded so strange--that God would
reward me for that. You say things that I ... Oh, I love you so!"
And all at once she threw her arms round my neck, there in the middle of
the road, and kissed me.
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