"
And with no more words she threw herself passionately about my neck, and
looked at me, gazing into my face and breathing heavily. Her glance was
sheer blackness.
I got up abruptly, and, in my confusion, could only say:
"So your father is going to Russia?"
"What did you get up like that for, so quickly?" she asked.
"Because it is late, Edwarda," I said. "Now the white flowers are
closing again. The sun is getting up; it will soon be day."
I went with her through the woodland and stood watching her as long as I
could; far down, she turned round and softly called good-night. Then
she disappeared.
At the same moment the door of the blacksmith's house opened. A man with
a white shirt front came out, looked round, pulled his hat down farther
over his forehead, and took the road down to Sirilund.
Edwarda's good-night was still in my ears.
XIV
A man can be drunk with joy. I fire off my gun, and an unforgettable
echo answers from hill to hill, floats out over the sea and rings in
some sleepy helmsman's ears. And what have I to be joyful about? A
thought that came to me, a memory; a sound in the woods, a human being.
I think of her, I close my eyes and stand still there on the road, and
think of her; I count the minutes.
Now I am thirsty, and drink from the stream; now I walk a hundred paces
forward and a hundred paces back; it must be late by now, I say to
myself.
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