That song nearly took her breath away. He, too, remained silent after it, as though he had sung more than he could say. Darkness has a strong influence over those who are sitting in it and dare not speak: they are never so near each other as then. If she only turned on the pillow, or moved her hand on the blanket, or breathed a little more heavily, he heard it. "Arne, couldn't you teach me to make songs?" "Did you never try?" "Yes, I have, these last few days; but I can't manage it." "What, then, did you wish to have in them?" "Something about my mother, who loved your father so dearly." "That's a sad subject." "Yes, indeed it is; and I have wept over it." "You shouldn't search for subjects; they come of themselves." "How do they come?" "Just as other dear things come--unexpectedly." They were both silent. "I wonder, Arne, you're longing to go away; you who have such a world of beauty within yourself." "Do _you_ know I am longing?" She did not answer, but lay still a few moments as if in thought. "Arne, you mustn't go away," she said; and the words came warm to his heart. "Well, sometimes I have less mind to go." "Your mother must love you much, I'm sure. I must see your mother." "Go over to Kampen, when you're well again." And all at once, he fancied her sitting in the bright room at Kampen, looking out on the mountains; his chest began to heave, and the blood rushed to his face. "It's warm in here," he said, rising. She heard him rise. "Are you going, Arne?" He sat down again. "You must come over to see us oftener; mother's so fond of you." "I should like to come myself, too; ... but still I must have some errand." Eli lay silent for a while, as if she was turning over something in her mind. "I believe," she said, "mother has something to ask you about." ... They both felt the room was becoming very hot; he wiped his brow, and he heard her rise in the bed. No sound could be heard either in the room or down-stairs, save the ticking of the clock on the wall. There was no moon, and the darkness was deep; when he looked through the green window, it seemed to him as if he was looking into a wood; when he looked towards Eli he could see nothing, but his thoughts went over to her, and then his heart throbbed till he could himself hear its beating. Before his eyes flickered bright sparks; in his ears came a rushing sound; still faster throbbed his heart: he felt he must rise or say something. But then she exclaimed, "How I wish it were summer!" "That it were summer?" And he heard again the sound of the cattle-bells, the horn from the mountains, and the singing from the valleys; and saw the fresh green foliage, the Swart-water glittering in the sunbeams, the houses rocking in it, and Eli coming out and sitting on the shore, just as she did that evening. "If it were summer," she said, "and I were sitting on the hill, I think I could sing a song." He smiled gladly, and asked, "What would it be about?"