Then she suddenly sprang up, scattering all the flowers around her, and sang till the tune trembled through the air, and might have been heard at Böen. Arne had thought of coming forwards when she began singing; he was just about to do so when she jumped up; then he felt he _must_ come, but she went away. Should he call? No,--yes! No!--There she skipped over the hillocks singing; here her hat fell off, there she took it up again; here she picked a flower, there she stood deep in the highest grass. "Shall I call? She's looking up here!" He stooped down. It was a long while ere he ventured to peep out again; at first he only raised his head; he could not see her: he rose to his knees; still he could not see her: he stood upright; no she was gone. He thought himself a miserable fellow; and some of the tales he had heard at the nutting-party came into his mind. Now he would not go to the parsonage. He would not have the newspapers; would not know anything about Christian. He would not go home; he would go nowhere; he would do nothing. "Oh, God, I am so unhappy!" he said. He sprang up again and sang "The Tree's early leaf-buds" till the mountains resounded. Then he sat down where she had been sitting, and took up the flowers she had picked, but he flung them away again down the hill on every side. Then he wept. It was long since he had done so; this struck him, and made him weep still more. He would go far away, that he would; no, he would not go away! He thought he was very unhappy; but when he asked himself why, he could hardly tell. He looked round. It was a lovely day; and the Sabbath rest lay over all. The lake was without a ripple; from the houses the curling smoke had begun to rise; the partridges one after another had ceased calling, and though the little birds continued their twittering, they went towards the shade of the wood; the dewdrops were gone, and the grass looked grave; not a breath of wind stirred the drooping leaves; and the sun was near the meridian. Almost before he knew, he found himself seated putting together a little song; a sweet tune offered itself for it; and while his heart was strangely full of gentle feelings, the tune went and came till words linked themselves to it and begged to be sung, if only for once. He sang them gently, sitting where Eli had sat: "He went in the forest the whole day long, The whole day long; For there he had heard such a wondrous song, A wondrous song. "He fashioned a flute from a willow spray, A willow spray, To see if within it the sweet tune lay, The sweet tune lay. "It whispered and told him its name at last, Its name at last; But then, while he listened, away it passed, Away it passed. "But oft when he slumbered, again it stole, Again it stole, With touches of love upon his soul, Upon his soul.