Later, when they had supped and said good-bye to the mother, Eli and Arne walked together along the road to the parsonage. It was one of those light summer nights when all things seem to whisper and crowd together, as if in fear. Even he who has from childhood been accustomed to such nights, feels strangely influenced by them, and goes about as if expecting something to happen: light is there, but not life. Often the sky is tinged with blood-red, and looks out between the pale clouds like an eye that has watched. One seems to hear a whispering all around, but it comes only from one's own brain, which is over-excited. Man shrinks, feels his own littleness, and thinks of his God. Those two who were walking here also kept close to each other; they felt as if they had too much happiness, and they feared it might be taken from them. "I can hardly believe it," Arne said. "I feel almost the same," said Eli, looking dreamily before her. "_Yet it's true_," he said, laying stress on each word; "now I am no longer going about only thinking; for once I have done something." He paused a few moments, and then laughed, but not gladly. "No, it was not I," he said; "it was mother who did it." He seemed to have continued this thought, for after a while he said, "Up to this day I have done nothing; not taken my part in anything. I have looked on ... and listened." He went on a little farther, and then said warmly, "God be thanked that I have got through in this way; ... now people will not have to see many things which would not have been as they ought...." Then after a while he added, "But if some one had not helped me, perhaps I should have gone on alone for ever." He was silent. "What do you think father will say, dear?" asked Eli, who had been busy with her own thoughts. "I am going over to Böen early to-morrow morning," said Arne;--"_that_, at any rate, I must do myself," he added, determining he would now be cheerful and brave, and never think of sad things again; no, never! "And, Eli, it was you who found my song in the nut-wood?" She laughed. "And the tune I had made it for, you got hold of, too." "I took the one which suited it," she said, looking down. He smiled joyfully and bent his face down to hers. "But the other song you did not know?" "Which?" she asked looking up.... "Eli ... you mustn't be angry with me ... but one day this spring ... yes, I couldn't help it, I heard you singing on the parsonage-hill." She blushed and looked down, but then she laughed. "Then, after all, you have been served just right," she said. "What do you mean?" "Well--it was; nay, it wasn't my fault; it was your mother ... well ... another time...." "Nay; tell it me now." She would not;--then he stopped and exclaimed, "Surely, you haven't been up-stairs?" He was so grave that she felt frightened, and looked down. "Mother has perhaps found the key to that little chest?" he added in a gentle tone.