He sat down behind a copse, just at the foot of the parsonage. This lay on the side of a very steep hill, which towered up beyond until it became a high mountain; the opposite bank was similar, and therefore huge shadows were cast over the lake from both sides, but in its centre was a stripe of beautiful silvery water. All was at rest; the sun was just setting; a faint sound of tinkling bells floated over from the opposite shore; otherwise profound silence reigned. Arne did not look right across the lake, but first turned his eyes toward its lower end, for there the sun was shedding a sprinkling of burning red, ere it departed. Down there the mountains had parted to make room between them for a long, low valley, and against this the waves dashed; and it seemed as though the mountains had gradually sloped together to form a swing in which to rock this valley, which was dotted with its many gards. The curling smoke rose upward, and passed from sight; the fields were green and reeking; boats laden with hay were approaching the landings. Arne saw many people passing to and fro, but could hear no noise. Thence the eye wandered beyond the shore, where God's dark forest alone loomed up. Through the forest and along the lake men had drawn a road, as it were, with a finger, for a winding streak of dust plainly marked its course. This Arne's eye followed until it came directly opposite to where he was sitting; there the forest ended; the mountains made a little more room, and straightways gard after gard lay spread about. The houses were still larger than those at the lower end, were painted red, and had higher windows, which now were in a blaze of light. The hills sparkled in dazzling sunshine; the smallest child playing about could be plainly seen; glittering white sand lay dry on the shore, and upon this little children bounded with their dogs. But suddenly the whole scene became desolate and gloomy; the houses dark red, the meadows dingy green, the sand grayish-white, and the children small clumps: a mass of mist had risen above the mountains, and had shut out the sun. Arne kept his eye fixed on the lake; there he found everything again. The fields were rocking there, and the forest silently joined them; the houses stood looking down, doors open, and children going out and in. Nursery tales and childish things came thronging into his mind, as little fish come after a bait, swim away, come back again, but do not nibble. "Let us sit down here until your mother comes; the priest's lady will surely get through some time." Arne was startled; some one had sat down just behind him. "But I might be allowed to stay just this one night," said a beseeching voice, choked with tears; it seemed to be that of a young girl, not quite grown up. "Do not cry any more; it is shocking to cry because you must go home to your mother." This last came in a mild voice that spoke slowly and belonged to a man. "That is not the reason I am crying."