“Well, good-night. But you won't go thinking of that lady any more, will you? I don't think of anyone but you.” I believed her. I saw that she meant what she said, and it was more than enough for me that she thought of no one else. I walked after her. “Thank you, Edwarda,” I said. And then I added with all my heart: “You are all too good for me, but I am thankful that you will have me; God will reward you for that. I'm not so fine as many you could have, no doubt, but I am all yours--so endlessly yours, by my eternal soul.----What are you thinking of now, to bring tears to your eyes?” “It was nothing,” she answered. “It sounded so strange--that God would reward me for that. You say things that I ... Oh, I love you so!” And all at once she threw her arms round my neck, there in the middle of the road, and kissed me. When she had gone, I stepped aside into the woods to hide, to be alone with my happiness. And then I hurried eagerly back to the road to see if anyone had noticed that I had gone in there. But I saw no one. XIII Summer nights and still water, and the woods endlessly still. No cry, no footsteps from the road. My heart seemed full as with dark wine. Moths and night-flies came flying noiselessly in through my window, lured by the glow from the hearth and the smell of the bird I had just cooked. They dashed against the roof with a dull sound, fluttered past my ears, sending a cold shiver through me, and settled on my white powder-horn on the wall. I watched them; they sat trembling and looked at me--moths and spinners and burrowing things. Some of them looked like pansies on the wing. I stepped outside the hut and listened. Nothing, no noise; all was asleep. The air was alight with flying insects, myriads of buzzing wings. Out at the edge of the wood were ferns and aconite, the trailing arbutus was in bloom, and I loved its tiny flowers... Thanks, my God, for every heather bloom I have ever seen; they have been like small roses on my way, and I weep for love of them... Somewhere near were wild carnations; I could not see them, but I could mark their scent. But now, in the night hours, great white flowers have opened suddenly; their chalices are spread wide; they are breathing. And furry twilight moths slip down into their petals, making the whole plant quiver. I go from one flower to another. They are drunken flowers. I mark the stages of their intoxication. Light footsteps, a human breathing, a happy “_Godaften_.” And I answer, and throw myself down on the road. “_Godaften_, Edwarda,” I say again, worn out with joy. “That you should care for me so!” she whispers. And I answered her: “If you knew how grateful I can be! You are mine, and my heart lies still within me all the day, thinking of you. You are the loveliest girl on earth, and I have kissed you. Often I go red with joy, only to think that I have kissed you.” “Why are you so fond of me this evening?” she asks.