I was that for endless reasons; I needed only to think of her to feel so. That look of hers, from under the high-arched brows, and her rich, dark skin! “Should I not be fond of you?” I say again. “I thank every tree in my path because you are well and strong. Once at a dance there was a young lady who sat out dance after dance, and they let her sit there alone. I didn't know her, but her face touched me, and I bowed to her. Well? But no, she shook her head. Would she not dance, I asked her? 'Can you imagine it?' she said. 'My father was a handsome man, and my mother a perfect beauty, and my father won her by storm. But I was born lame.'” Edwarda looked at me. “Let us sit down,” she said. And we sat down in the heather. “Do you know what my friend says about you?” she began. “Your eyes are like an animal's, she says, and when you look at her, it makes her mad. It is just as if you touched her, she says.” A strange joy thrilled me when I heard that, not for my own sake, but for Edwarda's, and I thought to myself: There is only one whom I care for: what does that one say of the look in my eyes? And I asked her: “Who was that, your friend?” “I will not tell you,” she said. “But it was one of those that were out on the island that day.” “Very well, then.” And then we spoke of other things. “My father is going to Russia in a few days,” she said. “And I am going to have a party. Have you been out to Korholmerne? We must have two hampers of wine; the ladies from the vicarage are coming again, and father has already given me the wine. And you won't look at her again, will you? My friend, I mean. Please, you won't, _will_ you? Or I shall not ask her at all.” And with no more words she threw herself passionately about my neck, and looked at me, gazing into my face and breathing heavily. Her glance was sheer blackness. I got up abruptly, and, in my confusion, could only say: “So your father is going to Russia?” “What did you get up like that for, so quickly?” she asked. “Because it is late, Edwarda,” I said. “Now the white flowers are closing again. The sun is getting up; it will soon be day.” I went with her through the woodland and stood watching her as long as I could; far down, she turned round and softly called good-night. Then she disappeared. At the same moment the door of the blacksmith's house opened. A man with a white shirt front came out, looked round, pulled his hat down farther over his forehead, and took the road down to Sirilund. Edwarda's good-night was still in my ears. XIV A man can be drunk with joy. I fire off my gun, and an unforgettable echo answers from hill to hill, floats out over the sea and rings in some sleepy helmsman's ears. And what have I to be joyful about? A thought that came to me, a memory; a sound in the woods, a human being. I think of her, I close my eyes and stand still there on the road, and think of her; I count the minutes.