Nights pass and days come--three days already since this last talk. Eva comes by with a load. How much wood has that child carried home from the forest this summer alone? “Set the load down, Eva, and let me see if your eyes are as blue as ever.” Her eyes were red. “No--smile again, Eva! I can resist no more; I am your, I am yours...” Evening. Eva sings, I hear her singing, and a warmth goes through me. “You are singing this evening, child?” “Yes, I am happy.” And being smaller than I, she jumps up a little to put her arms round my neck. “But, Eva, you have scratched your hands. _Herregud_! oh, if you had not scratched them so!” “It doesn't matter.” Her face beams wonderfully. “Eva, have you spoken to Herr Mack?” “Yes, once.” “What did he say, and what did you?” “He is so hard with us now; he makes my husband work day and night down at the quay, and keeps me at all sorts of jobs as well. He has ordered me to do man's work now.” “Why does he do that?” Eva looks down. “Why does he do that, Eva?” “Because I love you.” “But how could he know?” “I told him.” Pause. “Would to Heaven he were not so harsh with you, Eva.” “But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all now.” And her voice is like a little tremulous song in the woods. * * * * * The woods more yellow still. It is drawing towards autumn now; a few more stars have come in the sky, and from now on the moon looks like a shadow of silver dipped in gold. There is no cold; nothing, only a cool stillness and a flow of life in the woods. Every tree stands in silent thought. The berries are ripe. Then--the twenty-second of August and the three iron nights. [Footnote: _Joernnætter_. Used of the nights in August when the first frosts appear.] XXIV The first iron night. At nine the sun sets. A dull darkness settles over the earth, a star or so can be seen; two hours later there is a glow of the moon. I wander up in the woods with my gun and my dog. I light a fire, and the light of the flames shines in between the fir-trunks. There is no frost. “The first iron night!” I say. And a confused, passionate delight in the time and the place sends a strange shiver through me... “Hail, men and beasts and birds, to the lonely night in the woods, in the woods! Hail to the darkness and God's murmuring between the trees, to the sweet, simple melody of silence in my ears, to green leaves and yellow! Hail to the life-sound I hear; a snout against the grass, a dog sniffing over the ground! A wild hail to the wildcat lying crouched, sighting and ready to spring on a sparrow in the dark, in the dark! Hail to the merciful silence upon earth, to the stars and the half moon; ay, to them and to it!” ... I rise and listen. No one has heard me. I sit down again.