She rose quickly to her feet, and I saw that my words had had some effect. “Glahn, are you going away? Now?” “As soon as the boat comes.” I grasped her hand--both her hands--a senseless delight took possession of me--I burst out, “Edwarda!” and stared at her. And in a moment she was cold--cold and defiant. Her whole being resisted me; she drew herself up. I found myself standing like a beggar before her. I loosed her hand and let her go. I remember that from that moment I stood repeating mechanically: “Edwarda, Edwarda!” again and again without thinking, and when she asked: “Yes? What were you going to say?” I explained nothing. “To think you are going already,” she said again. “Who will come next year, I wonder?” “Another,” I answered. “The hut will be built up again, no doubt.” Pause. She was already reaching for her book. “I am sorry my father is not in,” she said. “But I will tell him you were here.” I made no answer to this. I stepped forward, took her hand once more, and said: _“Farvel,_ Edwarda.” _“Farvel,”_ she answered. I opened the door as if to go. Already she was sitting with the book in her hand, reading--actually reading and turning the page. Nothing affected, not the least in the world affected by my saying good-bye. I coughed. She turned and said in surprise: “Oh, are you not gone? I thought you were.” Heaven alone knows, but it struck me that her surprise was too great; that she was not careful, that she overdid it. And it came into my head that perhaps she had known all the time that I was standing behind her. “I am going now,” I said. Then she rose and came over to me. “I should like to have something to remember you by when you go,” she said. “I thought of asking you for something, but perhaps it is too much. Will you give me Æsop?” I did not hesitate. I answered “Yes.” “Then, perhaps, you would come and bring him to-morrow,” she said. I went. I looked up at the window. No one there. It was all over now... * * * * * The last night in the hut. I sat in thought, I counted the hours; when the morning came I made ready my last meal. It was a cold day. Why had she asked me to come myself and bring the dog? Would she tell me something, speak to me, for the last time? I had nothing more to hope for. And how would she treat Æsop? Æsop, Æsop, she will torture you! For my sake she will whip you, caress you too, perhaps, but certainly whip you, with and without reason; ruin you altogether... I called Æsop to me, patted him, put our two heads together, and picked up my gun. He was already whining with pleasure, thinking we were going out after game. I put our heads together once more; I laid the muzzle of the gun against Æsop's neck and fired... I hired a man to carry Æsop's body to Edwarda. XXXV The mail-packet was to sail in the afternoon.