“Well, well,” he said. “But if you should happen to be in these parts any time, you know where to find me. We've all but finished now for this year--there's been too much drought just lately.” Fruen was still holding the letter. Then I saw she had finished reading, for her eyes never moved; but she stood there, staring at the letter, thinking. What was in her mind, I wondered? The engineer glanced at her impatiently. “Are you learning it by heart?” he said, with a half-smile. “Come, dear, he's waiting.” “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Fruen quickly. “I forgot.” And she handed me the letter. “So it seems,” observed the engineer. I bowed, and went out. * * * * * On a summer evening the bridge is crowded with people out walking--school teachers and tradespeople, young girls and children. I watch my time when it is getting late, and the bridge is deserted; then I can lounge over that way myself, and stay for an hour or so in the midst of the roar. No need to do anything really but listen; only my brain is so over-rested with idleness and good sound sleep, it finds no end of things to busy itself about. Last evening I determined in all seriousness to go to Fru Falkenberg and say: “Go away from here, Frue; leave by the first train that goes.” Today I have been calling myself a fool for entertaining such a ridiculous thought, and set in its place another: “Get out of this yourself, my good man, by the first train that goes. Are you her equal, her adviser? Very well, then; see that what you do is not too utterly at variance with what you are!” And this evening I am still treating myself as I deserve. I fall to humming a little tune, but can scarcely hear it myself! the sound is crushed to death in the roar of the water. “That's right,” I say to myself scornfully. “You ought always to stand by a deafening foss when you feel like humming a tune.” And I laugh at myself again. With suchlike childish fancies do I pass the time. The noise of the rapids anywhere inland is as useful to the ear as the noise of breakers on the shore. But the voice of the breakers is louder and fainter by turns. The roar of waters in a river-bed is like an audible fog, a monotony of sound beyond reason, contrary to all sense, a miracle of idiocy. “What is the time, do you know?” “Yes, isn't it?” “Day or night?” “Yes!” As if some one had laid a stone on six keys of an organ, and walked off and left it there. With such childish fancies do I while away the time. “_Godaften_!” says Fru Falkenberg, and there she is beside me. I hardly felt surprised; it was almost as if I had expected her. After her behaviour with her husband's letter, she might well go a little farther.