“Well, what do you say now?” he asked. “That the Captain, at any rate, is innocent.” “Ho! D'you know what I think?” Pause. The Lensmand playing Lensmand from top to toe, unravelling schemes and plots. “He is not innocent,” said he. “Really?” “Ah, I've seen that sort of thing before. Drawing in his horns, that's all. Your letter put him on his guard. Haha!” At this I had to confess to the Lensmand that I had not written to the Captain at all but had merely sent a bit of a note to one of the hands at Øvrebø; and even that letter could not have reached there yet, seeing it was only posted the night before. This left the Lensmand dumb, and he gave up unravelling things. On the other hand, he seemed from now onward to be greatly in doubt as to whether the whole thing had any value at all. “Quite likely the machine's no good at all,” he said. But then he added kindly: “I mean, it may need touching up a bit, and improving. You've seen yourself how they're always altering things like warships and flying-machines. Are you still determined to go?” No more was said about my coming back here and bringing the machine with me. But the Lensmand wrote me a very nice recommendation. He would gladly have kept me on longer, it said, but the work was interrupted by private affairs of my own elsewhere.... In the morning, when I was ready to start, a little girl stood in the courtyard waiting for me to come out. It was Olga. Was there ever such a child? She must have been afoot since midnight to get here so early. And there she stood in her blue skirt and her jacket. “That you, Olga? Where are you going?” She had come to see me. How did she know I was here? She had asked about me and found out where I was. And please was it true she was to keep the sewing-machine? But of course it couldn't.... Yes, the machine was hers all right; hadn't I taken her picture in exchange? Did it work all right? Yes, it worked all right. We did not talk much together; I wanted to get her away before the Lensmand came out and began asking questions. “Well, run along home now, child; you've a long way to go.” Olga gives me her hand--it is swallowed up completely in mine, and she lets it lie there as long as I will. Then she thanks me, and shambles gaily off again. And her toes turning in and out all odd ways. XXXII I am nearly at my goal. Sunday evening I lay in a watchman's hut not far from Øvrebø, so as to be on the place early Monday morning. By nine o'clock every one would be up, then surely I must be lucky enough to meet the one I sought. I had grown dreadfully nervous, and kept imagining ugly things. I had written a nice letter to Falkenberg, using no sharp words, but the Captain might after all have been offended at my fixing the date like that; giving him so and so much time.... If only I had never written at all!