fru adelheid sat, book in hand, without reading.

it was late. finn had been with her and had said good-night and cordt was not at home. it was silent in the house and silent outside.

she had a feeling as though she were alone in the world.

fru adelheid was not happy.

the peace which the good grey years had brought had departed from the house. she could not see her way anywhere: not with finn, not when she was alone, least of all when cordt was in the room.

she did not feel safe even at church. it would happen to her that she left[242] church heavier in mind than when she entered. it also happened that she simply dared not go in, but turned back, when the organ pealed to her in the porch.

she sat and stared, with her white hands folded in her lap. she wanted to try if she could think the thing out to the end. but she had tried before, with ever-decreasing success.

first, there was the going back to the old room.

this was the beginning and she could not but think that it was the whole matter, for, in truth, she had never got over it. she could not defend herself against the memories that came crowding one upon the other. her blood grew hot, her eyes moist, without her knowing why.

she suffered from a constant terror which she could neither explain nor shake off. now it was finn, whose pale[243] face frightened her. now it was cordt, who was silent and ever more silent and brooded over his thoughts.

then she was overcome as by a despairing remorse and she could not see how she had offended. then she went in a secret dread of revenge and she knew of no one who meant her any harm.

there were days on which every step she took gave a dull and threatening echo of the old days. she felt as though she were living in a house whose walls were full of secret recesses with old documents which would upset everything that existed, if they came to light ... she felt as though she were walking over mysterious vaults that concealed the traces of mysterious crimes.

wearily, fru adelheid leant her head upon her hand and let her hand fall again. she half rose in her chair and hid her face in the roses that stood on the table before[244] her. she took up the book and put it down at once.

then cordt came.

he nodded to her, went to the farther side of the room and sat down with a book.

she looked at him timidly. she heard him turn the pages and wondered what book it was. she asked him. he answered, without looking up, and the silence increased twofold.

fru adelheid sighed and rose to go to bed:

“good-night, cordt.”

he closed the book and tossed it on the table. she stopped and looked at him. then he asked:

“has hans been here to-day?”

she sat down in her chair again. he had got up and was pacing the room. she waited and listened to his footsteps.

then she could bear it no longer:

[245]“cordt!”

he stopped and looked at her.

“cordt ... finn will die, if hans is always with him.”

“yes,” he said, softly and sorrowfully. “finn will die and you will die and i shall die. but hans will live.”

“what are you trying to do with him, cordt?”

“have you forgotten what i want?”

he looked at her and his eyes hurt her.

“i wonder if your wish is also mine, cordt,” she asked.

“no.”

he said that calmly, without anger, but also without hesitation.

then she leapt up:

“your wish was never mine ... never! you have been able to persuade me and frighten me and force me.... i never meant it, cordt, never ... even when i agreed.”

[246]“let the dead days be, adelheid.”

“and now ... cordt.... now i am farther away from you ... now you understand me less than ever ... there is something in me now that is a thousand times stronger than what parted us then.”

cordt looked at her with a tempest in his strong eyes:

“so there is in me, adelheid.”

he stood before her, drawn up to his full height. she thought he seemed taller than usual and his face looked strangely young.

“there is finn,” he said.

fru adelheid sat in her chair, because she could not stand.

“you speak as if he were your son and not mine,” she said.

she did not take her eyes from his face. she could not get rid of the thought that he looked so young. his hair had not a sign of grey, his walk was easy and erect[247] as in the old days, his eyes glowed with the same strength and the same confidence.

she bent forward and stared and sought. surely she must be able to find the wounds which sorrow had given him, the marks which age had brought.

cordt did not look at her. he stood with his hands folded about his neck and with strangely distant eyes:

“you have said it, adelheid ... it is as you say ... there is something now that is a thousand times greater than what parted us then. we mortals always think, when misfortunes come, that no more will come now ... that it must be over now. and so there is no difference between the child with its lost doll and the man with his dead love ... none except time, which comes and goes, comes and goes, puts out a light and kindles a pyre and puts out the pyre also.”

[248]he dropped his arms and stood silent for a while:

“adelheid....”

he said no more. he looked round the room and at her, as though he were waking from his thoughts. then he went to the window and looked across the square, where the lights were being put out.

fru adelheid stared with great fixed eyes at where he stood.

she had not seen him during many years ... where had she been all those years ... what had she been doing?

then she had seen him again, distantly and dimly at first, like the memory of a fight, a pain, on the day when she stood once more in the old room. he had come closer ... the time he warned her about finn. and, little by little, he had approached her through finn ... through his fears and his love, through his[249] every word, constantly closer and more effectively.

she clutched the arms of the chair so firmly that her knuckles turned white.

now it had come ... now the doors of the mysterious cellars grated on their rusty hinges and the crime stood revealed ... now the secret recesses in the walls were opened and the old documents bore witness to the right....

now there was no longer anything between her and him and there was nothing outside him and her. he stood beside her ... she could reach him with her hands. she had no son and no god. his words swept over her like a storm, his eyes were bent upon her....

she wanted to get up and run away, but could not. a sort of dizziness came over her and the ground retreated under her feet.

there were voices which told her that[250] it was surely a very old and forgotten story ... a legend preserved in the archives of the house for the entertainment and instruction of future times, which would possibly judge differently from the one who had set the legend down.

there were others, mocking and exultant voices, which whispered to her that it was all imagination and nothing else ... that finn belonged to her and not to him, that all his confidence and all his strength would break like glass against that pale, quiet boy, who loved his mother.

there were hymns and psalms and organ-pealing and impressive words about sin and forgiveness and christ’s heavenly glory. the cool air of the church-vault passed over her burning forehead ... all the bells rang, as though for a soul in need.

she heard it all and it vanished like a sound in the air.

[251]and all the voices were merged before her confused thoughts.

it turned into an evening in the old days ... an evening of lights and gayety. she saw the people of that time ... she heard her own voice....

then, suddenly, it was quenched in the great silence of the old room.

the candles were burning on the mantelpiece.... she sat and stared into the red hearth. now cordt spoke ... cordt in the old days:

“i will stake life and happiness to win you. i will talk to you and importune you and conquer you. i will take you in my arms and close my door to you and run after you and forgive you. and, if i do not win you, i shall cast you off.”

she sprang up and clasped her head in her two hands:

“cordt ... cordt....”

[252]he turned round and looked into her white face.

she raised her face to him and sought and stared after her portrait in his eyes ... only a thought from the old days ... a memory....

it was not there. for him there was nothing in the world except that which was his happiness and his fear and his struggle ... now as in the old days....

and it was no longer she.

“adelheid ... are you ill?”

“no ... no....”

she laughed aloud. cordt took her hands and led her to a chair. she let him do as he would and continued to look up in his face.

then she suddenly thrust him from her.

she smiled and shook her head at her folly. she rose and walked round the room. she said she was quite well, told him to go away ... just to go away.

[253]and cordt went.

she stared at the door, which closed after him, as though she had seen him for the last time. then she turned round and looked into a mirror which showed her whole figure.

slowly she walked up to the mirror, sat down before it, with her head in her hands, and stared into her own face.

the clock struck one and two from the church-steeples and she did not hear. then some one shouted down in the square. she rose, took a candle and left the room.

she went through the long passages and up the stairs, softly and carefully, as if she were a thief. she listened at cordt’s door and at finn’s. then she stood outside the old room. she listened ... there was no sound. she opened the door ajar and saw that it was dark.

she went in quickly and walked straight[254] up to the secret recess in the wall. she opened it and took the yellow document in her trembling hands.

then she stared at cordt’s name and her own, which were written down last and struck out again.