the mail-packet was to sail in the afternoon.

i went down to the quay. my things were already on board. herr mack pressed my hand, and said encouragingly that it would be nice weather, pleasant weather; he would not mind making the trip himself in such weather. the doctor came walking down. edwarda was with him; i felt my knees beginning to tremble.

“came to see you safely off,” said the doctor.

i thanked him.

edwarda looked me straight in the face and said:

“i must thank you for your dog.” she pressed her lips together; they were quite white. again she had called me “eder.” [footnote: the most formal mode of address.]

“when does the boat go?” the doctor asked a man.

“in half an hour.”

i said nothing.

edwarda was turning restlessly this way and that.

“doctor, don’t you think we may as well go home again?” she said. “i have done what i came for to do.”

“you have done what you came to do,” said the doctor.

she laughed, humiliated by his everlasting correction, and answered:

“wasn’t that almost what i said?”

“no,” he answered shortly.

i looked at him. the little man stood there cold and firm; he had made a plan, and he carried it out to the last. and if he lost after all? in any case, he would never show it; his face never betrayed him.

it was getting dusk.

“well, good-bye,” i said. “and thanks for — everything.”

edwarda looked at me dumbly. then she turned her head and stood looking out at the ship.

i got into the boat. edwarda was still standing on the quay. when i got on board, the doctor called out “good-bye!” i looked over to the shore. edwarda turned at the same time and walked hurriedly away from the quay, the doctor far behind. that was the last i saw of her.

a wave of sadness went through my heart . . .

the vessel began to move; i could still see herr mack’s sign: “salt and barrels.” but soon it disappeared. the moon and the stars came out; the hills towered round about, and i saw the endless woods. there is the mill; there, there stood my hut, that was burned; the big grey stone stands there all alone on the site of the fire. iselin, eva . . .

the night of the northern lights spreads over valley and hill.