Then you received your first important commission, and I ventured to dream dreams for us both. I never dreamt of fame and honour; what did I care whether you carried out the restoration of the cathedral or not?

The pleasure I showed in your talent I did not really feel. It was not to the man as artist, but as lover, that my heart went out.

Later, you had a brilliant future before you; one day you would make an income sufficient for us both. But you seemed so utterly indifferent to money that I was disappointed. My dreams died out like a fire for want of fuel.

Had you proposed that I should become your mistress, no power on earth would have held me back. But you were too honourable even to cherish the thought. Besides, I let you suppose I was attached to my husband....

I knew well enough that the moment you became aware of my feelings for you, you would leave no stone unturned until you could legitimately claim me as your wife.... Such is your nature, Joergen Malthe!

So I let happiness go by.

Two years ago Von Brincken died, leaving me a considerable share of his fortune--- and a letter, written on the night of the day when we last met.

I might then have left Richard. Your constancy would have been a sufficient guarantee for my future.

A mere accident destroyed my illusions. A friend of my own age had recently married an officer much younger than herself. At the end of a year's happiness he left her; and society, far from pitying her, laughed at her plight.

This drove me to make my supreme resolve--to abandon, and flee from, the one love of my life.

Joergen, I owe you the best hours I have known: those hours in which you showed me the plans for the "White Villa."

I feel a bitter, yet unspeakable joy when I think that you yourself built the walls within which I am living in solitary confinement.

Once I longed for you with a consuming ardour.

Now, alas, I am but a pile of burnt-out ashes. The winds of heaven have dispersed my dreams.

I go on living because it is not in my nature to do away with myself. I live, and shall continue to live.

If only you knew what goes on within me, and how low I have sunk that I can write this confession!

There are thoughts that a woman can never reveal to the man she loves--even if her own life and his were at stake....

It is night. The stars are bright overhead. Joergen Malthe, why have I written all this to you?... What do I really want of you?...

No, no!... never in this world....

You shall never read this letter. Never, never! What need you know more than that I love you? I love you! I love you!

I will write to you again, calmly, humbly, and tell you the simple truth: I was afraid of the future, and of the time when you would cease to love me. That is what I fled from.

I still fear the future, and the time when you will love me no more. But all my powers of resistance are shattered by this one truth: _I love_.

For the first and only time in my life. Therefore I implore you to come to me; but now, at once. Do not wait a week or a month. My lime trees are fragrant with blossom. I want you, Joergen, now, while the limes are flowering. Then, what you ask of me shall be done.

If you want me for a wife, I will follow you as the women of old followed their lords and masters, in joyful submission. But if you only care to have me for a time, I will prepare the house for my desired guest.

Whatever you decide to do will be such an immense joy that I tremble lest anything should happen to hinder its fulfilment....

Then let the years go by! Then let age come to me!

I shall have sown so many memories of you and happiness that I shall have henceforth a forest of glad thoughts, wherein to wander and take my rest till Death comes to claim me.

The sun is flashing on the window-panes; the sunbeams seem to be weaving threads of joy in rainbow tints.

You child! How I love you!...

Come to me and stay with me--or go when we have had our hour of delight.

The letter has gone. Jeanne has rowed to the town with it.

She looked searchingly at me when I gave it to her and told her to hurry so that she should not lose the evening post. Both of us had tears in our eyes.

I will never part with Jeanne. Her place is with me--and with him. I stood at the window and watched her pull away in the little white boat.

She pulled so hard at the oars. If only she is strong enough to keep it up.... It is a long way to the town.

Never has the evening been so calm. Everything seems folded in rest and silence. There lies a majesty on sky and earth. I wandered at random in the woods and fields, and scarcely seemed to feel the ground beneath my feet. The flowers smell so sweet, and I am so deeply moved.

How can I sleep! I feel I must remain awake until my letter is in his hands.

Now it is speeding to him through the quiet night. The letter yearns towards him as I do myself.

I am young again.... Yes, young, young!... How blue is the night! Not a single light is visible at sea.

If this were my last night on earth I would not complain. I feel my happiness drawing so near that my heart seems to open and drink in the night, as thirsty plants drink up the dew.

All that was has ceased to be. I am Elsie Bugge once more, and stand on the threshold of life in all its expanse and beauty.

He is coming....

He will come by the morning train. It seems too soon.

Why did he not wait a day or two? I want time to collect myself. There is so much to do....

How my hands tremble!

I carry his telegram next my heart. Now I feel quite calm. Why will Jeanne insist on my going to bed? I am not ill.

She says it is useless to arrange the flowers in the vases to-night, they will be faded by to-morrow. But can I rely on Torp's seeing that we have enough food in the house? My head is swimming.... The gra.s.s wants mowing, and the hedge must be cut.... Ah! What a fool I am! As though he would notice the lawn and the hedge!...

Jeanne asks, "Where will the gentleman sleep?" I cannot answer the question. I see she is getting the little room upstairs ready for him.