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And behind the terror was the distant bird, that sang ... a green and golden land, which she had never seen in her dreams....

Cordt stood before her and put out his hand:

“Good-night, Adelheid,” he said.

She sat straight up and looked at him in bewilderment:

“Are you going?” she asked.

“No. But I should like you to go to bed. I shall stay here a little longer and read.”

He sat down and took his book. Fru Adelheid rose slowly and went across the room.

At the door, she stood for a moment and looked at him. His face was very still. It seemed to her as though he were far away. She wondered whether he would look up and say good-night once more. Or only nod.

But he was reading and turning the pages of his book.

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The fire in the hearth was nearly out and the candles had burnt quite low. It was quiet in the room and quiet outside.

Cordt sat in his chair. He had been sitting there long and had not stirred, only pondered, with his fingers buried in his hair, and listened for Fru Adelheid’s footsteps.