More in a dream than awake I wandered near the river bank for a long time. One reflection alone continually recurred to my mind with ever-increasing joy: she was not only free now, but had apparently always been so, and perhaps knew no more of heartache than I did. It was absurd of me to have been jealous of the good-looking workman in the smithy, but still more absurd to have indulged in the same feeling towards the visionary person called "The Danish Painter." No doubt the whole of this story was only family gossip gathered from an old aunt who, according to the schoolmaster, "was not quite what she ought to have been." In addition to which Minna herself had spoken often about these aunts and their foolish tittle-tattle.
She was to be mine. Was she not mine already? I still felt her kiss on my lips. But why had she left me so suddenly? Why did she not allow me to take her home? Girlish fancies! Who can comprehend them, and who would be without them?
It was already growing dusk. The after-glow of the evening sky dazzled the eye to such an extent that one could hardly judge the distances in the sombre foreground. A faint gleam of light still fell on the edges of the rocks above, and a grey cobweb seemed to
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