Poor Erik! I grow sad every time I think of him. I am sure he was very fond of me, or he would not have behaved in such a fine manly way when I told him I could not be his wife.
Now he is in Berlin, and I never hear from him directly. But he writes now and again to mother, and I believe she has answered his letters.
The other day when he again alluded to Erik, I told him—not wishing to have this subject mentioned again—how it had ended between Erik and me. I told him that Erik had asked me to be his wife and that I had refused. 'Why, I need hardly tell you,' I added.
He looked at me rather ashamed, but only said: 'Then, please, forgive me.'
But for a long time after we were both very serious.
I KNOW it was an absurdly mad impulse, and I was certainly severely punished for it.
The weather was perfectly lovely this morning, I was longing so much to see him, and I thought it would be amusing to pay him a little surprise visit.
I got hold of Christiane and we went off by the morning boat. We landed at Skodsborg, and Christiane stayed there while I walked along the high-road to Vedbaek.
I passed the village where he lives, but on account of his friend I dared not go in. I sent a
