the Engadine, the Bernese Oberland, the Lake of Geneva; rowed, took walks, climbed mountains, slept once in an Alpine herdsman's hut, and, in short, managed to live each day knowing as little of the day past as of the day following.
One morning he received a forwarded telegram. He opened it with trembling fingers, and read, "If you are my friend keep your promise and come to me immediately. For I am in need of a friend. Sigurd Olse." Leisenbohg did not doubt for a moment but that the contents of this telegram had something to do with Kläre. He packed as hurriedly as possible and left Aix, where he happened to be at the time, at the earliest opportunity. He went straight through Munich to Hamburg and took the boat which would bring him to Molde via Stavanger; he arrived one clear summer evening. It had seemed as though the journey would never end. He remained totally impervious to the scenery.
Also, he had been unable lately to recall Kläre's singing, or even her features. But when he saw Sigurd standing on the shore, dressed in white flannels and with a white cap, it seemed as though he had seen him only last evening. And in spite of his agitation he smiled from the deck in answer to Sigurd’s greeting, and remained quite composed as he walked down the gangway.
"I thank you a thousand times for answering my call," Sigurd said. And then he added simply, "It is all over with me."
The Baron observed him critically. Sigurd looked very pale and the hair about his temples had become noticeably grey. He was carrying on his arm a dull green plaid.
"What is the matter? What has happened?" Leisenbohg asked, smiling stiffly.
"You shall learn everything," Sigurd said. It struck the Baron that Sigurd's voice was not so full as it used to be. They went along the beautiful sea-drive in a small, narrow carriage. Both were silent. Leisenbohg did not dare to ask. He kept staring out at the water. It was nearly still; he got the peculiar notion of counting the waves, but found that this was impossible. Then he looked up at the sky, and it seemed as though the stars were slowly falling. Finally it occurred to him that a singer was in this world somewhere; Kläre Heil by name—but that was not greatly important. There was a jolt, and the carriage stopped before a plain white house surrounded by green. They took dinner on a verandah
