the mail-packet was to sail in the afternoon.
i went down to the quay. my things were already on board. herr mack pressed my hand, and said encouragingly that it would be nice weather, pleasant weather; he would not mind making the trip himself in such weather. the doctor came walking down. edwarda was with him; i felt my knees beginning to tremble.
“came to see you safely off,” said the doctor.
i thanked him.
edwarda looked me straight in the face and said:
“i must thank you for your dog.” she pressed her lips together; they were quite white. again she had called me “eder.” [footnote: the most formal mode of address.]
“when does the boat go?” the doctor asked a man.
“in half an hour.”
i said nothing.
edwarda was turning restlessly this way and that.
“doctor, don’t you think we may as well go home again?” she said. “i have done what i came for to do.”
“you have done what you came to do,” said the doctor.
she laughed, humiliated by his everlasting correction, and answered:
“wasn’t that almost what i said?”
“no,” he answered shortly.
i looked at him. the little man stood there cold and firm; he had made a plan, and he carried it out to the last. and if he lost after all? in any case, he would never show it; his face never betrayed him.
it was getting dusk.
“well, good-bye,” i said. “and thanks for — everything.”
edwarda looked at me dumbly. then she turned her head and stood looking out at the ship.
i got into the boat. edwarda was still standing on the quay. when i got on board, the doctor called out “good-bye!” i looked over to the shore. edwarda turned at the same time and walked hurriedly away from the quay, the doctor far behind. that was the last i saw of her.
a wave of sadness went through my heart . . .
the vessel began to move; i could still see herr mack’s sign: “salt and barrels.” but soon it disappeared. the moon and the stars came out; the hills towered round about, and i saw the endless woods. there is the mill; there, there stood my hut, that was burned; the big grey stone stands there all alone on the site of the fire. iselin, eva . . .
the night of the northern lights spreads over valley and hill.
