She brought some water and raspberry syrup, and Hans Nilsen, contrary to his custom, took a long draught. He was both tired and thirsty, he said.
Sarah sat at the other end of the sofa, and neither of them spoke. After a minute or two, the silence grew oppressive, and they began to converse again, but soon again lapsed into silence.
"What were you going to say?" inquired Hans Nilsen.
"I—I only asked if you would have some more syrup and water," said she, with some embarrassment.
"No, thank you. I ought to be going."
He got up and walked across the room. His hat lay on the table; but Fennefos moved, as if he hardly knew where he was, towards the window, and looked out on the pale evening sky.
Sarah got up also, and went to the cupboard, which was between the windows, where she began to busy herself with one thing or another.
Observing that she was behind him, he turned round and went back to his seat.
"It has been fine, warm weather to-day," he said; but his voice was thick and strange, and, in spite of what he had drunk, his throat was dry.
Sarah answered somewhat unintelligibly, took up the tumbler he had used, and placed it on the sideboard, her hand shaking so that the glass clinked as she put it down.