Was he not at this very moment thinking of her whom he knew that his brother loved? And was it not sinful of him to be unable to conquer a passion which, besides being a wrong towards his own brother, was so utterly hopeless?
Cousin Ola took himself sternly to task, and while he kept to the other side of the way, so as not to make a dust, he tried with all his might to think of the most indifferent things. But however far away his thoughts might start, they always returned by the strangest short-cuts to the forbidden point, and began once more to flutter around it, like moths around a candle.
The brothers, who were paying a holiday visit to their uncle, the Pastor, were now on their way to the Sheriff’s house, where there was to be a dancing-party for young people. There were many students paying visits in the neighborhood, so that these parties passed like an epidemic from house to house.
Cousin Hans was thus in his very element; he sang, he danced, he was entertaining from morning to night; and if his tone had been a little sharp when he declared that Ola was kicking up the dust, it was really because of his annoyance at being unable, by any means, to screw his brother up to the same pitch of hilarity.
We already know what was oppressing Ola. But even under ordinary circumstances he was more quiet and retiring than his brother. He danced “like a pair of nut-crackers,” said Hans; he could not sing at all (Cousin Hans even declared that his speaking voice was monotonous and unsympathetic); and, in addition to all this, he was rather absent and ill-at-ease in the society of ladies.
As they approached the Sheriff’s house, they heard a carriage behind them.
“That’s the Doctor’s people,” said Hans, placing himself in position for bowing; for the beloved one was the daughter of the district physician.
“Oh, how lovely she is—in light pink!” said Cousin Hans.
Cousin Ola saw at once that the beloved one was in light green; but he dared not say a word lest he should betray himself by his voice, for his heart was in his throat.
The carriage passed at full speed; the young men bowed, and the old Doctor cried out, “Come along!”