"I do not know what I believe about it, Frue," he answered. "Some day science will be able to explain to us the mysterious working of the brain in normal life, in dream-life, in so-called death: and the connecting links."
He had risen as he spoke, as though he, even as the old saeter-woman, had let himself go too much, and now wished to slip away quietly. But they all rose too, and the Sorenskriver said:
"We have spent a true saeter-evening, communing with mysteries. The spirit of place has seized us, the mountain-spirit. But if we do not soon get to rest and sleep dreamlessly, we shall have no brains left us in the morning for yet another mountain mystery—the making of the Mysost!"
"Tak for maden" (thanks for the meal), he added, turning to the old saeter-woman.
"Tak for maden!" cried every one in a pleasant chorus.
"And tak for behageligt selskab!" (thanks for your delightful company), he said, turning to all his comrades.
"Tak for behageligt selskab!" cried every one.
Then the men went off to the Saeter down by the lake; and Katharine, Gerda, and the little Swedish artist arranged themselves for rest as well as they could in a rough saeter-stue. The two of them were soon asleep; but Katharine lay on her bench in the corner watching the fire, listening to the moaning of the wind, and thinking of Clifford Thornton.
"Dreams, dreams," she thought. "Why should he dread to dream? And his face was full of pain when he said that he tried never to dream. Ah, if I could only reach him—sometimes we seem so near—and then——"
Katharine slept.