When he reached the door of the verandah he paused.
"At least there is one thing that she could not have put into his heart and head," he said, "because she did not know it—no one knows it—not even you, Knutty, although I have tried to tell you times without number. But it didn't come; and so the weeks have worn into months."
"Kjaere," she said, in real distress, "have you still anything on your mind about poor Marianne?"
"Yes, Knutty," he answered, and he went away.
"Ak, ak," she said to herself, "It's just like that wretched Marianne to be immortal."
She sat there puzzled and grave, but eventually made a great effort to throw off worrying thoughts, and to focus her mind on the translation-task.
Meanwhile Clifford passed up to his room thinking of his boy. He saw him wandering on the hillside in the silence of the night. The picture which thus rose before his mind's eye, touched him to the quick.
"We must put it all right between us," he said, "once and for all."
Then his door opened, and Alan came in.
"Father," he began shyly.