“That cannot be helped,” said John. “One cannot calculate so exactly in the world.”
“Yes, yes, you are right. But I am not accustomed to the world; you must not take it ill if I say things that are not clever and sensible.”
“You can easily say that, but you know that you are clever.”
Amrie rose soon from the table, and as she stood before the glass, she cried,—
“Oh, dear Heavens! do I look like that? I do not know myself!”
“But I know you,” said John, “you are Amrie, and Barefoot, and Salt Duchess, and that is not all; you will soon have another name; Landfried is not bad.”
“Oh! can that be? I think sometimes it cannot be possible.”
“There are some hard boards to bore through,” said John, “but they do not frighten me. Now lie down and sleep a little, while I look about for a Berner wagon; we cannot in the day-time ride on one horse; beside we need a wagon.”
“I could not sleep, and I must write a letter to Holdenbrunn; I am strong; and I have enjoyed much good there; I have also some directions to give.”
“Oh, well! get it over when I come back.” John went, and Amrie looked after him with somewhat troubled thoughts. “There he goes, and yet he belongs to me. Is it possible? is it true? is he mine? He does not look back. How proudly he goes, and the dog goes with him!”