"What shall I see if I ever go
Over the mountains high?
Now I can see but the peaks of snow,
Crowning the cliffs where the pine trees grow,
Waiting and longing to rise
Nearer the beckoning skies."
"Is there anything about his going away?" asked Margit.
"Yes, it is about that," replied the Clergyman, putting the paper down.
"Wasn't I sure of it! Ah me! I knew the tune!" She sat with folded hands, looking intently and anxiously into the Clergyman's face, while tear after tear fell down her cheeks.
The Clergyman knew no more what to do in the matter than she did. "Well, I think the lad must be left alone in this case," he said. "Life can't be made different for his sake; but what he will find in it must depend upon himself; now, it seems, he wishes to go away in search of life's good."
"But isn't that just what the old crone did?"
"The old crone?"
"Yes; she who went away to fetch the sunshine, instead of making windows in the wall to let it in."
The Clergyman was much astonished at Margit's words, and so he had been before, when she came speak to him on this subject; but, indeed, she had thought of hardly anything else for eight years.
"Do you think he'll go away? what am I to do? and the money? and the letters?" All these questions crowded upon her at once.