Of a fount that shall flood to-morrow,
Of a sun that shall gild God’s air.
She put one hand on the music-sheet and played with the other and hummed the tune again.
Then Cordt clapped his hands in applause. She started and her hand fell heavily on the keyboard:
“How you frightened me, Cordt!”
He came and stood beside the spinet. Fru Adelheid looked at his face and sighed. Then she stood up, put the music away and went and sat in a chair by the fireplace:
“Won’t you come here, Cordt?”
Cordt walked to and fro again and up and down.
“Sit down here for a little,” she said.
“Why should I?” he asked. “You are not here, you know.”