Words like these, nearly approaching to a prayer for forgiveness, sounded strangely from Ulric Hartmann's lips; he was little used to ask whether he gave pain or not. There was about him a sort of dull resignation quite foreign to his nature, and the grief which moved him now was all the more profound that it showed itself by no passionate outburst. Martha forgot her repugnance and her fear, and went close up to his side.
"What ails you, Ulric? You are so strange to-day. I have never seen you like this. What is the matter?"
He pushed the curly hair from his brow, and leaned up against the wooden gate.
"I don't know. Something has been weighing on me all day long. I can't shake it off, and it takes my strength from me. I want it for to-morrow, but directly I try to think, all grows black and dark before me, as if there lay nothing more beyond, as if to-morrow all would be at an end--all!"
Ulric started up suddenly with a dash of his old spirit.
"Absurd nonsense! I think the water down there has bewitched me with its confounded brawl. I have so much time just now to be listening to it, really! Good-bye."
He turned to go, but the girl held him back anxiously.
"Where are you going? To see the men?"
"No, I am going first on an errand of my own. Good-bye."
"Ulric, I implore you, stay!"