The girl smiled, but did not look up. “Thank you,” she said simply.
For a long time they stood facing each other without a word, hardly daring to breathe. Ørlygur felt he had much to say, but could find no words. At last he offered his hand again.
“Good-bye,” he said.
She took it hesitatingly, but this time their clasp was one of lingering affection. They stood breathing heavily; then suddenly she leaned forward with her forehead against his shoulder; her hot cheek touched his. For a moment he pressed her to him, and passed his hand caressingly over her hair.
With a sigh she slipped from his arms, pressed his hand once more, and turned away. Then quietly Ørlygur left the room.
He went out of the house without taking leave of the widow. The latter, returning a little later to the room, asked if he had gone.
“Yes,” said the girl.
“What did he come for?”
“He gave me his lamb.”
“Nothing more?”