Ormarr had opened the door, but closed it again and came towards her.
“Well,” he said, “don’t you think we might shake hands and consider it settled? That is, unless you would rather have time to think it over? We could at least promise to give each other the best we can....” Ormarr could hardly speak, so deeply was he moved.
Runa gave him her hand—a warm, trembling hand. He pressed it, and let her go.
When the door had closed behind her, Ormarr began slowly undressing, thinking aloud, as was his wont.
“If life is really only a tiny meaningless flicker, and death the eternal and constant state, if life is only little indifferent momentary things, and death the great and boundless, then why all this complication and suffering? If my soul could perish, could be destroyed by suffering like the smoke of wood consumed by fire, like the scent of a flower shed out into space, like a colour that fades in strong sunlight, then it would surely have become disintegrated long since. Or are we all figures on a stage? If there were any connecting string between myself and the gods above, I fancy I should make a first-rate marionette.”
He put out the light and got into bed.
“It is just like me to try and conceal my thoughts from my innermost self, to breathe a philosophical mist over the windows of my own mind. If I were to be honest now, I should have to confess something different. Be honest for once? And confess! Confess that a new, inexplicable joy had suddenly welled forth within me!
“Just because I have seen the flush of a soul turned towards my own. And here I am already building castles in the air, with golden towers of great anticipation. But, to be honest, I must build here and now, whether I will or not, and trust that the building may stand.”
The moonlight shone in over him; he turned his glance towards it and looked up smiling at the sad, wry face, nodded to it, and then turned over on his side and fell asleep.