“Not for her but for myself.
“There must not be any question of one’s self,” he replied, pressing his lips firmly together, “one must just try to bear it the best one can. Death is only terrible when one has waited for happiness all through life and it has not come. Then one must feel as if one had to get up hungry from a richly spread table, and I should like to save any one I love from that. You see I have a mother, too, she also wished to be happy once, and even yet would like far too much to be so. I am the only one who could take care from her shoulders, and I am not able to do so. What do you think I must feel in this case? I see how she grows old in sorrow and need, I can count the wrinkles on her forehead and cheeks. Her mouth falls in and her chin grows long. It is a long time since she spoke any loud word, from day to day she becomes quieter, and so, quietly, she will die one day, and I shall be standing by and shall say, ‘It is my fault, I have not been able to give her one single day of happiness.”
“Poor fellow,” she whispered, “can’t I help you at all?”
“No one can help me as long as my father—” he stopped, terrified at the course of his own thoughts.
Both were silent They sat there for a long time without moving, their twenty year old heads leaning on their hands bowed with care. The moonbeams lay like silver on their hair, which the soft wind of the heath ruffled gently.
Then the shadow of a cloud passed over them They both trembled. They felt as if the sad fairy whom they called Dame Care were spreading her sombre wings over them.
“I will go home,” Elsbeth said, rising.
“Go, with God’s blessing,” he answered, solemnly.
She seized both his hands “Thank you,” she said, softly, “you have done me much, much good.”
“And if you need me again—”