"When I open the door of the sitting-room, I see in the dusk a dark shadow that flits hurriedly out of the room.
"'Who may that be?' I think, and follow in pursuit.
"In the child's room I find--her--just as she is trying hard to unbolt the door leading to the corridor, which, as you know, is always kept locked on account of the draught.
"Then, uncle, it comes over me as if I must rush towards her; but just in time I recollect who she is--and who I am.
"I see how her hands are trembling. 'Do not be angry with me, Olga,' I said, stammering; 'I did not wish to do you any harm. I am only here by chance. I will henceforth arrange so that you may never meet me.'
"Then she lets her hands drop, and gives me a look that makes me feel hot and cold all over. 'Martha never looked at me like that,' I think to myself. I want to speak, but the words will not come, for I am so confused and embarrassed. She stands pressing her tall figure close up to the door, as if to take refuge there from me. I hear her heavy, feverish breathing. 'Olga,' I say, 'it was presumption on my part that I ever dared to think of gaining your hand; I know very well that I am not worthy of you. I beg of you, forget all about it; I will never remind you of it.'
"And at this moment, uncle--how shall I describe it to you?--leave me for a second the memory--yet what boots it?--I will be strong, uncle--I will pull myself together--at this moment she rushes towards me, clasps me round, covers my face with kisses, and then suddenly she sinks down with a sigh and lies there at my feet as if felled by a stroke. I gaze down upon her like one in a dream.
"'It is not true,' I cry to myself; 'it is madness. You were ready to look up to her as to a goddess, and now she throws herself away on one who is not worthy of her.'
"I hardly dared to touch her; but I had to raise her up; and when I held her in my arms she began to sob bitterly, as if she would cry her very soul out. 'Olga, why are you crying?' say I. 'All is well now.' But even I, giant of a fellow as I am, start crying like a little child.
"'Forgive, me, Robert!' I hear her voice at my ear; 'I have grieved you sorely, but I will never--never do so again.'