When he came back his face was pale; his feet were so weary he could hardly drag himself along.
He knocked again; the panel was thrust aside, and a face peeped through, then the door was opened.
"Hallo!" It was the girl of the night before. She was half-dressed, her eyes dull, her face tired and haggard. Olof felt as if he were breathing in the fumes of beer and wine and all unspeakable nastiness.
"Your friend—is she up yet? I want to see her," he stammered.
"Up—ay, she's up long ago; you can see for yourself."
She vanished down the passage, and returned in a moment with a crumpled sheet of notepaper, which she handed him.
Olof glanced at it, and read, hastily scribbled in pencil, these words:
"When you get this I shall be far away. I am going and not coming back. I can't stay here.—ELLI."
"There—what's the meaning of that, if you please?" cried the girl.
Olof made no answer. He held the paper in a trembling hand, and read it again and again; a weight seemed lifted from his shoulders.