"I am going now," she said. "But, Olof, are we…?" She looked at him, hoping he would understand.
He took both her hands in his. "Are you going—home?" he asked earnestly.
"Yes, yes. But tell me—are we…?"
"Yes, yes." He uttered the words in a sigh, as if to himself. Then, pressing her hand, he rose to his feet.
Staggering like a drunken man, he followed her to the door, and stood looking out after her as she went. Then the night mist seemed to rise all about him, swallowing up everything in its clammy gloom.
THE RECKONING
He sits deep in thought. Not a sound in the room.
Then a knocking….
The man starts, rises to his feet, and stares about him with wide eyes, as if unable to recognise his surroundings. He glances towards the door, and a shudder of fear comes over him—are they coming to torture him again?
Furiously he rushes to the door and flings it wide. "Come in, then!" he cries. "Come in—as many as you please! Rags or finery, sane or mad, in—in! I've hung my head long enough! Bid them begone—and they come again—well, come in and have done. Bring out your reckoning, every one. Here's what's left of me—come and take your share!"