“I have come to say good-bye,” I managed to get out at last.
She rose quickly to her feet, and I saw that my words had had some effect.
“Glahn, are you going away? Now?”
“As soon as the boat comes.” I grasped her hand—both her hands—a senseless delight took possession of me—I burst out, “Edwarda!” and stared at her.
And in a moment she was cold—cold and defiant. Her whole being resisted me; she drew herself up. I found myself standing like a beggar before her. I loosed her hand and let her go. I remember that from that moment I stood repeating mechanically: “Edwarda, Edwarda!” again and again without thinking, and when she asked: “Yes? What were you going to say?” I explained nothing.
“To think you are going already,” she said again. “Who will come next year, I wonder?”
“Another,” I answered. “The hut will be built up again, no doubt.”
Pause. She was already reaching for her book.
“I am sorry my father is not in,” she said. “But I will tell him you were here.”
I made no answer to this. I stepped forward, took her hand once more, and said: