Then he came and stood in front of her chair. She did not appear to notice him, sitting in the same rigid pose, the same unseeing stare in her eyes. He watched her, baffled as always by the veiled depths of those eyes into which he had searched so often, only to lose himself in confusion.
“Inga.”
Her glance came back slowly—was it from the future or from out the past? She saw him, rose slowly and laid her hand upon his arm almost as though swaying against him for support.
“Just a moment,” she said, with a long breath.
While he waited, she went past him to the window where she stood half turned from him, a free and slender line against the white of the outer day. He followed until he stood just behind her, waiting for her to speak.
“You know what it is, don’t you?” she said at last but without turning towards him.
“No,” he said, and yet at the first sound of her voice he knew. The moment has come, which he had known for months must arrive.
“Do you remember what we said to each other here once?” she began, but with much hesitation, “the promise you gave me.”
“What promise?” he said mechanically.
“You said—” She stopped, turned towards him and tried to lift her eyes to his.