“But I do see it,” returned he, a little confused; “I am looking at it now.”
“Well,” said she, “that is—”
“Thou art looking at it upside down, my son,” said the hermit, who had been observing them with an amused expression of countenance.
“Oh, so he is; I never thought of that,” cried Hilda, laughing; “thou must sit beside me, Erling, so that we may see it in the same way.”
“This one, now, with the curve that way,” she went on, “dost thou see it?”
“See it!” thought Erling, “of course I see it: the prettiest little hand in all the dale!” But he only said—
“How can I see it, Hilda, when the point of thy finger covers it?”
“Oh! well,” drawing the finger down a little, “thou seest it now?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that is—why! where is Christian?” she exclaimed, looking up suddenly in great surprise, and pointing to the stool on which the hermit certainly had been sitting a few minutes before, but which was now vacant.