The old dilapidated dwelling house lay in a little garden among the small patches of cultivated ground below the rocks in the southern part of the island. Tord could not live there. It was too tame—too close to his tenant’s little red cottage. No, they must build a log hut of coarse timber on the highest cliff, a real eagle’s eyrie with a view over his estate of stones and water!
Here we shall find him later on, just as before in the old Rookery by the muddy bay of Lake Mälare—but all the same as if grown greater by the sea and the winter loneliness.
END OF PART ONE
PART TWO
I
LAURA ENTERTAINS
Laura cast a glance down the esplanade before she pulled the blind. She had moved to Narvavägen now. It was the most fashionable quarter.
The September evening was clear and cool. The prosperous-looking windows in the house opposite threw back discreet golden reflections. The little church at the corner looked like a luxurious bigoted needlework box. The recently planted trees of the esplanade were as like each other as soldiers in a row marching in column order out towards the fields.
Laura sighed faintly and contentedly. Everybody was back in town. The season was beginning.