Now I am thirsty, and drink from the stream; now I walk a hundred paces
forward and a hundred paces back; it must be late by now, I say to
myself.

Can there be anything wrong? A month has passed, and a month is no long
time; there is nothing wrong. Heaven knows this month has been short.
But the nights are often long, and I am driven to wet my cap in the
stream and let it dry, only to pass the time, while I am waiting.

I reckoned my time by nights. Sometimes there would be an evening when
Edwarda did not come--once she stayed away two evenings. Nothing wrong,
no. But I felt then that perhaps my happiness had reached and passed its
height.

And had it not?

"Can you hear, Edwarda, how restless it is in the woods to-night?
Rustling incessantly in the undergrowth, and the big leaves trembling.
Something brewing, maybe--but it was not that I had in mind to say. I
hear a bird away up on the hill--only a tomtit, but it has sat there
calling in the same place two nights now. Can you hear--the same, same
note again?"

"Yes, I hear it. Why do you ask me that?"

"Oh, for no reason at all. It has been there two nights now. That was
all... Thanks, thanks for coming this evening, love. I sat here,
expecting you this evening, or the next, looking forward to it, when you
came."