The school-master tried to keep them in good spirits; the fact was now
that the time had come they all shrank from the two long years of
separation, for up to this time they had never been parted a single
day; but none of them would acknowledge it. The later it grew the more
dejected Oyvind became; he was forced to go out to recover his
composure a little.
It was dusk now and there were strange sounds in the air. Oyvind
remained standing on the door-step gazing upward. From the brow of the
cliff he then heard his own name called, quite softly; it was no
delusion, for it was repeated twice. He looked up and faintly
distinguished a female form crouching between the trees and looking
down.
"Who is it?" asked he.
"I hear you are going away," said a low voice, "so I had to come to you
and say good-by, as you would not come to me."
"Dear me! Is that you, Marit? I shall come up to you."
"No, pray do not. I have waited so long, and if you come I should have
to wait still longer; no one knows where I am and I must hurry home."
"It was kind of you to come," said he.
"I could not bear to have you leave so, Oyvind; we have known each
other since we were children."
"Yes; we have."
"And now we have not spoken to each other for half a year."
"No; we have not."
"We parted so strangely, too, that time."
"We did. I think I must come up to you!"
"Oh, no! do not come! But tell me: you are not angry with me?"
"Goodness! how could you think so?"
"Good-by, then, Oyvind, and my thanks for all the happy times we have
had together!"
"Wait, Marit!"
"Indeed I must go; they will miss me.
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