He even said with a shy
smile that if she would not think him affected he would like to jot down a
couple of stanzas which just now occurred to him. And he jotted down the
couple of stanzas.
She wanted to see what he wrote. She bent toward him and asked him
laughingly to let her see.
If she really wanted to! It was nothing much, though.
"Do you know," he said, "when you bent toward me and your head was so
close to me, I prayed in my heart that you would remain like that! That is
the reason I first refused to let you see what I had written."
"Irgens," she said suddenly, in a tender voice, "what would happen if I
said yes to you?"
Pause. They looked at each other.
"Then it would happen, of course, that--that you would say no to another."
"Yes--but it is too late now, too late! It is not to be considered--But
if it is any comfort to you to know it, then I can say that you are not
the only one to grieve--"
He took this beautifully. He seized her hand and pressed it silently, with
a happy glance, and he let it go at once.
They walked along the road. They had never been closer to each other. When
they reached the new fence the workman took off his cap.
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