She was gazing, now at his
office windows, now up to the second story. There she stood. He could not
be mistaken, and his breath came in gasps. Once before he had seen her
there. She had circled around in the shadows beneath the street lamps,
just as now. He had called her name in a low voice, and she had
immediately hurried around the street corner without looking back. This
happened a Sunday evening three weeks ago. And now she was here again.
He wanted to step forward. He made a movement and his raincoat rustled.
She glanced around quickly and hurried away. He stood immovable where he
was until she had disappeared.
V
Ole Henriksen returned a week later. He had become uneasy. He had
telegraphed to Aagot again and again, but could get no reply. He finished
up his business in a hurry and returned. But so far was he from suspecting
the true condition of affairs that on the very last afternoon in London he
bought her a little present, a carriage for her fiord pony on Torahus.
And on his desk he found Aagot's letter with her ring enclosed.
Ole Henriksen read the letter almost without grasping its meaning. His
hands commenced to tremble, and his eyes were staring.
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