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"She is, nevertheless, extremely beautiful and interesting," said Elise, with a kindly feeling towards her when she was gone. The Judge made no reply; he never was heard to speak again of his former beloved one. Days went by. The Judge had much to do. Elise occupied herself with her little girls, and the Candidate with Henrik and his own studies.
He felt that in spirit they were one, and he received great comfort from the thought. About Midsummer the mother died. Then Henrik spent most of his time at Nordal. There was peace in the solitude of the pine-clad hills, there was comfort in the waving fields of grain and the clear-flowing streams.
"Look at that patch, there, now and that!" After a while a man came up the stairs and tried the door. "Open, you within!" he said. "It's Henrik, one of the lumbermen," said the girl. "Is he your sweetheart?" I asked. "No, indeed, I should think not," she answered. "I'd rather go without than have a fellow like him." "Open the door, d'you hear!" cried the man outside.
Henrik may be, if he can, a distinguished poet and literary man; but he must not as yet imagine himself anything; above all things, he must not suppose it possible to be a distinguished man in any profession without preparing himself by serious labour, and without first of all becoming a thinking being.
Henrik was remarkable for extraordinary, almost feminine beauty; his figure was noble but slender, and his glance glowing though somewhat dreamy. Stjernhök, some years Henrik's senior, had become early a man.
Presently afterwards he spoke again, but in a very low voice. "Sing me something, mother," said he, "I shall then sleep more calmly, 'They knock! I come!" These words were the beginning of a song which Henrik had himself written, and set to music some time before, during a night of suffering.
How they would be delighted with the gallery of mineralogy how they would be charmed with the theatres! how they would see and hear the lovely Demoiselle Högquist and the captivating Jenny Lind! and then the castle! the promenades the prospects the churches the beautiful statues in the public places Henrik would have been almost ready to have overthrown some of them.
"Oh, according to my opinion," said Henrik, laughing heartily at the gestures of his travelling companion, "it is a hardening sort of weather; there is a proud exalting feeling in it, sitting there quite calm under the raging of the elements; especially when one looks down from one's elevation on other fellow-mortals, who go lamenting, and full of anxiety, under their umbrellas.
Henrik looked up at her, and though I did not understand her words, I understood from his eyes that he was asking for something to eat. The strong-headed sister actually refused his request.
The captain was beside himself; he could not understand what had happened to his wife. It was worse than religious hypocrisy. He tore off the wrapper and read on the title page of a book in a paper cover: Et Dukkehjem af Henrik Ibsen. A Doll's House? Well, and ? His home had been a charming doll's house; his wife had been his little doll and he had been her big doll.
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