I jump up and tug at the guiding riband. The harp capsises.... I fall into emptiness ... the sword above me ... it penetrates my body ... I fall ... I fall.... "Yes, yes," says my mother, "why do you call so fearfully? I am awake." Calmly she took the knitting-needle from behind her ear, stuck it into the wool and wrapped the unfinished stocking about it. Six years passed. Then Thea met me again.