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Updated: June 5, 2025
"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." "Marit! Marit!" "No, I dare not stay away any longer, Oyvind. Good-by." "Good-by!" Afterwards he moved about as in a dream, and answered very absently when he was addressed.
Farewell, Marit Heidegards, I shall not look at you too much, as I did at that dance. May you both eat well, and sleep well, and get your new web finished, and above all, may you be able to shovel away the snow which lies in front of the church-door. Most respectfully, OYVIND THORESEN PLADSEN.
I have read of many such cases; and some still live in the memory of the people of this parish, and those who relate these stories, and are moved by them, are the children of the very persons who once caused all the mischief. Yes, Marit, now we two will join hands, so; yes, and we will promise each other to cling together, so; yes, and now it will all come right. Hurrah!"
"It seems," says the Count, "that there was one of his songs in particular which was called the 'Husbands' Air' L'Aria dei Marit because they didn't enjoy it quite as much as their better-halves.... My grand-aunt, Pisana Renier, married to the Procuratore Vendramin, was a patrician of the old school, of the style that was getting rare a hundred years ago.
No marvel then that the poet William of Apulia should praise in unmeasured terms the glories of the new-sprung city, whose trade extended to the shores of India and whose merchants possessed independent settlements in every great city of the Levant. “Nulla magis civitas argento, vestibus, auro Partibus innumeris; hac plurimus urbe moratur Nauta marit coelique vias aperiri peritus.
Then Marit laughed and said, "He is the son of the houseman at Pladsen." Oyvind had always known that he was a houseman's son; but until now he had never realized it. It made him feel so very little, smaller than all the rest; in order to keep up he had to try and think of all that hitherto had made him happy and proud, from the coasting hill to each kind word.
He picked a quarrel with the housemen, abused the girls, beat the large dog, and almost frightened the life out of a little hen that had strayed into the field; but to Marit he said nothing. That evening Marit was so happy when she went up-stairs to bed, that she opened the window, lay in the window-frame, looked out and sang. She had found a pretty little love-song, and it was that she sang.
She had still the same beautiful dark eyebrows, but her face was faded and worn, and there were streaks of grey in her hair. At last he spoke again. "And about the children, Merle." She started. "The children what about them?" Had it come at last, the thing she had gone in fear of so long? "Aunt Marit has sent word to ask if we will let your brother take Louise over to stay with her." "No!"
"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 will not live in people's talk as a fool just for this matter. I only wish your own good; you should understand this, Marit. Soon I will be gone, and then you will be left alone. What would have become of your mother if it had not been for me? Listen, Marit; be sensible, pay heed to what I have to say. I only desire your own good." "No, you do not." "Indeed? What do I want, then?"
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