uplifted beyond his dream-life and lethargy that he made plans—he resolved to go abroad and study music. One day when he was speaking of this, she grew pale and said: “Yes—but then we must get married first.” He looked at her; she fixed her eyes firmly on him in return; then they both flushed crimson, and he said, “What would people say to that?”
Gunlaug had never imagined that he could have a will opposed to her own, because she had never cherished a wish that was not his. But now she read in the depths of his soul that he had never for a moment thought of sharing with her anything but what she herself had given. In one minute she discovered that it had been thus all their lives. She had begun with compassion and ended with love for the object of her own kindness. Well for her could she but have retained her self-control a little while longer. He saw her rising anger, and in terror cried: “I will.” She heard it; but indignation at her own stupidity and his wretched weakness, at her own shame and his cowardice, seethed up with such fiery speed to the point of explosion, that never did love kindled in childhood and radiant sunset, cradled by the waves and moonbeams, with the tones of a flute and low singing for an accompaniment, have a more
