Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VI
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he lifted the latch, and the next moment he was in the
darkness within. Softly he groped his way up the rickety
staircase until he felt the warm, spice-scented air of the
attic. The rotten boards of the floor creaked under his
step. The moon shone through a small window overhead,
throwing a square of light on the flat top of a grain-pile.
Scramble over—the dust whirling in the column of light!
Now—the gable-room at last! The door opened from
within, and threw a faint reddish glow that illuminated for
a second the pile of grain, the smoke-yellowed, sloping
chimney, and the roof-beams. The next moment they
were shut out, and he stood by Sofie’s side in the family
clothes-closet.
The small, low room was almost filled with large
linen-presses. From the loft hung bags full of down and feathers.
Old spinning-wheels were flung into the corners, and the
walls were festooned with red onions and silver-mounted
harness. The window was closed with heavy wooden
shutters, but on a brass-trimmed chest beneath it stood a small
hand-lantern. Sofie opened its tiny horn-pane to get a
brighter light. Her loosened hair hung down over the
fur-edged broadcloth robe she had thrown over her homespun
dress. Her face was pale and grief-worn, but she smiled
gaily and poured out a stream of chatter. She was sitting on
a low stool, her hands clasped around her knees, looking
up merrily at Ulrik Frederik, who stood silent above her,
while she talked and talked, lashed on by the fear his
ill-humor had roused in her.
“How now, Sir Grumpy ?” she said. “You’ve nothing
to say? In all the hundred hours that have passed, have
you not thought of a hundred things you wanted to
whisper to me? Oh, then you have not longed as I have!” She
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