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trimmed the candle with her fingers, and threw the bit of
burning wick on the floor. Instinctively Ulrik Frederik took
a step forward, and put it out with his foot.
“That’s right!” she went on. “Come here, and sit by
my side; but first you must kneel and sigh and plead with
me to be fond again, for this is the third night I’m
watching. Yester eve and the night before I waited in vain, till
my eyes were dim.” She lifted her hand threateningly. “To
your knees, Sir Faithless, and pray as if for your life!”
She spoke with mock solemnity, then smiled, half
beseeching, half impatient. “Come here and kneel, come!”
Ulrik Frederik looked around almost grudgingly. It
seemed too absurd to fall on his knees there in Christoffer
Urne’s attic. Yet he knelt down, put his arm around her
waist, and hid his face in her lap, though without speaking.
She too was silent, oppressed with fear; for she had seen
Ulrik Frederik’s pale, tormented face and uneasy eyes.
Her hand played carelessly with his hair, but her heart beat
violently in apprehension and dread.
They sat thus for a long time.
Then Ulrik Frederik started up.
“No, no!” he cried. “This can’t go on! God our Father
in heaven is my witness, that you’re dear to me as the
innermost blood of my heart, and I don’t know how I’m to
live without you. But what does it avail? What can come
of it? They’re all against us—every one. Not a tongue
will speak a word of cheer, but all turn from me. When
they see me, ’t is as though a cold shadow fell over them,
where before I brought a light. I stand so utterly alone, Sofie,
’t is bitter beyond words. True, I know you warned me,
but I’m eaten up in this strife. It sucks my courage and
my honor, and though I’m consumed with shame, I must
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