As Mogens saw Thora more and more frequently, memories came more and
more rarely, and he began to see her as she was. It was a time of
peace and happiness when he was with her, full of silent longing and
quiet sadness when he did not see her. Later he told her of Camilla
and of his past life, and it was almost with surprise that he looked
back upon himself. Sometimes it seemed inconceivable to him that it
was he who had thought, felt, and done all the strange things of which
he told.
On an evening he and Thora stood on a height in the garden, and
watched the sunset. William and his little sister were playing
hide-and-seek around the hill. There were thousands of light, delicate
colors, hundreds of strong radiant ones. Mogens turned away from them
and looked at the dark figure by his side. How insignificant it looked
in comparison with all this glowing splendor; he sighed, and looked up
again at the gorgeously colored clouds. It was not like a real
thought, but it came vague and fleeting, existed for a second and
disappeared; it was as if it had been the eye that thought it.
"The elves in the green hill are happy now that the sun has gone
down," said Thora.
"Oh--are they?"
"Don't you know that elves love darkness?"
Mogens smiled.
"You don't believe in elves, but you should. It is beautiful to
believe in all that, in gnomes and elves. I believe in mermaids too,
and elder-women, but goblins! What can one do with goblins and
three-legged horses? Old Mary gets angry when I tell her this; for to
believe what I believe, she says is not God-fearing.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60