A fair "good night" to thee, love, farewell!
Now I must leave thee,
And joy be with thee,
Till I come back.
And when I come back, then I'll come to thee,
And then I'll kiss thee,
That tastes so sweetly,--
Love, thou art mine!
Love, thou art mine, and I am thine,
And that doth content me,
And shall not repent thee,
Love, fare thee well!"
At last they came to the village, where one group after another detached
itself. Barefoot paused under the tree by her father's house, and stood
there for a long time in dreamy meditation. She would have liked to go
in and tell Black Marianne everything, but gave up the idea. Why should
she disturb the old woman's rest at night? What good would it do? She
went quietly home, where everybody was asleep. When she finally entered
the house, everything seemed so much more strange to her than it had
outside--so odd, so out of keeping, so out of place. "Why do you come
home? What do you want here?" There seemed to be a strange questioning
in every sound; when the dog barked, when the stairs creaked, when the
cows lowed in the stable--they all seemed to be questioning her: "Who's
that coming home? Who's that?" And when at length she found herself in
her room, she sat down quietly and stared at the light. Suddenly she got
up, seized the lamp, held it up to the glass, and looked at her face;
she felt inclined to ask herself: "Who's that?"--"And thus," she
thought, "he saw me--this is how I looked.
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