From that day onward, Finn only left the old room when obliged.  
The spring had opened the fountain before the house and he was happy at its rippling, which never began and never stopped. The red flowers were put out on the balcony: when the wind blew, their petals fluttered right over into the basin of the fountain and rocked upon the water. He followed their dance through the air and wondered if they would reach their goal.
 
His best time was in the evening, when the square shone with a thousand lights.
 
He loved the dying day.
 
He knew every light that went out, every sound as it stopped. And he liked[187] the sound best when it stopped and the light when it went out. He thought that the people who moved down below, disguised in the darkness, were of another kind or better than those whom the sun shone upon. He had no more to do with them than with the others; but he liked them better.
 
Then, when night came and the rippling of the fountain sang louder and louder through the silence and cries sounded from down below, no one knowing what they were, and solitary steps were heard, that approached and retreated again, then he lit the candles on the mantelpiece and sat down in one of the old chairs, there where the owners of the house and their wives had sat when the house slept and they had something to say to each other.
 
He looked round the room, where the things sang in every dark corner, and[188] simply could not conceive that he had not known the old room before.
 
He was more at home here than anywhere else: here, where he was outside the world, which worried him, because it demanded that of him which he had not; here, where every spot and every object told how all had been said and done and accomplished in the old days, so that he had nothing else to do but listen wonderingly and rejoice at its marvellous beauty.
 
Then he fell a-dreaming and remained sitting till the lights went out.
 
“He does not sleep enough,” said Fru Adelheid, anxiously.
 
Cordt crossed the floor with the same thought in his mind. Then he stopped where she was sitting and looked at her:
 
“I wonder, is he ever awake, Adelheid?” he said.
 
[189]By day, Finn generally sat at the window and stared out, idly and silently, with his hands open on his knees.
 
Often, when Cordt was crossing the square, he thought that he could see Finn’s old face behind the window-panes. He would stop and nod and beckon to him.
 
But Finn never saw him. For he saw nothing positively.
 
And Cordt went on ... in and out ... constantly longing to see the strong air of the old room color his son’s cheeks and rouse his will ... constantly trusting that, sooner or later, this would happen.
 
He never went up there since the day when he and his old servant had arranged the room as it used to be.
 
And Finn was glad of this. He was so afraid lest that should happen that a long time passed before he could suppress his[190] terror when he heard any one coming. And, even when he had recovered his composure, he knew that it would happen sooner or later and that the day of its happening would be a gloomy one.
 
For he well understood the eternal loving question in Cordt’s eyes and it hurt him and frightened him. He dreaded the craving in his affection, which was greater than a father’s. It was like that of a sovereign for the heir who is to occupy the throne after him.
 
And Finn could not take the reins of empire in his slack hands or bear the pressure of the crown upon his head, which ached at the mere thought of it.
 
But Fru Adelheid often came; and they two were comfortable up there, in the old room.
 
She came with no craving; and, if she was doubtful and restless, as she often was since Finn had moved up into the[191] old room, then she would be quite silent when the door closed behind her.
 
Silent like Finn ... and like the big chairs and the jar with the man writhing through thorns ... silent like the spinning-wheel, which had whirred merrily every evening for many a good year and stood as it was with thread upon its spindle.
 
He looked at her and smiled and nodded when she spoke. He himself talked ... for long at a time and then stopped, without its making any difference, and listened to the rippling of the fountain and the voices in the old room, which always talked to him and plainest when Fru Adelheid was with him.
 
He told her that, when she came, the room was no longer his own.
 
For then he felt like a stranger, a man of another period, who should suddenly find himself in an old ruined castle, full[192] of marvellous dangers and adventures, and stand face to face with the last of those who had lived the castle’s rich, wonderful life.
 
Once he spoke her name aloud just as she was entering at the door. It was dark in the room and his voice and figure were so like Cordt’s that she grew pale and frightened. But he did not see this and she forced a laugh and soon forgot it.
 
And, gradually, the wonderful solemnity of the old room retreated into the background, when they were both there, for they spent more and more of their time there and at last simply did not think they were together except there. But Finn was alwa............