He felt
that Helene would be startled by a proceeding which came quite
naturally to him.
As they drove away, he waved his hat as long as they remained in
sight. The waving was returned, first by all, but finally by only
one.
The summer evening was light and warm, but not light enough, not
warm enough, not wide enough; there did not seem room enough in it
for him; it was not bright enough to reflect his happiness. He
could not sleep, yet he did not wish to talk; companionship or
solitude were alike distasteful to him. He thought seriously of
walking or rowing over to the parsonage again and knocking at the
window of Helene's room. He actually went down to the boathouse
and got out the boat. But perhaps it would frighten her, and
possibly injure his own cause. So he rowed out and out to the
farthest islands, and there he frightened the birds. At his
approach they rose: first a few, then many, then all protested in
a hideous chorus of wild screams. He was enveloped in an angry
crowd, a pandemonium of birds. But it did not ruffle his good
humour. "Wait a bit," he said to them. "Wait a bit, until the
islands at Hellebergene are 'protected,' and the whole estate as
well.
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