--The
letter! the letter! It will kill my mother! There had already been
misfortunes enough, more must not follow.
He dressed himself quickly, as if by hurrying he could overtake
the letter. He looked at the clock--it had stopped. Suppose the
train were in! He must go by it, and from the train straight to
the steamer, and home, home to Hellebergene! But he must send a
telegram to his mother at once. He wrote it--"Never mind the
letter, mother. I am coming this evening and will never leave you
again."
So now he had only to put on a clean collar, now his watch--it
certainly was morning--now to pack, go down and pay the bill, have
something to eat, take his ticket, send the telegram; but first--
no, it must all be done together, for the train WAS there; it had
only a few minutes more to wait; he could only just catch it. The
telegram was given to some one else to send off.
But he had hardly got into the carriage, where he was alone, than
the thought of the letter tortured him, till he could not sit
still. This dreadful analysis of his mother, strophe after
strophe, it rose before him, it again drove him into the state of
mind in which he had been among the hills and woods of Eidsvold.
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