elves as we really are, we should be either
hermits, each dwelling on his own mountain-top, or criminals down in the
valleys.

* * * * *

Torp has gone to evening service. Angelic creature! She has taken a
lantern with her, therefore we shall probably not see her again before
midnight. In consequence of her religious enthusiasm, we dined at
breakfast-time. Yes, Torp knows how to grease the wheels of her
existence!

Naturally she is about as likely to attend church as I am. Her vespers
will be read by one of the sailors whose ship has been laid up near here
for the winter. Peace be with her--but I am dreadfully bored.

I have a bitter feeling as though Jeanne and I were doing penance, each
in a dark corner of our respective quarters. The Sundays of my childhood
were not worse than this.

In the distance a cracked, tinkling bell "tolls the knell of parting
day." Jeanne and I are depressed by it. I have taken up a dozen
different occupations and dropped them all.

If it were only summer! I am oppressed as though I were sitting in a
close bower of jasmine; but we are in mid-winter, and I have not used a
drop of scent for months.

But, after all, Sundays were no better in the Old Market Place. There I
had Richard from morning till night. To be bored alone is bad; to be
bored in the society of one other person is much worse. And to think
that Richard never even noticed it! His incessant talk reminded me of a
mill-wheel, and I felt as though all the flour was blowing into my eyes.

* * * * *

I will take a brisk constitutional.

* * * * *

What is the matter with me? I am so nervous that I can scarcely hold my
pen. I have never seen a fog come on so suddenly; I thought I should
never find my way back to the house. It is so thick I can hardly see the
nearest trees. It has got into the room, and seems to be hanging from
the ceiling. I am damp through and through.

The fire has gone out, and I am freezing. It is my own fault; I ought to
have rung for Jeanne, or put on some logs myself, but I could not summon
up resolution even for that.

What has become of Torp, that she is staying out half the day? How will
she ever find her way home? With twenty lanterns it would be impossible
to see ten yards ahead of one. My lamp burns as though water was mixed
with the oil.

Overhead I hear Jeanne pacing up and down. I hear her, alt