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to himself as he pictured that door shutting behind
him for the last time.
Wijntje saw the happiness on his face as soon as
she caught sight of him waiting under the tree.
It was a mild day in mid-August, and already there
was a scent from the leaves that had been dried up
in the long drought. * Yes,' he said, * we've a lot
to talk about,' and he took her arm and walked
hurriedly in the opposite direction from their usual
way. He spoke quickly, eager now to unburden
himself of everything, to tell her of the moods of
depression he had had ever since he was a child,
of the house that he hated, of the terrors from which
he was suffering again now, of the certainty he felt,
he didn't know why, that it was the house that was
driving him to disaster. * I don't suppose I'll get
rid of my wickedness,' he said, * but if that house
looks at me, I shall go to perdition without fail.'
He told her of the idea that had come to him to be
released from it. His voice sounded high and happy.
Somewhere else, far from here, would mean libera-
tion, and if he could count on the support which she
alone could give, he would be able to become an
honest man and all the unhappiness of his youth
would be forgotten. They stood still at the edge of
the Forest beside meadows where cows were browsing
as far as their eyes could see, and above their heads
the branches swayed. Wijntje stroked the hand
that lay on her arm. And staring into the gathering