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 374 'GODS PEACE'

needs. To move away from Rough-Hill was out of the question. Now more than ever. For now, he told me, he had arranged everything about the mill. Instead of pulling it down it was to stand as a memorial for Greta. All the machinery had been destroyed, and the wings were nailed firmly to the building and stood out in the shape of a cross towards the fjord. ' Neither the mill nor I,' he said, ' are able to do more mischief in this life. Together we stay here in this place, where we com- mitted our crime. Besides, it is my fancy that when I am dead the mill shall be given to the community to serve as a landmark for sailors on the fjord, and on the map it shall be called Greta's Cross.'

From the miller's house I went out through the garden. It stood in Spring's first splendour, but it was evident that nobody any longer gave it thought and care. On the lawns the grass was wild and uncut, and in the beds the weeds grew as luxuri- antly as the plants. I thought of the day it would again return to its primitive wildness and again become a prey to the cold west wind. The gentle hand of love and peace no longer guarded the oasis on Rough-Hill.

My last walk was to the graveyard, to her who was the sunshine of my childhood, and to her, who for a short but unforgettable day, became the sunshine of my manhood.

You two dear mothers, sleep in peace, side by side in the graveyard of my old town.

My trunk is packed. On the top of all my things