“Why should you die?” said Krista. “You are so young,” she added, and felt as though she had said too much, and as though in saying those words she had already sinned. She turned away from him, and after a long pause said, “If you feel so oppressed let us go. It is now three years since we were there.”
And they went. They went to the spot where they had first met one another, where together they had played and sung, where they had been like two angels, with the hollow tree for their sanctuary, and whence they had first gone forth together into the world.
The return journey was a dreary pilgrimage to both. Venik loitered wearily the nearer he approached the hillside; and once when he looked at Krista he said, “Krista, we are going each as it were alone.” They went, each as it were alone, immersed in his own private thoughts. At this Krista took him by the hand, and their hands were moist and like fire. In speech and manner they were equally embarrassed. Their mouths were parched, their steps tottered, and after this they again unclasped hands, and again went each as it were alone.
When they were exhausted by their walk they sat down under some willows, by a streamlet which fled away to the river, that they might rest themselves. Their feet rested, indeed, but in their soul they seemed to fret more and more.
