He looked more languid and worn out than usual; but his face wore a
beatified expression, as of a man who had wrestled with his fate, and
had won rest and resignation.

If possible, he said, he would like to speak to my wife that same
morning; but he would rather talk with me at once, and so I must sit
down for a little while.

With a smile--that same quiet, sweet, mysterious smile of his that I
knew so well, but which now seemed no longer to shun observation--he
turned to me saying, as he laid his hand on my shoulder and looked into
my face:

"My dear, kind Frederick! I know for certain, though I cannot tell you
why, that I shall not live to see the spring again. What is wanting
neither you nor any one else can give me, only God; but of all men you
have been the kindest to me, and your friendship has reached farther
than you would ever imagine. You have a right to know him who has been
your friend. When I am gone--and that will undoubtedly be this winter,
perhaps sooner than you, judging from my condition, think--you will find
some memoranda in my drawer; they are the history of my early youth, but
uneventful as that was, it has had its effect upon my whole life. It
will tell you that the world has been sad, very sad for me, and that I
am as glad as an escaped bird to leave it."

"There was a time," he added after some hesitation, "when I wished to be
buried in a churchyard up in Nordland; but now I think that the place
does not make any difference, and that one can rest just as peacefully
down here."