The next morning, when Oyvind opened his eyes, it was from a long, refreshing sleep and happy dreams.

Marit had been lying on the cliff, throwing leaves down on him; he had caught them and tossed them back again, so they had gone up and down in a thousand colors and forms; the sun was shining, and the whole cliff glittered beneath its rays.

On awaking Oyvind looked around to find them all gone; then he remembered the day before, and the burning, cruel pain in his heart began at once.
"This, I shall never be rid of again," thought he; and there came over him a feeling of indifference, as though his whole future had dropped away from him.
"Why, you have slept a long time," said his mother, who sat beside him spinning.

"Get up now and eat your breakfast; your father is already in the forest cutting wood." Her voice seemed to help him; he rose with a little more courage.

His mother was no doubt thinking of her own dancing days, for she sat singing to the sound of the spinning-wheel, while he dressed himself and ate his breakfast.