Fruen has ordered the carriage to drive her to the station.

No sign of haste in her manner; she gives orders to the cook about packing up some food for the journey, and when Nils asks which carriage he is to take, she thinks for a moment, and decides to take the landau and pair.

So she went away. Nils himself drove for her.

They came back the same evening; they had turned back when half-way out.

Had Fruen forgotten something? She ordered fresh horses, and another hamper of food; she was going off again at once. Nils was uneasy, and said so; it was almost night, they would be driving in the dark; but Fruen repeated her order. Meantime, she sat indoors and waited; she had not forgotten anything; she did nothing now but sit staring before her. Ragnhild went in and asked if there was anything she could do. No, thank you. Fruen sat bowed forward as if weighted down by some deadly grief.

The carriage was ready, and Fruen came out.

Seeing Nils himself ready to drive again, she took pity on him, and said she would have Grindhusen to drive this time. And she sat on the steps till he came.

Then they drove off. It was a fine evening, and nice and cool for the horses.

“She’s past making out now,” said Nils. “I can’t think what’s come to her. I’d no idea of anything, when suddenly she taps at the window and says turn back. We were about half-way there. But never a word of starting out again at once.”

“But she must have forgotten something, surely?”

“Ragnhild says no. She was indoors, and I thought for a moment of those photograph things, if she was going to burn them; but they’re still there. No, she didn’t do a single thing while she was back.”

We walked across the courtyard together.

“No,” Nils went on, “Fruen’s in a bad way; she’s lost all harmony for everything. Where’s she going off to now, do you think? Heaven knows; she doesn’t seem to be altogether sure of it herself. When we stopped to breathe the horses, she said something about being in such a hurry, and having to be in different places at once — and then she ought not really to be away from home at all. ‘Best for Fruen not to hurry about anything,’ I said, ‘but just keep quiet.’ But you know how she is nowadays; there’s no saying a word to her. She just looked at her watch and said go on again.”

“Was this on the way to the station?”

“No, on the way back. She was quite excited, I thought.”

“Perhaps the Captain sent for her?”

Nils shook his head. “No. But perhaps — Lord knows. What was I going to say — it’s — tomorrow’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

“Yes; what then?”

“Oh, nothing. I was only thinking I’d use the day off to mark out firewood for the winter. I’ve been thinking of that a long while. And it’s easier now than when the snow’s about.”

Always thinking of his work, was Nils. He took a pride in it, and was anxious now, moreover, to show his gratitude for the Captain’s having raised his wages since the harvest.

It is Sunday.

I walked up to have a look at the trench and the reservoir; a few more good days now, and we should have the pipes laid down. I was quite excited about it myself, and could hardly wait for tomorrow’s working-day to begin again. The Captain had not interfered in the arrangements, not with a single word, but left all to me, so that it was no light matter to me if the frost came now and upset it all.

When I got back, there was the landau outside the house — the horses had been taken out. Grindhusen would about have had time to get back, I thought; but why had he pulled up in front of the steps to the house?

I went into the kitchen. The maids came towards me; Fruen was in the carriage, they said; ‘she had come back once again. She had just been to the station, but now she was going there again. Could I make out what was the matter with her, now?

“Nervous, I expect,” said I. “Where’s Nils?”

“Up in the woods. Said he’d be away some time. There’s only us here now, and we can’t say more to her than we have.”

“And where’s Grindhusen?”

“Changing the horses again. And Fruen’s sitting there in the carriage and won’t get out. You go and speak to her.”

“Oh, well, there’s no great harm in her driving about a bit. Don’t worry about that.”

I went out to the carriage, my heart beating fast. How miserable and desperate she must be! I opened the carriage door, and asked respectfully if Fruen would let me drive this time.

She looked me calmly in the face. “No. What for?” she said.

“Grindhusen might be a little done up, perhaps — I don’t know. . . . ”

“He promised to drive,” she said. “And he’s not done up. Isn’t he nearly ready?”

“I can’t see him,” I answered.

“Shut the door again, and tell him to come,” she commanded, wrapping herself more closely as she spoke.

I went over to the stables. Grindhusen was harnessing a fresh pair of horses.

“What’s all this?” I asked. “Going off again, are you?”

“Yes — that is, I thought so,” said Grindhusen, stopping for a moment as if in doubt.

“It looks queer. Where’s Fruen going to, do you know?”

“No. She wanted to drive back again last night as soon as we got to the station, but I told her that it was too much for either of us to drive back then. So she slept at the hotel. But this morning it was home again, if you please. And now she wants to go to the station again, she says. I don’t know, I’m sure. . . . ”

Grindhusen goes on harnessing up.

“Fruen said you were to make haste,” I said.

“All right, I’m coming. But these girths are the very devil.”

“Aren’t you too tired to drive all that way again now?”

“No. You know well enough I can manage it all right. And she’s given me good money, too. Extra.”

“Did she, though?”

“Ay, that she did. But she’s a queer sort, is Fruen.”

Then said I: “I don’t think you ought to go off again now.”

Grindhusen stopped short. “You think so? Well, now, I dare say you’re right.”

Just then came Fruen’s voice from outside — she had come right over to the stable door.

“Aren’t you ready yet? How much longer am I to sit waiting?”

“Ready this minute,” answered Grindhusen, and turned to again, busier than ever. “It was only these girths.”

Fruen went back to the carriage. She ran, and the thick fur coat she had on was too heavy for her, she had to balance with her arms. It was pitiful to see; like a hen trying to escape across the barnyard, and flapping its wings to help.

I went over to the carriage again, politely, even humbly. I took off my cap, and begged Fruen to give up this new journey.

“You are not driving me!” she answered.

“No. But if Fruen would only give it up and stay at home. . . . ”

At this she was offended; she stared at me, looked me up and down, and said:

“Excuse me, but this is no business of yours. Because I got you dismissed once. . . . ”

“No, no, it’s not that!” I cried desperately, and could say no more. When she took it that way I was helpless.

Just for one moment a wave of fury came over me; I had only to put out my arms and I could lift her out of the carriage altogether, this child, this pitiful hen! My arms must have twitched at the thought, for she gave a sudden frightened start, and shifted in her seat. Then all at once the reaction took me; I turned foolish and soft, and tried once more:

“It’ll be so dismal for us all here if you go. Do let us try if we can’t hit on something between us to pass the time for you! I can read a little, reading aloud, and there’s Lars can sing. Perhaps I might tell stories — tell of something or other. Here’s Grindhusen coming; won’t you let me tell him you’re not going after all?”

She softened at this, and sat thinking for a little. Then she said:

“You must be making a mistake altogether, I think. I am going to the station to meet the Captain. He didn’t come the first day, or yesterday either, but he’s sure to come some time. I’m driving over to meet him.”

“Oh!”

“There you are. Now go. Is Grindhusen there?”

It was like a slap in the face for me. She was right; it sounded so natural — oh, I had made a fool of myself again!

“Yes, here he is,” I answered. There was no more to be said.

And I put on my cap again, and helped Grindhusen myself with the harness. So confused and shamed was I that I did not even ask pardon, but only fretted this way and that way seeing to buckles and straps.

“You are driving then, Grindhusen?” called Fruen from the carriage.

“Me? Yes, surely,” he answered.

Fruen pulled the door to with a bang, and the carriage drove off.

“Has she gone?” asked the maids, clasping their hands.

“Gone — yes, of course. She’s going to meet her husband.”

I strolled up to the reservoir again. Grindhusen away meant one man less; why, then, the rest of us must work so much the harder.

But I had already come to realize that Fru Falkenberg had only silenced me with a false excuse when she declared she was going to meet her husband. What matter? The horses were rested; they had done no work the days Nils had been helping us with the trench. But I had been a fool. I could have got up on the box myself without asking leave. Well, and what then? Why, then at least any later follies would have had to pass by way of me, more or less, and I might have stopped them. He, he! infatuated old fool! Fruen knew what she was doing, no doubt; she wanted to pay off old scores, and be away when her husband came home. She was all indecision, would and would not, would and would not, all the time; but the idea was there. And I, simple soul — I had not set out a-wandering on purpose to attend to the particular interests of married folk in love or out of it. ’Twas their affair! Fru Falkenberg had changed for the worse. There was no denying it; she had suffered damage, and was thoroughly spoiled now; it hardly mattered any longer what she did. Ay, and she had taken to lying as well. First, music-hall tricks with her eyes, then on till it got to lying. A white lie today, tomorrow a blacker one, each leading to another. And what of it? Life could afford to waste her, to throw her away.

We put in three days’ work at the trench; only a few feet left now. There might be three degrees of frost now at nights, but it did not stop us; we went steadily on. Grindhusen had come back, and was set to tunnelling under the kitchen where the pipes were to go; but the stable and cows............