The Captain spoke to Nils about the timber; he thought of disposing of the whole lot, or selling it standing. Nils took this to mean that he didn’t like the idea of having more new folk about the place. “It looks like things are as bad as ever with him and Fruen,” said Nils.

We are getting in the potatoes now, and since we are thus far there is less hurry and anxiety about the work. But there is still much to be done. The ploughing is behindhand, and Lars Falkenberg and I are both at it, field and meadow land.

Nils, queer creature that he was, began to find things intolerable at ?vreb? again, and talked of throwing up his place and going off altogether. But he couldn’t bear the disgrace of leaving his service like that. Nils had his own clear notions of honour, handed down through many generations. A young man from a big farm could not behave like a lad from a cottar’s holding. And then he hadn’t been here long enough yet; ?vreb? had been sadly ill-managed before he came: it would take some years to bring it round again. It was only this year, when he’d had more help with the work, that he’d been able to do anything properly. But from now onward he might begin to look for some result of his work; look at this year’s harvest, the fine heavy grain! The Captain, too, had looked at the crops with wonder and thankfulness — the first time for many years. There would be plenty to sell.

All things considered, then, it was senseless for Nils to think of leaving ?vreb?. But he must go home for a couple of days to his people — they lived a little way north of us. So he gave himself two days’ leave as soon as the potatoes were all out of the ground. No doubt he’d good reason for going — perhaps to see his sweetheart, we thought — and when he came back he was bright and full of energy as ever, and took up work again at once.

We were sitting at dinner in the kitchen one day when out comes Fruen from the front door of the house, and goes tearing down the road, all wild and excited. Then the Captain came out, calling after her: “Lovise, what is it, Lovise? Where are you going?” But Fruen only called back: “Leave me alone!”

We looked at one another. Ragnhild rose from the table; she must go after her mistress, she said.

“That’s right,” said Nils, calm as ever. “But go indoors first and see if she’s moved those photographs.”

“They’re still there,” said Ragnhild as she went out.

Outside, we heard the Captain telling her to go and look after her mistress.

There was no one but took thought for Fruen in her distress.

We went out to the fields again. Said Nils to me:

“She ought to take away those photos; it’s not right of her to leave them there. I don’t know what she can be thinking of to do it.”

What do you know about it? I thought to myself. Oh, I was so clever with my knowledge of the world, and all I’d learned on my wanderings, I thought I would try him now; perhaps he was only showing off.

“I can’t understand why the Captain hasn’t taken and burnt them long ago,” said I.

“No, that’s all wrong,” said Nils. “I wouldn’t have done that either.”

“Oh, indeed!”

“It wouldn’t be for me to do it, but for her.”

We walked on a little. And then Nils said a thing that showed his sound and right instinct.

“Poor lady!” he said. “She’s not got over that slip of hers this summer; it’s troubling her still. From all I can see, there’s some people pick up again all right after a fall, and go on through life with no more than the mark of a bruise. But there’s some that never get over it.”

“Fruen seems to be taking it easy enough,” said I, still trying him.

“How can we tell? She’s been unlike herself, to my mind, ever since she’s been back,” he answered. “She’s got to live, of course, but she’s lost all harmony, perhaps. I don’t know much about it, but harmony, that’s what I mean. Oh yes, she can eat and laugh and sleep, no doubt, but . . . I followed one such to the grave, but now. . . . ”

And at that I was no longer cold and wise, but foolish and ashamed, and only said:

“So it was that? She died, then?”

“Yes. She wished it so,” said Nils. And then suddenly: “Well, you and Lars get on with the ploughing. We ought soon to be through with things now.”

And we went each our separate way.

I thought to myself: a sister of his, perhaps, that had gone wrong, and he’d been home and followed her to the grave. Herregud! there are some that never get over it; it shakes them to their foundations; a revolution. All depends on whether they’re coarse enough. Only the mark of a bruise, said Nils. A sudden thought came to me, and I stopped: perhaps it was not his sister, but his sweetheart.

Some association of ideas led me to think of my washing. I decided to send the lad up for it.

It was evening.

Ragnhild came to me and begged me to keep awake again; there was dreadful trouble up at the house. Ragnhild herself was greatly upset, and dared not sit anywhere now in the half-dark but upon my knees. It was always so with her; emotion made her frightened and tender — frightened and tender, yes.

“But can you be away like this? Is there any one in your place in the kitchen?” I asked.

“Yes. Cook’s going to listen for the bell. You know, I side with the Captain,” she declared. “I’ve sided with him all along.”

“Oh, that’s only because he’s a man.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’d much better side with Fruen.”

“You only say that because she’s a woman,” answered Ragnhild in her turn. “But you don’t know all I do. Fruen’s so unreasonable. We didn’t care a bit about her, she said, and left her all to herself, whatever might happen. Did you ever hear such a thing, when I’d just gone after her. And then there’s another dreadful thing. . . . ”

“I don’t want to hear any more,” I said.

“But I haven’t been listening outside — what are you thinking of? I was there in the same room, and heard them.”

“Did you? Well, well, stay here till you’ve calmed down a little; then we’ll go and find Nils.”

And so frightened and tender was Ragnhild that she threw her arms round me because I was kind to her. A strange girl!

Then we went down to Nils.

“Ragnhild thinks that somebody ought to keep awake for a bit,” I said.

“Yes,” said Ragnhild. “Oh, it’s so dreadful — worse than ever it’s been! Heaven knows what the Captain’ll do! Perhaps he won’t go to bed at all. Oh, she’s fond of him and he’s fond of her, too; only, everything’s all wrong! When she went running off like that today, the Captain was standing outside the house, and said to me: ‘Go and look after your mistress, Ragnhild,’ and I went after her, and there she was, standing behind a tree down the road, and she just stood there, crying, and smiled at me. I tried to get her to come in again, but she said we didn’t care about her; it didn’t matter where she went. ‘The Captain sent me after you,’ said I. ‘Did he, though?’ she asked. ‘Now? Was it just now?’ ‘Yes,’ said I. ‘Wait, then,’ she said, and stood quite a while. ‘Take those hateful books that are lying in my room and burn them,’ she said; and then: ‘Oh no, I’ll do it myself, but I’ll ring for you after supper, and then you must come up at once.’ ‘I will,’ said I, and then I got her to come in.”

“And you know,” said Ragnhild suddenly, “she’s going to have a child.”

We looked at one another. Nils’ face grew, as it were, veiled beneath a film of something indistinct. All expression faded, the eyes asleep. But why should it affect him so? For the sake of saying something, I turned to Ragnhild and asked:

“Fruen was going to ring for you, you said?”

“Yes, and so she did. There was something she wanted to tell the Captain, but she was afraid, and wanted to have me there. ‘Light a candle and pick up all this host of buttons I’ve upset,’ she said. And then she called out to the Captain in his room. I lit the candle and began picking up buttons; dozens of them there were, all sorts. The Captain came in. ‘I only wanted to tell you,’ says Fruen at once, ‘that it was kind of you to send Ragnhild after me to-day. Heaven bless you for that!’ ‘Never mind about that, my dear,’ says he. ‘You were nervous, you know.’ ‘Yes, I’m all nerves just now,’ she answered, ‘but I hope it’ll get better in time. No, the trouble is that I haven’t a daughter I could bring up to be really good. There’s nothing I can do!’ The Captain sat down on a chair. ‘Oh yes, there is,’ he said. ‘Yes, you say? Oh, I know it says in that book there. . . . Oh, those hateful books! — Ragnhild take them away and burn them,’ she says. ‘No, wait, I’ll tear them to bits now myself and put them in the stove here.’ And then she started pulling them to pieces, taking ever so many pages at a time and throwing them in the stove. ‘Don’t be so excited, Lovise,’ said the Captain. ‘The Nunnery,’ she said — that was one of the books. ‘But I can’t go into a nunnery. There’s nothing I can do. When I laugh, you think I’m laughing,’ she said to the Captain, ‘but I’m miserable all the time and not laugh............