Margit still sat with her hands folded, and her head bent down. "How I should pray him to forgive me, if I only knew he would stay!" she said: surely, she was confounding our Lord with Arne. The Clergyman, however, appeared as if he did not notice it. "Do you intend to confess it to him directly?" he asked. She looked down, and said in a low voice, "I should much like to wait a little if I dared." The Clergyman turned aside with a smile, and asked, "Don't you believe your sin becomes greater, the longer you delay confessing it?" She pulled her handkerchief about with both hands, folded it into a very small square, and tried to fold it into a still smaller one, but could not. "If I confess about the letters, I'm afraid he'll go away." "Then, you dare not rely upon our Lord?" "Oh, yes, I do, indeed," she said hurriedly; and then she added in a low voice, "but still, if he were to go away from me?" "Then, I see you are more afraid of his going away than of continuing to sin?" Margit had unfolded her handkerchief again; and now she put it to her eyes, for she began weeping. The Clergyman remained for a while looking at her silently; then he went on, "Why, then, did you tell me all this, if it was not to lead to anything?" He waited long, but she did not answer. "Perhaps you thought your sin would become less when you had confessed it?" "Yes, I did," she said, almost in a whisper, while her head bent still lower upon her breast. The Clergyman smiled and rose. "Well, well, my good Margit, take courage; I hope all will yet turn out for the best." "Do you think so?" she asked, looking up; and a sad smile passed over her tear-marked face. "Yes, I do; I believe God will no longer try you. You will have joy in your old age, I am sure." "If I might only keep the joy I have!" she said; and the Clergyman thought she seemed unable to fancy any greater happiness than living in that constant anxiety. He smiled and filled his pipe. "If we had but a little girl, now, who could take hold on him, then I'm sure he would stay." "You may be sure I've thought of that," she said, shaking her head. "Well, there's Eli Böen; she might be one who would please him." "You may be sure I've thought of that." She rocked the upper part of her body backwards and forwards. "If we could contrive that they might oftener see each other here at the parsonage?" "You may be sure I've thought of that!" She clapped her hands and looked at the Clergyman with a smile all over her face. He stopped while he was lighting his pipe. "Perhaps this, after all, was what brought you here to-day?" She looked down, put two fingers into the folded handkerchief, and pulled out one corner of it. "Ah, well, God help me, perhaps it was this I wanted." The Clergyman walked up and down, and smiled. "Perhaps, too, you came for the same thing the last time you were here?"