What would have become of her if it had not been for him? It was he who had raised the coffin-lid, who had brought her back to life. She certainly did not know how it had all happened, but it was surely he who had opened the coffin. What would have happened to her if he had not done this? She would have awakened to find herself imprisoned in the black coffin. She would have knocked and shouted; but who would have heard her six feet below the ground? Ingrid dared not think of it; she was entirely absorbed with gratitude because she had been saved. She must have someone she could thank. She must lay her head on someone's breast and cry from gratitude. The most extraordinary thing, almost, that happened that day was, that the Dalar man did not repulse her. But it was not quite clear to him that she was alive. He thought she was dead, and he knew it was not advisable to offend anyone dead. But as soon as he could manage, he freed himself from her and went down into the grave again. He placed the lid carefully on the coffin, put in the screws and fastened it as before. Then he thought the coffin would be quite still, and the violin would regain its peace and its melodies. In the meantime Ingrid sat on the grass and tried to collect her thoughts. She looked towards the church and discovered the horses and the carriages on the hillside. Then she began to realize everything. It was Sunday; they had placed her in the grave in the morning, and now they were in church. A great fear now seized Ingrid. The service would, perhaps, soon be over, and then all the people would come out and see her. And she had nothing on but a sheet! She was almost naked. Fancy, if all these people came and saw her in this state! They would never forget the sight. And she would be ashamed of it all her life. Where should she get some clothes? For a moment she thought of throwing the Dalar man's fur coat round her, but she did not think that that would make her any more like other people. She turned quickly to the crazy man, who was still working at the coffin-lid. 'Oh,' she said, 'will you let me creep into your pack?' In a moment she stood by the great leather pack, which contained goods enough to fill a whole market-stall, and began to open it. 'You must come and help me.' She did not ask in vain. When the Dalar man saw her touching his wares he came up at once. 'Are you touching my pack?' he asked threateningly. Ingrid did not notice that he spoke angrily; she considered him to be her best friend all the time. 'Oh, dear good man,' she said, 'help me to hide, so that people will not see me. Put your wares somewhere or other, and let me creep into the pack, and carry me home. Oh, do do it! I live at the Parsonage, and it is only a little way from here. You know where it is.'