It was still early in the afternoon when a peasant came to the Parsonage to speak with the Pastor. He came to speak about the crazy Dalar man. He had now gone quite raving mad, and they had been obliged to bind him. What did the Pastor advise them to do? What should they do with him? The Pastor could give them no other advice but to take him home. He told the peasant who he was, and where he lived. Later on in the evening he told Ingrid everything. It was best to tell her the truth, and trust to her own common-sense. But when night came it became clear to her that she had not time to wait for the spring. The poor girl set out for Munkhyttan by the highroad. She would no doubt be able to get there by that road, although she knew that it was twice as long as the way through the forest. * * * * * It was Whit-Monday, late in the afternoon. Ingrid walked along the highroad. There was a wide expanse of country, with low mountains and small patches of birch forest between the fields. The mountain-ash and the bird-cherry were in bloom; the light, sticky leaves of the aspen were just out. The ditches were full of clear, rippling water which made the stones at the bottom glisten and sparkle. Ingrid walked sorrowfully along, thinking of him whose mind had again given way, wondering whether she could do anything for him, whether it was of any use that she had left her home in this manner. She was tired and hungry; her shoes had begun to go to pieces. Perhaps it would be better for her to turn back. She could never get to Munkhyttan. The further she walked, the more sorrowful she became. She could not help thinking that it could be of no use her coming now that he had gone quite out of his mind. There was no doubt it was too late now; it was quite hopeless to do anything for him. But as soon as she thought of turning back she saw Gunnar Hede's face close to her cheek, as she had so often seen it before. It gave her new courage; she felt as if he were calling for her. She again felt hopeful and confident of being able to help him. Just as Ingrid raised her head, looking a little less downcast, a queer little procession came towards her. There was a little horse, drawing a little cart; a fat woman sat in the cart, and a tall, thin man, with long, thin moustaches walked by the side of it. In the country, where no one understood anything about art, Mr. and Mrs. Blomgren always went in for looking like ordinary people. The little cart in which they travelled about was well covered over, and no one could suspect that it only contained fireworks and conjuring apparatus and marionettes.