One day she had had letters from America, from Norland, from Berlin--the latter was from Karl; she had opened them all, but had not read any of them; there was too much to do getting the house ready for the winter. Still she found time to read her sister's letter in the afternoon, and it troubled her; her sister was not well; Ragni thought about getting her down to stay with her. The last two or three letters from Karl had been decidedly home-sick ones, he felt so melancholy; so she had no particular wish to peruse this last letter. She was just then reading an American novel, one of Howell's best, an impressive and exciting soul-picture; so she sat down to that first when she went into the office toward evening. But something in the story reminded her of Karl, so she laid the book aside and took out his letter. As usual, page upon page, very interesting, but so thoroughly heart-sick. When she came to the last sheet, there was written on it in red ink: "Read this when you are alone!" He wrote: "From the moment I received your letter about the 'chill cold of wickedness,' I have been uncertain whether or no I would tell you that I understood it at once. For long I have known what was said about us. Such a cruel slander! It was this that nearly drove me mad last summer, when I heard of it just before we parted. Is it not terrible? I thought that there could not possibly be anything that would wound me deeper than this; but now it has come: You have heard of it too--that must be the meaning of your letter. "For weeks I have thought about it. But it is better, for my own sake and for yours, that we should speak about it! Do not let Kallem hear of it! I am so dreadfully ashamed, I am so unhappy--ah, if you knew how unhappy I am! but let us spare him! "Therefore I write this on a separate sheet, and will always do so in future. "Also on account of something else which I am now coming to, my dear, my darling! "From the very beginning when you were so good to me, you were most dear to me; I could not think that you or anyone could be more dear. But now we are as it were linked together by this shame and grief, we two must bear it alone, and now, God knows, I only live, suffer, and work in thought of you. You are ever with me, from morn till eve, and in my dreams at night. "I love you, love you, love you! I write this weeping. I love you, love you, love you! "Perchance this word shocks you, shocks you more than what has gone before and has called it forth. But if you knew what joy it is just to write it down and know that you will read it! You are so good, and you know that I have the most unbounded respect for you." When Kallem came home at eight o'clock, the supper table was laid in the dining-room; the lamps were lighted in the office, and it was warm; but both rooms were empty, the big room was dark. Sigrid came in with the tea, and told him that her mistress had gone to bed. To bed? was she ill? "I think she was only tired."