On the way home strange, gloomy thoughts arose in him; he wondered if he were not one whose every undertaking was doomed to failure. There was a time when he thought himself a veritable Fortune’s Favourite. That was when he had captured his wife and taken over Mårbacka. But later on he had had a lot of ill-luck. For one thing, he had asked for his discharge from the military service merely because of a slight reprimand from his captain. He had been overhasty, but he did not worry about that. What did rankle in him, though, was that he had not been appointed Paymaster of the Regiment, to succeed his father. The office had been abolished, and the duties pertaining to it had been divided between four muster-clerks, of whom he was one. But the work was unimportant and the remuneration small. Then there was the attempt to have the river dredged--it, too, had failed. Midway between Gårdsjö and Mårbacka lies As Springs, an old health resort he had once undertaken to modernize. He had built a fine new bath house and engaged a corps of male and female attendants, with the hope that health-seekers would flock to the place. That was also a failure. Now and again an invalid came, but it hardly paid to keep the resort open. And to cap it all, his barn-building was a lamentable failure! There must be something lacking in him, he thought; he was perhaps less capable than other men. The best thing he could do was to give up his plans, settle down in his rocker, read his newspaper, and let things run on in the old ruts. Coming home he found his wife seated on the front steps awaiting him. She was very like her brother at Gårdsjö; she had the same intelligent face, the same clear head, the same serious turn of mind, the same love of work and indifference to pleasure, and the same dislike of all that was uncertain and venturesome. The Lieutenant was very fond of his wife and moreover respected her judgment as he did her brother’s. But that evening he would rather she had not sat up for him. She, too, was against him in this building project. “What did Kalle say?” Fru Lagerlöf asked him, as they went to their room. “He thinks like you and the rest, that I should give up the work.” Fru Lagerlöf made no reply. She had dropped into her usual place, by the sewing table, and sat looking out into the light summer night, with no thought, apparently, of retiring. The Lieutenant had already flung off his coat. “Aren’t you going to bed?” he asked. His rasping tones betrayed his irritation and despondency. “I think,” said the wife in a low, even voice--still gazing into the night--“I think you should finish it.” “What are you saying?” the Lieutenant queried impatiently. He had heard what she said, but thought he must have misunderstood. “I think,” she repeated, “that you ought to go on with it.” “Is it the barn you’re speaking of?” he asked, going up to her. Her words had awakened a little hope in him, yet he was not certain that he had understood her aright.