Gunlaug having heard the door open, at once divined her daughter's intention and waited for her here. Petra felt that she could not pass without a contest. Explanation would not help; whatever she said, it would not be believed. Well, if it came to a struggle, nothing in the world could be worse than the worst, and that she had already experienced. "Where are you going?" the mother asked in a low tone. "I must flee!" she answered with a beating heart--"Where to?"--"I do not know;--but I must get away from here!"--She held her bundle faster and went on. "No, come with me," said the mother, holding her arm, "I have provided for it." Petra released herself, as if from too tight a grasp; breathed out as after a conflict, and gave herself up to her mother. The latter led the way into a little room behind the kitchen, where a light was burning, and there was no window;--here she had been hid whilst the tumult raged. The room was so narrow that they could scarcely move in it; the mother took up a bundle rather smaller than Petra's, opened it, and took out a set of sailor's clothes. "Put these on," she whispered. Petra at once comprehended why she should do it, but that the mother assigned no reason, touched her. She took off her own things and put on these; the mother assisted her, and in doing so, the light fell full upon her face; Petra saw for the first time that Gunlaug was old. Had she become so in these days, or had Petra not observed it before? The child's tears trickled down over the mother, but she did not look up, and so nothing was said. A sou'wester was the last thing to put on; when all was ready, the mother took the bundle from her, and blew out the light, "Now come!" They went out into the passage, but not through the street door; Gunlaug unfastened the back door, and locked it again after them. They passed through the trampled garden, over the uprooted trees, and the broken fence, "You may as well look round," said the mother, "you will never come here again."--She shuddered but did not look. They went by the upper path, along the edge of the forest, where she had passed half her life; where she had had that evening with Gunnar, those with Yngve Vold, and the last with Odegaard. They trod in withered leaves; it was a cold night, and she shivered in her unaccustomed dress. The mother turned towards a garden; Petra knew it again, though she had not been, there since that day when as a child she had attacked it; it was Pedro Ohlsen's. The mother had the key of it and locked them in.