It had cost Gunlaug much to go to him in the forenoon, it cost her much to go now with the unhappy daughter, to whom she herself could no longer give a home. But it must be done, and that which must be done Gunlaug could do. She knocked at the side door, and almost directly they heard footsteps and saw a light within. Shortly after, the door was opened by Pedro himself in travelling attire, looking pale and nervous. He held a dip in his hand, and he sighed when his eye fell upon Petra's face, swollen with weeping; she looked up at him, but as he did not dare to know her, she did not venture to recognise him. "This man has promised to help you to get away," said the mother without looking at either of them, and going up the steps she went into Pedro's room on the other side of the passage, leaving them to follow. The room was very small and low, and the peculiar close smell that pervaded it, made Petra feel faint; for more than a day now she had neither tasted food nor slept. From the middle of the ceiling hung a cage with a canary bird; they had to go round to avoid knocking against it. Some heavy old chairs, a ponderous table, and two great closets, touching the ceiling, were squeezed into the room, making it still less. On the table lay some music, and on that a flute. Pedro Ohlsen shuffled about in his great boots, as if he had something important to do; a weak voice sounded from the back room: "Who is that?--Who has come in?"--upon which he trailed still quicker round the room, mumbling: "Oh it is--hm, hm, ... it is--hm, hm," and so in where the voice came from. Gunlaug sat by the window, with both her elbows upon her knees, and her head in her hands, looking fixedly into the sand that was strewn upon the floor; she did not speak, but every now and then she drew a heavy sigh. Petra stood by the door, leaning against the wall, with both her hands over her bosom, for she felt ill. An old time piece was hacking the hours asunder, the tallow candle on the table was running down, with a long wick. The mother was wishful to give some excuse for their being here, and said: "I knew this man once, long ago." Nothing more, and no reply. Pedro did not return, the candle continued to waste, and the old clock to hack. The feeling of faintness overpowered Petra more and more, and through all, the words were continually sounding in her ears, "I knew this man once, long ago!" The old clock began to go to it: "I-knew-this-man-once-long-a-go." Afterwards, whenever she came into a close atmosphere, this room was always before her, reminding her of the faintness and of the clock's "I-knew-this-man-once-long-ago!"