When at last Sigrun had got the horse up over the rise, she saw in the fading daylight a broad landscape spread out before them, gently sloping, and pleasant to see, with many lakes and long wooded ridges, showing up clearly against the heavy, snow-laden air. The beauty of the sight cheered her, and she drove on with renewed vigour, reached the cross-roads, and turned off to the left. Several times she had a view of the landscape first seen, but the country seemed as uninhabited as before. At last, however, she sighted a farmhouse just below. The house itself was fairly large, as if belonging to a rich estate, but all the outbuildings were small and mean, little better than any peasant's dwelling might possess. She roused the sick man anew. "Are we there now?" "Yes," he answered, shaking off his drowsiness. "We're at Hånger now. I never thought to come seeking shelter here again." Sigrun gave a cry. "Hånger!" For a moment she felt like a shipwrecked soul, with the waves already closing over her. "Hånger--that was where you said Sven Elversson ..." "Ay," said the man. "And I'd never have come here by choice, but there's no help for it now." "But--if he asked about his wife?" "Why, I'll have to find something or other to say." "That he should live here, of all places in the world," said Sigrun despairingly. "He took the place because it's lonely like, and far away from folk. Ordinary people never come this way, but all sorts of tramps and vagabonds and poor folk, they go to him." Sigrun drove down a hill toward the house. And her despair passed from her almost at once. Again the same numbness came over her, and something whispered that there was no need to fear; all would go well. Just at the entrance to the drive stood a little red-painted hut. "Here it is. Just go in there," said the knife-grinder. He roused himself. "I'll drive up to the house and get the horse in," he said. "You can go in meantime. There's nobody in the traveller's hut, it seems. You'll find a key just down under the step." Sigrun did as he said, and found herself in a little cottage divided midway by a passage running through, with a room on either side. Both rooms were arranged and furnished in the same manner. Bare walls, fixed bedsteads with straw mattresses, a stove, a big, heavy table, and a few heavy chairs. A bucket of water and a bundle of firewood were there, but there were no pillows, no sheets, cooking-pots or plates, no towels or washing basins--nothing that could be taken away. A great cupboard stood in one of the rooms, but the key was not in the lock. It was not altogether cold in the rooms; there had evidently been a fire there during the day. And they were clean and well aired. "I must try to light; a fire," thought Sigrun. While she was busy with this, the knife-grinder entered. He could hardly stand upright. Without a word, he threw himself on a bed, and in a moment was fast asleep.