"We understand that you are remaining here, since the man has gone away alone. Do not doubt but that you will be welcome." She went into the room opposite, and saw that her companion had indeed gone. It was one more source of anxiety removed. She was rested now, and would far rather go on foot than drive in his sledge. All she need do was to ask her way to a town where she could get a proper conveyance. It could not be far to the nearest railway station; she could be in Göteborg that evening. She fastened the black kerchief round her head, put on Lotta Hedman's cloak, and, taking up her bag, prepared to start. Before leaving the room, however, she opened her bag to see if the money and other things were safe. Then she gave a cry of dismay. The six hundred kronor were gone. She felt in the pocket of her cloak, and in her dress. The money was not there. She understood at once that they had been stolen. The knife-grinder had taken them out of the bag while it was in the sledge. She staggered to a seat. This was a terrible blow. She could not go to America now. All roads were barred. Oh, Heaven! She bowed her head on the table and tried to think. Yes, she had told the man yesterday that she had money. And he perhaps had been thinking all along how he could get hold of what she had. Tired and exhausted as he was, he had yet been able to carry out his plan. And in so doing he had rendered life impossible for her. "It is a hard world to go out in for one that is poor and alone," she thought. "A hard world." She felt not exactly penitent; but she realized now the utter impossibility of accomplishing her purpose. "I might go out as a beggar on the high road," she thought. "But what would be the good of that? I did not leave my home to be an adventuress." To return home seemed equally impossible. How could she tell her husband that she had given herself out as dead in order to escape from him? It was impossible--not to be thought of. She knew that for the time being she was among good people. Should she ask them to help her? Again the same difficulty arose. She would have to confess her deceit, her shame. And these honest souls would feel compelled to inform her husband at once that she was alive. "It was no fancy, after all, that of yesterday," she told herself. "It was Death that sat beside me on the sledge. And Death will not release one who has once given herself into his hands." "But he is not a hard master," her restless thought went on. "He loosed the bonds that held me to earthly things, and in a gentle way. Why should I not trust him now?" And so she remained sitting at the table for about an hour, trying to familiarize herself with the thought of death. "God will be merciful," she said. "He knows all. He knows I did not mean harm to any one. And He knows that this is the one way open to me now."