He spoke of how clever he had been at school, how easily and well he had passed his examination, of the great and wonderful things he had done among his congregations; kept on with story after story, as if he would never end. And the two girls clapped their hands in evident admiration. It seemed, indeed, as if he were pleased to show his mother-in-law how they looked up to him, and how completely he could do as he pleased with them. He was like a man who has made one great failure, and seeks desperately in every way to reinstate himself. He was not in any way pleasant or obliging toward the two young girls, and there was contempt in every word he gave them. But he could not keep away from them. He spoke of work he had to do, but he did not leave the company. Sigrun's mother was hurt at first, thinking that her daughter was already forgotten. But in the course of the evening, another idea came into her mind. She began to think he felt the loss of his wife so keenly that it was driving him to ruin. She was to stay the night, and when it was late enough for her to retire, she could not refrain from saying a few words to him: that she understood he would have to marry again soon, but she sincerely hoped he would be careful in his choice, and not take the first that came to hand. At this he asked her to go with him into his room, but said nothing to the others. And there he showed her how he had collected all Sigrun's belongings--things she had brought with her from her own home, as well as those from after her marriage. Portraits of her in all sizes were spread about the room, and her books were foremost on the bookshelf. One book there was which her mother recognized particularly; a little book of devotion which had been given her before her confirmation. It lay on the table beside the bed. "I read in it every evening," said the Pastor--"that book and no other." He opened the middle compartment in a large cabinet. Here he had put away a couple of little ivory boxes, which Sigrun had had as a little gill. And, taking them out, he laid them caressingly against his cheek. "She was fond of them," he said, "and they are never touched by any hand but mine. Those others out there are never allowed to see anything of all this." He showed her the little picture of the home at Stenbroträsk, which had comforted Sigrun so many times. It was wrapped in several layers of tissue paper, rolled up in a cloth, and packed away at the back of a drawer, as if it had been something precious. "You don't think I would ever let any one else look at this?" he said. He brought out a little cloth which Sigrun had worked for him. "It is always on that table," he said, "because Sigrun herself put it there. But I have another that I put over it when the sun shines in--you can see it is not faded."