He laid one hand over his eyes, and thought what would have become of him if Sigrun had really been dead. A bitter misanthrope, dragging through life without hope, with no interest beyond guarding his memories; a man who sought the society of other women only to deride them for not being as she, the only one in the world for him. He could see no bottom to the depth into which he must have sunk. On the way here, he had wished in his despair that Sigrun had never made herself known. A cruel and senseless thought--how could he ever have entertained it for a moment? All this passed through his soul now like a storm. And the voice of the reader was lost in its fury. In the first transport of joy he had been almost on the point of springing up and hurrying forward to his wife. But he restrained himself. "No," he thought; "there must be no trace of doubt or suspicion between us. For the sake of our happiness, I must stay here now." "We will not read any more this evening," said Sigrun, when Sven Elversson had finished the poem. "I have something to say to you." And her voice reached the listener behind the trees, full of the ring of life. Sweet as before, low and touching, with the faint little lisp. Sven Elversson raised his head from the book and turned toward her. The Pastor saw at once that he was greatly changed. He carried his head as high as any other, and had the easy, untroubled bearing of an educated man. The slight stamp of the lay preacher, the exaggerated humility that had marked him before, were gone now. "Yes, it is almost a pity to sit over a book on such an evening as this," said Sven Elversson. "Better to talk." Sigrun hesitated a little before beginning what she had to say. She folded up her work, and put it away carefully. Then in a firm and resolute voice she said: "It is done now, Herr Elversson." "What is done?" he asked carelessly. "Your work, you mean?" "No. The thing you have asked me to do every day since I have lived under your roof. I have done it now." "You have ..." He had risen, greatly moved, and did not complete his sentence. But Sigrun's voice answered him firmly and clearly, without a tremor: "I have written to Lotta Hedman and asked her to tell Edward the whole story. At this moment he knows I am alive. And to-morrow he is coming here to fetch me." "He is coming here?" Sven Elversson repeated. His voice was not firm and clear. It was faint and troubled. "Yes," she answered. "I have asked him to come here to Hånger. I will tell you why later on. But, first of all, I want you to tell me now if you are pleased."