To the watcher it seemed as if the man before him changed his form and appearance before his eyes. He seemed to shrink, and the patient smile showed full and distinctly about his mouth. His eyes, that had shone so cheerfully a moment before, looked down at the ground; his arms hung loosely at his sides. And as he spoke, in answer to Sigrun's question, his voice had the old ring of painful humility. "Surely I am pleased, Fru Rhånge," he said. "But it is overkind of you to speak of this as if it were my doing. I know--or I should say, I have always believed, that after the first excitement had passed over, there had not been a day but you have repented, and longed to go back. But you are thinking, perhaps, of your fear of your husband's anger, and the harsh judgment of the world, and how I have tried to give you courage to face it all. That is all I can claim credit for." The listener heard and understood now, not with his ears alone, but with his whole soul. "What is true, and what is false in this?" he wondered. "God help me to find out the truth!" Sigrun's face he could not see, but he fancied she shrugged her shoulders a little. "Yes, of course," she said. "What else could there be for you to help me with?" "It is good to remember that it is so," said Sven Elversson, in his gentle voice. "You realized, almost at once, the great wrong you had done your husband. It was impossible that you could condemn one who loved you to a whole life of solitude and longing. I am sure, I am convinced, that you would have taken this step months before, if it had not been for your illness. You have not, until now, had strength to face the gossip and scandal it would mean. And I should be the last to blame you for the delay. I know what it is to be an outcast and disowned by one's equals." There was something in Sigrun's manner suggestive of impatience. Her voice had a touch of mischief as she answered: "Oh, yes, I knew, Herr Elversson, that you would be pleased. But since this is the last time we shall speak together alone, I should like to tell you that it was not you alone who persuaded me to go back to my home. Your wife, too, has helped me very greatly--more, perhaps, than you yourself. I think she must have loved unspeakably," Sigrun continued in a gentle voice; "and I have tried to learn from her how one should love." Sven Elversson's face darkened. "She was a good woman," he said, simply, without his usual wealth of words. "We were very fond of her while she lived here among us." "Mor Thala has told me a great deal about her," said Sigrun. "She went out to Grimön, it seems, the day after the schoolhouse was burnt down. She wanted to tell you that both she and the schoolmaster had done their best to make the children comfortable there. And she begged you not to take the misfortune too much to heart. You had already gained friends through that work; people had begun to realize what sort of man you were."