"Not now," she said, "but after, and to your last hour. For I believe, as I said just now, that it was all to this one end, that you might teach me how life should be lived. What was I, a few months back, before I came here? I was not wicked; I meant well to all, but I was timid; I tried to do well, but mostly it went as best might be. There was no plan in my life. I did not know that one could be good and true, faithful and kind, under whatever circumstances. And that is what I have learned here with you; to detest all that pollutes the soul. That is what I take with me now, back to my home and my husband. He shall see that I am changed, and he will have more trust in me than before. We shall be happy now, and we have you to thank for our happiness. And you must think of us and be glad." He took one of her hands in his, bent over it, and wept. "To-morrow, when Edward comes," she said, "I will tell him all this, and he will understand and thank you." Sven Elversson started up in dismay. "Is he to know ..." "Yes," she said. "I shall tell him that you love me, and he shall learn how she who is dead loved you. I will tell him all. You must see that there can be no more darkness, no more secrets between us. He shall know how it was I learned the secret of love. I will tell him that it does not care for promises and commandments, but knows its own law only. It cares for nothing, thinks of nothing, but the beloved. And it goes away when it is best; when it would bring suffering to stay. And I will tell Edward of all this here, at Hånger, where his fathers lived, in a place where nature itself is at once gentle and great. For he can be so, too--gentle and great." The listener moved in his place. He felt shame at spying thus upon these two. He would have stepped forward and spoken openly and freely with Sigrun and the man who loved her, whom she tried to comfort and give courage now she was about to leave him. But as he looked about for a way to go, he noticed something he had not seen before; out of a heap of stones immediately before him stood an old gatepost. There was no gate, and no post on the other side. The thing stood there alone, so rotten and decayed that it needed all the struts and supports about it to keep it standing. Pastor Rhånge started. He had not seen the thing before, but he had not been looking that way. At first, he was convinced that it must be hallucination; that there was no gatepost there in reality; then it occurred to him that it might have been left standing as a curiosity. But while he was looking at the post, the opportunity for declaring himself had passed. The two had gone on speaking; he perceived now that Sigrun was talking of another subject altogether. "But is it possible," she was saying, "that you do not know how it all happened? Mor Thala told me once that you were ill with fever at the time, and delirious; that you could remember nothing of it all." Sven Elversson made no answer.