THE newly married pair had come home on a Tuesday. On Saturday in the same week, Sven Elversson went up to the vicarage with some papers about the school. He walked straight up the front steps and through the hall into the office, and stopped just inside the door. It was the Pastor's day for business, he knew, and though it was rather late, he had never thought but that he would find the Priest sitting at his writing-table. But he was not there--was not in the room at all. He could not be far away, however, for the big books that were always used on business days lay open on the table, and a pen was in the inkstand. It was not Sven's way to push himself forward, and he did not care to go through to the kitchen and ask if the Pastor was at home, or look for him in any of the other rooms. There could be no harm, he thought, in staying where he was, to wait a little. But as he stood, there was a sound of voices in the next room; the door was ajar, and he could hear every word distinctly. "Sigrun"--it was the Pastor speaking, in an easy tone:--"the post ought to have been here by now. But I can't go down for it myself to-day, in case any one comes." "Why, then," answered his wife cheerfully, "that's easily managed. Malin will be going down to the store directly, and she can bring back your paper at the same time." Evidently the Pastor had only gone out for a moment to ask about the post, thought Sven. He would be back now, since that was settled. But the Pastor spoke again. "Well," he said, "don't you think now you might go yourself? Wouldn't you like a little walk? It's lovely out just now, and the road has dried after the rain of yesterday. It would do you good to get out in the air a little." He spoke gently and kindly, as if thinking only for her good. And the young wife answered as kindly again. "I'd go and gladly," she said, "but look at these curtains strewn all about the room. I can't go till I've got them up." There was no more to be said after that, thought Sven. But he noticed at the same time how the Priest's voice, manly and strong in itself, seemed to lose its pleasant tone, and become rough and coarse, when heard beside his wife's soft, gentle speech. And it seemed that the matter was not ended yet, after all, as he had hoped. The Priest began again. "Oh, of course, one couldn't expect a great lady like yourself to go and fetch a paper for her husband," he said. This must be meant in jest, surely. But it sounded at the same as if he were annoyed at her refusing to do as he wished. "Oh, Edward, you know it's not that." "Or perhaps Applum's too dull and ugly a place for you to care to go out at all. Her ladyship doesn't care to take the air unless there are fine houses and big estates all round. Perhaps I had better order the carriage, so that----" "Edward!" she cried.