"Oh, I know there's nothing here to compare with your own place," he went on, with a little ill-tempered laugh. "But I didn't think you were too proud to set foot to the ground in Applum, for all that." "Edward, it isn't that at all. I can't go just now." "You _can't_ go?" asked her husband, with an air of profound astonishment. All this had passed before Sven had time to think. "I ought not to hear," he said to himself. And to make his presence known, he rattled the handle of the door, opened the door itself and closed it again, stamped his feet and coughed. But no one seemed to notice, and the two in the next room went on again. "No, I can't," repeated the young wife. "There is something in this place that stifles me; I can't breathe. It isn't just longing for home, but something more. I am well and happy enough as long as I keep to the house, but as soon as I go out it comes over me again." She spoke passionately, flinging out her words in broken snatches. "But, Sigrun," said the Priest, "what is the matter with you? I meant no harm." "I'm not so proud, indeed I'm not," she cried. "Ask any of those at home, and they'll tell you it was never my way to be so. And it's not because the place is not pretty to look at that I can't bear to go out. No, it is something else--if only I knew what it was!" "Look here, Sigrun," said her husband, "you must tell me what all this means. We must talk this over seriously, that's clear." Sven Elversson was at a loss to know what to do. He had already heard too much, perhaps; it would make matters worse to let them know he had been there. He walked to the door, but turned back again. He was always in doubt now as to how to act. It would be hard to find a man so undecided and lacking in self-confidence. "I didn't want to tell you about it," said the young wife, speaking breathlessly and impatiently as before, "for I know it's nothing really. Only something that comes over me as soon as I go outside the house. Not anything I can see or hear, but something that makes me feel miserable and sorry for myself. It is cruel to think that I must go about here always, and never get away; I feel as if I had been condemned for some crime. It is just that--to feel myself condemned to stay for ever in one place, the same little, narrow, monotonous, cheerless place." "Now I know," thought Sven to himself, "she is only saying this so that he shall say something beautiful in return, as he did before. And the Priest's a man with the heart and head to set her right again--'twill be easy enough for him." "Oh, if only one could look out and see far away--if only I were not buried here, in a hole, and had not that wall of hills all round. But it must be a punishment for something I have done, or I should not have come here. Oh, can't you say something to help me?" Now it must come, thought Sven. Now surely he would say some beautiful thing. And it would be fine to see how he would help her again this time.