"Heaven knows how it is with that Sven Elversson," she said to herself. "There are many that cannot bear the sight of him, but they all say he is a good man. But perhaps, after all, he is not suffering undeservedly. How could Edward ever be jealous about me? And that was what he was reckoning out to himself while I was talking to him in the boat. "I wish he were here, so that I could tell him the truth. And the truth is just this--that Edward does not love me any more. It is his misfortune, and mine. But he is not jealous. Oh, a man such as he, so far above all others, who is there he could be jealous of? And that fellow actually thought he could be jealous of him! "He has ceased to love me," she told herself once more. "He can't help not loving me any more, but he cannot have ceased to believe in me, and in my love for him. It would be too unjust, too blind--it would be almost ridiculous." On reaching home, the maid came to meet her in the hall, with an anxious face. The service was over already, the Pastor had come back, and was terrified at hearing that his wife was not at home. He had looked for her everywhere; had even been down to the sea to look. He was sitting in his room now--perhaps it would be best to go to him at once. Fru Rhånge opened the door to the study. What was this?--was he ill? There sat this great strong man, with his face hidden in his arms, rocking to and fro and moaning as if in pain. She went in, and asked in astonishment what was the matter. But when he looked up, his face was so changed that she hardly knew him--pale and drawn, with dull, bloodshot eyes, and his black beard in ragged wisps about his cheeks. She could hardly have believed such a change was possible in so short a time. He looked at her with wide eyes, as if not knowing her. Then he passed his hands over his face, trying to control himself, to regain his customary dignity and confident ease. But to no purpose; his emotion was too much for him, and the tears streamed from his eyes. He stretched out an arm toward her and, without rising, drew her to him. Not a kiss, not a caress; he leaned his head against her breast and sobbed, heartrending to see. Again and again she begged him to tell her what it was that hurt him, but it was long before he could speak. And then--nothing more than that he had come home from church and had not found her there; had looked for her about the place, even down to the sea, and, finding her nowhere, he had thought she had given him up and stolen away. Sigrun could not help giving a little laugh of triumph and satisfaction. "You must never go away from me again," he said. "You must promise me, now, that you will never leave me. Always let me know where I can find you--you have seen now; I shall go out of my mind if you do not." And she promised all that he asked. Promised that nothing but death should take her from him.