When Julia Lamprecht entered the cell to receive the five thousand kronor, Sven Elversson had stepped forward and declared that he had promised the prisoner to make his daughter an offer of marriage. But the girl had refused at once. She would not marry that man--never. And she had told him plainly what manner of man he was. Sven Elversson had been deeply hurt at her refusal. It seemed to torture him. He drew back without a word, and stood leaning unsteadily against the cell wall. And the prisoner himself felt that he was revenged. His daughter, whom he had never seen until that day, had taken vengeance on the man who had conquered her father. He felt she was of his blood, and he loved her. Not that he repented of his confession. He felt clean and easy in mind, happy and respected, almost like a decent man. And he had seen his daughter, whom he would love now all his life, and who would always love him, since he had given up his freedom for her sake. As for the true confession, the murderer passed it over, erased it from his memory. He was a man who always needed to look at himself in a good light. He was already busy in his mind with a beautiful and touching story of how it was for this daughter's sake alone he had confessed, and prayed to God and man for forgiveness. As long as he lived, he would be able to weave that story over and over again, and he would believe it, and it would serve to maintain his self-respect during the long, hard years that awaited him. BOOK II LOTTA HEDMAN ONE day toward the end of September 1915 a train came down from Norrland to the south. In a third-class compartment sat a young woman, very simply and decently dressed in black, with a black hat almost devoid of trimmings. She was talking to her fellow travellers. She was not afraid of raising her voice at times, and the voice in itself being somewhat shrill, she could be heard by all those near. It was soon evident that this was the first time she had travelled on the railway. And the strangeness of it all, coming out into the world and meeting strange, kindly people, seemed to have lifted her to a sort of ecstasy. All that she had been unable to find outlet for during years of life in a confined situation broke out now. She talked unceasingly, and always of herself. She was loth to lose an opportunity of letting people know who she was, and what strange message she had to bring.