"It happens, for all that, and none so rarely to my mind,' said the man. 'It's not easy to say how it's managed about that. But there was a woman there at Hånger, mother to him that had murdered the priest. And they say she knew all about it, and helped the son to dig a grave under one of the gateposts and long after he was dead she used to sit watching the spot, that no one should pull it up or break it down or put another post in its place. She moved down into the little room above the store-cellar, that was closer to the gate, and there she would sit watching night and day, and some say she's watching there still. And Hånger's passed from our family now, and the trollfolk of Hånger are scattered about all parts, but it seems that all of her blood can still see her. She follows us, folk say, and sees that never one of us escapes the penalty of that crime.' "But mother would not give in. "'It can't be that this should go on,' she said. 'There must be something you could do to make an end of it?' "'True,' said the man. 'And there's those that have tried. Two of us there were that thought it would be well if they themselves became priests. But I don't know if the old lady found that to her mind. One of them died when he was still young--the other is still alive.' "I was getting more and more frightened now, and, putting together all that had passed, I knew well enough what answer I should get when I put my question. "'And is his name Rhånge?' I asked. "'But--heavens, child!' cried mother. "The man answered at once: "'That's right. Rhånge he calls himself. It's just Hånger spelt round another way. He's the Pastor at Applum in Bohuslän, and just married, so I've heard, a daughter of the priest at Stenbroträsk.'" The listener in the corner gave a sudden start. "Well, now, I don't mean one should always go by such old stories," said Lotta Hedman. "But there might be something in this after all, and perhaps it was wrong of me not to have gone with Sigrun to Bohuslän after I had heard all this. And perhaps that's why everything has gone wrong with me since. For though I've got back my seeing and hearing again, there's none will ever listen to what I say, and perhaps that's because I failed in my duty to Sigrun. And would it be right now?" She broke off; her face, that had been alive with feeling, stiffened and hardened all at once. "I can see something," she said. "Ice and snow, all white. And a tent--a black tent--and a long sledge...." The train entered a station. Lotta Hedman's fellow traveller rose hurriedly from his seat and reached up for his luggage on the rack. Lotta Hedman did not heed; she was full of the vision that had come to her. The man had left the train, and was moving across the platform when he heard Lotta's voice calling him back. But he went on without turning round. Lotta pulled at the strap of the window with all her might, but by the time she had opened it, the man had disappeared. THE MEETING