"Be sure God has some purpose in view with that man," she said. "If only I had known of this when I met him." "I wish I knew where he is to be found," said Sigrun. "All who are miserable and in trouble turn to him. There has been so little news of him since he left Applum. He must have hidden himself away in some place where no one knows his story." That evening, when they spoke of Sven Elversson, Sigrun was up and dressed again. She had even been through into the next room. Lotta had moved out chairs and a table, and the great cauldron was hidden by the pink curtains. The housemaid had laid a tray with tea for Sigrun and Lotta, and they were comfortable as could be. But when the maid asked if Mistress was not well enough now to move over into the house again, Sigrun answered quickly: "I don't know what is the matter with me, Malin. But I think I am going to be really ill. I've a pain in my head and throat this evening. And I'm red all over my body. It must be something breaking out." "Now, what does she mean by saying that?" thought Lotta. "She's perfectly well. And not a bit of red all over or breaking out." She came to the conclusion that her friend was trying to make it appear impossible that she should spend Christmas in her own home. "What will come of it all?" thought Lotta anxiously. "Will she never get over this fear of her husband? Oh, but it was always like that with her. Once she is frightened of anyone, it is hopeless to try and calm her. "And to think that she, who always wanted to be a nurse, doesn't go in now and look after him herself. She doesn't even ask how he is. It's a bad sign, that." Lotta sat watching her friend. Sigrun looked weak and languid, as sick persons do after some days in bed. "What unhappy fate is pursuing her?" thought Lotta. "Why should she, pure and innocent as she is, the finest, loveliest creature, sit here in a room little better than an outhouse?" And indeed the contrast was striking enough--the delicate beauty of the young mistress and the bare wooden walls of the brewhouse, the rough plank floor and smoky ceiling. "It's a sad pity about them both," thought Lotta. "It must be miserable for him, too, lying on a bed of pain and longing for her." There was sadness in the air. After a while, Lotta saw how her friend covered her face with her hands and sat rocking to and fro. "Oh, I wish I were dead!" she moaned. "It would be best. If only I could die." "It is too dull and melancholy for you, Sigrun, to go on staying here," said Lotta. "I think you had better move over to the house to-morrow." Sigrun started up; her face turned greyish pale. "What do you mean?--what's that you say? Has he been bribing you?" "Sigrun--you must be mad. How could you think of such a thing?" "Mad--yes, Lotta. I am mad, maddened with fear. Oh, you don't know what I have suffered." And she began to tell. Not much, but just enough to make Lotta understand. "And how can I go back to it all?" she said.