"But, Sigrun, it only shows how fond of you he is." "I do not care for him," said Sigrun. "I have never, never been unfaithful to him, Lotta, mark my words; never in so much as a single thought. But he has never trusted me, and that hurts me. It hurts me more than anything else." Lotta Hedman said something about jealousy being something that belonged to youth. It disappeared naturally as one grew older. "No," said Sigrun. "Not with him. It is hereditary; all his family have been the same. He has promised me again and again to give it up. But what difference has it made? We moved up here into this wilderness, that he might be in peace. And you can see what we have gained by that. "You think, perhaps, I have no pity for him? No one knows better than I do how he suffers. And he is going downhill, Lotta; his sermons are poor, and he is losing all interest. It is dreadful for him. "But it is dreadful for me, too. I have been terrified. He has frightened me now so many times that I have no courage left. You would have to put me in chains to drag me in there now. But you can't understand." "But--if you can't go back to him," said Lotta, "what are you going to do?" The young mistress rose to her feet. "Let us go to bed, Lotta," she said, with a bitter little laugh. "It is past ten o'clock, and you must be up early to-morrow to your work." THE FLIGHT NEXT day Sigrun lay in bed. She had a pain in her throat, she said. No one but Lotta was allowed to go in. And Lotta was charged to tell the Pastor that her mistress was likely to be ill for some time. She lay in bed all that day. Not until after supper, when the servants had gone to bed, did she get up. Then she dressed, and came out to Lotta in the scullery. "Do you feel better now?" Sigrun smiled. "Yes, Lotta, much better." It had been a hard day for Lotta. She was beginning to realize that Sigrun was preparing to leave her home. And she wondered what she could do to prevent such a disaster. "I have been thinking," said Lotta. "It seems to me you ought to go home to Stenbroträsk for Christmas. It would be much better for you, and far more proper than staying over Christmas out here like this." Sigrun did not seem altogether unwilling. She said no, at first, but when Lotta began to talk of the splendid Christmas they always had there, she appeared to think it worth considering. They stayed up late again that night. Sigrun sat in silence, pondering over something she could not quite make out, and Lotta did not venture to disturb her. A little after eleven, the door opened suddenly, and a woman stumbled into the room, took a step or two, and sank to her knees on the floor, holding out her hands. "If there's any human soul here, help me!" she cried. "I'm so ill, so ill. I'm burning all over." Sigrun's weakness and weariness were gone in a moment. She sprang to the stranger and helped her up, put one arm round her, and supported her.