"He has done that every night," she said, "since I moved over here. It is by his master's orders. He is watching. Listening to hear if I have a lover with me." Lotta said nothing. She was beginning to give up all further resistance. "And you, Lotta; you think Edward will change? Well, there you can see. Does he trust me now any more than before? Sending a boy to spy on me?" She raised her voice as she spoke; the insult of her husband's suspicion wounded every fibre of her being. "It can never come right between them after this," thought Lotta. "He has killed all the love that was in her. Perhaps it is best that she should go." And so it was that Lotta Hedman gave way before the sudden conviction that Sigrun's love for her husband was dead or dying, though she would not admit it herself--was not even, perhaps, aware of it. Lotta protested no more. She did not assent in words, but she ceased to oppose. Some time passed in hasty preparations. Sigrun took off her rings and borrowed a change of clothing from Lotta. A little underclothing and the six hundred kronor she packed away in a leather bag, likewise belonging to Lotta, who further had to provide a cloak and kerchief. It was essential that nothing of Sigrun's own clothing should be missing. When Sigrun was nearly ready, she turned suddenly to Lotta and stood still. "Lotta, you understand that all this has been brought about by the hand of God? Do not fear either for me or for yourself." Her courage and presence of mind were admirable in their way. She showed not the least hesitation or fear. But when all was ready, there came a hard moment at the last. "I am leaving so much that is dear to me," she said. The tears flowed down her cheeks; she seemed to realize at once the full seriousness of the irrevocable step she was about to take. "Now I shall never look at the little picture of Stenbroträsk again, that comforted me so many times. And the locket with the portrait of my little girl--I dare not take that either." "That, at least, you might take, I think," said Lotta. "But you need not go at all," she added. "And, Lotta, you know there is one of the cows I was so fond of. Look after her a little when you can." She moved toward the door. "Don't forget, Lotta, when my Christmas rose comes out, to put it on Edward's writing-table." Then she kissed Lotta Hedman for the first time, and went away. Sigrun had not been gone more than a quarter of an hour when Lotta again heard footsteps outside--a light, careful tread, not the heavy tramp of the farm lad. The moment she heard it, she thought to herself: "What a mercy! It is Sigrun come back again after all." But no sooner had she drawn the bolt and opened the door than she found herself face to face with a strange man. No wonder the poor girl was terrified. Never in her life had she felt so sinful and conscience-stricken as now. "Eh, Lotta, Lotta," she thought to herself. "It is beginning already."