It was not so long ago that she had driven this same way, hunted by wolves. She had seen their white teeth, in the darkness, gleam in their gaping mouths; she had thought that her body would soon be torn to pieces by the wild beasts of the forest; but then she had not been afraid. She had never lived through a more glorious night. Strong and beautiful had the horse been which drew her, strong and beautiful was the man who had shared the joy of the adventure with her. Ah, this old horse, this old, helpless, trembling companion. She feels so helpless that she longs to cry. She cannot escape from those terrible, irritating bells. So she stops and gets out of the sledge. There must be an end to it all. Why should she run away as if she were afraid of that wicked, contemptible wretch? At last she sees a horse’s head come out of the advancing twilight, and after the head a whole horse, a whole sledge, and in the sledge sits Sintram himself. She notices, however, that it is not as if they had come along the road—this sledge, and this horse, and their driver—but more as if they had been created just there before her eyes, and had come forward out of the twilight as soon as they were made ready. Anna threw the reins to Ulrika and went to meet Sintram. He stops the horse. “Well, well,” he says; “what a piece of luck! Dear Miss Stjärnhök, let me move my companion over to your sledge. He is going to Berga to-night, and I am in a hurry to get home.” “Where is your companion?” Sintram lifts his blanket, and shows Anna a man who is lying asleep on the bottom of the sledge. “He is a little drunk,” he says; “but what does that matter? He will sleep. It’s an old acquaintance, moreover; it is Gösta Berling.” Anna shudders. “Well, I will tell you,” continues Sintram, “that she who forsakes the man she loves sells him to the devil. That was the way I got into his claws. People think they do so well, of course; to renounce is good, and to love is evil.” “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” asks Anna, quite disturbed. “I mean that you should not have let Gösta Berling go from you, Miss Anna.” “It was God’s will.” “Yes, yes, that’s the way it is; to renounce is good, and to love is evil. The good God does not like to see people happy. He sends wolves after them. But if it was not God who did it, Miss Anna? Could it not just as well have been I who called my little gray lambs from the Dovre mountains to hunt the young man and the young girl? Think, if it was I who sent the wolves, because I did not wish to lose one of my own! Think, if it was not God who did it!” “You must not tempt me to doubt that,” says Anna, in a weak voice, “for then I am lost.”