Now I had to take the empty plate and cup and set them back on the table, but I feared to startle her in my approach, for she was still sitting with averted head. I made a little noise with the things to draw her attention, set them down, and thanked her. She tried to put on a housewifely tone: “Won't you have some more? I'm sure you can't have....” “No, thank you very much.... Shall I pack up the things now? But I doubt if I can.” I happened to glance at my hands; they had swelled up terribly in the warm room, and were all shapeless and heavy now. I could hardly pack up things with hands like that. She guessed my thought, looked first at my hands, then out across the room, and said, with a little smile: “Have you no gloves?” “No; I never wear them.” I went back to my place, waited till she should have packed up the things so I could carry the basket down. Suddenly she turned her head towards me, still without looking up, and asked again: “Where do you come from?” “From Nordland.” Pause. I ventured to ask in my turn if Fruen had ever been there. “Yes; when I was a child.” Then she looked at her watch, as if to check me from any more questions, and at the same time to hint it was getting late. I rose at once and went out to the horses. It was already growing dusk; the sky was darker, and a loose, wet sleet was beginning to fall. I took my rug down covertly from the box, and hid it under the front seat inside the carriage; when that was done, I watered the horses and harnessed up. A little after, Fruen came down the hill. I went up for the basket, and met her on the way. “Where are you going?” “To fetch the basket.” “You needn't trouble, thanks; there's nothing to take back.” We went down to the carriage; she got in, and I made to help her to rights with the rug she had. Then I pulled out my own from under the front seat, taking care to keep the border out of sight lest she should recognize it. “Oh, what a blessing!” cried Fruen. “Why, where was it?” “Under the seat here.” “Well.... Of course, I might have borrowed some more rugs from the vicarage, but the poor souls would never have got them back again.... Thanks; I can manage ... no, thank you; I can manage by myself. You can drive on now.” I closed the carriage door and climbed to my seat. “Now, if she knocks at the window again, it's that rug,” I thought to myself. “Well, I won't stop....” Hour after hour passed; it was pitch dark now, raining and snowing harder than ever, and the road growing worse all the time. Now and again I would jump down from the box and run along beside the horses to keep warm; the water was pouring from my clothes. We were nearing home now. I was hoping there would not be too much light when we drove up, so that she recognized the rug. Unfortunately, there were lights in all the windows, waiting her arrival. In desperation I checked the horses a little before we got to the steps, and got down to open the carriage door.