But she looked at them
calmly, and at the graves. "That is good," she said: "you have done
great kindness to them. I will not come any more." And so she prepared
to walk away.
I own that this seemed to me unfeeling. Outside the churchyard I pulled
from my pocket the small Bible. "This belongs to you," I said: "I have
kept it to help me with your language"--but I held it open at the
fly-leaf. She glanced at it, "Oh yes, I gave it to Nils, my husband.
You wish to keep it?"
"You were very fond of him, to judge from this," I said; and halted,
expecting her to be angry. But she halted too, and said quite coolly--
looking at me straight--"Yes? Oh yes; very much."
That same evening I spoke to Obed as we sat alone with our pipes.
"I suppose," said I as carelessly as I could, "Margit Pedersen will be
leaving us before long." He looked up sharply, and began to shift the
logs on the hearth. "What makes you say so?" he asked. "Well, she will
have friends in Bergen, and business--" "Has she written to her
friends?" he interrupted. "Not to my knowledge: but she won't be
staying here for ever, I suppose." "When she chooses to go, she can.
Are you proposing to turn her out? If so, I'd have you to mind that
Vellingey is my house, and I am master here."
This was an unworthy thing to say, and he said it with a fury that
surprised me. Obed and I had not quarrelled since we were boys.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145