"Then, I see you are more afraid of his going away than of continuing to sin?"
Margit had unfolded her handkerchief again; and now she put it to her eyes, for she began weeping. The Clergyman remained for a while looking at her silently; then he went on, "Why, then, did you tell me all this, if it was not to lead to anything?" He waited long, but she did not answer. "Perhaps you thought your sin would become less when you had confessed it?"
"Yes, I did," she said, almost in a whisper, while her head bent still lower upon her breast.
The Clergyman smiled and rose. "Well, well, my good Margit, take courage; I hope all will yet turn out for the best."
"Do you think so?" she asked, looking up; and a sad smile passed over her tear-marked face.
"Yes, I do; I believe God will no longer try you. You will have joy in your old age, I am sure."
"If I might only keep the joy I have!" she said; and the Clergyman thought she seemed unable to fancy any greater happiness than living in that constant anxiety. He smiled and filled his pipe.
"If we had but a little girl, now, who could take hold on him, then I'm sure he would stay."
"You may be sure I've thought of that," she said, shaking her head.
"Well, there's Eli Böen; she might be one who would please him."