Margit had unfolded her handkerchief again; she put it now to her eyes, for she was beginning to weep.
The priest watched her for a while, then he continued: "Why did you tell me all this when you did not mean it to lead to anything?" He waited a long time, but she did not answer. "You thought, perhaps, your sin would become less when you had confessed it?"
"I thought that it would," said she, softly, with her head bowed still farther down on her breast.
The priest smiled and got up. "Well, well, my dear Margit, you must act so that you will have joy in your old age."
"If I could only keep what I have!" said she; and the priest thought she dared not imagine any greater happiness than living in her constant state of anxiety. He smiled as he lit his pipe.
"If we only had a little girl who could get hold of him, then you should see that he would stay!"
She looked up quickly, and her eyes followed the priest until he paused in front of her.
"Eli Böen? What"—
She colored and looked down again; but she made no reply.
The priest, who had stood still, waiting, said finally, but this time in quite a low tone "What if we should arrange it so that they should meet oftener at the parsonage?"