"And surely very sly," added the priest, and then pausing again in front of his wife, he whispered: "No one really knows where he comes from, or why he chooses to settle here. He might have a fine workshop in a large city—wealthy, and a smart dog!"
The priest did not use the choicest language in his daily discourse.
"To think she should allow herself to be so beguiled!" whispered the wife.
"Beguiled! Just the word—beguiled!" repeated the priest, snapping his fingers. "Beguiled!" and off he went in a cloud of smoke.
"I am so sorry for her," remarked the wife, and the words were accompanied by a few tears.
This touched the priest, and he said: "See here, mother, we will talk with her, both of us!" then strode heavily on again.
Ere long Magnhild stood within the precincts of the study, wondering what could be wanted of her. The priest was the first to speak:—
"Is it really true, Magnhild, that you have agreed to be the wife of this fellow, the saddler?"
The priest often used the general term "fellow" instead of a proper name.
Magnhild's face became suffused with blushes; in her whole life she could never have been so red before. Both the priest and his wife interpreted this as a confession.