"Can that be possible!" thought Nanna. Magde, who as she spoke had passed her hand upon her forehead, now removed it, and from the expression of her dark eyes, which beamed with her accustomed cheerfulness, and from her proud and lofty bearing, it could be perceived that she had regained her usual self-possession.
"I grieve you, dear Nanna," said she in a softened tone of voice, "I do not imagine you to be more than a dove which is still fostered within the dovecote. But I was troubled, as I am sometimes, without really knowing the cause."
"Is there no cause, then?" inquired Nanna.
"I can say that there is or is not a cause, and therefore shall remain silent."
"Then remain silent, dear Magde, let us speak no further on the subject," said Nanna quickly, for she was burning with impatience to visit the spring.
She longed to discover by experience whether it was really so dangerous for a woman to walk out alone.
Until the day before, it had not been dangerous, for no one had forbidden her the free enjoyment of God's beautiful earth, and neither had her modesty ever been insulted. On any other occasion, Nanna would have been influenced not only by curiosity, but by a far purer feeling, namely, sympathy for Magde's sorrows,—for she dearly loved her sister-in-law,—and would have asked an explanation of matters which she at present was anxious to avoid.
Magde was silent.
Nanna stepped over the door sill.
But stern fate compelled her to turn back a second time, for the moment that Magde turned to pass into the house, old Mr. Lonner advanced to the door.