But Ulla thought there was always need to finish a story that she had begun, and she proceeded.
“Closer and closer the wolves pressed, and it is thought Hund saw one about to spring at his throat. It was impossible for the horse to go faster than it did, for it went like the wind; but so did the beasts. Hund snatched up one of the children behind him, and threw it over the back of the sledge, and this stopped the pack for a little. On galloped the horse, but the wolves were soon crowding round again, with the blood freezing on their muzzles. It was easier to throw the second child than the first, and Hund did it. It was harder to give up the third—the dumb infant that nestled to his breast, but Hund was in mortal terror; and a man beside himself with terror has all the cruelty of a pack of wolves. Hund flung away the infant, and just saved himself. Nobody at home questioned him, for nobody knew about the orphans, and he did not tell. But he was unsettled and looked wild; and his talk, whenever he did speak, night or day, was of wolves, for the three days that he remained after his return. Then there was a questioning along the road about the orphan children; and Hund heard of it, and started off into the woods. By putting things together—what Hund had dropped in his agony of mind, and what had been seen and heard on the road, the whole was made out, and the country rose to find Hund. He was hunted like a bear in the forest and on the mountain; but he had got to the coast in time, and was taken in a boat, it is thought, to Hammerfest. At any rate, he came here as from the north, and wishes to pass for a northern man.”
“And does Erlingsen know all this?”
“Yes. The same person who told me told him. Erlingsen thinks he must meet with mercy, for that none need mercy so much as the weak; and Hund’s act was an act of weakness.”
“Weakness!” cried Erica, with disgust.
“He is a coward, my dear; and death stared him in the face.”
“I have often wondered,” said Erica, “where on the face of the earth that wretch was wandering: and it is Hund! And he wanted to live in this very house,” she continued, looking round the room.
“And to marry you, dear. Erlingsen would never have allowed that. But the thought has plunged the poor fellow deeper, instead of saving him, as he hoped. He now has envy and jealousy at his heart, besides the remorse which he will carry to his grave.”
“And revenge!” said Erica, shuddering. “I tell you he leaped for joy that Nipen was offended. Here is some one coming,” she exclaimed, starting from her seat, as a shadow flitted over the thick window-pane, and a hasty knock was heard at the door.
“You are a coward, if ever there was one,” said Ulla, smiling. “Hund never comes here, so you need not look so frightened. What is to be done if you look so at dinner, or the next time you meet him? It will be the ruin of some of us. Go,—open the door, and do not keep the pastor waiting.”