“So we did, Truls,” answered she, struggling with her tears.
“And as we grew up, we spent many a pleasant hour with each other.”
“Many a pleasant hour.”
She raised her head, and he drew her more closely to him.
“But since then I have done you a great wrong,” began she, after a while.
“Nothing done that cannot yet be undone,” he took heart to answer.
It was long before her thoughts took shape, and, when at length they did, she dared not give them utterance. Nevertheless, she was all the time conscious of one strong desire, from which her conscience shrank as from a crime; and she wrestled ineffectually with her weakness until her weakness prevailed.
“I am glad you came,” she faltered. “I knew you would come. There was something I wished to say to you.”
“And what was it, Borghild?”
“I wanted to ask you to forgive me—”