“Oh, they won’t let things come to such a pass,” said Sören, a little crestfallen.
“Well, they’d both like to get rid o’ her, and her sisters and her brothers-in-law are not the kind o’ folks who’d stand between, if there’s a chance o’ getting her disinherited.”
“O jeminy, she’d help me.”
“You think so? She may ha’ all she can do helpin’ herself; she’s been in trouble too often fer any one to help her wi’ so much as a bucket o’ oats.”
“Hey-day,” said Sören, making for the inner chamber, “a threatened man may live long.”
From that day on, Sören was pursued by hints of the gallows and the block and the red-hot pincers wherever he went. The consequence was that he tried to drive away fear and keep up his courage with brandy, and as Marie often gave him money, he was never forced to stay sober. After a while, he grew indifferent to the threats, but he was much more cautious than before, kept more to the other servants, and sought Marie more rarely.
A little before Christmas, Palle Dyre came home and remained there, which put a stop to the meetings between Sören and Marie. In order to make the other servants believe that all was over, and so keep them from telling tales to the master, Sören began to play sweethearts with Anne Trinderup, and he deceived them all, even Marie, although he had told her of his plan.
On the third day of Christmas, when most of the people were at church, Sören was standing by the wing of the manor-house, playing with one of the dogs, when suddenly he heard Marie’s voice calling him, it seemed to him under the ground.
He turned and saw Marie standing in the low trap-door leading to the salt-cellar. She was pale and had been weeping, and her eyes looked wild and haunted under eyebrows that were drawn with pain.
“Sören,” she said, “what have I done, since you no longer love me?”