“Yes, you would, woman, so don’t deny it!”
“No, and no, and more than no!”
“Then begone! Out of my sight in the accursed name of hell!”
He was white as the wall and shook in every limb. His voice sounded hoarse and strange, and he beat the air like a madman.
“Take your foot from my path! Take your—take your—take your foot from my path, or I’ll split your skull! My blood’s lusting to kill, and I’m seeing red. Begone—out of the land and dominion of Norway, and hell-fire go with you! Begone—”
For a moment, Marie stood looking at him in horror, then ran as fast as she could out of the room and away from the castle.
When the door slammed after her, Ulrik Frederik seized the chair in which she had been sitting when he came in and hurled it out of the window, then caught the curtains from the bed and tore the worn stuff into shreds and tatters, storming round the room all the while. He threw himself on the floor and crawled around, snarling like a wild beast, and pounding with his fists till the knuckles were bloody. Exhausted at last, he crept over to the bed and flung himself face downward in the pillows, called Marie tender names, and wept and sobbed and cursed her, then again began to talk in low, wheedling tones, as if he were fondling her.
That same night Marie Grubbe, for fair words and good pay, got a skipper to sail with her to Denmark.
The following day Ulrik Frederik turned Karen Fiol out of the castle, and a few days later he himself left for Copenhagen.