I went back to my place, waited till she should have packed up the things so I could carry the basket down. Suddenly she turned her head towards me, still without looking up, and asked again:
“Where do you come from?”
“From Nordland.”
Pause.
I ventured to ask in my turn if Fruen had ever been there.
“Yes; when I was a child.”
Then she looked at her watch, as if to check me from any more questions, and at the same time to hint it was getting late.
I rose at once and went out to the horses.
It was already growing dusk; the sky was darker, and a loose, wet sleet was beginning to fall. I took my rug down covertly from the box, and hid it under the front seat inside the carriage; when that was done, I watered the horses and harnessed up. A little after, Fruen came down the hill. I went up for the basket, and met her on the way.
“Where are you going?”