A sudden smile lit up her face.
"And here's this foolish old invalid trying to make himself agreeable," she thought. "But that matters little; nobody bothers about him."
"It must be a great misfortune to be so beautiful as Sigrun," she told herself. "You are better off as you are, Lotta."
She turned to her Bible again and tried not to think of Sigrun any more. "I hope it doesn't mean something is going to happen to her, since I am so anxious all of a sudden."
The Pastor sat on in his room, reading by the light of the lamp. Again and again he had glanced at the pair by the stove, noting quite carelessly and easily how they sat there, while they, on their part, found nothing to disturb them in the thought that he could see them all the time. Then suddenly he noticed a change. It was impossible to say where it lay. Perhaps the speaker's voice had grown louder and warmer; perhaps the young wife's attitude was different. The Pastor laid down his paper, rose to his feet, and, leaning forward with all his senses on the alert, he watched them.
The visitor was still talking about nursing and works of mercy during the war. After a little while, he saw that a tear rolled down the woman's cheek and dropped to her knee, glistened there a moment, and disappeared; then, very gently, tear after tear fell.
For a long time he went on talking, without appearing to notice her emotion; then, suddenly, he bent forward so that he almost touched her.
"So that is what you have been wanting—that is what you are longing for?" he said. "You want to take part in the work out there yourself?"
She folded her hands and held them out toward him.
"Oh, how can I help it?" she cried—"longing for it with all my heart. It is dreadful to live on here in comfort, doing nothing."