It had been a hard day for Lotta. She was beginning to realize that Sigrun was preparing to leave her home. And she wondered what she could do to prevent such a disaster.
"I have been thinking," said Lotta. "It seems to me you ought to go home to Stenbroträsk for Christmas. It would be much better for you, and far more proper than staying over Christmas out here like this."
Sigrun did not seem altogether unwilling. She said no, at first, but when Lotta began to talk of the splendid Christmas they always had there, she appeared to think it worth considering.
They stayed up late again that night. Sigrun sat in silence, pondering over something she could not quite make out, and Lotta did not venture to disturb her.
A little after eleven, the door opened suddenly, and a woman stumbled into the room, took a step or two, and sank to her knees on the floor, holding out her hands.
"If there's any human soul here, help me!" she cried. "I'm so ill, so ill. I'm burning all over."
Sigrun's weakness and weariness were gone in a moment. She sprang to the stranger and helped her up, put one arm round her, and supported her.
"Come with me," she said gently. "Come over to the light and let me see what is the matter first."
The woman stood there shaking and trembling with fever. She could not lift her feet, but shuffled helplessly, and would have fallen but for Sigrun's aid.
Helping her over to the light, she saw that the woman's face was terribly swollen and disfigured. Dark breaking blisters close, close together all over. And the same with her hands.