Again they sat in silence, watching the dead. And now it was that a dreadful thought came to Sigrun.
"If I lay there in her place," she said to herself. "Why not? Why should I not manage it so that it is Sigrun Rhånge who lies there?"
It seemed as if Lotta Hedman had read her thought; she turned to Sigrun and stared at her in breathless fear.
"No one knows her," said Sigrun. Her voice was no longer low and whispering, but firm and decided. "No one knows where she comes from. No one can have seen her come in here. A poor vagrant without a home."
Lotta said nothing. She would not betray her suspicions. If Sigrun were not thinking of that after all, then it would be best to say nothing.
Sigrun went on as before:
"You know what it is, Lotta—the smallpox. And she lies dead in my bed, and the bed and the whole place will have to be disinfected; we shall not be able to stay here. We should have to move over into the house. And perhaps I may have caught it myself already, and die—if I did, all would be well. But I might get better, and then I should be back in all the old misery again."
"But it will be better now, after all you have gone through," said Lotta eagerly. "Your husband knows he has wronged you now. He will be more careful."
Sigrun rose, and moved the lamp into the other room.
"We must not disturb her," she said.