"You would never do that," said Lotta.
"I would do anything. Anything but go back to the old life."
Before Lotta could reply to this, something happened. There was a sound of footsteps approaching from outside—a cautious tread, but heavy and distinct. The sound did not stop at the entrance, but continued round the house. Once or twice again it was heard; then it died away.
Sigrun made a sign to Lotta, who hurried to a window, drew aside the curtain, and looked out into the snowy-clear night.
"It was the farm lad," she said.
The beautiful woman drew herself up. Her eyebrows contracted, her head was raised, her eyes shot a furious glance at someone who was not there.
"He has done that every night," she said, "since I moved over here. It is by his master's orders. He is watching. Listening to hear if I have a lover with me."
Lotta said nothing. She was beginning to give up all further resistance.
"And you, Lotta; you think Edward will change? Well, there you can see. Does he trust me now any more than before? Sending a boy to spy on me?"
She raised her voice as she spoke; the insult of her husband's suspicion wounded every fibre of her being.