Sigrun walked over to the man. She had tied a black kerchief round her head, but now she thrust it back.
"And all for that, I'm to go back to my misery?" she asked.
The man seemed uneasy. He cast a hasty glance at her and looked away.
"She is dead. What does it matter in whose name she is buried?" said Sigrun, in a voice trembling with desperation.
"I don't see it's acting fairly by Ruth," said the man stubbornly.
"No," said Sigrun. "It is not, I know. But do not think that I am going back home after this. That I shall not do."
She pointed toward the river, gleaming darkly between the snow-covered banks.
"I will go that way, if need be," she said.
She stood before him, firm and resolute. And the stem earnestness of her face told him clearly enough that she would do as she said.
He turned his face away, as if fearing to look at her.