"She liked you more than her husband, then?"
"Well, I don't know rightly about that. She was married to a man named Sven Elversson. Mayhap you've heard of him?"
Sigrun nodded.
"I thought at first she'd wearied of him because of—that old business, you know," the man went on. "But after, I found out it was because she thought he didn't care about her himself."
"She wasn't nice at all," said Sigrun. "And he only married her out of pity."
"She was no beauty, that's true," said the man, "but she was a good soul for all that. She was that sort that'd do anything for one they cared about."
Despite her indifference, Sigrun could not help feeling uneasy at these words. She asked no more about the woman.
"Do you know where Sven Elversson is now?"
"He lives at a place in Dalsland, called Hånger. A big place it was once, but there's so many ugly things happened there that no one would live in it, and it was let go to ruin. Sven Elversson bought it for next to nothing. And he lives there now with only his old folks, now that his wife's gone, but he's always taking in someone to help and look after, children and poor folk, as many as he can have there."
Surely there must have been some strange influence at work to-day—something affecting the vagabond knife-grinder as it had done Sigrun. This man, whose habit it was to roam about the country growling and cursing, a terror to all, was quiet and gentle now, and spoke well of everyone.