And Lotta began her story.
But as she went on, her courage faded, for she saw how the man before her grew darker in mind, as the sky darkens before the coming of a great storm. Clouds drew up from every side. A terrible cold and a terrible darkness spread abroad. And at last she could hardly utter a word.
Nevertheless, she managed to relate, without any circumspection, that she had had several messages from Sigrun, and that the latter, after her arrival at Hånger, had been ill with the smallpox. It had not been dangerous, but a long illness.
And all through her illness, and ever since, she had stayed with the good folk at Hånger. She had been out into the world on her own resources for a single day, and the things she had met with then had so terrified her that nothing could persuade her now to leave her friends and her sheltered life to go out among strange things and people.
But the eloquent words with which Lotta had intended to describe her own misery and shame, and her joy that Sigrun had changed her mind and would return to her home, all this remained for the most part unsaid.
All she did was to lay before the Pastor the letter she had that day received, dated from Hånger, the 15th of May, 1916, and with these few lines:
"Lotta, you must go to Edward and tell him everything. And ask him to come here to Hånger and fetch me, if he considers me worthy to be his wife again."
Inside was a small envelope addressed to the Pastor himself. He tore it open, and found the one word:
"Forgive!"
When he had seen it, he broke out into a bitter, heartrending laugh. It was like the first gust of the storm bursting through the clouds and Hinging them aside to commence its fierce play.