And the priest remembered how he had sinned against Sven Elversson, and ruined his life, and condemned him to nameless misery.
But this consciousness of his own guilt brought a strange soothing calm in the midst of his anger—at the wrong he had suffered from others. It was like a cooling drink to one in fever.
And a new humility, a self-knowledge, woke in his mind.
He no longer felt himself as the punishing avenger with all right on his side.
He was prepared now, not to forgive, but to search and examine with care before passing his final judgment.
[THE LIFTING OF THE CURSE]
THE priest checked his horse. There below him, in the glow of the evening sun, was Hånger itself.
For a moment he doubted whether it could be right. He had always heard the place described as consisting of large buildings. Here, the main part was certainly of decent size, but all the rest seemed small and insignificant.
But the orchard was there. On the slope between the small houses grew tall, century-old apple trees, now in their finest bloom, making a roof of delicate white and pink above the lawn.
And the old oak was there, not yet in full leaf, but well on the way to clothe its wrinkled, knotty branches with soft, leafy green.