"It is done now, Herr Elversson."
"What is done?" he asked carelessly. "Your work, you mean?"
"No. The thing you have asked me to do every day since I have lived under your roof. I have done it now."
"You have ..."
He had risen, greatly moved, and did not complete his sentence.
But Sigrun's voice answered him firmly and clearly, without a tremor:
"I have written to Lotta Hedman and asked her to tell Edward the whole story. At this moment he knows I am alive. And to-morrow he is coming here to fetch me."
"He is coming here?" Sven Elversson repeated. His voice was not firm and clear. It was faint and troubled.
"Yes," she answered. "I have asked him to come here to Hånger. I will tell you why later on. But, first of all, I want you to tell me now if you are pleased."
To the watcher it seemed as if the man before him changed his form and appearance before his eyes. He seemed to shrink, and the patient smile showed full and distinctly about his mouth. His eyes, that had shone so cheerfully a moment before, looked down at the ground; his arms hung loosely at his sides. And as he spoke, in answer to Sigrun's question, his voice had the old ring of painful humility.