"Now you are talking like Lotta Hedman."
"Yes," said Sigrun, "I am talking like Lotta Hedman. I know it. And I will not deny that it was Lotta Hedman who taught me to believe in the power of the dead. But how do you know she is not right? What star was it that led the dying woman to me of all others? And whence came the thought that so compelled me? You know how timid and sensitive I am. It is true that I had been lying there thinking of flight, but what made me do it in such a way? There were other means I could have chosen. But from the moment your wife lay there dead in my bed, I could not think of any other. And why was Lotta Hedman unable to resist? Why did Gustavsson come after I had gone, and not before? What made him so quiet and submissive all that day? Why were we not discovered? Why was my money stolen? Why was nothing found out after? I had certainly no deep-laid plans of my own. How did all this come about, Herr Elversson, unless it were that the woman who loved you, in the power of her endless love, had resolved to lead the woman you loved to you?"
She had spoken eagerly, as one inspired, overwhelmed by the miracle she felt she had shared. But there was no trace of passion in her voice. The listener behind the trees marked that well. Sigrun was speaking to the man who loved her in the firm assurance that he understood she did not love him.
Sven Elversson felt the same. His voice was thick with emotion, but it never changed into the tone of passion.
"Be it so then! Let us talk like Lotta Hedman, if you wish. But if the dead woman's soul sent you here, might it not be as well for torture and punishment? She knew that my love could only increase, just as she knew that you could never come to love me in return."
"Yes," said Sigrun, with the same strange note of lofty inspiration, almost as if she were speaking to one from another world, "she knew that, yes. And she knew, too, that, if there had not been something in you that protected you against all love but hers, you would not have allowed me to stay here at Hånger. But she believed, perhaps, that some sweetness might come into your life by your teaching me how life should be lived. Might not that have been her aim? Afterward, when you are old, when all that flames and burns now is cooled, then you will think of this winter at Hånger as a time of happiness."
He shook his head.
"Not now," she said, "but after, and to your last hour. For I believe, as I said just now, that it was all to this one end, that you might teach me how life should be lived. What was I, a few months back, before I came here? I was not wicked; I meant well to all, but I was timid; I tried to do well, but mostly it went as best might be. There was no plan in my life. I did not know that one could be good and true, faithful and kind, under whatever circumstances. And that is what I have learned here with you; to detest all that pollutes the soul. That is what I take with me now, back to my home and my husband. He shall see that I am changed, and he will have more trust in me than before. We shall be happy now, and we have you to thank for our happiness. And you must think of us and be glad."
He took one of her hands in his, bent over it, and wept.
"To-morrow, when Edward comes," she said, "I will tell him all this, and he will understand and thank you."