She lifted her finger solemnly and pointed towards heaven.
“If you are in need, countess—”
He could not speak, his voice failed him, but she understood him and answered:—
“I will send you word when I need you.”
“I would have liked to protect you from all evil,” he said.
She gave him her hand in farewell, and he was not able to say anything more. Her hand lay cold and limp in his.
She was not conscious of anything but those inward voices which forced her to go among strangers. She hardly knew that it was the man she loved whom she now left.
So he let her go and rowed out to the pensioners again. When he came up on the barge he was trembling with fatigue and seemed exhausted and faint. He had done the hardest work of his life, it seemed to him.
For the few days he kept up his courage, until the honor of Ekeby was saved. He brought the iron to the weighing-office on Kanike point; then for a long time he lost all strength and love of life.
The pensioners noticed no change in him as long as they were on board. He strained every nerve to keep his hold on gayety and carelessness, for it was by gayety and carelessness that the honor of Ekeby was to be saved. How should their venture at the weighing-office succeed if they came with anxious faces and dejected hearts?