Over Hedvig’s face spread an expression of anxious and obstinate defiance which made it look almost old. Everybody was waiting about for an opportunity to point her out, everybody—
“What right has he to come. His place is among the farmhands.” And with that she pushed Laura out of the room and locked the door.
But then she stole to the window and stood there hidden by the curtain.
Then the bailiff, Brundin, came driving in his little dog-cart. He wore a fur coat, a top hat thrust back on his head, and red dogskin gloves.
Hedvig devoured him with her eyes, just like a boy who steals his first glass of strong drink, and is frightened when it burns his throat. Then she caught sight of Peter. He was standing some distance away with his coarse red hands hanging out of his short sleeves. He pulled a face at the bailiff and then looked furtively up at the girls’ room. Hedvig ran away from the window, and sat down in a corner fidgetting with her handkerchief. She looked as if she had been struck.
Now they were calling her. Now she must go down—“God! if only it were over,” she thought. Stiffly and hesitatingly, as if afraid to lose her balance, she greeted old Hermansson. But she shot past the outstretched hand of Brundin as if impelled by an invisible force, rushed out to the carriage and crept into a corner. With her pale face and her screwed-up eyes, she looked like some strange creature of the twilight which had been forced out into the merciless spring sunshine.
Old Kristin had to run after her with her coat and hat.
At last the carriage was full and they started off. Out in the yard in the sunshine it was still temptingly warm. The lilac bushes had great green buds and the damp soil of the flower beds was steaming round the bulbs. But in the avenue they met the cold air from the dirty snow in the ditches. And whenever a little cloud hid the sun for a moment, they were back in winter again. It was one of those treacherous and dangerous days when the cautious and the wise, such as old Hermansson, prefer to keep their fur coats on.
It was some distance to the Church, which was situated at a crossing of two roads, by the side of a plain which was chequered by the black, brown, and green of fallow land, pastures, and young rye.
Behind it rose a bare slope sprinkled with juniper trees which resembled dark solid flames. The Church was very old, without a tower. With its high black roof, its coarse walls of rustic stone, it resembled a fortress, a barn, or a cellar. And there was a musty smell beneath the vaulted roof, for in spite of the big rusty stove, the cold winter air still lingered.