She must go at once to her brother if she had to go to him on her knees.
But no! Here were Ragni's letters. She felt as if her brother were
standing over her, and forcing her to read them. Some of them were early
love-letters. There had been no misconduct. Her chivalrous brother and
the sweet, gentle woman whom he had rescued from a horrible fate had
lived apart from one another in America until the day of their marriage.

Josephine slipped from the chair down upon her knees, weeping and
sobbing. "Forgive me! Forgive me!" she whispered, pressing Ragni's
letters in her hands.

Then she forced herself to silence, so that no one might discover her
crouching there in the shame of her crime. She had murdered her
brother's wife--not by words, but by her silence! Yes, she was a
murderess! Well, let Edward deal with her as he thought fit!

She ran wildly out of the house into the dark, rainy street, past her
husband's church, past the white wall of Sören Kule's dwelling. Her
brother was standing in the open door, surrounded by trunks and boxes.
Was he thinking of going away? Tears streamed down her face.

"Edward!"

She could get no further. He drew himself upright, his face white and
stern.

"You shall never enter here!" he said, with a break in his voice.

He bent down to do up a trunk. When he got up she was gone. With a
fierce look in his eyes, he continued his preparations. He meant to