her face, no; for he did not mean to cross her. And then he spoke
soothingly, as to a child: "Be a good girl now, Barbro. 'Tis you and
me, you know."

And of course in the end Barbro gave in and was good, and even went to
sleep with the silver ring on her finger.

It would all come right in time, never fear.

For the two in the hut, yes. But what about Eleseus? 'Twas worse with
him; he found it hard to get over the shameful way Barbro had treated
him. He knew nothing of hysterics, and took it as all pure cruelty on
her part; that girl Barbro from Breidablik thought a deal too much of
herself, even though she _had_ been in Bergen....

He sent her back the photograph in a way of his own--took it down
himself one night and stuck it through the door to her in the hayloft,
where she slept. 'Twas not done in any rough unmannerly way, not at
all; he had fidgeted with the door a long time so as to wake her, and
when she rose up on her elbow and asked, "What's the matter; can't you
find your way in this evening?" he understood the question was meant
for some one else, and it went through him like a needle; like a
sabre.

He walked back home--no walking-stick, no whistling. He did not care
about playing the man any longer. A stab at the heart is no light
matter.

And was that the last of it?