now every one. You dare to speak...."

"What about Lise, that was sent to prison?" asks Inger.

"For never a thing. She was as innocent as a flower," answers Oline.
"And she's in Bergen now; lives in a town and wears a hat--but what
about you?"

"What about Nils--what did they say of him?"

"Oh, I'll not lower myself.... But there's one of yours now lying
buried out there in the woods--what did you do to it, eh?"

"Now ...! One-two-three--out you go!" shrieks Inger again, and makes a
rush at Oline.

But Oline does not move, does not even rise to her feet. Her stolid
indifference paralyses Inger, who draws back, muttering: "Wait till I
get that knife."

"Don't trouble," says Oline. "I'm going. But as for you, turning your
own kin out of doors one-two-three.... Nay, I'll say no more."

"Get out of this, that's all you need to do!"

But Oline is not gone yet. The two of them fall to again with words
and abuse, a long bout of it again, and when the clock strikes half of
the hour, Oline laughs scornfully, making Inger wilder than ever. At
last both calm down a little, and Oline makes ready to go. "I've a
long road before me," says she, "and it's late enough to be starting.