Petter Nord was the most terrible, the most fatal name in the
world. It meant a revival of all the old troubles. Edith rose with
trembling limbs, and just then three dreadful creatures came around
the corner and stopped to stare at her. There was only a low rail
and a thin hedge between her and the street.

Edith was alone. The maids had gone to milk, and Halfvorson was
working in his garden by the custom-house, although he had told the
shop-boy to nay that he had gone away, for he was ashamed of his
passion for gardening. Edith was terribly frightened at the three
men as well as at the one who had gone into the shop. She was sure
that they wished to do her harm. So she turned and ran up the
mountain by the steep, slippery path and the narrow, rotten wooden
steps which led from terrace to terrace.

The strange men thought it too delightfully funny that she ran from
them. They could not resist pretending that they wished to catch
her. One of them climbed up on the railing, and all three shouted
with a terrible voice.

Edith ran as one runs in dreams, panting, falling, terrified to
death, with a horrible feeling of not getting away from one spot.
All sorts of emotions stormed through her, and shook her so that
she thought she was going to die. Yes, if one of those men laid his
hand on her, she knew that she should die. When she had reached the
highest terrace, and dared to look back, she found that the men
were still in the street, and were no longer looking at her. Then
she threw herself down on the ground, quite powerless. The exertion
had been greater than she could bear. She felt something burst in
her. Then blood streamed from her lips.