and began to tear open the envelope.

"O Heavenly Father!" she cried, "am I then to be spared nothing?
Ingmar," she implored, "read it in a day or two--when I am on my
way to America."

By that time he had already opened the letter and was scanning it.
She put her hand over the paper. "Listen to me, Ingmar!" she said.
"It was the chaplain who got me to write that letter, and he
promised not to send it till I was on board the steamer. Instead he
sent it off too soon. You have no right to read it yet; wait till
I'm gone, Ingmar."

Ingmar gave her an angry look and jumped out of the wagon, so that
he might read the letter in peace. Brita was as much excited now as
she had been in the old days, when things did not go her way.

"What I say in that letter isn't true. The chaplain talked me into
writing it. I _don't_ love you, Ingmar."

He looked up from the paper and gazed at her in astonishment. Then
she grew silent, and the lessons in humility which she had learned
in prison profited her now. After all she suffered no greater
embarrassment than she deserved.

Ingmar, meanwhile, stood puzzling over the letter. Suddenly, with
an impatient snarl, he crumpled it up.

"I can't make this out!" he said, stamping his foot. "My head's all
in a muddle."