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"Tell me it is a lie a black, poisonous lie." She raised her eyes slowly to his and gazed steadfastly into his face. "Ah," he continued in the same terrible voice, "it was what I told them down there at the church a lie an infernal lie. And I drew blood blood, I say I did from the slanderer. Ha, ha, ha! What a lusty sprawl that was!" The color came and departed from Brita's cheeks.
"She says she isn't good enough for us," Ingmar replied, for Brita's words could scarcely be heard for her sobs. "What is she crying about?" asked the old woman. "Because I am such a miserable sinner," said Brita, pressing her hands to her heart which she thought would break. "What's that?" the old woman asked once more. "She says she is such a miserable sinner," Ingmar repeated.
"I verily believe the old man is keeping close watch of me in this matter," he thought. "He must have sent Brita's father here to show me how mean it is to try to shift everything on to her, poor girl! I guess he must have noticed that I haven't had any great desire to take that journey these last few days." Ingmar got up, poured some brandy into his coffee, and raised the cup.
They soon succeeded in hiring a farm-house, about half an hour's walk from Blakstad, and, according to Brita's wish, established themselves there for the summer.
In the evening he would bring home books to read, and as it had always been Brita's habit to interest herself in whatever interested him, she soon found herself studying and discussing with him things which had in former years been far beyond the horizon of her mind.
"A month later I was told that the wedding had been put off and, fearing that this would not end well, I went straight to Bergskog and had a talk with Brita's mother. 'They are certainly making a stupid blunder down at the Ingmar Farm, I told her. 'We are satisfied with their way of doing things, she said. 'Every day we thank God that our daughter has been so well provided for."
Why should I speak of the ceaseless care, the suffering, and the hard toil, which made the first few months of Brita's life on this continent a mere continued struggle for existence? They are familiar to every emigrant who has come here with a brave heart and an empty purse.
These were the happiest moments of Brita's joyless life, and even these were not unmixed with bitterness; for into the midst of her joy would steal a shy anxious thought which was the more terrible because it came so stealthily, so soft-footed and unbidden. Had not this child been given her as a punishment for her guilt? Had she then a right to turn God's scourge into a blessing?
The more respectable class of 'longshoremen find quarters here, and some of the mission-people, who, well-to-do enough to seek quieter homes, choose to be as near as possible to the work waiting for them, and for more like them, in that nest of evil and outrage and slime, the Fourth Ward. Brita's head was bowed on the table as I went in, and Jan's face was sorrowful as he looked toward her.
Toward evening, Bjarne Blakstad was summoned, and came at once. Thomas left the room, as the old man entered, and what passed in that hour between father and daughter, only God knows. When the door was again opened, Brita's eyes shone with a strange brilliancy, and Bjarne lay on his knees before the bed, pressing her hand convulsively between both of his.
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