One day a messenger came from Boeen to ask him if he would go over there for some carpentry work.  He answered “Yes,” without thinking about the matter.  As soon as the man had gone, his mother told him that it was Baard Boeen who had injured his father; but Arne decided to go all the same.

It was a fine homestead, and Baard and Arne soon became on friendly terms.  He had many talks, too, with Eli, and at times would sing his own songs to her, and afterwards feel ashamed.

Then Eli fell ill, and Birgit blamed Baard because Mathilde had gone away from the parsonage on a visit to town without bidding good-bye to Eli.  It seemed to Baard that whatever he did was wrong.

“You either keep silent too much, or you talk too much,” said his wife.

During Eli’s illness Baard would often sit and talk with Arne, and one day he told him how he had been driven to attack Nils, and then how he had courted and won Birgit.

“She was very melancholy at first,” said Baard, “and I had nothing to say; and then she got into bustling, domineering ways, and I had nothing to say to that.  But one day of real happiness I’ve not had the twenty years we’ve been married.”

When Eli was getting better, her mother came down one evening and asked Arne, in her daughter’s name, to go up and sing to her.  Eli had heard him singing.  Arne was confused, but gave in and went upstairs.

The room was in darkness, and he had not seen Eli since the day she had fallen ill, and he had helped to carry her to her room.  Arne sat down in a chair at the foot of the bed.  When people talk in the dark they are generally more truthful than when they see one another’s faces.

Eli made Arne sing to her, first a hymn, and then a song of his own.  For some time there was silence between them, and then Eli said, “I wonder, Arne, that you, who have so much that is beautiful within, should want to go away.  You must not go away.”

“There are times when I seem not to want to so much,” he answered.

Presently Arne could hear her weeping, and he felt that he must move—­either forward or back.

“Eli!”

“Yes.”  Both voices were at a whisper.

“Give me your hand.”

She made no answer.  He listened, quickly, closely, stretched out his own hand, and grasped a warm little hand that lay bare.

There was a step on the stairs; they let go of one another, and Birgit entered with a light.  “You’ve been sitting too long in the dark,” she said, putting the candle on the table.  But neither Eli nor Arne could bear the light; she turned to the pillow, and he shaded his face with his hands.

“Ah, yes; it’s a bit dazzling at first,” said the mother, “but the feeling soon passes away.”

Next day Arne heard that Eli was better and going to come down for a time after dinner.  He at once put his tools together, and bade farewell to the farm.  And when Eli came downstairs he was gone.