Inger steals away into the edge of the wood.  There was a spot where she had set a little cross in the ground; the cross is thrown down now, and where it stood the turf has been lifted, and the ground turned over.  She stoops down and pats the earth together again with her hands.  And there she sits.

She had come out of curiosity, to see how far the little grave had been disturbed by Oline; she stays there now because the cattle have not yet come in for the night.  Sits there crying, shaking her head, and looking down.

Chapter VII

And the days pass.

A blessed time for the soil, with sun and showers of rain; the crops are looking well.  The haymaking is nearly over now, and they have got in a grand lot of hay; almost more than they can find room for.  Some is stowed away under overhanging rocks, in the stable, under the flooring of the house itself; the shed at the side is emptied of everything to make room for more hay.  Inger herself works early and late, a faithful helper and support.  Isak takes advantage of every fall of rain to put in a spell of roofing on the new barn, and get the south wall at least fully done; once that is ready, they can stuff in as much hay as they please.  The work is going forward; they will manage, never fear!

And their great sorrow and disaster—­ay, it was there, the thing was done, and what it brought must come.  Good things mostly leave no trace, but something always comes of evil.  Isak took the matter sensibly from the first.  He made no great words about it, but asked his wife simply:  “How did you come to do it?” Inger made no answer to that.  And a little after, he spoke again:  “Strangled it—­was that what you did?”

“Yes,” said Inger.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” she agreed.

“And I can’t make out how you ever could bring yourself to do it.”

“She was all the same as myself,” said Inger.

“How d’you mean?”

“Her mouth.”

Isak thought over that for some time.  “Ay, well,” said he.

And nothing more was said about it at the time; the days went on, peacefully as ever; there was all the mass of hay to be got in, and a rare heavy crop all round, so that by degrees the thing slipped into the background of their minds.  But it hung over them, and over the place, none the less.  They could not hope that Oline would keep the secret; it was too much to expect.  And even if Oline said nothing, others would speak; dumb witnesses would find a tongue; the walls of the house, the trees around the little grave in the wood.  Os-Anders the Lapp would throw out hints; Inger herself would betray it, sleeping or waking.  They were prepared for the worst.