“What I was going to say—­has any one been here?” he asked.

“Any one been?  Why, who should there be?”

“There’s fresh footmarks outside.  Men with boots on.”

“Why—­there’s been no one but the Lensmand and one other.”

“What did they want?”

“You know that without asking.”

“Did they come to fetch you?”

“Fetch me?  No, ’twas only about the sentence.  The Lord is kind, ’tis not so bad as I feared.”

“Ah,” said Isak eagerly.  “Not so long, maybe?”

“No.  Only a few years.”

“How many years?”

“Why, you might think it a lot, maybe.  But I’m thankful to God all the same.”

Inger did not say how long it would be.  Later that evening Isak asked when they would be coming to fetch her away, but this she could not or would not tell.  She had grown thoughtful again, and talked of what was to come; how they would manage she could not think—­but she supposed they would have to get Oline to come.  And Isak had no better plan to offer.

What had become of Oline, by the way?  She had not been up this year as she used to do.  Was she going to stay away for ever, now that she had upset everything for them?  The working season passed, but Oline did not come—­did she expect them to go and fetch her?  She would come loitering up of herself, no doubt, the great lump of blubber, the monster.

And at last one day she did.  Extraordinary person—­it was as nothing whatever had occurred to make ill-feeling between them; she was even knitting a pair of new stockings for Eleseus, she said.

“Just came up to see how you were getting on over here,” said she.  And it turned out that she had brought her clothes and things up in a sack, and left in the woods close by, ready to stay.

That evening Inger took her husband aside and said:  “Didn’t you say something about seeking out Geissler?  ’Tis in the slack time now.”

“Ay,” said Isak.  “Now that Oline is come, I can go off tomorrow morning, first thing.”

Inger was grateful, and thanked him.  “And take your money with you,” she said—­“all you have in the place.”

“Why, can’t you keep the money here?”

“No,” said she.

Inger made up a big parcel of food at once, and Isak woke while it was yet night, and got ready to start.  Inger went out on the door-slab to see him off; she did not cry or complain, but only said: 

“They may be coming for me now any day.”

“You don’t know when?”

“No, I can’t say.  And I don’t suppose it will be just yet, but anyhow....  If only you could get hold of Geissler, perhaps he might be able to say something.”

What could Geissler do to help them now?  Nothing.  But Isak went.

Inger—­oh, she knew, no doubt, more than she had been willing to say.  It might be, too, that she herself had sent for Oline.  When Isak came from Sweden, Inger was gone and Oline was there with the two children.