Halfvorson had never been accused of illicit trade.  How he had behaved towards Petter Nord every one knew, but no one spoke of that affair any more.  Halfvorson had risen in the world, and now he was not at all dangerous.  He was not inhuman to his debtors, and had ceased to spy on his shop-boys.  The last few years he had devoted himself to gardening.  He had laid out a garden around his house in the town, and a kitchen garden near the customhouse.  He worked so eagerly in his gardens that he scarcely thought of amassing money.

Petter Nord felt a stab in his heart.  Of course the man was good.  He had remained in paradise.  Of course any one was good who lived there.

Edith Halfvorson was still with her uncle, but she had been ill for a while.  Her lungs were weak, ever since an attack of pneumonia in the winter.

While Petter Nord was listening to all this, and more too, the three men stood outside and waited.

In Halfvorson’s shadeless garden a bower of birch had been arranged so that Edith might lie there in the beautiful, warm spring days.  She regained her strength slowly, but her life was no longer in danger.

Some people make one feel that they are not able to live.  At their first illness they lie down and die.  Halfvorson’s niece was long since weary of everything, of the office, of the dim little shop, of money-getting.  When she was seventeen years old, she had the incentive of winning friends and acquaintances.  Then she undertook to try to keep Halfvorson in the path of virtue, but now everything was accomplished.  She saw no prospect of escaping from the monotony of her life.  She might as well die.

She was of an elastic nature, like a steel spring:  a bundle of nerves and vivacity, when anything troubled or tormented her.  How she had worked with strategy and artifice, with womanly goodness and womanly daring, before she had reached the point with her uncle when she was sure that there was no longer danger of any Petter Nord affairs!  But now that he was tamed and subdued, she had nothing to interest her.  Yes, and yet she would not die!  She lay and thought of what she would do when she was well again.

Suddenly she started up, hearing some one say in a very loud voice that he alone wished to settle with Halvorson.  And then another voice answered:  “Go ahead, Petter Nord!”

Petter Nord was the most terrible, the most fatal name in the world.  It meant a revival of all the old troubles.  Edith rose with trembling limbs, and just then three dreadful creatures came around the corner and stopped to stare at her.  There was only a low rail and a thin hedge between her and the street.

Edith was alone.  The maids had gone to milk, and Halfvorson was working in his garden by the custom-house, although he had told the shop-boy to nay that he had gone away, for he was ashamed of his passion for gardening.  Edith was terribly frightened at the three men as well as at the one who had gone into the shop.  She was sure that they wished to do her harm.  So she turned and ran up the mountain by the steep, slippery path and the narrow, rotten wooden steps which led from terrace to terrace.