For it happened that after Petter Nord ran away from Halfvorson, he sought refuge in the graveyard.

At first he ran towards the bridge over the river and turned his steps towards the big town.  But on the bridge the unfortunate fugitive stopped.  The kingly crown on his brow was quite gone.  It had disappeared as if it had been spun of sunbeams.  He was deeply bent with sorrow; his whole body shook; his heart throbbed; his brain burned like fire.

Then he thought he saw the Spirit of Fasting coming towards him for the third time.  She was much more friendly, much more compassionate than before; but she seemed to him only so much the more terrible.

“Alas, unhappy one,” she said, “surely this must be the last of your pranks!  You have wished to celebrate the festival of love during that time of fasting which is called life; but you see what happens to you.  Come now and be faithful to me; you have tried everything and have only me to whom to turn.”

He waved his arm to keep her off.  “I know what you wish of me.  You wish to lead me back to work and renunciation, but I cannot.  Not now, not now!”

The pallid Spirit of Fasting smiled ever more mildly.  “You are innocent, Petter Nord.  Do not grieve so over what you have not caused!  Was not Edith kind to you?  Did you not see that she had forgiven you?  Come with me to your work!  Live, as you have lived!”

The boy cried more vehemently.  “Is it any better for me, do you think, that I have killed just her who has been kind to me, her, who cares for me?  Had it not been better if I had murdered some one whom I wished to murder.  I must make amends.  I must save her life.  I cannot think of work now.”

“Oh, you madman,” said the Spirit of Fasting, “the festival of reparation which you wish to celebrate is the greatest audacity of all.”

Then Petter Nord rebelled absolutely against his friend of many years.  He scoffed at her.  “What have you made me believe?” he said.  “That you were a tiresome and peevish old woman with arms full of small, harmless twigs.  You are a sorceress of life.  You are a monster.  You are beautiful, and you are terrible.  You yourself know no bounds nor limits; why should I know them?  How can you preach fasting, you, who wish to deluge me with such an overmeasure of sorrow?  What are the festivals I have celebrated compared to those you are continually preparing for me!  Begone with your pallid moderation!  Now I wish to be as mad as yourself.”

Not one step could he take towards the big town.  Neither could he turn directly round and again go the length of the one street in the village; he took the path up the mountain, climbed to the enchanted pine-wood, and wandered about among the stiff, prickly young trees, until a friendly path led him to the graveyard.  There he found a hiding-place in a corner where the pines grew high as masts, and there he threw himself weary unto death on the ground.