The captain offered her his cabin if she would like to make the journey in his vessel, and the offer was accepted with delight.  Boerje was almost exempt from all work, and sat most of the time on the deck, talking to his wife.  And now he gave her the happiness of fancy, such as he himself had lived on all his life.  The more he thought of that little house which lay half buried in the sand, so much the higher he raised that palace which he would have liked to offer her.  He let her in thought glide into a harbor which was adorned with flags and flowers in honor of Boerje Nilsson’s bride.  He let her hear the mayor’s speech of greeting.  He let her drive under a triumphal arch, while the eyes of men followed her and the women grew pale with envy.  And he led her into the stately home, where bowing, silvery-haired servants stood drawn up along the side of the broad stairway and where the table laden for the feast groaned under the old family silver.

When she discovered the truth, she supposed at first that the captain had been in league with Boerje to deceive her, but afterwards she found that it was not so.  They were accustomed on board the boat to speak of Boerje as of a great man.  It was their greatest joke to talk quite seriously of his riches and his fine family.  They thought that Boerje had told her the truth, but that she joked with him, as they all did, when she talked about his big house.  So it happened that when the lugger cast anchor in the harbor which lay nearest to Boerje’s home, she still did not know but that she was the wife of a rich man.

Boerje got a day’s leave to conduct his wife to her future home and to start her in her new life.  When they were landed on the quay, where the flags were to have fluttered and the crowds to have rejoiced in honor of the newly-married couple, only emptiness and calm reigned there, and Boerje noticed that his wife looked about her with a certain disappointment.

“We have come too soon,” he had said.  “The journey was such an unusually quick one in this fine weather.  So we have no carriage here either, and we have far to go, for the house lies outside the town.”

“That makes no difference, Boerje,” she had answered.  “It will do us good to walk, after having been quiet so long on board.”

And so they began their walk, that walk of horror, of which she could not think even in her old age without moaning in agony and wringing her hands in pain.  They went along the broad, empty streets, which she instantly recognized from his description.  She felt as if she met with old friends both in the dark church and in the even houses of timber and brick; but where were the carved gables and marble steps with the high railing?

Boerje had nodded to her as if he had guessed her thoughts.  “It is a long way still,” he had said.