Ingmar was very much distressed to think that Gertrude would be willing to cause her parents such heavy sorrow.  “Can it be that she realizes how badly she is behaving?” he wondered.  He was about to remonstrate with her, then checked himself.  “You’re hardly the proper person to reproach Gertrude for anything that she may do,” he remarked to himself.

“Indeed, I know it will be hard on father and mother,” said Gertrude, “but I must follow Jesus.”  And she smiled as she named the name of the Saviour.  “He has saved me from destruction.  He has healed my sick soul!” she said feelingly.

And as if she had only now found courage to do so, she pushed back her kerchief, and looked Ingmar straight in the eyes.  It struck Ingmar that she was drawing comparisons between him and some one whose image she carried in her heart, and he felt that she found him small and insignificant.

“It will be very hard for father and mother,” she reiterated.  “Father is an old man now, and must soon give up his school; so they will have even less to live upon than before.  When he has no work to take up his mind, he will become restless and irritable.  Mother won’t have an easy time with him.  They’ll be very unhappy, both of them.  Of course it would have been quite different could I have stayed at home to cheer them.”

Gertrude paused, as if afraid to come out with what she wanted to say.  Ingmar’s throat tightened, and his eyes began to fill.  He divined that Gertrude wanted to ask him to look after her old parents.

“And I fancied that she had come here to-day only to abuse and threaten me!  And instead she opens her heart to me.”

“You won’t have to ask me, Gertrude,” he said.  “This is a great honour for you to confer upon one who has behaved so badly to you.  Be assured that I shall treat your old parents better than I have treated you.”

When Ingmar said this, his voice trembled, and the wary look was gone from his face.  “How kind Gertrude is to me!” he thought.  “She does not ask this of me only out of consideration for her parents, but she wants to show me that she has forgiven me.”

“I knew, Ingmar, that you wouldn’t say no to this.  And I have something more to tell you.”  She spoke now in a brighter and more confident tone.  “I’ve got a great surprise for you!”

“How charmingly Gertrude speaks!” Ingmar was thinking.  “She has the sweetest, the cheeriest, and most tuneful voice I have ever heard!”

“About a week ago,” Gertrude continued, “I left home intending to go straight on to Gothenburg, so as to be there when the Hellgumists arrive.  The first night I stopped over at Bergsana with a poor widow whose name it Marie Boving.  That name I want you to remember Ingmar—­Marie Boving.  If she should ever come to want, you must help her.”

“How pretty Gertrude is!” he thought, as he nodded and promised to remember Marie Boving’s name.  “How pretty she is!  What will become of me when she goes?  God forgive me if I did wrong in giving her up for an old farm!  Fields and meadows can never be the same to you as a human being; they can’t laugh with you when you’re happy, nor comfort you when you’re sad!  Nothing on earth can make up for the loss of one who has loved you.”