ought to be mighty glad of it,’ says father.  ‘But, father, don’t you think it is my fault her being in prison?’ ‘She put herself there, I’m thinking.’  Then I get up and say very slowly:  ’So you don’t think, father, that I have to do anything for her when she comes out in the fall?’ ’What should you do?  Marry her?’ ‘That’s just what I ought to do.’  Father looks at me a moment, then asks:  ‘Do you love her?’ ‘No!  She has killed my love.’  Father closes his eyes and begins to meditate.  ’You see, father, I can’t get away from this:  that I have brought misfortune upon some one.’

“The old man sits quite still and does not answer.

“’The last time I saw her was in the courtroom.  Then she was so gentle, and longed so for her child.  Not one harsh word did she say against me.  She took all the blame to herself.  Many in that courtroom were moved to tears, and the judge himself had to swallow hard.  He didn’t give her more than three years, either.’

“But father does not say a word.

“’It will be hard for her when fall comes, and she’s sent home.  They won’t be glad to have her again at Bergskog.  Her folks all feel that she has brought shame upon them, and they’re pretty sure to let her know it, too!  There will be nothing for her but to sit at home all the while; she won’t even dare to go to church.  It’s going to be hard for her in every way.’

“But father doesn’t answer.

“’It is not such an easy thing for me to marry her!  To have a wife that menservants and maidservants will look down upon is not a pleasant prospect for a man with a big farmstead.  Nor would mother like it.  We never invite people to the house, either to weddings or funerals.’

“Meanwhile, not a word out of father.

“Of course at the trial I tried to help her as much as I could.  I told the judge that I was entirely to blame, as I took the girl against her will.  I also said that I considered her so innocent of any wrong that I would marry her then and there, if she could only think better of me.  I said that so the judge would give her a lighter sentence.  Although I’ve had two letters from her, there’s nothing in them to show any changed feeling toward me.  So you see, father, I’m not obliged to marry her because of that speech.’

“Father sits and ponders, but he doesn’t speak.

“’I know that this is simply looking at the thing from the viewpoint of men, and we Ingmars have always wanted to stand well in the sight of God.  And yet sometimes I think that maybe our Lord wouldn’t like it if we honoured a murderess.’

“And father doesn’t utter a sound.

“’Think, father, how one must feel who lets another suffer without giving a helping hand.  I have passed through too much these last few years not to try to do something for her when she gets out.

“Father sits there immovable.

“Now I can hardly keep back the tears.  ’You see, father, I’m a young man and will lose much if I marry her.  Every one seems to think I’ve already made a mess of my life; they will think still worse of me after this!’