He could not comprehend it, nor could he sit quietly any longer; so, yielding his place to the vice-chairman, he left,—­and the audience smiled.

He had come to the meeting accompanied by Lars, but returned home alone, though the road was long.  It was a cold autumn day; the way looked jagged and bare, the meadow gray and yellow; while frost had begun to appear here and there on the roadside.  Disappointment is a dreadful companion.  He felt himself so small and desolate, walking there; but Lars was everywhere before him, like a giant, his head towering, in the dusk of evening, to the sky.  It was his own fault that this had been the decisive battle, and the thought grieved him sorely:  he had staked too much upon a single little affair.  But surprise, pain, anger, had mastered him; his heart still burned, shrieked, and moaned within him.  He heard the rattling of a wagon behind; it was Lars, who came driving his superb horse past him at a brisk trot, so that the hard road gave a sound of thunder.  Canute gazed after him, as he sat there so broad-shouldered in the wagon, while the horse, impatient for home, hurried on unurged by Lars, who only gave loose rein.  It was a picture of his power; this man drove toward the mark!  He, Canute, felt as if thrown out of his wagon to stagger along there in the autumn cold.

Canute’s wife was waiting for him at home.  She knew there would be a battle; she had never in her life believed in Lars, and lately had felt a dread of him.  It had been no comfort to her that they had ridden away together, nor would it have comforted her if they had returned in the same way.  But darkness had fallen, and they had not yet come.  She stood in the doorway, went down the road and home again; but no wagon appeared.  At last she hears a rattling on the road, her heart beats as violently as the wheels revolve; she clings to the doorpost, looking out; the wagon is coming; only one sits there; she recognizes Lars, who sees and recognizes her, but is driving past without stopping.  Now she is thoroughly alarmed!  Her limbs fail her; she staggers in, sinking on the bench by the window.  The children, alarmed, gather around, the youngest asking for papa, for the mother never spoke with them but of him.  She loved him because he had such a good heart, and now this good heart was not with them; but, on the contrary, away on all kinds of business, which brought him only unhappiness; consequently, they were unhappy too.

“Oh, that no harm had come to him to-day!  Canute was so excitable!  Why did Lars come home alone? why didn’t he stop?”

Should she run after him, or, in the opposite direction, toward her husband?  She felt faint, and the children pressed around her, asking what was the matter; but this could not be told to them, so she said they must take supper alone, and, rising, arranged it and helped them.  She was constantly glancing out upon the road.  He did not come.  She undressed and put them to bed, and the youngest repeated the evening prayer, while she bowed over him, praying so fervently in the words which the tiny mouth first uttered, that she did not perceive the steps outside.