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Page 14
When they came to L�vberg's place, Ingmar said that his horse was
now thoroughly rested, and if she had no objection they might as
well cover the first few stations that day. Then she thought: "Now
is the time to tell him that you won't go. Thank him first, then
tell him that you don't want to go with him." She prayed God that
she might be shown if he had come for her only out of pity. In the
meantime Ingmar had drawn the cart out of the shed. The cart had
been newly painted, the dasher shone, and the cushions had fresh
covering. To the buckboard was attached a little half-withered
bouquet of wild flowers. The sight of the flowers made her stop
and think. Ingmar, meanwhile, had gone back to the stable and
harnessed the horse, and was now leading him out. Then she
discovered another bouquet of the same sort between the harness,
and began to feel that after all he must like her. So it seemed
best not to say anything. Otherwise he might think she was
ungrateful and that she did not understand how big a thing he was
offering her.
For a time they drove along without exchanging a word. Then, in
order to break the silence, she began to question him about various
home matters. With every question he was reminded of some one or
other whose judgment he feared. How so and so will wonder and how
so and so will laugh at me, he thought.
He answered only in monosyllables. Time and again she felt like
begging him to turn back. "He doesn't want me," she thought. "He
doesn't care for me; he is doing this only out of charity."
She soon stopped asking questions. They drove on for miles in deep
silence. When they came to their first stopping place, which was an
inn, there were coffee and hot biscuits in readiness for them; and
on the tray were some more flowers. She knew then that he had
ordered this the day before, when passing. Was that, too, done only
out of kindness and pity? Was he happy yesterday? Was it only to-day
that he had lost heart, after seeing her come out of prison?
To-morrow, when he had forgotten this, perhaps all would be well
again.
Sorrow and remorse had softened Brita: she did not grant to cause
him any more unhappiness. Perhaps, after all, he really--
They stayed at the inn overnight and left early the next morning.
By ten o'clock they were already within sight of their parish
church. As they drove along the road leading to the church it was
thronged with people, and the bells were ringing.
"Why, it's Sunday!" Brita exclaimed, instinctively folding her
hands. She forgot everything else in the thought of going to church
and praising God. She wanted to begin her new life with a service
in the old church.
"I should love to go to church," she said to Ingmar, never thinking
that it might be embarrassing for him be seen there with her. She
was all devotion and gratitude! Ingmar's first impulse was to say
that she couldn't; he felt somehow that he had not the courage to
face the curious glances and gossiping tongues of these people. "It
has got to be met sooner or later," he thought. "Putting it off
won't make it any easier."
He turned and drove in on the church grounds. The service had not
yet started; and many persons were sitting in the grass and on the
stone hedge, watching the people arrive. The instant they saw
Ingmar and Brita they began to nudge each other, and whisper, and
point. Ingmar glanced at Brita. She sat there with clasped hands,
quite unconscious of the things about her. She saw no persons,
apparently, but Ingmar saw them only too well. They came running
after the wagon, and did not wonder at their running or their
stares. They must have thought that their eyes had deceived them.
Of course, they could not believe that he had come to the house of
God with her--the woman who had strangled his child. "This is too
much!" he said. "I can't stand it.
"I think you'd better go inside at once, Brita," he suggested.
"Why, certainly," she answered. To attend service was her only
thought; she had not come there to meet people.
Ingmar took his own time unharnessing and feeding the horse. Many
eyes were fixed upon him, but nobody spoke to him. By the time he
was ready to go into the church, most of the people were already in
their pews, and the opening hymn was being sung. Walking down the
centre isle, he glanced over at the side where the women were
seated. All the pews were filled save one, and in that there was
only one person. He saw at once that it was Brita and knew, of
course, that no one had cared to sit with her. Ingmar went and sat
down beside her. Brita looked up at him in wonderment. She had not
noticed it before, but now she understood why she had the pew to
herself. Then the deep feeling of devotion, which she had but just
experienced, was dispelled by a sense of black despair. "How would
it all end?" she wondered. She should never have come with him.
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