g at this. She once more recalled every particular
of their struggle, and shuddered. "Why am I not angry with him?"

Another knock was heard. It was the maid with a request from Mrs. Dawes
that Mary would come to her.

"You have let him go, child?"

Mrs. Dawes was in real distress. In her agitation she sat up, supporting
herself on one arm. Her cap was awry upon her grey, short hair; the fat
neck was redder than usual, as if she were too hot.

"Why did you let him go?" she repeated.

"It was his own wish."

"How can you say such a thing, child? He has been here complaining. He
would give his life to stay! You don't understand in the least. You do
nothing but reject his advances, and torture him."

She lay down again, in exhaustion and despair. The word "torture"
produced a momentary comic impression on Mary; but she herself had the
feeling that she ought to have spoken to Joergen before she let him go.
That he was to go, she was quite determined.

On these events followed rather a hard time for them all. A change in
the weather affected Anders Krog unfavourably; he was unable to take
sufficient nourishment, and had more difficulty in speaking. Mary was
much with him; and at these times his eyes rested on her and followed
her so persistently that she almost felt afraid.

Mrs. Dawes sent small notes in to him. She could not give up her
writing, even in bed. He looked long at Mary each time one of these
notes came; so she guessed what they were about.

Mrs. Dawes said to her one day: "You over-estimate your own powers when
you believe that you can live here alone with us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, tired as you may be of society in spring, when winter
comes it will exercise its attraction again. You are too much accustomed
to it."

Mary made no answer at the time, but some days later--the weather had
long been bad, and she had not been out--she said to Mrs. Dawes: "You
may be right in believing that the life we have lived all these years
has taken strong hold of me."

"Stronger than you have any idea of, child."

"But what would you have me do? I cannot leave here. Nor do I wish to."

"No. But you could have a change sometimes."

"How?"

"You know quite well what I mean, child. If you married Joergen, he would
live sometimes here with you, and you sometimes at Stockholm with him."

"A curious married life!"

"I don't believe you can combine the two things in any better way."

"Which two