rself these days.

A strange thing that book of devotion, a guide upon the way, an arm
round one's neck, no less. When Inger had lost hold of herself a
little, lost her way a little out plucking berries, she found her way
home again by the thought of her little chamber and the holy book; ay,
she was humble now and a Godfearing soul. She can remember long
years ago when she would say an evil word if she pricked her finger
sewing--so she had learned to do from her fellow-workers round the big
table in the Institute. But now she pricks her finger, and it bleeds,
and she sucks the blood away in silence. 'Tis no little victory gained
to change one's nature so. And Inger did more than that. When all the
workmen were gone, and the stone building was finished, and Sellanraa
was all forsaken and still, then came a critical time for Inger; she
cried a deal, and suffered much. She blamed none but herself for it
all, and she was deeply humbled. If only she could have spoken out to
Isak, and relieved her mind, but that was not their way at Sellanraa;
there was none of them would talk their feelings and confess things.
All she could do was to be extra careful in the way she asked her
husband to come in to meals, going right up to him to say it nicely,
instead of shouting from the door. And in the evenings, she looked
over his clothes, and sewed buttons on. Ay, and even more she did. One
night she lifted up on her elbow and said:

"Isak?"

"What is it?" says Isak.

"Are you awake?"

"Ay."

"Nay, 'twas nothing," says Inger. "But I've not been all as I ought."

"What?" says Isak. Ay, so much he said, and rose up on his elbow in
turn.

They lay there, and went on talking. Inger is a matchless woman, after
all; and with a full heart, "I've not been as I ought towards you,"
she says, "and I'm that sorry about it."

The simple words move him; this barge of a man is touched, ay, he
wants to comfort her, knowing nothing of what is the matter, but only
that there is none like her. "Naught to cry about, my dear," says
Isak. "There's none of us can be as we ought."

"Nay, 'tis true," she answers gratefully. Oh, Isak had a strong, sound
way of taking things; straightened them out, he did, when they turned
crooked. "None of us can be as we ought." Ay, he was right. The god of
the heart--for all that he is a god, he goes a deal of crooked ways,
goes out adventuring, the wild thing that he is, and we can see it in
his looks. One day ro