you're mistress of your own actions?"

Mildrid did not answer.

"We thought," added her father gently, "that we could be quite sure of
_you_."

Mildrid did not answer.

"But how did it happen?" repeated her mother more impatiently; "you
must know that!"

"No, I don't know it--I only know that I could not help it--no, I
couldn't!" She was sitting holding on to the bench with both hands.

"God forgive and help you! Whatever came over you?"

Mildrid gave no answer.

Her father calmed their rising excitement by saying in a gentle,
friendly voice: "Why did you not speak to one of us, my child?"

And her mother controlled herself, and said quietly: "You know how
much we think of our children, we who have lived such a lonely life;
and--yes, we may say it, especially of you, Mildrid; for you have been
so much to us."

Mildrid felt as if she did not know where she was.

"Yes, we did not think you would desert us like this."

It was her father who spoke last. Though the words came gently, they
did not hurt the less.

"I will not desert you!" she stammered.

"You must not say that," he answered, more gravely than before, "for
you have done it already."

Mildrid felt that this was true, and at the same time that it was not
true, but she could not put her feeling into words.

Her mother went on: "Of what good has it all been, the love that we
have shown our children, and the fear of God that we have taught them?
In the first temptation--" for her daughter's sake she could say no
more.

But Mildrid could bear it no longer. She threw her arms over the
table, laid her head on them, her face towards her father, and sobbed.

Neither father nor mother was capable of adding by another reproachful
word to the remorse she seemed to feel. So there was silence.

It might have lasted long--but Hans Haugen saw from where he sat that
she was in need of help. His hunter's eye had caught every look, seen
the movement of their lips, seen her silent struggle; now he saw her
throw herself on the table, and he jumped up, and soon his light foot
was heard in the passage. He knocked; they all looked up, but no one
said, "Come in!" Mildrid half rose, blushing through her tears; the
door opened, and Hans with his gun and dog stood there, pale but quite
composed. He turned and shut the door, while the dog, wagging its
tail, went up to Mildrid. Hans had been too preoccupied to notice that
it had followed him in.

"Good morning!" s