, a faithful helper and support. Isak takes advantage of every
fall of rain to put in a spell of roofing on the new barn, and get the
south wall at least fully done; once that is ready, they can stuff
in as much hay as they please. The work is going forward; they will
manage, never fear!

And their great sorrow and disaster--ay, it was there, the thing was
done, and what it brought must come. Good things mostly leave no
trace, but something always comes of evil. Isak took the matter
sensibly from the first. He made no great words about it, but asked
his wife simply: "How did you come to do it?" Inger made no answer to
that. And a little after, he spoke again: "Strangled it--was that what
you did?"

"Yes," said Inger.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"No," she agreed.

"And I can't make out how you ever could bring yourself to do it."

"She was all the same as myself," said Inger.

"How d'you mean?"

"Her mouth."

Isak thought over that for some time. "Ay, well," said he.

And nothing more was said about it at the time; the days went on,
peacefully as ever; there was all the mass of hay to be got in, and a
rare heavy crop all round, so that by degrees the thing slipped into
the background of their minds. But it hung over them, and over the
place, none the less. They could not hope that Oline would keep the
secret; it was too much to expect. And even if Oline said nothing,
others would speak; dumb witnesses would find a tongue; the walls of
the house, the trees around the little grave in the wood. Os-Anders
the Lapp would throw out hints; Inger herself would betray it,
sleeping or waking. They were prepared for the worst.

Isak took the matter sensibly--what else was there to do? He knew now
why Inger had always taken care to be left alone at every birth; to be
alone with her fears of how the child might be, and face the danger
with no one by. Three times she had done the same thing. Isak shook
his head, touched with pity for her ill fate--poor Inger. He learned
of the coming of the Lapp with the hare, and acquitted her. It led to
a great love between them, a wild love; they drew closer to each other
in their peril. Inger was full of a desperate sweetness towards him,
and the great heavy fellow, lumbering carrier of burdens, felt a greed
and an endless desire for her in himself. And Inger, for all that she
wore hide shoes like a Lapp, was no withered little creature as the
Lapland women are, but splendidly