fish;
no, she had lived for six years among greater things. And of late she
had even ceased to be heavenly and sweet when she called him in to
dinner. "Your food's ready, aren't you coming in?" was all she said
now. And it didn't sound nice. Isak wondered a little at first; it was
a curious way to speak; a nasty, uncaring, take-it-or-leave-it way to
speak. And he answered: "Why, I didn't know 'twas ready." But when
Inger pointed out that he ought to have known, or might have guessed
it, anyway, by the sun, he said no more, and let the matter drop.

Ah, but once he got a hold on her and used it--that was when she tried
to steal his money from him. Not that Isak was a miser in that way,
but the money was clearly his. Ho, it was nearly being ruin and
disaster for her that time! But even then it was not exactly
thoroughgoing, out-and-out wickedness on Inger's part; she wanted the
money for Eleseus--for her blessed boy Eleseus in town, who was asking
for his _Daler_ again. Was he to go there among all the fine folk and
with empty pockets? After all, she had a mother's heart. She asked his
father for the money first, and, finding it was no good, had taken it
herself. Whether Isak had had some suspicion beforehand, or had found
it out by accident--anyhow, it was found out. And suddenly Inger found
herself gripped by both arms, felt herself lifted from the floor,
and thumped down on to the floor again. It was something strange and
terrible--a sort of avalanche. Isak's hands were not weak, not worn
out now. Inger gave a groan, her head fell back, she shivered, and
gave up the money.

Even then Isak said little, though Inger made no attempt to hinder him
from speaking. What he did say was uttered, as it were, in one hard
breath: "Huttch! You--you're not fit to have in the place!"

She hardly knew him again. Oh, but it must have been long-stored
bitterness that would not be repressed.

A miserable day, and a long night, and a day beyond. Isak went out of
the house and lay outside, for all that there was hay to be got in;
Sivert was with his father. Inger had little Leopoldine and the
animals to keep her company; but lonely she was for all that, crying
nearly all the time and shaking her head at herself. Only once in all
her life before had she felt so moved, and this day called it to mind;
it was when she had lain in her bed and throttled a newborn child.

Where were Isak and his son? They had not been idle; no, they had
st