"Heaven bless him, and did he?" said Fru Geissler, touched at the thought. She sent things up for Eleseus and Sivert in return—cakes and picture-books and toys. When Isak came back and Inger saw the things, she turned away and cried.
"What is it?" asked Isak.
"Nothing," answered Inger. "Only—she'd have been just a year now, and able to see it all."
"Ay, but you know how it was with her," said Isak, for comfort's sake. "And after all, it may be we'll get off easier than we thought. I've found out where Geissler is now."
Inger looked up. "But how's that going to help us?"
"I don't know…."
Then Isak carried his corn to the mill and had it ground, and brought back flour. Then he turned woodman again, cutting the wood to be ready for next winter. His life was spent in this work and that, according to the season; from the fields to the woods, and back to the fields again. He had worked on the place for six years now, and Inger five; all might have been well, if it were only allowed to last. But it was not. Inger worked at her loom and tended the animals; also, she was often to be heard singing hymns, but it was a pitiful singing; she was like a bell without a tongue.
As soon as the roads were passable, she was sent for down to the village to be examined. Isak had to stay behind. And being there all alone, it came into his mind to go across to Sweden and find out Geissler; the former Lensmand had been kind to them, and might perhaps still lend a helping hand some way to the folks at Sellanraa. But when Inger returned, she had asked about things herself, and learned something of what her sentence was likely to be. Strictly speaking, it was imprisonment for life, Paragraph I. But … After all, she had stood up in the court itself and simply confessed. The two witnesses from the village had looked pityingly at her, and the judge had put his questions kindly; but for all that, she was no match for the bright intellects of the law. Lawyers are great men to simple folk; they can quote paragraph this and section that; they have learned such things by rote, ready to bring out at any moment. Oh, they are great men indeed. And apart from all this knowledge, they are not always devoid of sense; sometimes even not altogether heartless. Inger had no cause to complain of the court; she made no mention of the hare, but when she tearfully explained that she could not be so cruel to her poor deformed child as to let it live, the magistrate nodded, quietly and seriously.
"But," said he, "think of yourself; you have a hare-lip, and it has not spoilt your life."
"No, thanks be to God," was all she said. She could not tell them of all she had suffered in secret as a child, as a young girl.
But the magistrate must have understood something of what it meant; he himself had a club-foot, and could not dance. "As to the sentence," he said, "I hardly know. Really, it should be imprisonment for life, but … I can't say, perhaps we might get it commuted, second or third degree, fifteen to twelve years, or twelve to nine. There's a commission sitting to reform the criminal code, make it more humane, but the final decision won't be ready yet. Anyhow, we must hope for the best," said he.
Inger came back in a state of dull resignation; they had not found it necessary to keep her in confinement meantime. Two months passed; then one evening, when Isak came back from fishing, the Lensmand and his new assistant had been to Sellanraa.
Inger was cheerful, and welcomed her husband kindly, praising his catch, though it was little he had brought home.
"What I was going to say—has any one been here?" he asked.
"Any one been? Why, who should there be?"
"There's fresh footmarks outside. Men with boots on."
"Why—there's been no one but the Lensmand and one other."
"What did they want?"
"You know that without asking."
"Did they come to fetch you?"
"Fetch me? No, 'twas only about the sentence. The Lord is kind, 'tis not so bad as I feared."
"Ah," said Isak eagerly. "Not so long, maybe?"
"No. Only a few years."
"How many years?"
"Why, you might think it a lot, maybe. But I'm thankful to God all the same."
Inger did not say how long it would be. Later that evening Isak asked when they would be coming to fetch her away, but this she could not or would not tell. She had grown thoughtful again, and talked of what was to come; how they would manage she could not think—but she supposed they would have to get Oline to come. And Isak had no better plan to offer.
What had become of Oline, by the way? She had not been up this year as she used to do. Was she going to stay away for ever, now that she had upset everything for them? The working season passed, but Oline did not come—did she expect them to go and fetch her? She would come loitering up of herself, no doubt, the great lump of blubber, the monster.
And at last one day she did. Extraordinary person—it was as nothing whatever had occurred to make ill-feeling between them; she was even knitting a pair of new stockings for Eleseus, she said.
"Just came up to see how you were getting on over here," said she. And it turned out that she had brought her clothes and things up in a sack, and left in the woods close by, ready to stay.
That evening Inger took her husband aside and said: "Didn't you say something about seeking out Geissler? 'Tis in the slack time now."
"Ay," said Isak. "Now that Oline is come, I can go off tomorrow morning, first thing."
Inger was grateful, and thanked him. "And take your money with you," she said—"all you have in the place."
"Why, can't you keep the money here?"
"No," said she.
Inger made up a big parcel of food at once, and Isak woke while it was yet night, and got ready to start. Inger went out on the door-slab to see him off; she did not cry or complain, but only said:
"They may be coming for me now any day."
"You don't know when?"
"No, I can't say. And I don't suppose it will be just yet, but anyhow…. If only you could get hold of Geissler, perhaps he might be able to say something."
What could Geissler do to help them now? Nothing. But Isak went.
Inger—oh, she knew, no doubt, more than she had been willing to say. It might be, too, that she herself had sent for Oline. When Isak came from Sweden, Inger was gone and Oline was there with the two children.
It was dark news for a homecoming. Isak's voice was louder than usual as he asked: "Is she gone?"
"Ay," said Oline.
"What day was it?"
"The day after you left." And Isak knew now that Inger had got him out of the way on purpose—that was why she had persuaded him to take the money with him. Oh, but she might have kept a little for herself, for that long journey!
But the children could think of nothing else but the little pig Isak had brought with him. It was all he had for his trouble; the address he had was out of date, and Geissler was no longer in Sweden, but had returned to Norway and was now in Trondhjem. As for the pig, Isak had carried it in his arms all the way, feeding it with milk from a bottle, and sleeping with it on his breast among the hills. He had been looking forward to Inger's delight when she saw it; now, Eleseus and Sivert played with it, and it was a joy to them. And Isak, watching them, forgot his trouble for the moment. Moreover, Oline had a message from the Lensmand; the State had at last given its decision in the matter of the land at Sellanraa. Isak had only to go down to the office and pay the amount. This was good news, and served to keep him from the worst depth of despair. Tired and worn out as he was, he packed up some food in a bag and set off for the village at once. Maybe he had some little hope of seeing Inger once again before she left there.
But he was disappointed. Inger was gone—for eight years. Isak felt