"But what is this?"
"It is our daughter," answered the woman, looking at him in astonishment.
"What?… But the Provst said"… The curate began to stammer. In his shyness he kept his back to the bed, for the young girl lay peasant fashion, only in her chemise, and in her fever had thrown both her bare arms outside the quilt.
"But it was an elderly man who was ill.… The Provst said.… Let me see—wasn't his name Anders Jörgen?"
"Me!" burst out the man on hearing his name, and looked up confusedly with his small half blind eyes. "I'm beholden to ye for th' inquiry, but I'm all right."
"But then it is altogether a misunderstanding.…"
"Yes, it is our daughter Hansine," continued the woman quietly, and then she began to relate how the illness came on three days ago, with pains in the back and loins. At first they didn't think anything of it; but the pains went into the neck, and the night before, their daughter suddenly became so much worse that they had to send for the doctor. When he came, he shook his head, and even at mid-day he said it might turn to anything.… But now he thought the worst was over.
During this history the curate had time to recover somewhat from his first surprise. He
