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Unutterable scorn flashed from under her frowning
eyebrows upon him.
“You would make me the wife of a suicide?”
His face grew angry.
“Elizabeth, let us go out into the silent forest and
talk together.”
“Why should not these people hear us?” she
cried in a shrill tone. “Are we better than they?
Have any of them caused more trouble and sorrow
than we have? They are the children of the forest
and wayside, and are hated by every man. Let them
hear what sin and sorrow follow even the master of
Ekeby, the beloved Gösta Berling. Do you think
your wife considers herself better than they are—or
do you consider yourself better?”
He raised himself painfully on his elbows, and
looked at her with rising defiance. “I am not so
worthless as you think!”
Then she heard the story of those two days. All
the first day Gösta had wandered about the forest,
deeply conscience-stricken. He could not bear
to meet the eyes of a fellow-creature. But he did
not think of dying. He meant to go into a distant
country. On Sunday he came down from the hills
and went to Broby church. Once again he wanted
to see the people, the poor hungry Löfsjö people,
whom he had dreamed to serve when he sat by the
shame-stack of the Broby parson, and whom he had
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