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“Open the door, Sören, open the door, or I’ll call the
servants!”
Sören made no answer, but calmly took a bit of pitchy
twine from his pocket and proceeded to tie the latch with
it, while he held the door with his knee and shoulder. Her
threat of calling the other servants did not alarm him, for
he knew they were all haymaking in the outlying fields.
Marie hammered at the door with all her might.
“Merciful God!” she cried. “Why don’t you come out!
I love you as much as it’s possible for one human being to
love another! I love you, love you, love you—oh, he doesn’t
believe me! What shall I do—miserable wretch that I am!”
Sören did not hear her, for he had passed through the
large common room into the little chamber in the rear,
where he and the gamekeeper usually slept. This was where
he meant to carry out his purpose, but then it occurred to
him that it would be a pity for the gamekeeper; it would
be better if he killed himself in the other room, where a
number of them slept together. He went out into the large
room again.
“Sören, Sören, let me in, let me in! Oh, please open the
door! No, no, oh, he’s hanging himself, and here I stand.
Oh, for God Almighty’s sake, Sören, open the door! I have
loved you from the first moment I saw you! Can’t you hear
me? There’s no one I’m so fond of as you, Sören, no one—no
one in the world, Sören!”
“Is ’t true?” asked Soren’s voice, hoarse and
unrecognizable, close to the door.
“Oh, God be praised for evermore! Yes, yes, yes, it is
true, it is true; I swear the strongest oath there is in the
world that I love you with my whole soul. Oh, God be
praised for evermore—”
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