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called to him: “Oh, don’t, Sören, please don’t!” He lifted
the gun, and Anne rushed off through the snow with a wild,
shrill scream.
The shot fell; Anne went on running, then put her hand
to her cheek and sank down with a cry of horror.
Sören threw down the gun and ran to the side of the
house. He found the trap-door closed. Then on to the front
door, in and through all the rooms, till he found Marie.
“’T is all over!” he whispered, pale as a corpse.
“Are they after you, Sören?”
“No, I’ve shot her.”
“Anne? Oh, what will become of us! Run, Sören, run—take
a horse and get away, quick, quick! Take the gray
one!”
Sören fled. A moment later he was galloping out of the
gate. He was scarcely halfway to Foulum, when people
came back from church. Palle Dyre at once asked where
Sören was going.
“There is some one lying out in the garden, moaning,”
said Marie. She trembled in every limb and could hardly
stand on her feet.
Palle and one of the men carried Anne in. Her screams
could be heard far and wide, but the hurt was not really
serious. The gun had only been loaded with grapeshot, of
which a few had gone through her cheek and a few more
had settled in her shoulder, but as she bled freely and cried
piteously, a coach was sent to Viborg for the barber-surgeon.
When she had gathered her wits together a little, Palle
Dyre questioned her about how it had happened, and was
told not only that, but the whole story of the affair
between Sören and Marie.
As soon as he came out of the sick-room all the servants
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