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Oh, this old horse and this helpless, trembling
comrade! She felt herself so helpless, too, she could
have wept. It was impossible to escape from that
dreadful, irritating ringing.
She drew up and got out of the sledge. There
must be an end to it; why should she flee, as if she
were afraid of the wicked, contemptible wretch?
At last she saw a horse’s head appear out of the
gathering twilight, then a whole horse, a sledge, and
in the sledge sat—Sintram.
She noticed, however, that it did not appear as
if it had come along the road, this sledge with horse
and master, but seemed as if it had been created
under her eyes, and appeared just as it was finished.
Anna threw the reins to Ulrika and went to meet
Sintram.
He pulled up his horse.
“See, see,” he cried, “what exceptional luck I
have! Dear Fröken Stjärnhök, may I hand over
my companion into your sledge? He is going to
Berga this evening, and I am in a hurry to be at
home.”
“Where is your companion?” asked Anna.
Sintram threw open the sledge cover, and showed
Anna a man sleeping at the bottom of the sledge.
“He is a little tipsy,” he said, “but it won’t
matter. He is sure to sleep soundly. Any way he is an
acquaintance of yours, Fröken Stjärnhök—it is
Gösta Berling.”
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