The daughter started up.
“Mother, mother! Not him, not him, but me, me—not him!”
“Ah, I know the crowd! I know who is to blame!”
“No, mother! It is he who has been deceived and by me—it is I who have deceived him!”
Hurriedly, and amid sobs, she told all; he should not be suspected one moment; she told about Gunnar and what she had asked of him without actually understanding it; then about Yngve Vold’s unlucky gold chain, which had so deeply entangled her, and then about Ödegaard and how, when she saw him, she had forgotten all else. She could not understand how it had come to pass, but that it was a monstrous sin against them all, and especially against him who had taken her under his protection, and given her all that one mortal can give another, she well knew. After having long remained in silence, the mother replied:—
“And is there no sin against me? Where have I been during all this time that you have never said a word to me?”
“Oh, mother, help me; do not be hard on me now. I feel that I shall suffer for this as long as I live; and so I will pray God to let
