He and the warders were asked to come in and dine.  I felt I must see if it were really possible for him to eat.  Yes, he ate and chatted just like the rest, and for a time I forgot my terror.  But no sooner was I outside again and alone than I fell to thinking of it with might and main, and it seemed to me very hard that her words, “But you mustn’t do him any harm,” should be so utterly disregarded.  I felt I must go in and say as much to father.  But he, slow and serious, and the clerk, little and dapper, were walking up and down the room deep in conversation, far, far above all my misery.  I slipped out again, and stroked the coat which Peer had taken off.

The inquiry was held in my schoolroom.  My master acted as secretary to the court, and I got leave to sit there and listen.  For the matter of that, the clerk spoke in so loud a voice that it could be heard through the open window by every one in the place.  The unfortunate youth was called upon to account for the entire day on which the murder had been committed—­for every hour of that Sunday.  He denied that he had killed her—­denied it with the utmost emphasis:  “It was not he who had done it.”  The magistrate’s examination was both acutely and kindly conducted; Peer was moved to tears, but no confession could be drawn from him.

“This will be a long business, madam,” said the magistrate to my mother when the first day’s inquiry was over.  But later in the evening Peer’s sister came to the parsonage and remained with him all through the night.  They were heard whispering and crying unceasingly.  In the morning Peer was pale and silent; before the court he took all the blame upon himself.

The way it had happened, he explained, was that he had been her lover, and that his mother had strongly disapproved of the connection.  So one Sunday as the girl, prayer-book in hand, was going to church, he met her in the wood.  They sat down, and he asked if she intended to declare him the father of the child she was about to bear; for it was in this time of sore necessity that she was going to seek consolation in the church.  She replied that she could accuse no one else.  He spoke of the shame it would bring on him, and how annoyed his mother already was.  Yes, yes, she knew that too well.  His mother was very angry with her; and she thought it strange of Peer that he didn’t stand up for her; he knew best whose fault it was that all this had happened.  But Peer hinted that she had been compliant to others as well as to himself, and therefore he would not submit to being given out as the child’s father.  He tried to make her angry, but did not succeed, she was so gentle.  He had an axe lying concealed in the heather near where he sat.  He took it and struck her on the head from behind.  She did not lose consciousness at once, but tried to defend herself while she begged for her life.  He could give no clear account of what happened afterwards.  It seemed almost as though he himself had lost consciousness.  As to the other events, he accepted the account of them which had been given in the evidence against him.