“Whatever is the matter with you?” she exclaimed.

“Nothing!” answered Beret, standing staring fixedly at Mildrid, who at last looked away, and got up to go and attend to the cows.

The sisters did not meet again till supper, when they sat opposite to each other.  Mildrid was not able to eat more then a few mouthfuls.  She sat and looked absently at the others, oftenest at Beret, who ate on steadily, gulping down her food like a hungry dog.

“Have you had nothing to eat to-day?” asked Mildrid.

“No!” answered Beret, and ate on.  Presently Mildrid spoke again:  “Have you not been with the herds then?”

“No!” answered her sister and both of the boys.  Before them Mildrid would not ask more, and afterwards her own morbid reflections took possession of her again, and along with them the feeling that she was no fit person to be in charge of Beret.  This was one more added to the reproaches she made to herself all that long summer evening and far into the night.

There she sat, on the bench by the door, till the blood-red clouds changed gradually to cold grey, no peace and no desire for sleep coming to her.  The poor child had never before been in real distress.  Oh, how she prayed!  She stopped and she began again; she repeated prayers that she had learned, and she made up petitions of her own.  At last, utterly exhausted, she went to bed.

There she tried once more to collect her thoughts for a final struggle with the terrible question, Should she give him up or not?  But she had no strength left; she could only say over and over again:  “Help me, O God! help me!” She went on like this for a long time, sometimes saying it in to herself, sometimes out loud.  All at once she got such a fright that she gave a loud scream.  Beret was kneeling up in bed looking at her; her sparkling eyes, hot face, and short breathing showing a terrible state of excitement.

“Who is he?” she whispered, almost threateningly.  Mildrid, crushed by her self-torture, and worn out in soul and body, could not answer; she began to cry.

“Who is he?” repeated the other, closer to her face; “you needn’t try to hide it any longer; I was watching you to-day the whole time!”

Mildrid held up her arms as if to defend herself, but Beret beat them back, looked straight into her eyes, and again repeated, “Who is he, I say?”

“Beret, Beret!” moaned Mildrid; “have I ever been anything but kind to you since you were a little child.  Why are you so cruel to me now that I am in trouble?”

Then Beret, moved by her tears, let go her arms; but her short hard breathing still betrayed her excitement.  “Is it Hans Haugen?” she whispered.

There was a moment of breathless suspense, and then Mildrid whispered back:  “Yes”—­and began to cry again.

Beret drew down her arms once more; she wanted to see her face.  “Why did you not tell me about it, Mildrid?” she asked, with the same fierce eagerness.