Ingmar Ingmarsson had arrived in the city, and was walking slowly
toward the big prison house, which was beautifully situated on the
crest of a hill overlooking the public park. He did not glance
about him, but went with eyes downcast, dragging himself along with
as much difficulty as though he were some feeble old man. He had
left off his usual picturesque peasant garb on this occasion, and
was wearing a black cloth suit and a starched shirt which he had
already crumpled. He felt very solemn, yet all the while he was
anxious and reluctant.
On coming to the gravelled yard in front of the jail he saw a guard
on duty and asked him if this was not the day that Brita Ericsson
was to be discharged.
"Yes, I think there is a woman coming out to-day," the guard
answered.
"One who has been in for infanticide," Ingmar explained.
"Oh, that one! Yes, she'll be out this forenoon."
Ingmar stationed himself under a tree, to wait. Not for a second
did he take his eyes off the prison gate. "I dare say there are
some among those who have gone in there that haven't fared any too
well," he thought. "I don't want to brag, but maybe there's many a
one on the inside that has suffered less than I who am outside.
Well, I declare, Big Ingmar has brought me here to fetch my bride
from the prison house," he remarked to himself. "But I can't say
that little Ingmar is overpleased at the thought; he would have
liked seeing her pass through a gate of honour instead, with her
mother standing by her side, to give her to the bridegroom. And
then they should have driven to the church in a flower-trimmed
chaise, followed by a big bridal procession, and she should have
sat beside him dressed as a bride, and smiling under her bridal
crown."
The gate opened several times. First, a chaplain come out, then it
was the wife of the governor of the prison, and then some servants
who were going to town. Finally Brita came. When the gate opened he
felt a cramp at the heart. "It is she," he thought. His eyes
dropped. He was as if paralyzed, and could not move. When he had
recovered himself, he looked up; she was then standing on the steps
outside the gate.
She stood there a moment, quite still; she had pushed back her
headshawl and, with eyes that were clear and open, she looked out
across the landscape. The prison stood on high ground, and beyond
the town and the stretches of forest she could see her native
hills.
Suddenly she seemed to be shaken by some unseen force; she covered
her face with her hands and sank down upon the stone step. Ingmar
could hear her sobs from where he stood.
Presently he went over to her, and waited. She was crying so hard
that she seemed deaf to every other sound; and he had to stand
there a long time. At last he said:
"Don't cry like that, Brita!"