Sera Ketill stood in the pulpit, watching his people leave the church. He made no movement, but followed all with observant eyes.
He saw how the scene had affected his wife, and that she had sought refuge with his father. And he understood that he had lost her for ever. Then, marking the change in her expression, he suspected the truth: that she had lost her reason on hearing her husband denounced by his own father.
He listened to his father’s curse, and saw him sink to the ground and die. He heard the congregation singing hymns outside the church. Then gradually all sound died away ... the last he heard was a vague murmur—fragments of the singing borne by errant winds towards him through the open door.
Still he remained in the pulpit, leaning on his arms, as if nothing had happened. He did not think. A scornful smile seemed frozen on his lips; he suddenly realized that he was sneering, and wondered how long he had been doing so. And then it came to him painfully that he could not rest until he knew what it was all about; he must wake, and look at things and see. And suddenly it dawned upon him that he was sneering at himself. He drew himself up and laughed aloud, as if in an endeavour to break the terrible stillness of the church. He marked the harsh, uncanny sound of his own laughter. And, stepping down from the pulpit, he left the church.
From the churchyard he could see the funeral procession moving towards Borg. He watched it for a while, tried to laugh, but in vain. He went home, and found the house empty. Looked into the servants’ quarters—the place was deserted. He went out again and searched about outside.
Coming back to the house, after making sure that there was not a soul to be seen, he found a dog beside the door. The animal slunk away. Ketill spoke to it softly, beckoned to it, trying with friendly voice and gesture to call it to him. But the dog would not come, and finally ran away.
Ketill looked after it without any sign of emotion. Then he went indoors and sat down at his writing-table. He sat there all through the day, still wearing his vestments. Thoughts crowded in upon him—thoughts that he could not drive away.
He had sinned against life, taking the gift of life in vain. And now he was alone, an outcast, rejected and despised by all. Even a dog disowned him.