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Ulrika's face grew paler, and the hand that
grasped the folds of her shawl trembled violently. She made an effort,
however, to appear composed, as she answered--"I have sworn to obey you,
Lovisa,--and I will. But tell me one thing--how do you know that Thelma
Gueldmar is indeed a witch?"
"How do I know?" almost yelled Lovisa. "Have I lived all these years for
nothing? Look at her! Am _I_ like her? Are _you_ like her? Are any of
the honest women of the neighborhood like her? Meet her on the hills
with knives and pins,--prick her, and see if the blood will flow! I
swear it will not--not one drop! Her skin is too white; there is no
blood in those veins--only fire! Look at the pink in her cheeks,--the
transparency of her flesh,--the glittering light in her eyes, the gold
of her hair, it is all devil's work, it is not human, it is not natural!
I have watched her,--I used to watch her mother, and curse her every
time I saw her--ay! curse her till I was breathless with cursing--"
She stopped abruptly.


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