The _bonde_ had listened to her
ravings with something of horror, his ruddy cheeks growing paler.
"By the gods, this is strange!" he muttered. "She seems to speak of my
wife,--yet what can she know of her?"
For some moments there was silence. Lovisa seemed to have exhausted her
strength. Presently, however, she put aside her straggling white hairs
from her forehead, and demanded fiercely--
"Where is my grandchild? Where is Britta?"
Neither Gueldmar nor Ulrika made any reply. But Britta's name recalled
the old woman to herself, and when she spoke again it was quite
collectedly, and in her usual harsh voice. She seemed to forget all that
she had just uttered, for she turned her eyes upon the _bonde_, as
though she had but then perceived him.
"So you are come, Olaf Gueldmar!" she said. "It is well--for the hand of
Death is upon me."
"It is well, indeed, if I can be of service, Lovisa Elsland," responded
Gueldmar, "though I am but a sorry consoler, holding as I do, that death
is the chief blessing, and in no way to be regretted at any time.
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