Prayer
with her was a sort of fanatical wrestling of the body as well as of the
soul,--she was never contented unless by means of groans and contortions
she could manage to work up by degrees into a condition of hysteria
resembling a mild epileptic attack, in which state alone she considered
herself worthy to approach the Deity. On this Occasion she had some
difficulty to attain the desired result--her soul, as she herself
expressed it, was "dry"--and her thoughts wandered,--though she pinched
her neck and arms with the hard resoluteness of a sworn flagellant, and
groaned, "Lord, have mercy on me a sinner!" with indefatigable
earnestness. She was considerably startled in the midst of these
energetic devotions by a sudden jangling of sledge--bells, and aloud
knocking--a knocking which threatened to break down the door of the
small and humble house she inhabited. Hastily donning the coarse gown
and bodice she had recently taken off in order to administer
chastisement to her own flesh more thoroughly, she unfastened her bolts
and bars, and, lifting the latch, was confronted by Valdemar Svensen,
who, nearly breathless with swift driving through the snow-storm, cried
out in quick gasps--
"Come with me--come! She is dying!"
"God help the man!" exclaimed Ulrika startled.
Pages:
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009