She made an act of contrition at once by putting
her arms round Ulrika's neck and kissing her--a proceeding which so much
astonished that devout servant of Luther, that her dull eyes filled with
tears.
"Forgive me!" said the impetuous little maiden. "I was very rude and
very unkind! But if you love the Froeken, you will understand how I
feel--how I wish I could have helped to take care of her. And oh! the
_bonde_!"--here she gave way to a fresh burst of tears--"the dear, good,
kind, brave _bonde_! That he should be dead!--oh! it is too cruel--too
dreadful--I can hardly believe it!"
Ulrika patted her consolingly on the shoulder, but said nothing--and
Valdemar sighed. Britta sought for her handkerchief, and dried her
eyes--but, after a minute, began to cry again as recklessly as ever.
"And now"--she gasped--"if the Froeken--dies--I will die too. I will--you
see if I don't! I _w-w-won't_ live--without her!"
And such a big sob broke from her heaving bosom that it threatened to
burst her trimly laced little bodice.
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