"Don't, for God's sake,
hate me! You don't know what I have suffered! I was mad, I think, at the
time--I flung the child in the Fjord to drown;--your father, Olaf
Gueldmar, rescued him. I never knew that till long after;--for years the
crime I had committed weighed upon my soul,--I prayed and strove with
the Lord for pardon, but always, always felt that for me there, was no
forgiveness. Lovisa Elsland used to call me "murderess;" she was
right--I was one, or so I thought--till--till that day I met you, Froeken
Thelma, on the hills with Sigurd,--and the lad fought with me." She
shuddered,--and her eyes looked wild. "I recognized him--no matter how!
. . . he bore my mark upon him--he was my son,--_mine_!--the deformed,
crazy creature who yet had wit enough to love _you_--you, whom then I
hated--but now--"
She stopped and advanced a little closer to Thelma's bedside.
"Now, there is nothing I would not do for you, my dear!" she said very
gently. "But you will not need me any more.
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