But Ragna insisted, she would know, she was not superstitious; she only wanted to see if it would come true.
"It will come true—it always does," said Ingeborg sadly.
"Then tell me, I'm not afraid."
Ingeborg hesitated, then seeing that Ragna was in earnest:
"I will tell some of it, but I do not see very clearly. You are going away, to begin with, I see you with Aunt Gitta and there are many people but their faces are shadows. Then you go away farther still, where the sun is hot—it dazzles you, and there is a man—or is it a greyhound?" Ragna started. "Yes, it is a man, but there is a greyhound and a hare and some stone arches, and you are very sad after that, Ragna. But the man goes away and there is another man with eyes like coals, and he hates you—he puts chains on you, and you can't break them, and you never come home any more—" Her voice died away.
Ragna stood spellbound: a greyhound and a hare—her dream! And the rest, the chains, the man with the burning eyes! She shivered; it was as though the shadow of a dark wing had passed over her, her flesh crept. Neither spoke for some time; it grew darker.
A maidservant entered the room with a light. Ragna shook herself to throw off the incubus. The maid began to speak of the Grandmother, of how good she had been, and the girls looked at one another ashamed—they had quite forgotten it all for the moment.
"Come, Ingeborg," said Ragna, "let us go down again." Hand in hand they descended the stair.