She clutched the arms of the chair so firmly that her knuckles turned white.
Now it had come ... now the doors of the mysterious cellars grated on their rusty hinges and the crime stood revealed ... now the secret recesses in the walls were opened and the old documents bore witness to the right....
Now there was no longer anything between her and him and there was nothing outside him and her. He stood beside her ... she could reach him with her hands. She had no son and no God. His words swept over her like a storm, his eyes were bent upon her....
She wanted to get up and run away, but could not. A sort of dizziness came over her and the ground retreated under her feet.
There were voices which told her that it was surely a very old and forgotten story ... a legend preserved in the archives of the house for the entertainment and instruction of future times, which would possibly judge differently from the one who had set the legend down.
There were others, mocking and exultant voices, which whispered to her that it was all imagination and nothing else ... that Finn belonged to her and not to him, that all his confidence and all his strength would break like glass against that pale, quiet boy, who loved his mother.
There were hymns and psalms and organ-pealing and impressive words about sin and forgiveness and Christ’s heavenly glory. The cool air of the church-vault passed over her burning forehead ... all the bells rang, as though for a soul in need.
She heard it all and it vanished like a sound in the air.
And all the voices were merged before her confused thoughts.
It turned into an evening in the old days ... an evening of lights and gayety. She saw the people of that time ... she heard her own voice....