“Even so, Orga. We suffer by our own carelessness and folly, my love: and it makes us neither wiser nor better to charge the consequence upon evil spirits;—to charge our good God with permitting revengeful beings to torment us, instead of learning from his chastisements to sin in the same way no more.”
“But, mother, if you are right, how very far wrong all these others are!”
“It is but little, my child, that the wisest of us knows: but there is a whole eternity before us, every one, to grow wise in. Some,” and she looked towards Oddo, “may outgrow their mistakes here; and others,” looking at old Peder, “are travelling fast towards a place where everybody is wiser than years or education can make us here. Your father and I do wish, for Frolich and you, that you should rest your reverence, your hopes and fears, on none but the good God. Do we not know that not even a sparrow falleth to the ground without his will?”
“Poor Erica would be less miserable if she could think so,” sighed Orga. “She will die soon, if she goes on to suffer as she does. I wish the good bishop would come: for I do not think M. Kollsen gives her any comfort. Look now! what can she have to say to Hund?”
What Erica had to say to Hund was, “I believe some of the things you have told. I believe that you did not lay hands on Rolf.”
“Bless you! Bless you for that!” interrupted Hund, almost forgetting how far he really was guilty in the satisfaction of hearing these words from the lips that spoke them.
“Tell me, then,” proceeded Erica, “how you believe he really perished.—Do you fully believe he perished?”
“I believe,” whispered Hund, “that the strong hand pulled him down—down to the bottom.”
“I knew it,” said Erica, turning away.
“Erica,—one word,” exclaimed Hund. “I must stay here—I am very miserable, and I must stay here, and work and work till I get some comfort. But you must tell me how you think of me—you must say that you do not hate me.”