"For nearly five hours she has been standing up with her eyes raised to heaven, her arms uplifted; she is in torment; she calls upon God. I cannot cross the line; hell has set Vertumni to guard it. They have raised a barrier of iron between her and her old David. If she wants me, what can I do? Help me! Come and pray!"
The poor old man's despair was terrible to behold.
"The glory of God protects her; but if she were to yield to violence?" he said, with persuasive good faith.
"Silence, David, do not talk so wildly. These are facts to be verified.—We will go with you," said the pastor, "and you will see that there are neither Vertumni in the house, nor Satans, nor Sirens."
"Your father is blind," David whispered to Minna.
Wilfrid, on whom his first reading of a treatise by Swedenborg, hasty as it had been, had produced a powerful effect, was already in the passage putting on his snow-shoes. Minna was ready in a moment. They rushed off to the Swedish Castle, leaving the two old men to follow.
"Do you hear that cracking?" said Wilfrid.
"The ice is moving in the fiord," said Minna; "the spring will soon be here."
Wilfrid said no more. When they were in the courtyard, they both felt that they had no right, no strength, to enter the house.
"What do you think of her?" asked Wilfrid.