A strange solemnity shadowed the bonde's features. He turned his eyes upon her steadily.
"Blessing and honor be to the gods of my fathers!" he said—"I found her—living!"
The change that came over Lovisa's face at these words was inexpressibly awful—she grew livid and her lips twitched convulsively.
"Living—living!" she gasped.
"Living!" repeated Güldmar sternly. "Vile hag! Your purpose was frustrated! Your crime destroyed her beauty and shortened her days—but she lived—lived for ten sweet, bitter years, hidden away from all eyes save mine,—mine that never grew tired of looking in her patient, heavenly face! Ten years I held her as one holds a jewel—and, when she died, her death was but falling asleep in these fond arms—"
Lovisa raised herself with a sharp cry, and wrung her hands together—
"Ten years—ten years!" she moaned. "I thought her dead—and she lived on,—beloved and loving all the while. Oh God, God, why hast thou made a mockery of Thy servant!" She rocked herself to and fro—then looked up with an evil smile. "Nay, but she suffered! That was best. It is worse to suffer than to die. Thank God, she suffered!"
"Ay, she suffered!" said Güldmar fiercely, scarce able to restrain himself from seizing upon the miserable old woman and shaking the sinking life out of her—"And had I but guessed who caused her sufferings, by the sword of Odin, I would have—"
Ulrika laid her hand on his suddenly upraised arm.
"Listen!" she whispered. A low wailing, like the cry of a distressed child, swept round and round the house, followed by a gust of wind and a clattering shower of hailstones. A strange blue light leaped up from the sparkling log fire, and cast an unearthly glow through the room. A deep stillness ensued.