But Fru Raklitz went on shrieking, “They’re in the chaise; they’re pulling at my skirt; they’ll drag me to the lake.” Long-Bengt had to pull her down by main force and set her on the seat. She struggled so hard he dared not let go of her.
“Go on, Svarten!” he said. “You’ll have to find the way without me holding the reins.”
The horse set off at a trot, while Fru Raklitz, shaking and blubbering, rambled on about their climbing the wheels and trying to get into the chaise.
“You’ll have to run, Svarten,” said Long-Bengt, “or she’ll go clean off her head before we get her home.”
Svarten perhaps understood. Anyhow, he must have wanted to get home to his crib, for he took the hills up and down at top speed.
Long-Bengt sat there with beads of cold sweat standing on his forehead; he tried to assure Fru Raklitz that the trouble was over, but she would not believe him.
“You are very kind, Bengt,” she whimpered; “but don’t tell me we are safe; I hear them, I see them, they are after us, and mean to drive me into the lake.”
When they finally stopped before the front porch at Mårbacka and a maid came out to receive her mistress, she was afraid to step down.
“No, no, not you!” she cried. “You have no power, you can’t save me from them.”
The maid drew back in alarm. She had never heard her mistress speak like that before.