“That can be enough for now,” answers Anna, for she is one of those unhappy people who live in the anguish of doubt. She has felt it a whole week. She does not know what she wants. What one moment seems right to her the next is wrong. Now she wishes that she had never begun this story.
“I begin to think that you want to deceive me, Anna. Do you not understand that I must hear the end of this story?”
“There is not much more to tell.—The hour of strife was come for Ebba Dohna. Love raised itself against love, earth against heaven.
“Countess Märta told her of the wonderful journey which the young man had made for her sake, and she said to her that she, as a reward, had given him her hand.
“Ebba was so much better that she lay dressed on a sofa. She was weak and pale, and even more silent than usual.
“When she heard those words she lifted her brown eyes reproachfully to her mother, and said to her:—
“‘Mamma, have you given me to a dismissed priest, to one who has forfeited his right to serve God, to a man who has been a thief, a beggar?’
“‘But, child, who has told you that? I thought you knew nothing of it.’
“‘I heard your guests speaking of him the day I was taken ill.’
“‘But, child, remember that he has saved your life!’