She was shut up in the pew, but she could scarcely sit still. She rocked backward and forward and wrung her hands. "Now this will follow me all day," she thought. "Who knows," she went on, growing more and more anxious, "who knows whether it will not follow me through life?"
But the sobbing beside her grew ever deeper and sadder, and at last her heart was touched in spite of herself, and she too began to weep. "She who weeps so must have a terribly heavy grief," she thought. "She must have to bear suffering heavier than any of the living can conceive."
When the service was over and Elsalill had come out of church, she heard the sobbing no longer. But all the way home she wept to herself because her foster sister could find no peace in her grave.
When the time of evensong came Elsalill went again to the church, being constrained to know whether her foster sister still sat there weeping.
And as soon as Elsalill entered the church she heard her, and her soul trembled within her when she caught the sound of the sobbing. She felt her strength forsaking her and she had but one desire—to help the dead girl who was wandering among the living and knew no rest.
When Elsalill came out of church it was still light enough for her to see that one of those who walked before her left bloody footprints in the snow.
"Who can it be so poor that he goes barefoot and leaves bloody footprints in the snow?" she thought.
All those who walked before her seemed to be well-to-do folk. They were neatly dressed and well shod.
But the red footprints were not old. Elsalill could see they were made by one of the group that walked before her. "It is someone who is footsore from a long journey," she thought. "God grant he may not have far to go ere he find shelter and rest."
She had a strong desire to know who it was that had made this weary pilgrimage, and she followed the footprints, though they led her away from her home.