“Is it so ill with my child, Eirik, that you know not how to save her, since you say naught,” asked Ragnfrid under her breath.
The priest answered low:
“It seems as though her back were badly hurt, Ragnfrid; I see no better way than to leave all in God’s hands and St. Olav’s—much there is not that I can do.”
“Then must we pray,” cried the mother passionately: “—you know well that Lavrans and I will give you all you ask, and spare nothing if so be your prayers can win God to grant that Ulvhild may live.”
“’Twould seem to me a miracle,” said the priest, “were she to live and have her health again.”
“And is’t not of miracles that you preach late and early—believe you not that a miracle can happen with my child,” she said, as wildly as before.
“’Tis true,” replied the priest, “that miracles happen; but God does not grant the prayers of all—we know not His secret counsel. And think you not, it would be worst of all should this fair little maid grow up marred or crippled?”
Ragnfrid shook her head. She wailed softly:
“I have lost so many, priest: I cannot lose her too!”
“I will do all that I may,” answered the priest, “and pray with all my power. But you must strive, Ragnfrid, to bear the cross God lays upon you.”