Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Margarita Celsing
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before Christmas. I would willingly have come here
sooner, but I could not leave my old mother.”
She paused; it was beginning to be difficult for
her to get her breath, but she mastered herself and
continued.
“It is true, Gösta, that I was glad to keep you
here at Ekeby. You make every one wish to be near
you. If you had shown any desire to settle down, I
should have given much power into your hands. I
always hoped you would find a good wife: first
I thought it would be Marienne Sinclaire, for I saw
she loved you even when you lived as a wood-cutter
in the forest. Later I thought it would be Ebba
Dohna, and I went over to Borg one day and told
her that I would leave Ekeby to you if she married
you. If I did wrong in that, you must forgive me.”
Gösta knelt by the bedside with his forehead
against the edge of the bed. He groaned heavily.
“Tell me, Gösta, how you mean to live! How are
you going to keep your wife? Tell me; you know
I have always wished you well!”
Gösta answered her smilingly, though his heart
was breaking with remorse. “In the old days, when
I tried being a workman here at Ekeby, you gave
me a crofter’s hut to live in, and that is still mine.
This autumn I have put it in order. Lövenborg has
helped me, and we have whitewashed the ceiling
and papered the walls and painted them. The little
inner room Lövenborg calls the Countess’s boudoir,
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