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her described scores of times, and he knew at once
he had fallen into the hands of the famous lady of
the Manor, the Major’s wife at Ekeby.
She was the most powerful woman in Värmland,
the owner of seven foundries, accustomed to
command and to be obeyed; and he was only a
miserably weak man, waiting for death, destitute of
everything, knowing full well that every path was too
steep for him, every room too narrow, and he
trembled as she looked at him.
She stood for some time gazing silently at the
human wreck before her—at the red, swollen hands,
the enfeebled body, and the splendid head, which
even in its downfall was radiant in wild beauty.
“You are Gösta Berling, the mad parson?” she
asked.
The beggar was silent.
“I am the Major’s wife at Ekeby!”
A shudder ran through him. He clasped his
hands tremblingly and lifted beseeching eyes. What
would she do? Would she compel him to live? He
trembled before her power. And he had so nearly
gained the peace of the everlasting forest!
She opened the conversation by saying that the
child had received her sledge and sack of flour, and
that she had a refuge for him, as for so many other
waifs and strays, in the cavaliers’ wing at Ekeby
Hall. She offered him a life of idleness and pleasure,
but he answered that he must die.
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