Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Young Countess
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nothing but that she was on her way to her mother,
who was waiting for her in the Älfdal forests. She
had no time to rest; she must cross the hundred
and forty miles that separated them; she must go
on, and quickly, for her mother was over ninety
years old, and she would be dead soon. She had
measured out the floor into ells, and then counted
up the ells into fathoms, and the fathoms into
half-miles and miles.
The way seems long and weary to her, and yet
she dare not rest. She wades through deep snow-drifts;
she hears the murmur of the everlasting forests
as she walks onward. She takes her mid-day
and evening meal, and rests in the huts of the Finns
and the charcoal-burner’s shanty. Sometimes, where
there is no human habitation for many, many miles,
she is obliged to gather branches and make a bed
for herself at the root of an overturned pine.
And at last she reaches her destination—the long
miles are all behind her, the forest opens out, and a
red house stands in a snow-covered yard. The
Klarälfven rushes along in a series of small rapids, and
by the well-remembered thunder of its waters she
realizes she is at home.
And her mother, who sees her coming like a beggar
as she desired, comes to meet her.
When the Major’s wife reached this point, she
always looked up, glanced about her, saw the barred
door, and remembered where she was.
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