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It was the great secret wonder of my childhood
that Ulrika Dillner lived through that afternoon.
I could not have done it.
It was fortunate that Anna Stjärnhök drove up
to the house about that time! She found Ulrika
lying on the floor in the salon and brought her back
to consciousness. I should not have been so easy to
bring back to life. I should have been dead.
I hope, dear friends, that you will never see the
tears of the aged, and that you may never stand
helpless when a grey head leans against your breast
to find support, and old hands are clasped upon
yours in silent prayer. May you never see the aged
sink in sorrow which you cannot lighten. For what is
the grief of youth? It has still strength and hope, but
how terrible it is to see the old weep—what despair
you feel when they, who have been the support of
your young life, sink down in helpless misery.
Anna Stjärnhök sat and listened to old Ulrika,
and she saw no way of helping her. The old woman
cried and trembled, her eyes were wild—she
rambled on and talked incoherently, almost as if she
no longer remembered where she was. The thousand
wrinkles which covered her face were twice as
deep as usual, the false curls which hung round her
face were uncurled and disordered by her tears, and
the long, thin figure shook with sobs.
At last Anna felt she must put a stop to it. She
had decided what she would do. She would take
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