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Stjärnhök. The girl went pale, but said not a word.
Mayhap she was struggling to silence inward voices,
which there, on the grave of the dead, had already
begun to whisper that now, at last, she was free.
“The fault is yours!” cried the mother.
The girl shrank as from a blow.
“Anna Stjärnhök, you were once proud and
self-willed; then you played with my son, you won
him, and cast him aside. He, like others, had to
suffer it. Perhaps, too, he and we loved your money
as much as we loved you. Then you came again,
bringing blessings to our home; you were so strong
and good, so gentle and patient! You cherished us
with love, you made us so happy, Anna, that we
poor beings lay at your feet. And yet I have wished
that you had not come, for then there would have
been no need of my asking God to shorten my
son’s life. Last winter he could have borne your
loss, but after he had learned to know you as you
are, it would have killed him.
“Know this, Anna Stjärnhök, who to-day have
put on your bridal dress to follow my son to his
grave, you would never have been allowed to
accompany him to the church in that array, for you
loved him not.
“I felt all the while that you had come to us out
of pity, that you might relieve our misery. You
did not love him! Think you that I do not know
love, when I see it, and perceive when it is lacking?
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