Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Margarita Celsing
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Then the door of the sick-room closed, and they
saw her no more.
There is always so much to say to those who are
about to die. Words crowd to your lips when you
know that in the next room lies one whose ears will
soon be closed forever. “Oh, my friend, my friend,”
you would say, “can you forgive me? Can you
believe I have loved you in spite of all? Oh, my
friend, I thank you for all the happiness you have
given me!”
You would say this and much, much more.
But the Lady of Ekeby lay in burning fever,
and the voices of the cavaliers could not reach her.
Would she ever know how they had labored, how
they had taken up her work, how they had saved
the honor and glory of Ekeby? Would she ever
know?
Soon afterwards the cavaliers went down to the
forge. All work was at a standstill, but they threw
more coal and new pig-iron into the furnaces and
prepared for smelting. They did not call the blacksmiths,
who had gone home to enjoy their Christmas,
but worked themselves at the furnaces. If the
Major’s wife would only live till the hammers were
started, they would tell her their story.
Evening came on and night. While they worked,
several of them thought how strange it was that
they should again be spending Christmas Eve in the
forge.
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