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She could scarcely articulate these last words she sank forward, fainting, on Ulrika's breast, and that devout disciple of Luther, forgetting all her former dread of the "white witch of the Altenfjord" only remembered that she held in her arms a helpless woman with all the sorrows and pangs of womanhood thick upon her, and in this act of warm heart-expansion and timely tenderness, it may be that she cleansed her soiled soul in the sight of the God she worshipped, and won a look of pardon from the ever-watchful eyes of Christ.
The long delirium and subsequent weakness, combined with the secret trouble on her mind, had deprived poor Thelma of all resisting power, and she wept on and on in Ulrika's arms till nature was exhausted, and she could weep no longer.
Do you know why?" and she laid her hand on Ulrika's rough arm. "Because they tell me my Philip does not love me any more. They are very cruel to say so, and I think it cannot be true. I want to tell my father what they say because he will know and if it is true, then I wish to die, I could not live! Will you take me to my father?"
This was his humor at the present moment, as he averted his gaze from the pitiful sight of his "King's" fair daughter all desolate and woe-begone, her lovely face pale with anguish, her sweet wits wandering, and her whole demeanor that of one who is lost in some dark forest, and is weary unto death. She studied Ulrika's rough visage attentively, and presently noticed the tears on her cheeks.
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