She had often thought it wouldn't be hard even to die,
if only she could sit on somebody's lap and clasp somebody around the
neck; but during all her childhood nobody had loved her, and she had had
no home. She couldn't say how often she had wept alone. Her longing had
always and always been to have somebody that she could love with all her
heart and all her soul; to find somebody on whose breast she could hide
her head at all times. She had never found a chum to satisfy her
longing. And so when folks talked to her about marrying, she had thought
she never would unless she could believe from the bottom of her heart
that she had found the breast on which to lay her head in joy and
sorrow, and which would be true to her in life and death. But she had
found none that she could have such faith in. She loved Uli, had loved
him long, more than she could say; but this faith in him she hadn't yet
been able to have. And if she was deceived this time, if Uli's love and
loyalty weren't true and genuine, then her last hope would be gone, then
she'd never find the breast she sought, and would have to die unhappy.
That was why she was so afraid, and she begged them on her knees to
leave her in peace, so that she could consider thoroughly what was best
for her to do. Oh, they didn't know how a poor orphan felt, that had
never sat on her father's lap, or been kissed by her mother!
"You're a dear silly child," said her aunt, wiping her wet cheeks.
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