ry of God.

But either she was tired because she had not slept the whole night,
or the warmth and the closeness and the smell of the candles had a
soporific effect on her as on many another.

She fell asleep, only for a second; she absolutely could not help it.

Perhaps, too, God wished to open to her the gates of the land of
dreams.

In that single second when she slept, she saw her stern father, her
lovely, beautifully-dressed mother, and the ugly, little Petrea
sitting in the church. And the soul of the child was compressed by
an anguish greater than has ever been felt by a grown person. The
priest stood in the pulpit and spoke of the stern, avenging God,
and the child sat pale and trembling, as if the words had been
axe-blows and had gone through its heart.

"Oh, what a God, what a terrible God!"

In the next second she was awake, but she trembled and shuddered,
as after the kiss of death on the church-road. Her heart was once
more caught in the wild grief of her childhood.

She wished to hurry from the church. She must go home and write her
book, her glorious book on the God of peace and love.

***

Nothing else that can be deemed worth mentioning happened to
Mamsell Fredrika before New Year's night. Life and death, like day
and night, reigned in quiet concord over the earth during the last
week of the year, but when New Year's night came, Death took his
sceptre and announced that now old Mamsell Fredrika should belong
to him.

Had they but known it, all the people of Sweden would certainly
have prayed a common prayer to God to be allowed to keep their
purest spirit, their warmest heart. Many homes in many lands where
she had left loving hearts would have watched with despair and
grief. The poor, the sick and the needy would have forgotten their
own wants to remember hers, and all the children who had grown up
blessing her work would have clasped their hands to pray for one
more year for their best friend. One year, that she might make all
fully clear and put the finishing-touch on her life's work.

For Death was too prompt for Mamsell Fredrika.

There was a storm outside on that New Year's night; there was a
storm within her soul. She felt all the agony of life and death
coming to a crisis.

"Anguish!" she sighed, "anguish!"

But the anguish gave way, and peace came, and she whispered softly:
"The love of Christ--the best love--the peace of God--the
everlasting light!"

Yes, that was what s