“The Saviour?”

“Yes, God’s son, you know; or God Himself.”

“And he is dead?” repeated Azouras to herself with wondering eyes.  “Yes, I believe that; it must be so:  it is godlike to die!”

Miss Rudenskoeld looked at her neighbor with wide-opened eyes.  “You must not misunderstand this subject,” she said.  “It is human to live and want to live; you can see that, too, in the altar-piece, for all the persons who are human beings, like ourselves, are alive.”

“Let us go out!  I feel oppressed by fear—­no, I will tarry here until my fear passes away.  Go, dearest, I will send you word.”

Miss Rudenskoeld took leave of her; went out of the church and over the churchyard to the Eastern Gate, which faces Oden’s lane....

The girl meanwhile stayed inside; came to a corner in the organ stairs; saw people go out little by little; remained unobserved, and finally heard the sexton and the church-keeper go away.  When the last door was closed, Azouras stepped out of her hiding-place.  Shut out from the entire world, severed from all human beings, she found herself the only occupant of the large, light building, into which the sun lavishly poured his gold.

Although she was entirely ignorant of our holy church customs and the meaning of the things she saw around her, she had nevertheless, sometimes in the past, when her mother was in better health, been present at the church service as a pastime, and so remembered one thing and another.  The persons with whom she lived, in the halls and corridors of the opera, hardly ever went to God’s house; and generally speaking, church-going was not practiced much during this time.  No wonder, then, that a child who was not a member of any religious body, and who had never received an enlightening word from any minister, should neglect what the initiated themselves did not attend to assiduously.

She walked up the aisle, and never had the sad, strange feeling of utter loneliness taken hold of her as it did now; it was coupled with the apprehension of a great, overhanging danger.  Her heart beat wildly; she longed unspeakably—­but for what? for her wild free forest out there, where she ran around quick as a deer? or for what?

She walked up toward the choir and approached the altar railing.  “Here at least—­I remember that once—­but that was long ago, and it stands like a shadow before my memory—­I saw many people kneel here:  it must have been of some use to them?  Suppose I did likewise?”

Nevertheless she thought it would be improper for her to kneel down on the decorated cushions around the chancel.  She folded her hands and knelt outside of the choir on the bare stone floor.  But what more was she to do or say now?  Of what use was it all?  Where was she to turn?

She knew nothing.  She looked down into her own thoughts as into an immense, silent dwelling.  Feelings of sorrow and a sense of transiency moved in slow swells, like shining, breaking waves, through her consciousness.  “Oh—­something to lean on—­a help—­where? where? where?”