It all arose, no
doubt, from Inger's state of mind; she had been heavy and religious
all that winter, and it would not pass off. "Want to leave, do
you? Why, then, well and good," said Inger. It was a blessing, the
fulfilment of nightly prayers. Two grown women they were already, what
did they want with this Jensine, fresh as could be and marriageable
and all? Inger thought with a certain displeasure of that same
marriageableness, thinking, maybe, how she had once been the same
herself.
Her deep religiousness did not pass off. She was not full of vice; she
had tasted, sipped, let us say, but 'twas not her intent to persevere
in that way all through her old age, not by any means; Inger turned
aside with horror from the thought. The mine and all its workmen were
no longer there--and Heaven be praised. Virtue was not only tolerable,
but inevitable, it was a necessary thing; ay, a necessary good, a
special grace.
But the world was all awry. Look now, here was Leopoldine, little
Leopoldine, a seedling, a slip of a child, going about bursting
with sinful health; but an arm round her waist and she would fall
helpless--oh, fie! There were spots on her face now, too--a sign in
itself of wild blood; ay, her mother remembered well enough, 'twas the
wild blood would out.
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