"Merciful Lord, I come to Thee; Help, if there can be help for me; Though by the mire of sin defiled, I'm still thine own dear ransomed child."[8] "Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldest come under my roof; but speak the word only"--He flung himself down, hid his face in his hands, and sobbed convulsively. Long he lay thus, and then he repeated word for word from the Bible, as he had learned it probably more than twenty years before: "Then she came and worshiped Him, saying, Lord, help me! But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs. And she said, Truth, Lord, yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master's table!" He was silent now, and dissolved in a flood of tears. The mother had awakened long since, but had not dared raise her eyes, now that her husband was weeping like one who is saved; she leaned on her elbows and looked up. But scarcely had Nils descried her, than he shrieked out: "Are you staring at me; you, too?--you want to see, I suppose, what you have brought me to. Aye, this is the way I look, exactly so!" He rose up, and she hid herself under the robe. "No, do not hide, I will find you easily enough," said he, extending his right hand, and groping his way along with outstretched forefinger. "Tickle, tickle!" said he, as he drew off the covers and placed his finger on her throat. "Father!" said Arne. "Oh dear! how shriveled up and thin you have grown. There is not much flesh here. Tickle, tickle." The mother convulsively seized his hand with both of hers, but could not free herself, and so rolled herself into a ball. "Father!" said Arne. "So life has come into you now. How she writhes, the fright! Tickle, tickle!" "Father!" said Arne. The room seemed to swim about him. "Tickle, I say!" She let go his hands and gave up. "Father!" shouted Arne. He sprang to the corner, where stood an axe. "It is only from obstinacy that you do not scream. You had better not do so either; I have taken such a frightful fancy. Tickle, tickle!" "Father!" shrieked Arne, seizing the axe, but remained standing as though nailed to the spot, for at that moment the father drew himself up, gave a piercing cry, clutched at his breast, and fell over. "Jesus Christ!" said he, and lay quite still. Arne knew not where he stood or what he stood over; he waited, as it were, for the room to burst asunder, and for a strong light to break in somewhere. The mother began to draw her breath heavily, as though she were rolling off some great weight. She finally half rose, and saw the father lying stretched out on the floor, the son standing beside him with an axe. "Merciful Lord, what have you done?" she shrieked, and started up out of bed, threw her skirt about her, and came nearer; then Arne felt as if his tongue were unloosed. "He fell down himself," said he.