"Alas, dearest sister!" exclaimed Margaretha, sorrowfully, "thy childish vanity makes thy soul the sport of dishonourable and traitorous braggarts--the domestic miseries which brought misfortune upon the country as well as on our renowned race could be represented to thee by none but an evil spirit as a source of honour and good fortune. The blood of slaves, not the blood of princes, runs in that man's veins who could picture _that_ to thee as an honour which would make thee to die of grief and shame, did'st thou believe it to be true, and knewest how to prize the birth which is in truth high and honourable. "'Tis pity thou art not a priest, sister!" said Ulrica, with a toss of the head; "if the story of my high birth were only an idle and unfounded report, it could hardly have had such important consequences here in the country; thou must thyself have thought it true, since thou never would'st confide it to me; but I have long had an inkling of it. Old Mother Else dared not come quite out with it; but this you must at any rate allow,--all who have known us and our family have ever bowed much lower to me than to thee, although thou wert the eldest; and I have seen folk point oft to me, when I was gaily clad, and heard them whisper, 'Look, there goes the little princess; look, her pretty eyes twinkle just like King Glipping's.'"[16] "Poor, poor sister!" exclaimed Margaretha, folding her, weeping, in her arms; "and could'st thou endure to hear such hateful words? Were they able to flatter thy vain and childish heart by a glittering title which concealed the bitterest hate and scorn? Poor Ulrica! thy greatest misfortune, after all, is thy soul's blindness--it makes thee even vain and proud of what should be thy grief and shame. Alas! didst thou tremble with me at that tale as at a voice from the bottomless pit I perhaps should know how to comfort and counsel thee; then would I weep with thee, and pray our blessed Lady to give thee the hope she gave me, when at times all the horrors I saw and heard in my childhood seemed like a frightful dream, and it was as though an angel whispered to my soul that the whole was error and illusion.--Ah, mother! mother! how shall I perform that I promised thee, and bring this erring child safe to thine arms?"