She must jump
forth boldly, or the river would not take her. Ah! what if it were so--
that the saint who stood over her, and whose cross she had so lately
kissed, would not let her perish from beneath his feet? In these
moments her mind wandered in a maze of religious doubts and fears, and
she entertained, unconsciously, enough of doctrinal scepticism to found
a school of freethinkers. Could it be that God would punish her with
everlasting torments because in her agony she was driven to this as her
only mode of relief? Would there be no measuring of her sins against
her sorrows, and no account taken of the simplicity of her life? She
looked up towards heaven, not praying in words, but with a prayer in
her heart. For her there could be no absolution, no final blessing. The
act of her going would be an act of terrible sin. But God would know
all, and would surely take some measure of her case. He could save her
if He would, despite every priest in Prague. More than one passenger
had walked by while she was crouching in her niche beneath the statue--
had passed by and had not seen her.
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