nder's imagination builds up into indistinct grandeur.
The poor man there is, moreover, a Catholic in no small degree in his
religious mode of thought and in his superstition. It comes quite
naturally to him, in deadly peril, to promise a wax candle to the
church, or to offer prayer to the Virgin Mary. He knows well enough that
she is dethroned, but nevertheless he piously includes her in his
devotions.

I dwell upon the memories of this church and its surroundings, because
during the two years I stayed at Trondenaes I was so strongly influenced
by their power over the imagination. The hollow ground with the supposed
underground vaults were to me like a covered abyss, full of mysteries,
and in the church--whose silence I often sought, since it lies, with its
strangely thought-absorbing interior, close to the parsonage, and, as a
rule, stood open on account of the college organ practice--daylight
sometimes cast shadows in the aisles and niches as if beings from
another age were moving about.

I made great progress in Latin and Greek under the teaching of the
agreeable, well-informed minister, in whose house I lived, and in other
subjects under one of the masters of the college; but in my leisure
hours I sought the spots which gave so much occupation to my fancy, and
therefore Trondenaes was anything but the right place for my diseased
mind.

My nervous excitability has some connection with the moon's changes as I
have since noticed. At such times the church exercised an almost
irresistible fascination over me; I stole there unnoticed and alone, and
would sit for hours lost in thought over one thing and another,
indistinct creations of my imagination, and among them Susanna's light
form, which sometimes seemed to float towards me, without my ever being
quite able to see her face.

It was late in the spring of the second year I was at Trondenaes, that
one midday, being under the influence of one of these unhealthy moods, I
sat in the church on a raised place near the high altar, meditating,
with Susanna's blue cross in my hand.

My eye fell on a large dark picture on the wall beside the altar, which
I had often seen, but without its having made any special impression on
me. It represented in life-size a martyr who has been cast into a
thorn-bush; the sharp thorns, as long as daggers, pierced his body in
all directions, and he could not utter a complaint, because one great
sharp thorn went into his throat and out at h