Of course troubles would come upon her.

What else could she expect?
Had she not endeavoured to throw behind her and to trample under foot all that she had learned from her infancy under the guidance of St Nicholas?
Of course the saint would desert her.

The very sound of the chime told her that he was angry with her.

How could she hope again that St John would be good to her?
Was it not to be expected that the black-flowing river over which she understood him to preside would become her enemy and would swallow her up--as Lotta Luxa had predicted?
Before she returned home, when she was quite sure that Anton Trendellsohn had already passed over, she went down upon the bridge, and far enough along the causeway to find herself over the river, and there, crouching down, she looked at the rapid-running silent black stream beneath her.

The waters were very silent and very black, but she could still see or feel that they were running rapidly.