In English:
"Help! Help! My mistress kills herself. She has a knife. Help! Help!"
The impossible had occurred. Batsy was not dead, or at least her testimony still remained and had come at Sweetwater's beck from the other side of the sea to save her mistress's son.
. . . . . .
Sweetwater was a made man. And Frederick? In a week he was the idol of the town. In a year—but let Agnes's contented face and happy smile show what he was then. Sweet Agnes, who first despised, then encouraged, then loved him, and who, next to Agatha, commanded the open worship of his heart.
Agatha is first, must be first, as anyone can see who beholds him, on a certain anniversary of each year, bury his face in the long grass which covers the saddest and most passionate heart which ever yielded to the pressure of life's deepest tragedy.