"But, Ragni dear!"
"Oh, yes, as your good friend and comrade, the best you have in the world; would that I might be it for long!"
She pressed closer in to him, as though wishing to put a seal on his silence.
X.
The next day was foggy. Although Ragni had slept well and dreamlessly, her head felt heavy and she went about in the same cheerless way as yesterday; there was no longer any gloss on anything. At first she would not even go to the kitchen; she imagined that from the window there she could see the house where Kule lived. However, she had doubts about it and ventured out; she could not see it. Then she dared not go for her morning round in the garden; he might come driving past. At last she sat down to the piano, but got up again without playing. Then she wrote a letter to Karl; she owed him an answer to two of his, and she must occupy herself with something. She wrote according to the mood she was in, that all kinds of wickedness, lying, treachery, double dealing, arbitrary persecution, cunning, deceit, were like a death-chill. It was that we had to fight against; for life is warmth. Some people were more susceptible to cold than others; just as some could suffer from tubercular disease, and others not, and she was surely one of those unfortunate ones. From the time she was a child she had been exposed to many a cold chill, and at last this rush of cold air was stronger than were her powers of resistance; this was the whole question.
It was not a long letter; for in thinking of her childhood and of all she had gone through later on, until her marriage with Kule, she felt a desire to write it all down, and, when the occasion offered, to give it into Kallem's faithful keeping. She could not tell it him by word of mouth; but could she write it? Yes, now she could. A vague fear urged her on, and she began that same day.
She summoned up all her strength to enable her to be calm and collected when Kallem came home. He looked searchingly at her, but was himself in a great state of excitement about something fresh and quite different. He was about to perform an operation that both the other doctors, and a third who had been called in from some distance, thought doubtful.
One of the most highly thought of men in those parts, a Colonel Baier, had suffered for more than a month from inflammation of the coat of the stomach with symptoms of septicæmia. The military surgeon, Dr. Arentz, was his family doctor, and treated him in the usual way, with water compresses and opium. But the illness was a serious one, and Arentz wished that Kallem should join in the consultation. The wife was opposed to this--not exactly because she was a zealous Christian, but because she had an uncomfortable feeling when with Kallem. She was a good, warm-hearted creature, but hysterical, and such people are generally either violently for, or violently against, one. Tuft, the minister, had once saved her; she was ill from sheer weakness, nothing did her any good, until he came and roused her will by faith--a fact none could dispute; since then she raved about him.
The doctor from the neighbouring district, together with Dr. Kent, were both sent for; but both were honest enough to say that nothing could be done, the colonel was rapidly dying, and an operation would be impossible.
But now her love for her husband proved stronger than her antipathy for Kallem; she had the horses put to the carriage and drove herself to fetch him; he was willing to perform the operation and at once. Without allowing himself to be over-ruled by the others' objections, he opened the abdominal cavity, discovering therein pus, and also opened the large intestine.