He must have been on his way to Mrs. Dawes with this letter when the seizure occurred, for the door had been opened and he lay close to it.
Mary read the letter twice, then turned towards Mrs. Dawes, who sat crying.
"Well, well, Aunt Eva—it has to be borne."
"Borne? borne? What do you mean? The money loss? Who cares for that? But your father! That man of men—my best friend!"
She watched his closed eyes, weeping all the time, and heaping the best of names and the highest of praise on him—in English. The words in the foreign language seemed to belong to an earlier time; Mary knelt by her father, taking them all in. They told of the days which the two old people had spent together. Each a lament, each an expression of gratitude, they recalled his friendly words, his kind looks, his gifts, his forbearance. They flowed abundant and warm, uttered with the fearlessness of a good conscience; for Mrs. Dawes had tried, as far as it lay in her power, to be to him what he was to her. The more precious the words poured forth in her father's honour over Mary's head, the poorer did they make her feel. For she had been so little to him. Oh, how she repented! oh, how she despaired!
Jörgen Thiis appeared outside the door just as she was rising to her feet. She stooped again, picked up the letter, and was about to give it to him, when Mrs. Dawes, who had also seen him, asked him to help her to her room; she must go to bed. "God only knows if I shall ever get up again! If this is the end with him, it is the end with me too."
Jörgen at once raised the heavy body from the chair and staggered slowly off, supporting it. In Mrs. Dawes's room he rang for a maid; then he went back to Mary. She was standing motionless, holding the letter, which she now handed to him.
He read it carefully and turned pale; for a time he was quite overcome; Mary went a few steps towards him, but this he did not see.
"This has been the cause of the shock," she said.
"Of course," whispered Jörgen, without looking at her. Presently he left the room.