"If it could have brought us all together once more—but no message—nothing—I cannot understand—my only child."
Nearer and nearer came the storm. The rain pounded on the shingles and pattered loudly against the windows. The wind howled around the eves, and the old house rattled and shook in spite of its solid foundation.
Marta, still brooding over Kathrien like a motherly hen over her chicken, shuddered at the rattling of the window blinds.
From the midst of the general tumult a new sound detached itself—a sharp double rap from the old-fashioned knocker.
"Och!" cried Marta. "It must be Pastor and the others! You don't feel much like seeing visitors, my lamb. Run away now before I let 'em in—and bathe your eyes in lavender water."
She hurried to the front door, and Kathrien, at once brought to herself, hastened upstairs to her room.
As Marta opened wide the door, Mr. Batholommey and Colonel Lawton (Peter Grimm's former lawyer) seemed fairly blown into the hall.
"Good-evening, Marta," boomed the clergyman's unctuous tones. "The elements are indeed at war to-night! I trust the household is well?"
Marta curtseyed bobbingly to both men as she said:
"Yes, sir, thank you, Mr. Batholommey, only poor little Willem, sir. He's strange and not like himself, sir. The doctor was in and out through the day, and now he's here again—upstairs with Willem."