She stepped hastily forward to take it from him with flushed cheeks and trembling hands; it seemed an eternity before she had torn it open, and the few words within half paralyzed her.
For a moment all seemed to stand still, then she became conscious of the voices around.
“Oh, we were almost blown away at Fokstuen,” said one.
“But such flatbrod as they make there!” said another, “we brought away quite a tinful.”
“Nothing wrong, my dear, I hope?” said Fru Grönvold. “Child, child, what is it? Let me read.”
Then came an almost irresistible impulse to burst into a flood of tears, checked only by the presence of so many strangers, and by the necessity of explaining to her aunt.
“It is in English,” she said in a trembling voice. “From Mr. Boniface. It says only, ‘Frithiof dangerously ill. Come.’”
“Poor child! you shall go at once,” said Fru Grönvold. “What can be wrong with Frithiof? Dangerously ill! See, it was sent from London yesterday. You shall not lose a moment, my dear. Here is your uncle, I’ll tell him everything, and do you go and pack what things you need.”
The girl obeyed; it seemed as if when once she had moved she was capable only of the one fear—the terrible fear lest she should miss the English steamer. Already it was far too late to think of catching the Thursday steamer from Christiania to London, but she must strain every nerve to catch the next one. Like one in a frightful dream she hastily packed, while Swanhild ran to and fro on messages, her tears falling fast, for she, poor little soul, would be left behind, since it was impossible that she should be taken to London lodgings, where, for aught they knew, Frithiof might be laid up with some infectious illness. In all her terrible anxiety Sigrid felt for the child, and with a keen pang remembered that she had not set her the best of examples, and that all her plans for a new life, and for greater sympathy with her aunt, were now at an end. The old life with all its lost opportunities was over—it was over, and she rightly felt that she had failed.
“I have murmured and rebelled,” she thought to herself, “and now God is going to take from me even a chance of making up for it. Oh, how hard it is to try too late!”