“My poor child,” said the old doctor kindly, “if he is in England it would be of no possible use; he would not be in time.”
She covered her face with her hands, for the first time utterly breaking down.
“Oh! is there no hope?” she sobbed. “No hope at all?”
“Remember how much he is spared,” said the doctor gently. “He will not suffer. He will not suffer at all any more.”
And so it proved; for while many went and came, and while the bad news of the bankruptcy caused Herr Grönvold to pace the room like one distracted, and while Sigrid and Swanhild kept their sad watch, Herr Falck lay in painless quiet—his face so calm that, had it not been for an occasional tremor passing through the paralyzed limbs, they would almost have thought he was already dead.
The hours passed on. At length little Swanhild, who had crouched down on the floor with her head in Sigrid’s lap, became conscious of a sort of stir in the room. She looked up and saw that the doctor was bending over her father.
“It is over,” he said, in a hushed voice as he stood up and glanced toward the two girls.
And Swanhild, who had never seen any one die, but had read in books of death struggles and death agonies, was filled with a great wonder.
“It was so quiet,” she said, afterward to her sister. “I never knew people died like that; I don’t think I shall ever feel afraid about dying again. But oh, Sigrid!” and the child broke into a passion of tears, “we have got to go on living all alone—all alone!”
Sigrid’s breast heaved. Alas! the poor child little knew all the troubles that were before them; as far as possible she must try to shield her from the knowledge.