So he went down again and met the doctor coming in. He, too, had the professional cheerfulness so difficult to endure.
“Take a drink,” he advised, “and go out for a walk. We don’t need you!”
He went back into his study once more, and was surprised to see the brother still there. He had forgotten all about him. He poured out a drink for him, too, and sat down, very glad to have someone with him. He became fictitiously cheerful to hide his anguish. And every time he heard a footstep overhead, his heart bounded horribly.
He poured out a second glass of brandy for each of them, and was sorry to see the misery on the face of the other, not to be dispelled by many drinks. He tried to console him, said, after all, it was a perfectly natural thing—a beautiful thing. But didn’t believe it himself. There wasn’t—there couldn’t be beauty in the bestial agony of a poor little woman. It was natural enough, natural as an owl crunching the bones of a rabbit....
Suddenly there was a long, horrible groan from upstairs. Mr. Petersen turned pale, and reached blindly for the brandy.
“My God!” he muttered. “This is——” But was cut short by a frantic clutch at his arm. The brother stood swaying like a reed; suddenly collapsed and fell at his feet unconscious.
IV
He was fully occupied with this other sufferer for a long time. He did all the proper things, threw water over him, slapped his hands, forced brandy down his throat, until he revived. Then he fetched Mrs. Hansen and she made him drink hot soup and eat bread and butter. There wasn’t a sound upstairs. Resolutely Mr. Petersen kept his mind away from Minnie, and clung to Mrs. Hansen, followed her wherever she went. Her calmness, her ordinariness solaced, as well as the fact that she was a woman. He questioned her minutely about Alec and what she thought he needed, without listening to her replies. It was only her reassuring voice he needed.
“There now!” she exclaimed. “Mr. Petersen, the doctor’s coming down.”
“She’s dead!” he thought.