"Now, we shall see—we shall see!—And that nonsense about Scharfenberg." He rushed to the door and jerked it open; but bethought himself and walked on tiptoe to the stairs. "Who is there in the hall—you, Thea?"
The little square-built, brown-eyed Thea flew up the stairs.
"Tell Ma to come up," he said, nodding.
Thea looked up at her father: there was something out of the ordinary about him.
When Ma came in, he walked about with the letter behind his back, clearing his throat. There was the suitable deliberate seriousness about him which the situation demanded.
"I have got a letter, Ma—from the sheriff!—Read!—or shall I read?"
He stood leaning against the desk, and went through its three pages, period by period, with great moderation, till he came to the point, then he hurled it out so that it buzzed in the air, and hugged Ma wildly.
"Well, well!—what do you say, Ma? Take a trip when we want to go down to our son-in-law!" He rubbed his hands. "It was a real surprise, Ma,—hm, hm," he began, again clearing his throat. "It is best that we ask Thinka to come up and tell her the contents—don't you think?"
"Ye-es," said Ma huskily, having turned to the door; she could see no help or escape for her any more, poor girl!
The captain walked up and down in the office, waiting. He had the high-spirited, dignified, paternal expression which is completely absorbed in the importance of the moment.