"Thérèse ... Thérèse ... pray...."
She herself folded her hands.
Thérèse van der Staff knelt down beside the bed. She prayed. She prayed at great length. The old woman, with folded hands, lay dying, very slowly, but calmly.... Mamma Ottilie was sobbing in Lot's arms....
There was a ring at the door downstairs.
"That dear Mr. Hugo!" whispered old Anna. "He's opening the door!"
It was Dr. Thielens, but there was nothing for him to do. The old woman had hardly been ill: it was a light burning out. Since they had told her of Roelofsz' death, since she herself had seen Takma dead, she had not got up and had only still enjoyed, in gratitude, the one great happiness of seeing her daughter Thérèse appear so unexpectedly beside her bed. No one had spoken to her of Takma's death, but speaking was not necessary: she had seen and she knew.... She remembered quite well that Thérèse had become a Catholic and that she herself had sometimes longed for the peace of absolution and the consolation of prayer, which would be wafted by the saints to the throne of God and Mary. And she had asked Thérèse to pray, to pray for her old mother.... She, the mother, did not know that Thérèse knew: she had forgotten, entirely forgotten, the fever, many years ago, when she had been delirious in her daughter's arms.... And, now that she was dying, she reflected, gratefully, that God had been very good to her, notwithstanding her sinful soul, for no one, no one knew. No one, no one had ever known. Her children had never known.... She had suffered punishment, within herself, the punishment of remorse, borne for long old years. She had suffered punishment in the terror which "his" spectre had given her, rising all bloody in the corner of the room, a few times during those years, in the corner by the china-cabinet. Yes, she had suffered punishment!... But still God had been merciful: no one, no one had known; no one, no one knew or would ever know.... Now she was dying, with her hands folded together; and Thérèse, who knew how to pray, prayed....
Softly she sighed her breath away, the old woman; long, long she lay sighing away her breath.... The silence of the room was broken by Ottilie Steyn's sobs and by the sighing of the old woman's breath.... Out of doors, the thaw stole down the window-panes like a stream of tears.
"Oh!" Anna wept. "How long the old lady takes dying!... Hark ... there's a ring!... That kind Mr. Hugo, the dear boy, he's a great help to me, Mrs. Ottilie: listen, he's opening the door again!..."
Hugh did in fact open the door; and in quick succession there entered Harold, Daan and Floor, Stefanie and Anton, Ina, D'Herbourg and the Van Welys. Lot had telephoned to them from the neighbours' to come, because Grandmamma was dying. Aunt Adèle also arrived. She came upstairs, just for a minute, to take a last glance from behind the bed-curtain at the old woman, and then went down again. The last sighing breaths pursued her to the morning-room below. All that she had seen in that brief moment, was the peacefulness of the dying mother and, beside her bed, Thérèse, whom she had not seen for years, praying without looking up. Downstairs, Harold Dercksz had sunk into a chair: he was suffering unendurable pains, his face was twisted with torture and before his eyes he saw his own deathbed: it would not be long now, he had suffered too much lately; and it was only his strength of will that kept him going. Daan Dercksz stood in front of him and whispered in Harold's ear:
"Harold ... Harold ... it is a good thing that Mamma is dying ... and she is dying peacefully ... so it seems...."