Must All End As The Grand Folks Chose It Should; And When Garman And
Worse Were Determined That Nothing Should Come Out, The Magistrate Might
Do Whatever He Liked, But He Would Certainly Never Discover Anything.
This Kind Of Thing Might Be Unpleasant Enough Sometimes, But In This
Chapter 19 Pg 130
Particular Instance It Was Most Fortunate, And The Lesson To Be Learnt
From It All Was--If, Indeed, There Was Any One Who Did Not Know It
Already--That It Is As Well To Be On Good Terms With Grand Folks, Even
If It Does Cost Something.
But No One Would Have Anything To Do With Martin. He Had Escaped
Scot-Free From Those Common Enemies Of Mankind, The Law And The Police,
But He Was A Marked Man, Even Among His Own Friends, And They Did Not
Scruple To Let Him Know Plainly, That The Sooner He Packed Himself Off
Out Of The Country The Better.
Chapter 20 Pg 131
There Was No Hope Of The Young Consul'S Recovery. For A Fortnight He Had
Been Wavering To And Fro. Sometimes It Appeared As If The Right Side
Would Prevail, But Then The Left Got The Upper Hand Again; And Each Time
The Paralysis Seemed To Get A Firmer Hold.
Miss Cordsen Heard The Doctor Say To Richard, "He May Perhaps Linger For
A Few Hours, But He Cannot Live Through The Night." The Old Lady
Remained For A Few Minutes In The Sick-Room, And Then Went Upstairs. Her
Own Apartment Was A Picture Of Old-Fashioned Neatness. Carpets And
Chairs Carefully Covered, Boxes Locked, Nothing Lying About; Everything
Trim, Well Cared For, And Shielded From Prying Eyes.
There Arose An Odour Of Clean Linen And Lavender She Opened The Press,
And In a Little Secret Drawer Behind A Bundle Of Well-Starched
Nightcaps, There Lay Carefully Wrapped Up, A Miniature Portrait In a
Black Frame. It Represented A Young Man Dressed In a Green Frock-Coat,
With A Broad Velvet Collar. The Hair Was Slightly Red, And Brushed Back
In The Fashion Of The Time, In Two Locks In Front Of The Ears. The Eyes
Were Blue And Clear, And The Under Jaw Was Slightly Projecting. Miss
Cordsen Sat A Long Time Gazing At The Portrait, And Tear After Tear
Dropped Down Among The Other Secrets Which Lay Cherished In The Old
Press Among The Linen And Dry Lavender.
Uncle Richard Sat Gazing At His Brother. The Doctor'S Words Had Deprived
Him Of All Hope, But Even Yet He Could Not Bring Himself To Believe That
The End Could Be So Near.
"It Will Soon Be All Over, Richard," Said The Invalid, In a Feeble
Voice.
The _Attache_ Sat Down By The Side Of The Bed, And After A Short
Struggle Broke Into Tears, And Laid His Head On The Coverlid.
"Here Am I, So Strong And Well," He Sobbed, "And Can'T Do Even The
Smallest Thing To Help You! I Have Never Been Anything To You But A
Trouble And A Burden."
Chapter 20 Pg 132
"Nonsense, Dick!" Answered The Consul; "You Have Been Everything To
Me--You And The Business. But I Have Something For Which To Ask Your
Forgiveness Before I Die."
"My Forgiveness?" Uncle Richard Thought He Was Wandering, And Looked Up.
"Yes," Said The Consul, As What Was Almost A Smile Passed Over The
Half-Stiffened Features. "I Have Made A Fool Of You. Your Account Does
Not Exist. It Was Only A Joke. Are You Angry With Me?"
How Could He Possibly Be Angry? He Laid His Face Down Again On The
Withered Hand, And As He Lay There In His Sorrow, With His Curly Head
Buried In The Pillows, He Looked Almost Like A Great Shaggy
Newfoundland.
The Doctor Came Into The Room.
"I Really Cannot Permit Your Brother To Lie So Close To You--It Will
Interfere With Your Breathing; And If You Don'T Wish--"
"My Brother," Said The Young Consul, Interrupting Him In a Voice Which
Bore Some Resemblance To His Business Voice. "I Wish My Brother, Mr.
Richard Garman, To Remain Exactly Where He Is." He Then Added With An
Effort, "Will You Summon My Family?"
The Doctor Left The Room, And A Few Minutes Afterwards The Invalid Drew
A Long Breath, And Said, "Good-Bye, Dick! How Many Happy Days We Have
Had Together Since Our Childhood! You Shall Have All The Burgundy. I
Have Arranged It All. I Should Have Wished To Have Left You Better Off,
But--" A Movement Came Over The Features, Which Feebly Reminded Richard
Of The Gesture He Used When Adjusting His Chin In His Neckcloth, And He
Said Slowly And Almost Noiselessly, "The House Is No Longer What It Has
Been."
These Were The Last Words He Spoke, For Before The Doctor Had Got The
Family Assembled In The Sick-Chamber, The Young Consul Was Dead; Calm
And Precise As He Had Lived.
Chapter 21 Pg 133
The Same Morning Torpander Was Seen, Going Along The Road Which Led To
Sandsgaard. Contrary To His Usual Custom, He Had Taken A Holiday That
Monday. On His Head He Wore A Grey Felt Hat Of The Particular Shape
Which Was Called In The Trade "The Mercantile." The Hatter Had Assured
Him That It Had Been Originally Made For Mr. Morten Garman, But That It
Was Unfortunately Just A Trifle Too Small. The Hat, However, Exactly
Fitted Torpander, And Dear As It Was, He Bought It; And He Could Not
Help Noticing The Coincidence, That He Was That Day Wearing A Hat Which
Morten Garman Had Rejected. He Had Also Bought A Coat For The Occasion,
Not Quite New, It Is True, But Of A Most Unusual Light-Brown Hue. The
Chapter 21 Pg 134
Trousers Were The Worst Part Of The Costume, But The Coat Was Long
Enough, In a Great Measure, To Hide Them. Torpander Could Well Enough
Have Bought Trousers As Well, But He Did Not Wish To Trench Too Deeply
On His Savings, Before He Saw How It Fared With Him That Day. If All
Went Well She Should Have Everything He Possessed, And If It Went Badly
He Would Return At Once To Sweden, For He Could Bear The Suspense No
Longer. He Had Not, Truth To Say, Great Hopes As To His Ultimate
Success. He Had Heard A Report That Marianne Was Unwell, But Perhaps She
Was Upset By The Disgrace Which Martin Had Brought Upon The Family. The
Fact That He Was Making His Proposal At That Particular Time Might Be A
Point
