Breast; She Then Put Her Arms Under The Bedclothes And Straightened The
Legs, So That The Corpse Should Not Stiffen With The Knees Bent. The
Mouth Was Slightly Open. She Shut It, But The Chin Fell Again. Torpander
Could See What The Woman Was Looking For, And Handed Her His Silk
Handkerchief. How Rejoiced He Was That He Had Not Used It! The Woman
Regarded The Handkerchief Suspiciously, But When She Saw That It Was
Perfectly Clean, She Folded It Neatly And Tied It Round Marianne'S Head.
Torpander Stood Gazing At The Little Weary Face, Bound Round With His
Lovely Silk Handkerchief, And He Felt At Length As If He Had Some Part
In Her. He Had Received Her Last Look, Her Last Smile, And As A Reward
She Had Accepted His First And Last Gift. After All, His Courtship Had
Had The Best Ending He Could Possibly Have Hoped For. He Bent His Head,
And Wept Silently In abraham Lincoln'S Portrait.
Begmand Came Upstairs, And Sat Gazing At The Body. Since The Fire He Had
Not Been Altogether Himself.
"Shall I Go To Zacharias The Carpenter, And Order The Coffin?" Asked The
Woman. But As She Did Not Get Any Answer, She Went Off And Ordered The
Coffin On Her Own Account. It Was Not To Be Any More Ornamental Than Was
Usual In The West End.
Meanwhile Pastor Martens Was Continuing His Journey. Marianne'S Death
Had Made A Most Disagreeable Impression Upon Him, Which Probably Added
To His Former Ill Humour.
The Women, Both Old And Young, Were Again On The Look-Out For Him. A
Clergyman Was Not Often To Be Seen In West End. The Boys, Who Had Found
A Dead Cat On The Shore, And Which The Eldest Was Dragging After Him,
Came Marching Along Like Little Soldiers. Behind Them Followed A Tiny
Little Creature Not Higher Than One'S Knee, With His Mother'S Wooden
Shoes On His Feet, And Wearing A Paper Cap On His Head. The Whole Band
Was In High Spirits, And Sang With A Ringing Voice A National Air,
According To The Comic Version Which Was In Use In West End:
"Yes, We Love Our Country;
Yes, Indeed We Do!
He Who Dares Deny It,
We Will Let Him Know!"
The Pastor Had To Pass The Children, Whose Song Went Through His Head.
The Cat, Of Which He Just Caught A Glimpse, Was Half Putrid, And Its
Skin Was Hanging In Rags. Parson Martens Pressed His Handkerchief To His
Mouth; He Was Afraid That The Unhealthy Atmosphere Would Be Injurious To
His Health.
He Hurried Out Of West End And Up To The House, As Fast As His Cassock,
And Having To Pick His Way Among The Dirty Puddles, Would Allow; But He
Came Too Late. The Consul Had Already Been Dead Half An Hour, And So
Chapter 21 Pg 137
Pastor Martens Turned And Went Back To The Town. It Was Very Hot Walking
In The Long Black Garment, And Already Well Past Dinner-Time.
Madame Rasmussen Came Running To Meet Him. "My Dear Mr. Martens, Dinner.
Why, It'S Half-Past Two! Why, How Exhausted You Look!"
"Let Us Rejoice, Madame Rasmussen," Answered The Clergyman, With A Bland
Smile, "When We Are Thought Worthy To Endure Trials."
He Was Indeed A Heavenly Man, Was The Pastor. How Pious And Amiable He
Looked As He Sat At Table! No One Could Ever Have Suspected That He Wore
A Wig.
Madame Rasmussen Sat Down To Embroider Some Cushions To Put In The
Window, For The Chaplain Could Not Bear The Slightest Draught.
Chapter 22 Pg 138
Consul Garman'S Death Caused A Great Sensation In The Town. The
Wonderful Escape Of The Ship Was Already Material Enough For Several
Weeks' Gossip; And Now There Came This Death, With All Its Immediate
Circumstances And Possible Consequences. The Whole Town Was Fairly
Buzzing With Stories And Gossip.
The Business Men Gave Each Other A Knowing Wink. The Old Man At
Sandsgaard Had Been A Hard Nut To Crack, But Now They Would Have More
Elbow-Room, And Morten Was Not So Dangerous.
The Preparations For The Funeral Were On The Grandest Scale. The Body
Was To Be Taken From Sandsgaard And Laid In The Church, Where Dean
Sparre Was To Deliver A Discourse, While The Chaplain Was To Conduct The
Funeral Service At The Cemetery.
All The Different Guilds Were To Follow With Their Banners, And The Town
Band Was Busy Practising Till Late At Night. A Regular Committee Of
Management Was Formed, And There Was Almost As Much Stir As If It Was
The 17Th Of May.[B]
[Footnote B: Anniversary Of The Declaration Of The
Norwegian Independence In 1814.]
Jacob Worse Did Not Take Any Part In all This. He Truly Regretted The
Consul, Who Had Always Been Almost Like A Father To Him.
Mrs. Worse Was More Annoyed Than Sorry. "It Was Too Bad, It Was Really
Too Bad," She Grumbled, "Of The Consul To Go And Die!" She Was Sure That
He Would Have Arranged The Match, Such A Sensible Man As He Was; But Now
That There Were Nothing But A Lot Of Women In The House--For The
_Attache_ Was Little Better Than An Old Woman Himself--And So On, And So
Chapter 22 Pg 139
On, Thought The Old Lady, And She Wondered That Rachel, Who Had Such A
Clever Father, Had Not Inherited A Little More Sense.
Sandsgaard Was Silent And Desolate From Top To Bottom. The Body Lay
Upstairs In The Little Room On The North Side, And White Curtains Were
Hanging In Front Of All The Windows Of The Second Story. Not A Sound Was
Heard, Except The Monotonous Step Of One, Who Went Pacing Unceasingly To
And Fro In The Empty Rooms. Thus Had Uncle Richard Been Wandering Every
Day Since His Brother'S Death. Restlessly He Passed In and Out Of One
Room After Another, Then Up And Down The Long Ballroom; Now And Again
Into The Room Where The Body Lay, Ever To And Fro, In and Out, The Whole
Livelong Day, And Far Into The Night.
Rachel Was More Grieved At The Loss Of Her Father Than She Could Have
Believed Possible During His Lifetime. But A Change Had Lately Taken
Place In Her Nature; She, Who Was So Exacting Towards Others, Was Now
Brought To Examine Herself, And Could See How Much There Was In Her Own
Nature Which Required Reform. She Could Now See Plainly Enough, That It
Was Principally Her Own Fault That She And
