CHAPTER VIII

Fru Boyesen lay propped up in her high, large bed; her face was congested and she breathed stertorously. With an unconscious gesture she threw back the feather-bed covering her, only to have it instantly replaced by the watchful Ingeborg. The room was close and stuffy, it was cold outside, all the windows were hermetically closed and a fire burned in the porcelain stove. The sick woman's hair had been braided neatly, but with the restless movements of her head, straggling yellowish-grey strands had come loose and strayed over her mottled forehead and on the pillow. With a feverish hand she tugged at the top b.u.t.ton of her flannel nightgown.

"Air! I want air!" she muttered.

Ingeborg laid her cool hand on her Aunt's forehead, while she counted the respiration, and under the soothing touch the old woman grew calm for a few minutes.

She had been ill four days, an ordinary attack of bronchitis, the doctor thought at first, but it rapidly ran into pneumonia, and the age of the patient left but a bare chance of recovery. Ingeborg nursed her devotedly a.s.sisted by one of the servants and would not hear of calling in outside help.

"You are as good a nurse as I could wish," said the doctor, "but I am afraid you will wear yourself out."

"No fear of that," Ingeborg had answered, "and I want to do all I can for poor Auntie--you know how she hates to have anyone else in the room."

"Well, in five days I shall be able to tell, you can do without help till then, and afterwards if it is necessary--"

The way he spoke the last words, however, gave but little hope of such a contingency arising and Ingeborg's eyes filled with tears.

Fru Boyesen had lain most of the time in a heavy stupor, waking occasionally to fits of delirium when her strong will and habit of command made it very difficult for Ingeborg to keep her in bed. When she raved it was always about Ragna who was coming to pay a visit and in whose honour due preparation must be made, or Ragna who would not come and refused to give ear to her Aunt's pleading, or it was Ragna ill and lonely who must be helped,--but always Ragna, nothing but Ragna.

The poor old soul, debarred by her own action from the natural outlet of her affection, nay adoration, for her heart's darling, had brooded over her sorrow, feeding on her own repressed love. Deprived of outward expression, she bowed down in secret before the idol enshrined in her heart. All these years she had kept up the sham of an unforgiving spirit, had worn her mask of hardness, never once betraying herself to anyone except the watchful Ingeborg, and now that delirium had loosened her tongue, she raved on, babbling like a child of that which was nearest her heart, while Ingeborg marvelled somewhat bitterly at all the misspent effort of repression, when so much good might have been done, so much pain avoided.

Ragna thought herself thoroughly on her guard, when writing to her sister, little dreaming how much Ingeborg read between the lines, more from what was omitted than from what was said, though she herself, to whom many things had grown "through custom stale" mentioned them casually, as though quite in the ordinary course of events, things which to the unaccustomed eyes of Ingeborg seemed unbearable to the last degree, little meannesses on the part of Valentini, his way of opening her letters, his habit of spending the evenings away from home and the like.

When Aunt Gitta fell ill, Ingeborg's first impulse had been to telegraph for Ragna, sure that her presence would set all right, but the doctor said that five days would decide everything, one way or the other, and three times five days was the shortest s.p.a.ce of time in which it would be possible for Ragna to reach her Aunt.

There had been but little delirium to-day, at most a gentle wandering, the greater part of the time the old woman lay oblivious to her surroundings, lost to the world. To Ingeborg who took this state of coma for sleep it seemed of favourable augury, but the doctor shook his head.

"She may drift away without waking up again," he said.

Ingeborg thought it terrible that anyone should die thus, with no chance to repair the wrong done or to prepare for the future life, but there was nothing she could do, except administer the medicines to the unconscious woman at the appointed hours, and between whiles sit silent, her hands folded in her lap, her anxious eyes, eager to detect any change, fixed on her aunt's face.

It was snowing outside, a fine dry snow, hard, like ice crystals, the room was in profound silence, broken only by the stinging sound of the snow, driven against the window pane, the crackling of the wood in the stove, the ticking of a small clock on the mantel, and the heavy stertorous breathing of the sick woman. At dusk a maid came in with a lighted lamp, tip-toeing noiselessly in list slippers; she set it on the table cast a glance at the bed and withdrew. Ingeborg fastened a piece of paper to the lamp shade to keep the bright light from her Aunt's face, but it seemed already to have aroused Fru Boyesen, for she turned uneasily, groaned and made as if to sit up.

Ingeborg stepped lightly to her side and pressed her quietly back against her pillows. Fru Boyesen pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes twice or thrice as if dazed, but the expression of her eyes as she looked up at Ingeborg was such that the light of reason shone in them.

"Ingeborg," she said in a hoa.r.s.e voice, "how long have I been ill?"

"Four days, Aunt."

"And what does Dr. Ericssen say is the matter with me?"

"He said it was bronchitis, and that--"

"Don't lie, girl," said the old lady, quick to perceive the hesitation in her niece's voice "tell me the truth, I can bear it."

"He says now that it is pneumonia."

"Pneumonia--" repeated Fru Boyesen, "pneumonia! And I am over sixty."

She closed her eyes a moment and her face became stern. "Tell me, Ingeborg, how long does Ericssen give me? I have a right to know."

Her eyes claimed the truth from the girl, who answered with a sob in her voice.

"He says the fifth day is the decisive day, until then he can't tell."

"Oh, can't he? I can then. I tell you, Ingeborg, this is the end, I shall never recover."

The girl would have protested but such was her own intimate conviction and had been from the first; with her Aunt's eyes on her face she felt the futility of it. A silence fell between them, broken by a sigh from Fru Boyesen.

"Ingeborg!" she said suddenly, "there is something I must do before I go, I have something on my conscience."

"Do you wish me to send for the Herr Pastor, Aunt?"

"The Herr Pastor! This is not a matter for clergymen, this is something that regards me alone. I have been unjust to your sister, Ingeborg--I am an old woman on my death bed, and I see clearly now that I have done wrong. The living may be vindictive, but the dying must make reparation if they would be forgiven. I made a will disinheriting Ragna, I want to destroy that, to reinstate her. She has been wilful, Ingeborg, proud and inconsiderate, she has hurt me more than I can say, but she is young and I am old, it is I who should have known better. Young people will be foolish, it is for us old wise ones to repair the damage done, and I have been a wicked, resentful old woman. 'Judgment is mine, saith the Lord,' and I would have taken it into my own hands. I wished to punish her, and perhaps I have, but I have punished myself far more. Remember this, little Ingeborg, we should leave judgment and condemnation to the Lord,--we should only try to love and help."

She sank back on her pillows, exhausted. Ingeborg put a cup of brandy and water to her lips, saying,

"Hush, Auntie dear, you must not talk so much, you will tire yourself out."

But Fru Boyesen would not be satisfied, she motioned Ingeborg to come near, and whispered into her ear,

"Get the solicitor, send for Hendriksen, at once, _at once_ do you hear?

I must make it right for Ragna before it is too late."

Ingeborg nodded, and summoning the maid in attendance ordered her, in the old lady's hearing to go at once for Herr Hendriksen, and gave her the money for a cab to bring the solicitor back.

Fru Boyesen smiled contentedly and closed her eyes. Ingeborg burning with suppressed excitement, could hardly keep her seat--now indeed was all to come right, like in a story! Her loyal sisterly heart rejoiced for Ragna, and could she have guessed the true state of affairs in Florence, she would have rejoiced still more. Then the pathos of the thing struck her, all her love and compa.s.sion went out to the quiet figure on the bed.

"Poor Aunt Gitta!" she said softly to herself, "how she must have suffered--and how she loves Ragna!"

How she must have loved her indeed, for that love to break down her stubborn will, sweeping away in an all-devouring flood the barriers of prejudice and pride, leaving nothing but tenderness and the desire to help.

Ingeborg could no longer contain her agitation; she rose and stood by the window, gazing out at the driving storm. Though but five in the afternoon it was quite dark and the whirling flakes of snow made wavering circles in the halo of light about the street lamps. In the garden a gaunt tree, stripped of its leaves, raised black limbs skyward, and below, an even blanket of white shaded off into the night. This late snow storm belying the earlier promise of spring seemed of evil portent to the watching girl. To her anxious eyes all the world outside seemed like a great white desert, she sought in vain for some sign of life, of human companionship, but there were no pa.s.sers-by in the quiet street.

Suddenly two dim black ma.s.ses appeared, coming from different directions; they stopped simultaneously at the garden gate and resolved themselves into three figures whom Ingeborg recognized as the doctor, the solicitor and the maid who had been sent to fetch him. She watched them struggle up the garden path till they reached the door-step and the m.u.f.fled sound of the bell rang through the house, then hastened to the bedside.

"Auntie! Auntie! he has come! Herr Hendriksen is here!"

There was no answer, the heavy breathing had begun again. Ingeborg was helplessly watching the flapping of the cheeks, the puff of the lips at each breath, when the doctor entered; he advanced to the bed and stood frowning, his lips pushed out.

"Can't we wake her, Doctor?" asked Ingeborg eagerly. "She was awake just a little while ago, and had me send for Herr Hendriksen,--she wants to set things right again for Ragna, in case--in case--Oh, Doctor, it is most important!" she joined her hands beseechingly, "after what she said I don't think she can die in peace, unless she has done it!"

The doctor shook his head. He knew the story of Ragna's marriage and subsequent estrangement from her aunt; she was a favourite of his, and he wished with all his heart to help her cause, but there was nothing to be done.

"What a pity you did not get her to sign a statement then! Who can tell if she will come out of this coma again? She may, but I doubt it--see, the pulse has failed steadily since this morning, it is barely a thread!"

"Oh, Doctor!" said Ingeborg, tears in her eyes, "can nothing be done?

Nothing? Think of all that it means!"