pparition staring
into his eyes. The eyes opened wide with terror, gazed round the room,
and met Mary's. She stood in the doorway, horror-struck, pale as death.
Her father raised his head towards her; then the eyes became fixed and a
far-away look came into them. The head sank back.

"He is dying!" cried the nurse behind Mary, setting down the tray and
rushing forwards.

Mary would not believe it at first; but when she understood that it was
true, she threw herself upon him with a heartrending scream. It was
answered by one from Mrs. Dawes in the next room. The servants who
hurried there found her lying unconscious. She recovered sufficiently to
be able to stammer some unintelligible English words. The doctor said:
"It will soon be all over with her too." Anders Krog was dead.

Mary clung to her reason as if she were grasping it with her hands. She
must not, must not give way--must not scream, must not think. _She_ had
not killed him! She must listen to and remember what the others said,
must give her consent to what they were proposing, which was to send for
her father's sister. When she witnessed that sister's grief, she felt
that she must not give way to her own. She must not, must not! "Help me,
help me," she cried, "that I may not go mad!" And, turning to the
doctor, she said: "_I_ did not kill him, did I?"

The doctor ordered her to bed, prescribed cold compresses, and remained
beside her. He, too, impressed on her the necessity of self-control.

Not till little Nanna brought the dog to her next morning, and the
animal insisted on being taken into her arms, was she able to shed
tears.

During the course of the day she improved a little. Her grief was
alleviated by the heartfelt sympathy, often expressed in the most moving
terms, which was conveyed to her by the numberless telegrams that
arrived in town and were telephoned from there. All this sympathy for
herself, admiration for her father, and intense desire to comfort and
strengthen her, helped her greatly. From the incautious manner in which
one of these telegrams was transmitted she learned that Mrs. Dawes, too,
was dead. They had not dared to tell her. But the great and general
sympathy helped her to bear this also. Now she understood how it was so
great and general. Every one but herself knew that she had lost both,
that she was alone in the world.

The message which touched her most came from Paris, and was as follows:
"My beloved Mary,--Can it comf