Gertrude went into the room, and told the doctor about her sick husband. It was Steffan, a strong, young man, on whom the mountain sickness had seized with unusual violence. The doctor silently shook his head. He took a small mortar that stood on the office table, and shook into it some stuff which he ground with the marble pestle. His eyes fell on the child who stood by Gertrude's side, gazing earnestly at the doctors's occupation. The little creature had something unusual about her, and attracted attention at once. Under her thick black hair and heavy brows, her big eyes looked forth with a solemn gaze, as if everything she saw gave her food for thought. "He had no one but himself to blame for it, I fancy," said the doctor, as he filled some small square papers with his powders. "No, no! he was not the least of a brawler; he was a quiet industrious fellow. They had rented some of our rooms, and lived there peaceably and happily for three whole years, and never was an unkind word exchanged between them. But he was a stranger in these parts; he was never called anything but the Bergamasker, and the other fellows could never forgive him for having won the prettiest and most courted girl in the whole village. They never ceased to tease and irritate him, and on this especial evening at the Rehbock they must have been unusually offensive. Apparently they were all somewhat excited, for they could afterwards give no clear account of the affair, but the end was that the Bergamasker came home fatally wounded, and died the next day. Everything has been different among us since the Rehbock was built. Our village used to be quiet and orderly; every one was contented to work all the week and rest on Sunday. Nobody ever heard of such a thing as noisy drinking and rowdyism. But I have another errand with you now, doctor. Lene charged me on her death bed to attend to it. She did not leave any money, but she had an excellent outfit. She bade me sell her bedstead and her bureau, and bring you the proceeds, to settle what she owed you. She was very anxious that I should see to it, for she felt that you had done a great deal for her; and she spoke of how often you had climbed the hill both by day and night, to visit her. So, please give me the bill, doctor, so that I may settle it at once, as I promised her." "What relatives has the child?" asked the doctor shortly. "She has none at all in these parts," replied Gertrude. "She has been with me all through her mother's illness, and now she is mine. Her mother's family are all gone. She might perhaps be sent to her father's parish in Bergamaskische, but I shall not do that; she belongs now to us." "I would not go there," said the child firmly in a low tone, clinging to Gertrude's dress with both hands. The doctor opened a big book, tore out a leaf, and drew his pen twice across the closely written page. "There," he said, handing the cancelled sheet to Gertrude, "that is all the bill I shall give you."