* * * * * So the Captain went away again. He had only been home a few hours. Ragnhild told us of his terrible haste and worry, poor man; he was getting into the carriage without his fur coat, and would have left the food behind him that was packed all ready. And the telegram that had come was lying all open on the stairs. “Accident,” it said. “Your wife.--Chief of Police.” What was all this? “I thought as much,” said Ragnhild, “when they sent it on by messenger.” Her voice was strange, and she turned away. “Something serious, I dare say,” she said. “No, no!” said I, reading and reading again. “Look, it's not so very bad! Hear what it says. 'Request you come at once--accident to your wife.'” It was an express telegram from the little town, the little dead town. Yes, that was it--a town with a roar of sound through it, and a long bridge, and foaming waters; all cries there died as they were uttered--none could hear. And there were no birds. But all the maids spoke now in changed voices; 'twas nothing but misery amongst us now; I had to appear steady and confident myself, to reassure them. Fruen might have had a fall, perhaps, she was not as active of late. But she could, perhaps, have got up again and walked on almost as well as ever--just a little bleeding.... Oh, they were so quick with their telegrams, these police folk! “No, no!” said Ragnhild. “You know well enough that when the Chief of Police sends a telegram it's pretty sure to mean Fruen's been found dead somewhere! Oh, I can't--I can't--can't bear it!” Miserable days! I worked away, harder than ever, but as a man in his sleep, without interest or pleasure. Would the Captain never come? Three days later he came--quietly and alone. The body had been sent to Kristianssand; he had only come back to fetch some clothes, then he was going on there himself, to the funeral. He was home this time for an hour at most, then off again to catch the early train. I did not even see him myself, being out at work. Ragnhild asked if he had seen Fruen alive. He looked at her and frowned. But the girl would not give up; she begged him, for Heaven's sake, to say. And the two other maids stood just behind, as desperate as she. Then the Captain answered, but in a low voice as if to himself: “She had been dead some days when I got there. It was an accident; she had tried to cross the river and the ice would not bear. No, no, there was no ice, but the stones were slippery. There was ice as well, though.” Then the maids began moaning and crying; but this was more than he could stand. He got up from the chair where he was sitting, cleared his throat hard, and said: “There, there, it's all right, girls, go along now. Ragnhild, a minute.” And then to Ragnhild, when the others had gone: “What was I going to say, now? You haven't moved some photos, have you, that were on the piano here? I can't make out what's happened to them.”