r
many days he had suffered great pain, which was now gradually leaving
him, and both the doctor and the nurse declared that it was his last
night.

But the struggle was not yet over; one could see this by the anxious
way in which his eyes were turned from one to the other, when Sarah
was out of the room.

Sometimes he seemed to lapse into deep terror, throwing himself from
one side to the other, muttering something which they could not
understand, and rubbing his hands together.

"He is possessed by Satan," said one of the women.

This was the general opinion, and some searched in the Bible or in
one of the many little books for texts or hymns applicable to persons
possessed by the evil one.

But the majority were occupied with the terrible fate of Henrietta,
or were watching the tumultuous crowd outside.

Sarah moved among them with a distracted air; she seemed, indeed, as
if petrified with grief. It was not grief, however, that distracted
her. The separation from Fennefos, and Henrietta's death conjoined,
inflicted a stunning blow, which both chilled and hardened her.

Her dying husband yonder in his bed, the frightened men and women,
the uproar in the street, were matters of indifference to her, and
she could almost have smiled at them.

Out of doors things grew worse. A couple of boys began to batter the
wall; others, approaching the windows, climbed up and pressed their
faces against the panes.

The Haugians crept away into corners, and Sivert Jespersen lay almost
under the table.

"Some one must go out and speak to the crowd," said one of the older
women.

Sivert Jespersen was the man to do it, as he was the oldest of them,
but he would not venture forth; he knew only too well that his
presence would only make bad worse.

The old dyer was with Madame Torvestad; it would be better to ask him
to make the attempt.

It never occurred to any of them to apply to the police, for no one
in the town, and least of all the Haugians, was accustomed to seek
help in that quarter.

There must also have been some of the better class in the crowd that
filled the street and the greater part of the market-place, in front
of Skipper Worse's street door; for some of the lanterns were of the
expensive hexagonal sort, and of polished brass.

While they were debating whether they should fetch the old dyer, the
people outside ceased their uproar, and nothing was heard but the
hasty footsteps of people leaving the st