Poor man! he was so appalled that he could scarcely keep his feet.  There she lay, his own beloved Marianne; her mouth half open, and moaning incessantly.  Her cheeks, which were sunken, were of an ashy white, and in the dark hollows round her eyes were standing small drops of perspiration.  He had no idea that her state was so hopeless; and this was the time he had chosen for making his proposal!  Marianne lifted her eyes.  She knew him—­of that he felt assured, for she smiled faintly with her own heavenly smile; but he could not help remarking how conspicuous her teeth appeared.  She could no longer speak, but her large eyes moved several times from him to the window, and he thought that she was asking for something.  Torpander went to the window, which was a new one Tom Robson had had made, and laid his hand on the fastening.  She smiled again, and as he opened the window, he could see a look of thankfulness pass over her features.  The midday sun, which was shining over the hill at the back of the house and falling obliquely on the window, threw a ray of light for a short distance into the room.  Away in the town the bells were tolling for a funeral, and their sound, which was re-echoed from the hill, was soft and subdued in its tone.

Marianne turned towards the light; her eyes were shining brilliantly, and a delicate shade of red mantled her cheeks.  Torpander thought he had never seen her look so lovely.

When Pastor Martens entered the room, he was as much struck by the appearance of the dying woman as Torpander had been, but in quite a different manner.  It was impossible she could be so near death; and he could not help feeling annoyed with Martin, who had thus exaggerated his sister’s danger, and had perhaps been the cause of his arriving too late at Consul Garman’s death-bed.  The extraordinary figure dressed in the long light-brown coat, which kept ever and anon bowing to him, did not tend to calm his feelings, and it is possible that something of his annoyance showed itself in the words which he now addressed to Marianne.

The clergyman was standing by the bed in such a position as to shield the light of the window from Marianne, who was gazing at him with her large eyes.  He did not wish to be severe, but it was well known that the woman at whose death-bed he was standing, was fallen.  At the close of such a life, it was only his duty to speak of sin and its bitter consequences.  Marianne’s eyes began to wander uneasily as she turned them, now on the clergyman, and now on Torpander.  At length she made an effort, and turned her face in the other direction.

The pastor did not intend to finish his discourse without holding out a hope of reconciliation with God, even after such a life of sin; but while he continued speaking about repentance and forgiveness, the neighbour, who had been at her dinner, entered the room.

The woman went to the foot of the bed, but when she looked at Marianne’s face she said quietly, “I beg your pardon, sir, but she is dead.”