There was another ring; and Anna, profoundly moved by the death of
Dr. Roelofsz and moaning, "Oh dear, oh dear!" opened the door to
Ottilie Steyn de Weert and Adèle Takma. Ina came out to them in the
passage. They did not know of the doctor's death; and, when they heard
and saw Daan and Harold in the morning-room, there was a general
outcry--subdued, because of Mamma upstairs--and cross-questioning, a
melancholy dismay and confusion, a consulting one with another what had
best be done: whether to tell Mamma or keep it from her....
"We can't keep it from her for ever," said Ottilie Steyn. "Mamma
doesn't even know about Mr. Takma ... and now there's this on top of
it! Oh, it's terrible, terrible! Adèle, are you going up?"
"No," said Adèle Takma, shrinking, in this house, now that she knew.
"No, Ottilie, I must go home, Mamma will have plenty of visitors
without me."
She shrank from seeing the old lady, now that she knew; and, though she
had walked to the house and walked in with Ottilie Steyn, she would not
go upstairs.
"Ottilie," said Daan Dercksz to his sister, "_you_ had better tell her
... about Dr. Roelofsz."
"I?" said Ottilie Steyn, with a start.
But, at that moment, some one appeared in the street outside and looked
in through the window.
"There's Steyn," said Harold, dejectedly.
Steyn rang and was shown in. No one had ever seen him in so great a
rage. He vouchsafed no greetings and marched straight up to his wife:
"I thought I should find you here," he growled at her, in his deep
voice. "I've seen your son, who came over from London with you."
Ottilie drew herself up:
"Well?"
"Why need the arrival of that young gentleman be kept as a surprise for
me to come across in the street?"
"Why should I tell you that Hugh came with me?"
"And what has he come for?"
"What has that to do with you? Ask him, if you want to know."
"When he makes his appearance, it's for money."
"Very well, then it's for money. Not your money, at any rate!..."
They looked each other in the eyes, but Steyn did not want to go on
discussing money, because Ottilie had inherited a part of Mr. Takma's.
Hugh Trevelley scented money, whenever there was any about; and it was
not that Steyn looked upon his wife's money as his own, but, as old
Takma's executor, he thought it a shame that his wife's son should be
after it so soon.... He ceased speaking and his eyes alone betrayed his
hatred; but Harold took his hand and said:
"Frans, Dr. Roelofsz is dead."
"_Dead?_" echoed Steyn, aghast.
Ina stared and pricked up her ears again. The afternoon had indeed been
full of news. Even though she did not know about That, she was hearing
other things: she had heard of the doctor's sudden death, heard that
Aunt Thérèse was coming from Paris, heard that Hugh Trevelley was at
the Hague. And now she had very nearly heard about the old gentleman's
money. He must have left Aunt Ottilie something, but how much? Was it
a big legacy?... Yes, the afternoon had really been crammed with news;
and her eyes forgot to look weary and glistened like the glowing eyes
of a basilisk....
But the brothers were consulting Steyn: what did he think? Tell Mamma
of Dr. Roelofsz' death, or keep it from her?... They reflected in
silence. Out of doors, it suddenly began to pour with rain, a numbing
rain; the wind blew, the clouds lowered. Indoors, the red light of the
stove, burning with a sound of gentle crackling behind the mica panes,
gleamed through the falling dusk. Meanwhile the Thing passed ... and
stared at Harold, stared into his eyes, which were almost closed with
pain. The Thing! Harold had known it since his early boyhood; Daan
had known it for a few months and had come home from India, to his
brother, because of it; upstairs, because of the old woman, who knew
it, Stefanie and Anton both guessed it, but both refused to know it,
lest they should be disturbed in the pursuit of their own lives; but
downstairs Adèle and Steyn also knew it, because of the letter torn
into two, four, eight pieces, the letter which the old man had been
unable to destroy. In Paris, Thérèse, who was coming to Holland, knew
it; in India, the _mantri_ knew it.... But no one spoke of the Thing
... which was passing; and Harold and Daan did not know that Adèle and
Steyn knew; and none of them knew that Thérèse in Paris knew; and Steyn
and Adèle did not know that the _mantri_ in India knew, that Daan knew
and that Harold had known so long.... But Ina knew about the _mantri_
and knew that there was something, though she knew nothing about Adèle
and Steyn and never for a moment suspected that they knew.... No one
spoke of the Thing and yet the shadow of the Thing was all around them,
trailing its veil of mist.... But the one who knew nothing at all and
guessed nothing was Ottilie Steyn, wholly and sorrowfully absorbed in
the melancholy of her own passing life: a life of adulation and fond
admiration and passion, the tribute of men. She had been the beautiful
Lietje; now she was an old woman and hated her three husbands, but
she hated Steyn most! And, perhaps because she was so much outside the
Thing's sphere, Harold gently took her hand and, obeying an unconscious
impulse, said:
"Yes, Ottilie, you ... _you_ must tell Mamma that Dr. Roelofsz is dead.
It will be a great blow to her, but we cannot, we must not keep it from
her.... As for Takma's death, ah, Mamma will soon understand that,
without any telling!..."
His soft voice calmed the dismay and confusion; and Ottilie said:
"If you think, Harold, that I can tell her, I will go upstairs and try
... I'll try and tell her.... But, if I can't do it, in the course of
conversation, then I won't ... then I simply will not tell her...."
She went upstairs, innocent as a child: she did not _know_. She did not
know that her mother, more than sixty years ago, had taken part in a
murder, which that old deaf doctor had helped her to hush up. She knew
that Takma was her father, but not that _he_, together with her mother,
had murdered the father of her brothers, the father of her sister
Thérèse. She went upstairs; and, when she entered the drawing-room,
Stefanie and Anton rose to go, so that Mamma might not have too many
visitors at a time.
For that matter, it did not tire the old woman to chat--or to sit with
a visitor in cosy silence for a little while--so long as the "children"
did not all come at once. She was still slightly elated with the young
life which she had seen, with Lily van Wely's babies. She had talked
about them to Stefanie and Anton, not knowing that the babies were
their godchildren: no one had told her that; and she really thought
that little Netta's name was Ottilitje and spoke of little Lietje: they
knew whom she meant.
Ottilie Steyn was left alone with her mother. She did not speak much,
but sat beside her mother, who had taken her hand.... Ah, she herself
felt touched! There, in that empty chair, at which the old woman kept
staring, old Mr. Takma would never sit again.... Her father! She
had loved him as a daughter loves her father! She was inheriting a
hundred thousand guilders from him; but never again would he put a
hundred-guilder note in her hand, in that kind way of his.
It was as though the old woman guessed some of her daughter's thoughts,
for she said, with a movement of her hand towards the chair:
"Old Mr. Takma is ill."
"Yes," said Ottilie Steyn.
The old woman shook her head mournfully:
"I don't expect I shall see him again this winter."
"He will get well again...."
"But even so he will not be allowed out...."
"No," said Ottilie, feebly. "Perhaps not, Mamma...."
She was holding the brittle, slender, wand-like old fingers in hers....
Downstairs, she knew, the brothers were waiting; Stefanie probably
also; Ina too.... Adèle Takma had gone.
"Mamma," she said, all of a sudden, "do you know that somebody else is
ill?"
"No, who?"
"Dr. Roelofsz."
"Roelofsz? Yes, I haven't seen him ... I haven't seen him for the last
two days."
"Mamma," said Ottilie Steyn, turning her sorrowful little face--it was
still a pretty face, with blue, child-like eyes--to her mother, "it's
very sad, but ..."
No, she simply could not say it. She tried to withdraw her sentence,
not to complete it; but the old woman had at once seized the meaning of
those few words:
"He's dead?" she asked, quickly.
Her voice cut through Ottilie Steyn. She had not the strength to utter
a denial: with a heartrending smile on her face she nodded yes.
"A-ah!" sighed the old woman, overwhelmed.
And she stared at Takma's chair. Her old, dried-up eyes did not weep;
they merely stared, intensely. She remained sitting straight up in her
chair. The past heaved up before her eyes; there was a great buzzing
all around her. But she remained sitting upright and staring before her.
"When did he die?" she asked, at last.
Ottilie Steyn told her, in a very few words. She was crying, not her
mother. The old, old woman saw herself as she was, more than sixty
years ago. It was then that she had given herself to Roelofsz, so
that he should not speak.... He had not spoken.... He had remained
her friend, loyally, for all those long, long years, had shared the
hideous burden of the past with her and Takma.... No, he had never
spoken ... and they had grown so very old, without ... without anybody
knowing.... Nobody knew it, not one of her children.... People had
talked sometimes, in the old days, had whispered terrible things: that
was past.... Everything passed, everything passed.... Nobody knew,
except Takma himself, now that poor Roelofsz was dead. He had exacted a
high price ... but he had always remained loyal....
Ottilie Steyn was crying, said nothing more, held her mother's hand....
It had grown very dark: the companion came in, to light the lamp....
The wind howled dismally; the rain dashed against the window-panes; a
clammy dampness gave Ottilie an unpleasant sensation, as of something
chilly passing over her in that room with its scanty fire, because the
old woman could no longer bear a great heat. The hanging lamp above the
table in the middle of the room cast down a circle of light; the rest
of the room remained in shadow: the walls, the chair, the empty chair
opposite. The companion had gone, when the old woman asked, suddenly:
"And ... and Mr. Takma, Ottilie?"
"Yes, Mamma?..."
"Is ... is he ill, also?..."
The daughter was startled by the expression on her mother's face; the
dark eyes stared wide....
"Mamma, Mamma, what's the matter?"
"Is he ill ... or is he ... also...."
"Ill? Yes, he's ill too, Mamma...."
She did not finish....
Her mother was staring in front of her, staring at the empty chair
opposite, in the shadow against the wall. Ottilie grew frightened; for
her mother, stiffly and laboriously, now lifted a trembling arm from
her lap and pointed with a slender, wand-like finger....
"Mamma, Mamma, what _is_ it?..."
The old woman stared and pointed, stared and pointed at the empty chair.
"There ... _the-there!_" she stammered. "_There!_"
And she continued to stare and point. She said nothing, but she saw.
She did not speak, but she saw. Slowly she stood up, still staring,
still pointing, and shrank back, slowly, very slowly.... Ottilie rang
the bell, twice; the companion rushed into the room at once; from below
came sounds of confusion, faint exclamations, Anna's "Oh dear, oh dear,
oh dear!" and whispering voices. Ina, Daan and Stefanie came upstairs.
But they did not enter the room; the companion made a sign that it was
not necessary....
The old woman's stiff arm fell slowly to her side, as she stood.... But
she was still staring and shrinking back, slowly....
She no longer seemed to see Ottilie in her horror at what she did see.
And all that she said, with unseeing eyes, though the rest of her
consciousness remained, was:
"To bed!... To bed!..."
She said it as though she were very, very tired. They put her to bed,
Anna and the companion. She remained silent, with her thin lips pressed
together and her eyes still staring. Her heart had seen and ... she
knew. She knew that he, Takma, Emile--the man whom she had loved above
everything, above everybody, in the dead, dead years--that he was dead,
that he was dead....