And they must have a proper contrivance with a cloth over, so that the whole thing would look like a hospital stretcher--a dead man with nothing but a tablecloth over him would make too great a commotion out in the street! It was something of this kind that Mrs.Selvig and her daughters were busy looking out and putting together, out of some green bed-hangings.
One's good name is dear to every one, and Mrs.Selvig felt that what had just taken place was a blow to the house.
It was now nearly dark in the tap-room.

Holman's dark figure had been moved on to the stretcher, which stood on the floor ready to be lifted, and a message had been sent to Mrs.Holman.
Perhaps they delayed purposely; a little later in the evening when it was darker, and an undesirable sensation in the street would be avoided.
Silla's face was stiff with crying.

There was no one in the room but her and Nikolai.
He stood by the counter, and she was sitting with her back to the window; there was no sound but the humming of a gnat in the half-darkness up under the curtain.
At last he broke the silence.
"He was kind, both to you and to me, as often as he dared be, you know." Silla did not answer.
"He always dreaded going home at night so, you know.

He'll be spared that now, and setting his foot inside this public-house again, too!" "Father! Father!" broke from Silla, followed by a fit of violent sobbing.
"Listen, Silla!" he said, interrupted by the repressed weight on his own breast.

"If you have no father, you have some one here who will take care of you, and knows what it is--I have never had any father either, nor ever seen any.