public servant on whom you poured it out, met his fate later. He has proved the curse of our family, himself cursed . . .
Ann.—He was my father, please to remember, sir!
Hans.—It is true? He did not escape his fate?
Dean.—By his own hand. When this worthy treasurer reached the second time for government funds, and more extensively than the first time, there was no sentimental fool here willing to ruin his own life and plunge the pharmacy on the verge of ruin by forging a draft for him.
Hans.—I implore you, uncle! Spare the daughter’s feelings, at least!
Dean (To Ann who is weeping).—Yes, yes, my dear, you have cause to weep! Fortunately, you need not weep over yourself and your son, like the daughters of Jerusalem. How about that, Mrs. Karvan?
Ann.—I beg you, sir!
Hans.—Sir!
Dean.—You are both to blame and you may weep together over the dead.
(Julia and Doctor Crowe have come out of the lodge and stop on the veranda.)
Hans.—My father died in my arms, and his last words were not of forgiveness, but a plea to be forgiven.
Dean.—Still it was his grieving over you that killed him.
Dr. Crowe.—I beg pardon, worthy sir, for allowing myself to make one suggestion. So far as I have been able to learn from those present at the fatal meeting, the old gentleman died rather of joy at seeing his son again than of surprise.
Julia.—We all know that the old gentleman looked upon Mr. Karvan as dead. So did we all.
Ann.—Not only looked upon, we were all certain that he was dead.
Hans.—How could you be certain?
Ann.—We had proofs-written reports, and an official confirmation came to us here at the store.
Hans.—So? I must see that document at once. Where is my cousin? I feel the scales gradually falling off my eyes. Where is the doctor? Surely he is not hiding from me?
Dean.—Remember, Jan, that nearby lies the body of your father, and that it is necessary to observe a certain decorum, even if we ourselves are incapable of the proper respect. The house of the dead should not be desecrated by the quarrels of the living.
