"So you've come at last, then?" said Peer.
"They wouldn't let me in before," she said with a sob. And then Peer
learned that she had come there every single day, but only to be told
that he was too ill to see visitors.
The man with the broken nose craned his head forward to get a better
view of the modest young girl. And meanwhile she was pulling out of
the bundle the offering she had brought--a bottle of lemonade and some
oranges.
But it was a day or two later that something happened which Peer was
often to remember in the days to come.
He had been dozing through the afternoon, and when he woke the lamp was
lit, and a dull yellow half-light lay over the ward. The others seemed
to be sleeping; all was very quiet, only the man with the sores was
whimpering softly. Then the door opened, and Peer saw Louise glide in,
softly and cautiously, with her violin-case under her arm. She did not
come over to where her brother lay, but stood in the middle of the ward,
and, taking out her violin, began to play the Easter hymn: "The mighty
host in white array."*
* "Den store hvide Flok vi se."
The man with the sores ceased whimpering; the patients in the beds round
about opened their eyes. The docker with the broken nose sat up in bed,
and the cobbler, roused from his feverish dream, lifted himself on his
elbow and whispered: "It is the Redeemer. I knew Thou wouldst come."
Then there was silence. Louise stood there with eyes fixed on her
violin, playing her simple best.
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