They explored the island thoroughly, saw the changing views, and had
refreshments. Aagot beamed. The walk in the bracing air had flushed her
cheeks, her lips, her ears, even her nose; her eyes were sparkling gaily.
She suddenly remembered that she had almost pouted in disappointment when
she saw other people; what must Irgens have thought?
"I was at first a little surprised to find so many people here," she said.
"The reason was that you told me you had written some of your poems here,
and I did not think you could have done that unless you had been entirely
undisturbed."
How she remembered! He gazed at her exultantly and answered that he had
his own restful nook where nobody ever came. It was on the other side;
should they go over?
They went. It was certainly a restful place, a regular wilderness of rocks
and heather and junipers, enclosed on two sides. Far in the distance could
be seen a little glade. They sat down.
"So this is where you sit and write!" she exclaimed. "It is strange to
think of. Were you sitting here?"
"About here. Do you know, it is refreshing to meet such a spontaneous
interest as yours?"
"Tell me, how do you write your things? Do the thoughts come to you
without conscious effort?"
"Yes, in a way. Things affect one pleasantly or otherwise, and the mood is
there. But the trouble then is to make the words reflect the love or hate
one's heart feels at the moment. Often it is useless even to try; one can
never find words adequately to express that languid gesture of your hand,
to define that evanescent thrill your laughter sends through one--"
Slowly the sun sank; a tremor quivered through the trees, and all was
still.
"Listen," he said, "do you hear the noise boiling away yonder in the
city?"
He noted how her dress tightened across her knee; he followed the curving
outline of her figure, saw how her bosom rose and sank, observed her face
with the darling dimple and the somewhat irregular nose; his blood stirred
and he moved closer to her. He spoke in fumbling, broken sentences:
"This is now the Isle of the Blest, and its name is Evenrest. The sun is
sinking; we are here--the world far off; it is exactly my dream of dreams.
Tell me, does my voice disturb you? You seem so far away--Miss Lynum, it
is useless to continue the struggle; I surrender to you. I lie at your
feet and tell you this, although I have not moved--"
The swift change in his expression, the low, vibrant, fervent voice, his
nearness--for a moment she was completely, stupidly stunned. She looked at
him for an instant without answering. Then her cheeks began to flame; she
started to get up and said quickly:
"But isn't it time to go?"
"No!" he exclaimed. "No, don't go!" He took hold of her dress, flung his
arm around her, and held her back. She struggled with face aglow, laughing
uncertainly, making vain efforts to free herself.
"You must be crazy," she said again and again; "have you completely
forgotten yourself?"
"Please, let me at least tell you something!"
"Well, what is it?" she asked and sat still; she turned her face away, but
she listened.
And he began speaking rapidly and incoherently; his heart-beats trembled
in his voice, which was persuasive and full of tenderness. She could see
that all he wanted was to make her understand how unspeakably he loved
her; how he had been conquered, subdued as never before. She must believe
him; it had lain dormant and grown in his heart since the very first time
he met her. He had fought and struggled to keep his feelings within
bounds; but it was true--such a struggle was not very effective. It was
too sweet to yield, and so one yielded. One fought on with a steadily
slipping grip. And now the end had come; he could not fight any more, he
was entirely disarmed.... "I believe my breast will burst asunder."...
Still leaning away from him, she had turned her face and was gazing at him
while he spoke. Her hands had ceased their ineffectual efforts and were
now resting on his, tightly clasped around her waist; she saw the blood
leap through the veins along his throat. She straightened up and sat
erect; his hands were still around her, but she did not seem to notice it
now. She seized her gloves and said with quivering lips:
"But, Irgens, you should not say such things to me. You know you
shouldn't. It is sad, but I cannot help it now."
"No, you are right; I don't suppose I ought to have said it, but--" He
gazed at her; his lips were trembling too. "But, Miss Aagot, what would
_you_ do if your love made you weak and powerless; if it robbed you
of your senses and blinded you to everything else? I mean--"
"Yes, but say nothing more!" she interrupted. "I understand you in a way,
but--You know, I cannot listen to this." She looked at the arms around
her waist, and with a sudden jerk she moved away and got up.
She was still so confused that she remained standing immobile; she did not
even brush the heather from her dress. And when he got up she made no
effort to go, but remained where she was.
"Listen, I want you to promise not to tell this to anybody. I am afraid--
And you must not think of me any more. I had no idea that you really
cared; of course, I thought that you liked me very much--I had begun to
think that; but I never thought--'How could _he_ care for
_me?_' I always thought. If you want me to I will go back to Torahus
and stay there awhile."
He was deeply moved; he swallowed hard and his eyes grew moist. This
delicious simplicity, these candid words, her very attitude, which was
free from fear and entirely unaffected--his feelings flared up in him like
a consuming flame: No, no, not to Torahus--only stay! He would control
himself, would show her that he could control himself; she must not go
away. Even should he lose his mind and perish altogether--rather that, if
she would only stay!
He continued talking while he was brushing off her dress. She must pardon
him; he was not like everybody else, he was a poet; when it came over him
he must yield. But he would give her no further cause for complaint if she
would only stay.... Wouldn't she mind going away the least little bit,
though? No, of course, he had no false illusions.
Pause. He was waiting for her to answer, to contradict him; perhaps she
would go to Torahus a little regretfully after all? But she remained
silent. Did she, then, hold him in so slight regard? Impossible! Still,
the thought began to worry him; he felt aggrieved, hurt, almost slighted.
He repeated his question: Did all his love for her not call forth the
tiniest responsive spark in her heart?
She answered gently and sorrowfully:
"Please do not ask. What do you think Ole would say if he heard you?"
Ole? He had not given him a thought. Did he really play the role of
competitor to Ole Henriksen? It was too ridiculous. He could not believe
that she meant what she had said. Ole might be all right as far as that
went; he bought and sold, went his peddler rounds through life, paid his
bills and added dollars to his hoard. That was all. Did money really
matter so much to her? God knows, perhaps even this girlish little head
had its concealed nook where thoughts were figuring in crowns and pennies!
Irgens was silent for an instant; he felt the pangs of jealousy. Ole might
be able to hold her; he was tall and blue-eyed--perhaps she even preferred
him?
"Ole?" he said. "I do not care in the least what he would say. Ole does
not exist for me; it is you I love."
She seemed startled for the first time; she frowned a little and began to
walk away.
"This is too contemptible!" she said. "I wish you hadn't said that. So it
is me you love? Well, don't tell me any more about it."
"Miss Aagot--one word only. Don't you care the least little bit for me?"
He had seized her arm; she had to look at him. He was too violent; he did
not control himself as he had promised; he was not very handsome now.