IV

Over a week went by before Irgens turned up again. Had he become

suspicious? Or had he simply tired of Aagot? However, he entered Ole's

office one afternoon; the weather was clear and sunny, but it was blowing

hard and the dust whirled through the streets in clouds and eddies. He was

in doubt whether Miss Aagot would want to go out on such a day, and for

this reason he said at once:

"It is a gloriously windy day, Miss Aagot; I should like to take you up on

the hills, up to the high places! You have never seen anything like it;

the town is shrouded in dust and smoke."

At any other time Ole would have said no; it was neither healthy nor

enjoyable to be blown full of dust. But now he wanted to show Aagot that

he was not thinking of their recent conversation.... Certainly; run

along! Really, she ought to take this walk.

And Aagot went.

"It is an age since I have seen you," said Irgens.

"Yes," she said, "I am busy nowadays. I am going home soon."

"You are?" he asked quickly and stopped.

"Yes. I am coming back, though."

Irgens had become thoughtful.

"I am afraid it is blowing a little too hard, after all," he said. "We can

hardly hear ourselves think. Suppose we go to the Castle Park? I know a

certain place--"

"As you like," she said.

They found the place; it was sheltered and isolated. Irgens said:

"To be entirely candid, it was not my intention to drag you up into the

hills to-day. The truth of the matter is that I was afraid you would not

care to come; that is the reason I said what I said. For I _had_ to

see you once more."

Pause.

"Really--I have ceased to wonder at anything you say."

"But think--it is ten days since I have seen you! That is a long, a very

long time."

"Well--that is not altogether my fault--But don't let us talk about it any

more," she added quickly. "Rather tell me--why do you still act toward me

in this manner? It is wrong of you. I have told you that before. I should

like to be friends with you, but--"

"But no more. I understand. However, that is hardly sufficient for one who

is distracted with suffering, you know. No, you do not know; you have

never known. Ever and ever one must circle around the forbidden; it

becomes a necessity continually to face one's fate. If, for instance, I

had to pay for a moment like this with age-long wreck and ruin, why, I

would gladly pay the price. I would rather be with you here one brief

moment, Miss Aagot, than live on for years without you."

"Oh, but--It is too late now, you know. Why talk about it, then? You only

make it so much harder for us both."

He said, slowly and emphatically:

"No, it is not too late."

She looked at him steadily and rose to her feet; he, too, got up; they

walked on. Immersed in their own thoughts, without conscious realisation

of what they were doing, walking slowly, they made the circuit of the park

and returned to their sheltered nook. They sat down on the same bench.

"We are walking in a circle," he said. "That is the way I am circling

around you."

"Listen," she said, and her eyes were moist, "this is the last time I

shall be with you, probably. Won't you be nice? I am going home, you know,

very soon now."

But just as he was preparing to answer her out of the fullness of his

heart somebody had to pass their seat. It was a lady. In one hand she

carried a twig with which she struck her skirt smartly for every step she

took. She approached them slowly; they saw that she was young. Irgens knew

her; he got up from his seat, took off his hat, and bowed deeply.

And the lady passed blushingly by.

Aagot asked:

"Who was that?"

"Only my landlady's daughter," he said. "You told me to be nice. Yes,

dearest--"

But Aagot wanted further information concerning this lady. So they lived

in the same house? What was she doing? What kind of a person was his

landlady?

And Irgens answered her fully. Just as if she were a child whose curiosity

had been aroused by the merest chance occurrence, Aagot made him tell her

everything he knew concerning these strange people in Thranes Road No. 5.

She wondered why the lady had blushed; why Irgens had greeted her so

obsequiously. She did not know that this was the way Irgens always paid

his rent--by being particularly gracious to his landlady's family on the

street.

The young lady was good-looking, although she had a few freckles. She was

really pretty when she blushed; didn't he think so?

And Irgens agreed; she was pretty. But she didn't have one only dimple;

there was only one who had that....

Aagot glanced at him quickly; his voice thrilled her; she closed her eyes.

The next instant she felt that she was bending toward him, that he kissed

her. Neither spoke; all her fears were lulled; she ceased to struggle and

rested deliciously in his arms.

And nobody disturbed them. The wind soughed through the trees; it hushed

and soothed.... Somebody came along; they rushed apart and kept their eyes

on the gravelled walk while he passed. Aagot was quite equal to the

occasion; she did not show the slightest trace of confusion. She got up

and began to walk away. And now she began to think; the tears were

dripping from her long lashes, and she whispered, dully, despairingly:

"God forgive me! What have I done?"

Irgens wanted to speak, to say something that would soften her despair. It

had happened because it had to happen. He was so unspeakably fond of her;

she surely knew he was in earnest.... And he really looked as if he were

greatly in earnest.

But Aagot heard nothing; she walked on, repeating these desperate words.

Instinctively she took the way down toward the city. It seemed as if she

were hurrying home.

"Dearest Aagot, listen a moment--"

She interrupted violently:

"Be quiet, will you!"

And he was silent.

Just as they emerged from the park a violent gust tore her hat from her

hair. She made an effort to recover it, but too late; it was blown back

into the park. Irgens caught up with it as it was flattened against a

tree.

She stood still for a moment; then she, too, began to run in pursuit, and

when at last they met by the tree her despair was less poignant. Irgens

handed her the hat, and she thanked him. She looked embarrassed.

As they were walking down the sloping driveway toward the street the wind

made Aagot turn and walk backward a few steps. Suddenly she stopped. She

had discovered Coldevin; he was walking through the park in the direction

of Tivoli. He walked hurriedly, furtively, and as if he did not want to be

seen. So he was still in the city!

And Aagot thought in sudden terror: What if he has seen us! As in a flash

she understood. He was coming from the park; he had wanted to wait until

they should have had time to reach the street; then the accident with her

hat had spoiled his calculations and made him show himself too soon. How

he stooped and squirmed! But he could find no hiding-place on this open

driveway.

Aagot called to him, but the wind drowned her voice. She waved her hand,

but he pretended not to see it; he did not bow. And without another word

to Irgens she ran after him, down the slope. The wind blew her skirts to

her knees; she grabbed her hat with one hand and ran. She caught up with

him by the first cross-street.

He stopped and greeted her as usual--awkwardly, with an expression of

melancholy gladness, moved in every fibre of his being. He was miserably

dressed.

"You--You must not come here and spy on me," she said hoarsely, all out of

breath. She stood before him, breathing hard, angry, with flashing eyes.

His lips parted but he could not speak; he did not know which way to turn.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes--Have you been sick, perhaps? You haven't been out for two weeks now;

of course, I don't _know_ that you haven't, but--"

His helpless words, his wretched embarrassment, moved her; her anger died

down, she was again on the verge of tears, and, deeply humiliated, she

said:

"Dear Coldevin, forgive me!"

She asked him to forgive her! He did not know what to say to this, but

answered abstractedly:

"Forgive you? We won't speak about that--But why are you crying? I wish I

hadn't met you--"

"But I am glad I met you," she said. "I wanted to meet you; I think of you

always, but I never see you--I long for you often."

"Well, we won't speak about that, Miss Aagot. You know we have settled our

affair. I can only wish you every happiness, every possible happiness."

Coldevin had apparently regained his self-control; he commenced even to

speak about indifferent matters: Was not this a fearful storm? God knew

how the ships on the high seas were faring!

She listened and answered. His composure had its effect on her, and she

said quietly:

"So you are still in the city. I shall not ask you to come and see me;

that would be useless. Ole and I both wanted to ask you to come with us on

a little excursion, but you could not be found."

"I have seen Mr. Henriksen since then. I explained that I was engaged that

Sunday anyway. I was at a party, a little dinner--So everything is well

with you?"

"Yes, thanks."

Again she was seized with fear. What if he had been in the park and seen

everything? She said as indifferently as she could: "See how the trees are

swaying in the park! I suppose, though, there must be sheltered places

inside."

"In the park? I don't know. I haven't been there--But your escort is

waiting for you; isn't it Irgens?"

Thank God, she was saved! He had not been in the park. She heard nothing

else. Irgens was getting tired of this waiting, but she did not care. She

turned again to Coldevin.

"So you have seen Ole since the excursion? I wonder why he hasn't

mentioned it to me."

"Oh, he cannot remember everything. He has a lot to think of, Miss Aagot;

a great deal. He is at the head of a big business; I was really surprised

when I saw how big it is. Wonderful! A man like him must be excused if he

forgets a little thing like that. If you would permit me to say a word, he

loves you better than anybody else! He--Please remember that! I wanted so

much to say this to you!"

These few words flew straight to her heart. In a flash she saw the image

of Ole, and she exclaimed joyously:

"Yes, it is true! Oh, when I think of everything--I am coming!" she called

to Irgens and waved her hand at him.

She said good-bye to Coldevin and left him.

She seemed to be in a great hurry; she asked Irgens to pardon her for

having kept him waiting, but she walked on rapidly.

"Why this sudden haste?" he asked.

"Oh, I must get home. What a nasty wind!"

"Aagot!"

She shot him a swift glance; his voice had trembled; she felt a warm glow

throughout her being. No, she couldn't make herself colder than she was;

her eyes drooped again and she leaned toward him; her arm brushed his

sleeve.

He spoke her name again with infinite tenderness, and she yielded.

"Give me a little time, please! Whatever shall I do? I will love you if

you will only let me alone now."

He was silent.

Finally they reached the last crossing. Ole Henriksen's house could be

seen in the distance. The sight of that house seemed to bring her to her

senses. Whatever could she have said? Had she promised anything? No, no,

nothing! And she said with averted eyes:

"That which has happened to-day--your having kissed me--I regret it; God

knows I do! I grieve over it--"

"Then pronounce the sentence!" he answered briskly.

"No, I cannot punish you, but I give you my hand in promise that I will

tell Ole if you ever dare do that again."

And she gave him her hand.

He took it, pressed it; he bent over it, and kissed it repeatedly,

defiantly, right below her own windows. Covered with confusion, she

finally succeeded in opening the door and escaping up the stairs.

V

Ole Henriksen received a telegram which hastened his departure for London.

For twenty-four hours he worked like a slave to get through--wrote and

arranged, called at the banks, instructed his clerks, gave orders to his

chief assistant, who was to be in charge during his absence. The Hull

steamer was loading; it was to sail in a couple of hours. Ole Henriksen

did not have any too much time.

Aagot went with him from place to place, sad and faithful. She was

labouring under suppressed emotion. She did not say a word so as not to

disturb him, but she looked at him all the time with moist eyes. They had

arranged that she should go home the next morning on the first train.

Old Henriksen shuffled back and forth, quiet and silent; he knew that his

son needed to hurry. Every once in a while a man would come up from the

dock with reports from the steamer; now there was only a shipment of

whale-oil to load, then she would start. It would take about

three-quarters of an hour. At last Ole was ready to say farewell. Aagot

only had to put on her wraps; she would stay with him to the last.

"What are you thinking of, Aagot?"

"Oh, nothing. But I wish you were well back again, Ole."

"Silly little girl! I am only going to London," he said, forcing a gaiety

he did not feel. "Don't you worry! I shall be back in no time." He put his

arm around her waist and caressed her; he gave her the usual pet names:

Little Mistress, dear little Mistress! A whistle sounded; Ole glanced at

his watch; he had fifteen minutes left. He had to see Tidemand a moment.

As soon as he entered Tidemand's office he said: "I am going to London. I

want you to come over occasionally and give the old man a lift. Won't

you?"

"Certainly," said Tidemand. "Are you not going to sit down, Miss Aagot?

For you are not departing, I hope?"

"Yes, to-morrow," answered Aagot.

Ole happened to think of the last quotations. Rye was going up again. He

congratulated his friend warmly.

Yes, prices were better; the Russian crops hadn't quite come up to

expectations; the rise was not large, but it meant a great deal to

Tidemand with his enormous stores.

"Yes, I am keeping afloat," he said happily, "and I can thank you for

that. Yes, I can--" And he told them that he was busy with a turn in tar.

He had contracts from a house in Bilbao. "But we will talk about this when

you get back. _Bon voyage_!"

"If anything happens, wire me," said Ole.

Tidemand followed the couple to his door. Both Ole and Aagot were moved.

He went to the window and waved to them as they passed; then he went back

to his desk and worked away with books and papers. A quarter of an hour

passed. He saw Aagot return alone; Ole had gone.

Tidemand paced back and forth, mumbling, figuring, calculating every

contingency regarding this business in tar. He happened to see a long

entry in the ledger which was lying open on his desk. It was Irgens's

account. Tidemand glanced at it indifferently; old loans, bad debts, wine

and loans, wine and cash. The entries were dated several years back; there

were none during the last year. Irgens had never made any payments; the

credit column was clean. Tidemand still remembered how Irgens used to joke

about his debts. He did not conceal that he owed his twenty thousand; he

admitted it with open and smiling face. What could he do? He had to live.

It was deplorable that circumstances forced him into such a position. He

wished it were different and he would have been sincerely grateful if

anybody had come along and paid his debts, but so far nobody had offered

to do that. Well, he would say, that could not be helped; he would have to

carry his own burdens. Fortunately, most of his creditors were people with

sufficient culture and delicacy to appreciate his position; they did not

like to dun him; they respected his talent. But occasionally it would

happen that a tailor or a wine-dealer would send him a bill and as like as

not spoil an exquisite mood. He simply must open his door whenever anybody

knocked, even if he were just composing some rare poem. He had to answer,

to expostulate: What, another bill? Well, put it there, and I will look at

it some time when I need a piece of paper. Oh, it is receipted? Well, then

I will have to refuse to accept it; I never have receipted bills lying

round. Take it back with my compliments....

Tidemand walked back and forth. An association of ideas made him think of

Hanka and the divorce. God knows what she was waiting for; she kept to

herself and spent all her time with the children, sewing slips and dresses

all day long. He had met her on the stairs once; she was carrying some

groceries in a bundle; she had stepped aside and muttered an excuse. They

had not spoken to each other.

What could she be thinking of? He did not want to drive her away, but this

could not continue. He was at a loss to understand why she took her meals

at home; she never went to a restaurant. Dear me, perhaps she had no more

money! He had sent the maid to her once with a couple of hundred crowns--

they could not last for ever! He glanced in his calendar and noticed that

it was nearly a month since he had had that settlement with Hanka; her

money must have been used up long ago. She had probably even bought things

for the children with that money.

Tidemand grew hot all of a sudden. At least _she_ should never lack

anything; thank God, one wasn't a pauper exactly! He took out all the

money he could spare, left the office, and went up-stairs. The maid told

him that Hanka was in her own little room, the middle room facing the

street. It was four o'clock.

He knocked and entered.

Hanka sat at the table, eating. She rose quickly.

"Oh--I thought it was the maid," she stammered. Her face coloured and she

glanced uneasily at the table. She began to clear away, to place napkins

over the dishes. She moved the chairs and said again and again: "I did not

know--everything is so upset--"

But he asked her to excuse his abrupt entrance. He only wanted to--she

must have been in need of money, of course she must; it couldn't be

otherwise; he wouldn't hear any more about it. Here--he had brought a

little for her present needs. And he placed the envelope on the table.

She refused to accept it. She had plenty of money left. She took out the

last two hundred crowns he had sent her and showed him the bills. She even

wanted to return them.

He looked at her in amazement. He noticed that her left hand was without

the ring. He frowned and asked:

"What has become of your ring, Hanka?"

"It isn't the one you gave me," she answered quickly. "It is the other

one. That doesn't matter."

"I did not know you had been obliged to do that, or I would long ago--"

"But I was not obliged to do it; I wanted to. You see I have plenty of

money. But it does not matter in the least, for I still have _your_

ring."

"Well, whether it is my ring or not, you have not done me a favour by

this. I want you to keep your things. I am not so altogether down and out,

even if I have had to let some of my help go."

She bowed her head. He walked over to the window; when he turned back he

noticed that she was looking at him; her eyes were candid and open. He

grew confused and turned his back to her again. No, he could not speak to

her of moving now; let her stay on awhile if she wanted to. But he would

at least try to persuade her to cease this strange manner of living; there

was no sense in that; besides, she was getting thin and pale.

"Don't be offended, but ought you not--Not for my sake, of course, but for

your own--"

"Yes, I know," she interrupted, afraid of letting him finish; "time

passes, and I haven't moved yet."

He forgot what he intended to say about her housekeeping eccentricities;

he caught only her last words.

"I cannot understand you. You have had your way; nothing binds you any

more. You can be Hanka Lange now as much as you like; you surely know that

I am not holding you back."

"No," she answered. She rose and took a step toward him. She held out her

hand to him in a meaningless way, and when he did not take it, she dropped

it to her side limply, with burning cheeks. She sank into her chair again.

"No, you are not holding me back--I wanted to ask you--Of course, I have

no right to expect that you will let me, but if you would--if I could

remain here awhile yet? I would not be as I was before--I have changed a

good deal, and so have you. I cannot say what I want to--"

His eyes blurred suddenly. What did she mean? For a moment he faltered;

then he buttoned his coat and straightened his shoulders. Had he, then,

suffered in vain during all these weary days and nights? Hardly! He would

prove it now. Hanka was sitting there, but evidently she was beside

herself; he had excited her by calling on her so "unexpectedly".

"Don't excite yourself, Hanka. Perhaps you are saying what you do not

mean."

A bright, irrepressible hope flamed up within her.

"Yes," she exclaimed, "I mean every word! Oh, if you could forget what I

have been, Andreas? If you would only have pity on me! Take me back; be

merciful! I have wanted to come back for more than a month now, come back

to you and to the children; I have stood here behind the curtains and

watched you when you went out! The first time I really saw you was that

night on the yacht--do you remember? I had never seen you until then. You

stood by the tiller. I saw you against the sky; your hair was a little

grey around the temples. I was so surprised when I saw you. I asked you if

you were cold. I did it so you would speak to me! I know--time passed, but

during all these weeks I have seen nobody but you--nobody! I am four and

twenty years old, and have never felt like this before. Everything you do,

everything you say--And everything the little ones do and say. We play and

laugh, they cling to my neck.... I follow you with my eyes. See, I have

cut a little hole in the curtain so that I can see you better. I can see

you all the way to the end of the street. I can tell your steps whenever

you walk down-stairs. Punish me, make me suffer, but do not cast me off!

Simply to be here gives me a thousand joys, and I am altogether different

now--"

She could hardly stop; she continued to speak hysterically; at times her

voice was choked with emotion. She rose from the chair. She smiled while

the tears rained down her face. Her voice trailed off into inarticulate

sounds.

"For Heaven's sake, be calm!" he exclaimed abruptly, and his own tears

were falling as he spoke. His face twitched. He was furious because he

could not control himself better. He stood there and snapped out his

words. He could not find the ones he sought. "You could always make me do

whatever you wanted. I am not very clever when it comes to bandying words,

no, indeed! The clique knows how to talk, but I haven't learned the art--

Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you. But if you mean that you want me

to take somebody else's place now--If you want me as a successor--Of

course, I do not know, but I ask. You say you want to come back now. But

_how_ do you come back? Oh, I don't want to know; go in God's name!"

"No, you are right. I simply wanted to ask you--I had to. I have been

unfaithful to you, yes. I have done everything I shouldn't do,

everything--"

"Well, let us end this scene. You need rest more than anything else."

Tidemand walked to the door. She followed him with wide-open eyes.

"Punish me!" she cried. "I ask you to--have pity! I should be grateful to

you. Don't leave me, I cannot bear to have you go! Do not cast me off; I

have been unfaithful and--But try me once more; try me only a little! Do

you think I might remain here? I don't know--"

He opened the door. She stood still, her eyes dilated. From them shone the

great question.

"Why do you look at me like that? What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Come to your senses. Do not brood over the past. I will do all I can for

the children. I think that is all you can reasonably ask."

Then she gave up. She stretched her arms out after him as the door closed.

She heard his steps down the stairs. He paused a moment as if uncertain

which way to take. Hanka ran to the window, but she heard his office door

open. Then all was quiet.

Too late! How could she have expected otherwise? Good God, how could she

have expected otherwise! How she had nourished that vain hope night and

day for a whole month! He had gone; he said no, and he went away. Most

likely he even objected to her staying with the children!

Mrs. Hanka moved the following day. She took a room she saw advertised in

the paper, the first room she came across; it was near the Fortress. She

left home in the morning while Tidemand was out. She kissed the children

and wept. She put her keys in an envelope and wrote a line to her husband.

Tidemand found it upon his return; found the keys and this farewell, which

was only a line or two.

Tidemand went out again. He sauntered through the streets, down toward the

harbour. He followed the docks far out. A couple of hours went by, then he

returned the same way. He looked at his watch; it was one o'clock.

Suddenly he ran across Coldevin.

Coldevin stood immovable behind a corner and showed only his head. When he

saw Tidemand coming straight toward him he stepped out in the street and

bowed.

Tidemand looked up abstractedly.

And Coldevin asked:

"Pardon me, isn't this Mr. Irgens I see down there--that gentleman in

grey?"

"Where? Oh, yes, it looks like him," answered Tidemand indifferently.

"And the lady who is with him, isn't that Miss Lynum?"

"Perhaps it is. Yes, I fancy that is she."

"But wasn't she going away to-day? It seems to me I heard--Perhaps she has

changed her mind?"

"I suppose she has."

Coldevin glanced swiftly at him. Tidemand looked as if he did not want to

be disturbed. He excused himself politely and walked off, lost in thought.