No, Aagot did not go away as had been arranged. It occurred to her that
she ought to buy a few things for her smaller sisters and brothers. It was
quite amusing to go around and look at the store windows all alone; she
did that all the afternoon, and it was six when at last she was through
and happened to meet Irgens on the street. He relieved her of her parcels
and went with her. Finally they hailed a carriage and took a ride out in
the country. It was a mild and quiet evening.
No, she must not go away to-morrow. What good would that do? One day more
or less didn't matter. And Irgens confessed frankly that he was not very
flush at present, or he would have accompanied her.... If not in the same
compartment, at least on the same train. He wanted to be near her to the
very last. But he was too poor, alas!
Wasn't it a crying shame that a man like him should be so hard up? Not
that she would have allowed him to come, but.... How it impressed her that
he so frankly told her of his poverty!
"Besides, I am not sure that my life is safe here any more," he said
smilingly. "Did you tell my friend Ole how I acted?"
"It is never too late to do that," she said.
They told the driver to stop. They walked ahead, talking gaily and
happily. He asked her to forgive him his rashness--not that he wanted her
to think that he had forgotten her, or could forget her.
"I love you," he confessed, "but I know it is useless. I have now one
thing left--my pen. I may write a verse or two to you; you must not be
angry if I do. Well, time will tell. In a hundred years everything will be
forgotten."
"I am powerless to change anything," she said.
"No, you are not. It depends, of course--At least, there is nobody else
who can." And he added quickly: "You told me to give you a little time,
you asked me to wait--what did you mean by that?"
"Nothing," she answered.
They walked on. They came into a field. Irgens spoke entertainingly about
the far, blue, pine-clad ridges, about a tethered horse, a workingman who
was making a fence. Aagot was grateful; she knew he did this in order to
maintain his self-control; she appreciated it. He even said with a shy
smile that if she would not think him affected he would like to jot down a
couple of stanzas which just now occurred to him. And he jotted down the
couple of stanzas.
She wanted to see what he wrote. She bent toward him and asked him
laughingly to let her see.
If she really wanted to! It was nothing much, though.
"Do you know," he said, "when you bent toward me and your head was so
close to me, I prayed in my heart that you would remain like that! That is
the reason I first refused to let you see what I had written."
"Irgens," she said suddenly, in a tender voice, "what would happen if I
said yes to you?"
Pause. They looked at each other.
"Then it would happen, of course, that--that you would say no to another."
"Yes--but it is too late now, too late! It is not to be considered--But
if it is any comfort to you to know it, then I can say that you are not
the only one to grieve--"
He took this beautifully. He seized her hand and pressed it silently, with
a happy glance, and he let it go at once.
They walked along the road. They had never been closer to each other. When
they reached the new fence the workman took off his cap. They stopped
before a gate; they looked at each other a moment and turned back. They
did not speak.
They came back to the carriage. During the drive Irgens held all Aagot's
bundles in his arms. He did not move and was not in the least insistent.
She was really touched by his tactful behaviour, and when he finally asked
her to stay another day she consented.
But when the carriage had to be paid for he searched his pockets in vain;
at last he had to ask her to pay the driver herself. She was pleased to be
able to do that; she only wished she had thought of it at once. He had
looked quite crestfallen.
They met each other early the next day. They walked along the docks,
talking together in low voices, trembling with suppressed feeling. Their
eyes were full of caresses; they walked close to each other. When,
finally, Irgens caught sight of Coldevin standing half hidden behind a
corner, he did not mention his discovery with a single syllable in order
not to distress her. He said simply:
"What a pity you and I are not ordinary working people now! We seem to
attract attention; people are for ever staring at us. It would be
preferable to be less prominent."
They spoke about seeing each other at the Grand in the evening. It was
quite a while since she had been there; she had really had few pleasures
of late. Suddenly he said:
"Come and go up to my place. There we can sit and talk in peace and
quiet."
"But would that do?"
Why not? In broad daylight? There was absolutely no reason why she
shouldn't. And he would always, always have the memory of her visit to
treasure.
And she went with him, timid, fearful, but happy.