I circled round all that day, keeping near to Øvrebø; looked in at one
or two farms to ask for work, and wandered on again like an outcast,
aimlessly. It was a chill, unkindly day, and I had need of all my
walking to keep warm.
Towards evening I made over to my old working place among the Captain's
timber. I heard no sound of the ax; Falkenberg had gone home. I found
the trees I had felled the night before, and laughed outright at the
ghastly looking stumps I had left. Falkenberg would surely have seen the
havoc, and wondered who could have done it. Possibly he might have set
it down to witchcraft, and fled home accordingly before it got dark.
Falkenberg!... Hahaha!
But it was no healthy merriment, I doubt--a thing born of the fever and
the weakness that followed it. And I soon turned sorrowful once more.
Here, on this spot, she had stood one day with that girl friend of hers;
they had come out and talked to us in the woods....
When it was dark enough I started down towards the house. Perhaps
I might sleep in the loft again to-night; then to-morrow, when her
headache was gone, she might come out. I went down near enough to see
the lights of the house, then I turned back. No, perhaps it was too
early yet.
Then for a time--I should reckon about two hours--I wandered round
and sat down a bit, wandered again and sat down a bit; then I moved up
towards the house again. Now I could perfectly well go up in the loft
and lie down there. As for Falkenberg--miserable worm!--let him dare to
say a word! Now I know what I will do. I will hide my sack in the woods
before I go up, so as to look as if I had only come back for some little
thing I had forgotten.
And I go back to the woods.
No sooner have I hidden the sack than I realize I am not concerned at
all with Falkenberg and sleeping in the loft. I am a fool and a madman,
for the thing I want is not shelter for the night, but a sight of just
one creature there before I leave the place. And I say to myself: “My
good sir, was it not you that set out to live a quiet life among healthy
folk, to win back your peace of mind?”
I pull out my sack from its hiding-place, fling it over my shoulder, and
move towards the house for the third time, keeping well away from the
servants' quarters, and coming round on the south side of the main
building. There is a light in the parlour.
And now, although it is dark, I let down the sack from over my shoulder,
not to look like a beggar, and thrust it under my arm as if it were a
parcel. So I steal up cautiously towards the house. When I have got near
enough, I stop, stand there upright and strong before the windows, take
off my cap and stand there still. There is no one to be seen within, not
a shadow. The dining-room is all dark; they have finished their evening
meal. It must be late, I tell myself.
Suddenly the lamp in the parlour goes out, and the whole house seems
dead and deserted. I wait a little, then a solitary light shines out
upstairs. That must be her room. The light burns for half an hour,
perhaps, and then goes out again. She had gone to rest. Good-night!
Good-night for ever!
And, of course, I shall not come back to this place in the spring. A
ridiculous idea!
* * * * *
When I got down on to the high road, I shouldered my sack once more and
set out on my travels....
In the morning I go on again, having slept in a barn where it was
terribly cold, having nothing to wrap round me; moreover, I had to start
out again just at the coldest hour, about daybreak, lest I should be
found there.
I walk on and on. The woods change from pine to birch and back again.
Coming upon a patch of fine, straight-stemmed juniper, I cut myself a
staff, and sit down at the edge of the wood to trim it. Here and there
among the trees a yellow leaf or so still hangs, but the birches are
full of catkins set with pearly drops. Now and again half, a dozen small
birds swoop down on one of these birches, to peck at the catkins, and
then look about for a stone or a rough tree trunk to rub the gum from
their beaks. Each is jealous of the rest; they watch and chase and drive
one another away, though there are millions of catkins for them to take
all they will. And the one that is chased never does anything but take
to flight. If a little bird comes bearing down towards a bigger one, the
bigger one will move away; even a full-grown thrush offers no resistance
to a sparrow, but simply takes itself off. I fancy it must be the speed
of the attack that does it.
The cold and discomfort of the morning gradually disappear; it amuses me
to watch the various things I meet with on my way, and think a little,
idly enough, of every one. The birds were most diverting; also, it was
cheering to reflect that I had my pocket full of money.
Falkenberg had chanced to mention that morning where Petter's home was,
and I now made for that. There would hardly be work for me on so small
a place; but now that I was rich, it was not work I sought for first of
all. Petter would be coming home soon, no doubt, and perhaps have some
news to tell.
I managed so as to reach the farm in the evening. I said I brought news
of their son, that he was much better now, and would soon be home again.
And could they put me up for the night?