"Sarah, are you going to the meeting this afternoon?" said Madame
Torvestad to her eldest daughter.
"Yes, mother."
"Captain Worse has returned; I shall step across and welcome him
home. The poor man is probably still in his sins. Only think, Sarah,
if it should be granted to one of us to recover this wanderer from
the fold!"
Madame Torvestad looked hard at her daughter as she said this, but
Sarah, who stood at the kitchen dresser washing up the dinner plates,
did not raise her eyes, which were dark and large, with long
eyelashes, and heavy black eyebrows.
"You can just inquire among the friends if any would like to drop in
and talk over the subjects discussed at this meeting, that we may
strengthen and encourage one another."
"Yes, mother."
Madame Torvestad went into the sitting-room, which was rather dark,
being at the back part of the building. For the rest, it was well and
solidly furnished, very clean and orderly, but withal a little
formal. She was the widow of an elder among the Brethren, and after
her husband's death no other person had been forthcoming to supply
his place. The number of the genuine Herrnhutters was neither large
nor increasing, for the prevailing religious movement was rather in
the direction of Haugianism.
There was, however, so much conformity of doctrine, and such a
similarity in outward conduct, that the ordinary public could hardly
see a shade of difference between the Herrnhutters and the Haugians;
and, in truth, there was a gradual amalgamation of the two sects.
Originally there was no small difference between the Brethren and the
followers of Hauge. Hauge sought and found his earliest and most
devoted disciples among the peasants. The Brethren, on the other
hand, consisted chiefly of well-to-do townspeople, who, under their
German leaders, and by their frequent visits to Christiansfeldt and
other stations of the Herrnhutters, had attained a higher degree both
of intellectual and social culture.
But at a later period, when Hans Nilsen Hauge's revivals had overrun
the land, and had emerged from innumerable troubles; especially, too,
when Hauge's long imprisonment and subsequent death became known, as
well as the disgraceful persecution which blameless and God-fearing
people had undergone at the hands of the authorities--the movement
gained adherents among those who had hitherto looked with contempt
and aversion upon the peasant fanatics and visionaries.
All this contributed to an amalgamation of the two sects; Hauge's
followers were, moreover, always inclined to tolerance and brotherly
love when they met with living Christian faith. The Herrnhutters, on
their part, were neither strong nor numerous enough to maintain a
completely independent position, even had they desired it.
It was for such reasons that Madame Torvestad sent her daughter to
the new Haugian meeting-house; and in the same way the converts of
both persuasions came to her own small meetings. She retained certain
words and phrases which reminded those who frequented them of her
long residence in Gnadau, and she was also in the habit of reading
aloud to her guests certain small tracts which she herself had partly
translated from the German.
Madame Torvestad passed from the parlour to the workroom, where the
servant girl sat weaving steadily and skilfully. Distaffs and reels
of yarn lay about, and on the table by the window materials for
dressmaking; for this was a house where devotion was mixed up with
constant and useful work.
"Where is Henrietta?" asked Madame Torvestad.
"She went out to learn why the vessels in port have hoisted their
colours," said the girl.
"Ah, Martha, how the hearts of the young are drawn to worldly
follies!"
In the mean time, Sarah continued her work, humming a psalm tune.
This week it was her turn to manage the kitchen; she took it turn
about with the girl, for Henrietta was as yet too young.
Sarah was twenty-six years of age. Although a laborious and regular
life had made her strong and robust, she was very pale, for she
seldom went out of doors, and never farther than the church or
meeting. Her comely face contrasted pleasantly with the full chin,
which bore a trace of the commanding expression of her mother. She
wore her hair quite smooth, with plaits coiled round the back of her
head.
The charm of Sarah's face and figure was not such as is apparent one
year and vanishes the next; on the contrary, there was something
about her soft rounded features, pale clear complexion, and steadfast
eyes resulting in a calm, attractive beauty which promised to be
lasting.
Standing at the dresser amid the clatter of plates and cups, humming
her psalm tune, she did not hear the footsteps of a man ascending the
kitchen stairs; but when the door opened, she turned round, then
blushed a little, and cast her eyes down upon the ground.
The man in the doorway, who was tall and broad-shouldered, also cast
his eyes down, and said: "Look here, Sarah, I bring you 'Life in
Death,' the book we were speaking of. I hope you will like it."
"Thanks, Hans Nilsen," answered Sarah, without looking up from her
work. She could not take the book in her hands because they were wet,
so he laid it on the bench by her side and went away.
She listened to his step as he went up the stairs to the attic, for
Hans Nilsen Fennefos was one of Madame Torvestad's lodgers. Sarah
dried her hands hastily, and took up the book, dipping into it here
and there with evident interest and pleasure.
It was written by Hauge himself, of whom Fennefos often spoke, but
for whom her mother did not seem to care much; at all events she
possessed none of his works.
Sarah had, however, something else to do than to read; so she laid
the precious little volume, which Fennefos had bound with his own
hands, upon the window seat by her side, and renewed her work and her
hymn, a little more vigorously than before.
Sometimes she leant forward, and as she turned her head on one side,
gazing up at the narrow streak of blue sky which was visible between
the roofs, her dark eyes shone with a guileless, rapturous light, as
if they were piercing the vault of heaven itself.
Soon, however, another footstep became audible on the stairs below,
and this time Sarah heard it distinctly. It was Henrietta--there
could be no mistake about that. Two or three careless hasty steps,
then a stumble, and then much clatter, then more steps; just as young
girls blunder up a staircase when they first wear long gowns.
Henrietta, who entered heated, radiant, and out of breath, with her
hair in a tangle, exclaimed: "Oh, Sarah, you _should_ have seen it!
Do you know who has come back?"
"Hush, hush! Henrietta," said Sarah, chiding her; "only think if our
mother were to see you such a figure."
Upon this Henrietta began to smooth her unruly hair; but, unable to
restrain herself, she whispered with portentous eagerness: "I was in
the market, right down by the quay--don't tell it to mother--and
Skipper Worse came rowing--Skipper Worse has arrived from Rio, you
know--came rowing in with a six-oared boat and a flag, and behind him
sat Lauritz. I did not recognize him till he jumped on shore; he has
grown so tall"--raising her hand up. "He saw me; indeed, I think he
is following me here."
"Oh, Henrietta!" said Sarah, somewhat severely, knitting her
eyebrows.
But the graceless Henrietta stuck her tongue out and stole into the
passage, whence she hoped to reach the workroom unobserved. Sarah's
look grew anxious; she could not comprehend her unruly sister. She
herself had never been like this. Such a worldly disposition must
needs be subdued.
Nevertheless, she sometimes felt touched when Henrietta boiled over
with youthful animation, and almost felt a wish to share her high
spirits.
There was the old Adam in her, which ought to be suppressed and
overcome; but yet--but yet----
Presently she was again disturbed by the appearance of a round,
sunburnt, smiling face at the kitchen door. But the smile vanished as
Lauritz, looking sheepish and awkward, walked in. He had evidently
expected to see some one else.
"Welcome home, Lauritz," said Sarah, in a friendly voice.
"Thank you," said Lauritz, in his deepest tones, as he stood rubbing
his hands together in the doorway.
"Do you wish to see my mother?"
"Yes; I want to know if I can lodge here."
"My mother is in the sitting-room."
Lauritz Seehus was almost like a younger brother to Sarah, for he had
boarded at Madame Torvestad's ever since his school days. His own
home at Flekkefjord was not a happy one; his father drank, and there
was a swarm of small children.
In a few moments Lauritz reappeared, crestfallen and wretched.
"What, Lauritz," said Sarah, "are you going away so soon?"
"Yes," said he, hurrying out, "I could not manage it."
As he descended the old well-known kitchen stairs, he thought himself
the most unfortunate creature in the world; in fact, he wept--for the
first time since his boyhood.
During the whole of the voyage he had dreamt of securing his old
attic room again, of being constantly near Henrietta, and of
presenting her with all the wonderful things he had brought back in
his sea chest. He had dreamt of stealing out with her in a boat, or
of gliding with her on a hand sledge on the moonlight winter evenings
when Madame Torvestad was at meeting.
All these glorious plans had been carefully cherished and pondered
over a hundred times, and pictured down to the smallest detail, as he
paced the deck in the long and lonely night watches.
Now, however, it seemed as if there was no more hope or pleasure for
him, either in this world or the next.
Sarah seemed to take pity on him. Her mother came out and said:
"You saw Lauritz, Sarah?"
"Yes, mother."
"Did you speak to him?"
"No; I merely gave him a welcome."
"Do you think that he is changed?"
Sarah hardly knew what to answer, but her mother added with severity:
"Say no, my child; repentant sinners have a very different
appearance."
In her heart Sarah could not but allow that her mother was in the
right, especially when it occurred to her that Lauritz and Henrietta
were no longer children, and that sinful affections might take the
place of the old companionship.
Since she had entered the room she had also come to the conclusion
that it was her duty to confide her misgivings to her mother. Now,
however, she was spared this, and she was satisfied that it would be
better for the young people that they should be separated.
But then, again, she remembered how miserable he looked, as he crept
out of the kitchen, and she thought how disappointed Henrietta would
be; for had he not always lodged there?
No doubt it would be for the good of both that temptation should be
removed--but nevertheless--
By five o'clock Jacob Worse had returned home from the club; he could
stand it no longer. Everything had gone wrong, and nothing had
happened as he wished, from the time that he had set his foot on
shore.
At the club he had met two Finn captains, whose ships were detained
in the harbour, quite young fellows, who had lately arrived from
America.
One of them, a mere puppy, with a beard of English cut and a gold
chain, had been at Rio--and twice!
Oh! Randulf, Randulf, why were you away in the Baltic?
It happened to Skipper Worse as it happens to all easy temperaments.
The slightest pleasure would put him in good humour, and help him
over the greatest difficulties; but if, on the other hand, he
encountered any trifling annoyance, everything seemed to go wrong,
misfortune seemed to accumulate upon his head, and he thought that no
one was ever so persecuted and maltreated by fate as himself--but for
one day only. A night's rest generally restored his equanimity.
This was just one of his unlucky days from the moment when he heard
of Randulf's absence. Nothing had satisfied him, either at the club,
at the office, or at his warehouse; although there was absolutely
nothing to complain of in the management of his affairs during his
absence.
The people in his employ had, in fact, deserved much more praise than
he had vouchsafed to them.
Grumbling and dispirited, he traversed the well-kept rooms. The sun
was low in the north-west, and in the sunset glow he could
distinguish the _Hope's_ top-gallant yards over the point of land
that separated the harbour from Sandsgaard Bay.
Nothing, however, could cheer him up. Moreover, after a while he
bethought him how old Harbour-master Snell had led him aside into a
corner at the club, and had whispered, as he laid his finger to his
long red nose; "Pop--pop--Jacob, it was about time that you brought
the old one some cash; they say--pop--pop--that he is in want of it
just now."
"What in the world did he mean?" thought Skipper Worse, as he
recalled the conversation. "Does the old swindler think to persuade
me that C. F. Garman is in want of cash?"
"What do you want, Lauritz!" cried he suddenly, seeing the lad at the
door.
"Nothing, captain," said Lauritz, meekly, going out again.
But Worse following him, caught him in the passage, and pulled him
back into the room.
That Lauritz did not want anything was true; but when in his sorrow
and despondency he saw the captain, who had always been so good to
him, passing the window to and fro, he ventured to approach him on
the chance of meeting with some comfort.
Worse gripped him by the neck and looked at him.
"H'm! so there's another who has found little satisfaction in coming
home. Come, let us have a drop of something together, my son, and you
shall then tell me what is the matter."
Skipper Worse opened a door in the corner cupboard, produced two
round Dutch glasses, and poured out some cherry brandy for Lauritz
and some old Jamaica rum for himself.
"Now, then," said Worse, when they had emptied their glasses, "let's
hear all about your troubles."
But instead of beginning his story, Lauritz suddenly replaced his
glass on the shelf, seized the captain's, put it away also, slammed
to the cupboard, and seated himself on a wooden chair near the door.
Worse thought the lad was going out of his senses; but before his
wrath had time to break out, there was a knock at the door, and
Madame Torvestad entered.
Lauritz had seen her pass the window, and respect for her was so
thoroughly ingrained in him, that her appearance drove everything
else out of his head.
Anything rather than that she should see they were drinking. Even
Worse himself would not have wished Madame Torvestad to find him
hob-nobbing with the young man, and comprehending the position of
affairs, he winked amiably at Lauritz, as he conducted Madame
Torvestad to a seat upon the sofa.
She wore a black silk cloak, a dark grey hat with a wide brim, and a
broad satin ribbon under her chin.
Her dress and bearing gave the impression of solid wellbeing, and
steadfast purpose.
The somewhat full double chin, and the carriage of her head, gave her
a masterful look. In this she differed from others of her sect, who
strove to convey the idea of humility both outwardly and inwardly.
Moreover, it had become the fashion among the Haugians of the west
country to speak in a soft, lisping tone.
Madame Torvestad never allowed herself to forget that she was the
widow of an elder among the Brethren, and it was her ambition to
constitute both herself and her house a centre of the religious
movement. She therefore thought much of her own small meetings, which
were half-religious, half-social. For the same reason she took in
lodgers, although as far as money was concerned there was no need to
do so.
Lauritz had not been admitted upon these grounds; she took him at the
earnest request of friends in Flekkefjord. Generally, her lodgers
were spiritually minded young men, often wandering lay-preachers, who
came and went, remaining a few days among the Brethren in order to
exhort and edify one another.
By such means as these, Madame Torvestad had succeeded in making her
house a place of rendezvous for the Brethren in the town, and herself
one of its most influential matrons, one whom the elders often
consulted.
She was always a little less austere with Skipper Worse than with
others, either because she had been his tenant for so many years, or
that she considered such behaviour more likely to win him over, or
perhaps, for some other reason.
At all events, it was strange how seldom she brought Scripture
phrases into her conversation with him. She tolerated, indeed she
sometimes even smiled at the gallant captain's pleasantries, when
they were of a harmless sort.
After she had spoken a few words of welcome, and chatted with him on
sundry matters which had occurred during his absence, she concluded
by asking whether, as he was alone, he would come to supper at her
house. It would greatly please her daughters.
"Anybody else coming?" inquired Worse, suspiciously.
"Possibly two or three of the Brethren might drop in on their way
back from meeting."
"Thank you, indeed," muttered the skipper, with some signs of
irritation; "but you know that I am not fit for such company,
madame."
"Do not say so, Captain Worse; let us rather hope that you may be
fitted for company where the word of God is heard." This she said
with much cordiality, at the same time watching him closely.
Skipper Worse was a little embarrassed, and paced round the room. It
was not easy to give an answer; he could not abide her meetings, but
he was at a loss for a decent excuse.
At this moment Lauritz rose from his chair, and made as if he would
take his departure.
"No, no, Lauritz!" cried the captain; "you can't leave yet. We must
have a word or two together. Where are you bound?"
"I must go to the town and seek lodgings for the night," answered
Lauritz, gloomily, but still a little emboldened by the cherry brandy
he had drunk.
"What! aren't you going to lodge at Madame Torvestad's? Can't he,
madame?"
"No," she replied drily. "You know that those who lodge with me are
chiefly religious persons. I do not take in sailors."
"Yes; but your house has hitherto been like a home to Lauritz. It is
hard for the poor lad on his return to find himself turned out into
the street."
Worse now understood the young man's troubles, and, in his good
nature, would willingly endeavour to help him. But Madame Torvestad
made no response; she gathered up the folds of her cloak and prepared
to depart.
"Well, good-bye, Captain Worse," said she; "I am heartily glad to
welcome you home again. In half an hour or so I expect Sarah and a
few friends from the meeting. Do you feel no inclination to join
them, and to offer thanks to Him who has protected you in the
tempest, and has brought you home unhurt over the stormy sea?"
"Yes, yes--of course, madame; you see--but--" and Jacob Worse stood
and fidgeted about.
"Come now, you will not refuse," said she, holding out her hand, and
looking at him with an expression of kindness.
But Worse still held back, and said, half in jest: "I am sorry to
seem so obstinate; but I think that you too, Madame Torvestad, are
also a little obstinate in your refusal to give house room to this
poor lad. Come, let us make a bargain. I will attend your meeting if
you will allow Lauritz to lodge with you. Will you say 'done,' Madame
Torvestad?"
"I would willingly do more than that, Captain Worse, if it would tend
to satisfy you," said she, offering him her hand.
Then, turning to Lauritz, she added, in her usual tone: "Mind, I do
this for the captain's sake. I trust that you will so conduct
yourself that I may not have to repent of it. You can have your old
room; it is quite ready for you."
Saying this, she left the room.
But the captain and Lauritz paid another visit to the cupboard. This
exhilarated Worse, and when he saw with what unbounded glee Lauritz
rushed off towards the wharf, in order to bring up his sea chest,
containing all his treasures, he forgot for a moment how dearly he
had paid for his young friend's little loft in the attic.