Let no one imagine that the girl who had passed through such a trying
ordeal at the bar of justice thought that she had done anything
praiseworthy! On the contrary, she considered herself disgraced before
the whole court room. She did not understand that there was something
honorable in the fact that the Judge had gone over and shaken hands with
her. She thought it simply meant that the trial was over and that she
might go her way.
Nor did she observe that people gave her kindly glances and that there
were several who wanted to press her hand. She stole by and wanted only
to go. There was a crush at the door. The court was over and many in
their hurry to get out made a rush for the door. She drew aside and was
about the last person to leave the court room because she felt that
every one else ought to go before her.
When she finally came out, Gudmund Erlandsson's cart stood in waiting at
the door. Gudmund was seated in the cart, holding the reins, and was
apparently waiting for some one. As soon as he saw her among all the
people who poured out of the court room, he called to her: "Come here,
Helga! You can ride with me since we are going in the same direction."
Although she heard her name, she could not believe that it was she whom
he was calling. It was not possible that Gudmund Erlandsson wanted to
ride with her. He was the most attractive man in the whole parish, young
and handsome and of good family connections and popular with every one.
She could not imagine that he wished to associate with her.
She was walking with the head shawl drawn far down on her forehead, and
was hastening past him without either glancing up or answering.
"Don't you hear, Helga, that you can ride with me?" said Gudmund, and
there was a friendly note in his voice. But she couldn't grasp that
Gudmund meant well by her. She thought that, in one way or another, he
wished to make sport of her and was only waiting for those who stood
near by to begin tittering and laughing. She cast a frightened and
indignant glance at him, and almost ran from the Court House grounds to
be out of earshot when the laughter should start in.
Gudmund was unmarried at that time and lived at home with his parents.
His father was a farm-owner. His was not a large farm and he was not
rich, but he made a good living. The son had gone to the Court House to
fetch some deeds for his father, but as there was also another purpose
in the trip, he had groomed himself carefully. He had taken the
brand-new trap with not a crack in the lacquering, had rubbed up the
harness and curried the horse until he shone like satin. He had placed a
bright red blanket on the seat beside him, and himself he had adorned
with a short hunting-jacket, a small gray felt hat, and top boots, into
which the trousers were tucked. This was no holiday attire, but he
probably knew that he looked handsome and manly.
Gudmund was seated alone in the cart when he drove from home in the
morning, but he had agreeable things to think of and the time had not
seemed long to him. When he had arrived about half-way, he came across
a poor young girl who was walking very slowly and looked as though she
were scarcely able to move her feet because of exhaustion. It was autumn
and the road was rain-soaked, and Gudmund saw how, with every step, she
sank deeper into the mud. He stopped and asked where she was going. When
he learned that she was on her way to the Court House, he invited her to
ride. She thanked him and stepped up on the back of the cart to the
narrow board where the hay sack was tied, as though she dared not touch
the red blanket beside Gudmund. Nor was it his meaning that she should
sit beside him. He didn't know who she was, but he supposed her to be
the daughter of some poor backwoodsman and thought the rear of the cart
was quite good enough for her.
When they came to a steep hill and the horse began to slow up, Gudmund
started talking. He wanted to know her name and where she was from. When
he learned that her name was Helga, and that she came from a backwoods
farm called Big Marsh, he began to feel uneasy. "Have you always lived
at home on the farm or have you been out to service?" he asked.
The past year she had been at home, but before this she had been working
out.
"Where?" asked Gudmund hastily.
He thought it was a long while before the answer was forthcoming. "At
the West Farm, with Per Mårtensson," she said finally, sinking her voice
as if she would rather not have been heard.
But Gudmund heard her. "Indeed! Then it is you who--" said he, but did
not conclude his meaning. He turned from her, and sat up straight in his
seat and said not another word to her.
Gudmund gave the horse rap upon rap and talked loudly to himself about
the wretched condition of the road and was in a very bad humor.
The girl sat still for a moment; presently Gudmund felt her hand upon
his arm. "What do you wish?" he asked without turning his head.
Oh, he was to stop, so she could jump out.
"Why so?" sneered Gudmund. "Aren't you riding comfortably?"
"Yes, thank you, but I prefer to walk."
Gudmund struggled a little with himself. It was provoking that he should
have bidden a person of Helga's sort to ride with him to-day of all
days! But he thought also that since he had taken her into the wagon,
he could not drive her out.
"Stop, Gudmund!" said the girl once again. She spoke in a very decided
tone, and Gudmund drew in the reins.
"It is she, of course, who wishes to step down," thought he. "I don't
have to force her to ride against her will."
She was down on the road before the horse had time to stop. "I thought
you knew who I was when you asked me to ride," she said, "or I should
not have stepped into the cart."
Gudmund muttered a short good-bye and drove on. She was doubtless right
in thinking that he knew her. He had seen the girl from the marsh croft
many times as a child, but she had changed since she was grown up. At
first he was very glad to be rid of the travelling companion, but
gradually he began to feel displeased with himself. He could hardly have
acted differently, yet he did not like being cruel to any one.
Shortly after Gudmund had parted from Helga, he turned out of the road
and up a narrow street, and came to a large and fine estate. As Gudmund
drew up before the gate, the house door opened and one of the daughters
appeared.
Gudmund raised his hat; at the same time a faint flush covered his face.
"Wonder if the Juryman is at home?" said he.
"No, father has gone down to the Court House," replied the daughter.
"Oh, then he has already gone," said Gudmund. "I drove over to ask if
the Juryman would ride with me. I'm going to the Court House."
"Father is always so punctual!" bewailed the daughter.
"It doesn't matter," said Gudmund.
"Father would have been pleased, I dare say, to ride behind such a fine
horse and in such a pretty cart as you have," remarked the girl
pleasantly.
Gudmund smiled a little when he heard this commendation.
"Well, then, I must be off again," said he.
"Won't you step in, Gudmund?"
"Thank you, Hildur, but I'm going to the Court House, you know. It won't
do for me to be late."
Now Gudmund takes the direct road to the Court House. He was very well
pleased with himself and thought no more of his meeting with Helga. It
was fortunate that only Hildur had come out on the porch and that she
had seen the cart and blanket, the horse and harness. She had probably
taken note of everything.
This was the first time Gudmund had attended a Court. He thought that
there was much to see and learn, and remained the whole day. He was
sitting in the court room when Helga's case came up; saw how she
snatched the Bible and hugged it close, and saw how she defied both
court attendants and Judge. When it was all over and the Judge had
shaken hands with Helga, Gudmund rose quickly and went out. He hurriedly
hitched the horse to the cart and drove up to the steps. He thought
Helga had been brave, and now he wished to honor her. But she was so
frightened that she did not understand his purpose, and stole away from
his intended honor.
The same day Gudmund came to the marsh croft late in the evening. It was
a little croft, which lay at the base of the forest ridge that enclosed
the parish. The road leading thither was passable for a horse only in
winter, and Gudmund had to go there on foot. It was difficult for him to
find his way. He came near breaking his legs on stumps and stones, and
he had to wade through brooks which crossed the path in several places.
Had it not been for the bright moonlight, he could not have found his
way to the croft. He thought it was a very hard road that Helga had to
tramp this day.
Big Marsh croft lay on the clearing about half-way up the ridge. Gudmund
had never been there before, but he had often seen the place from the
valley and was sufficiently familiar with it to know that he had gone
aright.
All around the clearing lay a hedge of brushwood, which was very thick
and difficult to get through. It was probably meant to be a kind of
defence and protection against the whole wilderness that surrounded the
croft. The cabin stood at the upper edge of the enclosure. Before it
stretched a sloping house-yard covered with short, thick grass; and
below the yard lay a couple of gray outhouses and a larder with a
moss-covered roof. It was a poor and humble place, but one couldn't deny
that it was picturesque up there. The marsh, from which the croft had
derived its name, lay somewhere near and sent forth mists which rose,
beautiful, splendid, and silvery, in the moonlight, forming a halo
around the marsh. The highest peak of the mountain loomed above the
mist, and the ridge, prickly with pines, was sharply outlined against
the horizon. Over the valley shone the moon. It was so light that one
could distinguish fields and orchards and a winding brook, over which
the mists curled, like the faintest smoke. It was not very far down
there, but the peculiar thing was that the valley lay like a world
apart, with which the forest and all that belonged to it seemed to have
nothing in common. It was as if the people who lived here in the forest
must ever remain under the shadow of these trees. They might find it
quite as hard to feel contented down in the valley as woodcock and
eagle-owl and lynx and star-flowers.
Gudmund tramped across the open grass-plot and up to the cabin. There a
gleam of firelight streamed through the window. As there were no shades
at the windows, he peeped into the cabin to see if Helga was there. A
small lamp burned on the table near the window, and there sat the master
of the house, mending old shoes. The mistress was seated farther back in
the room, close to the fireplace, where a slow fire burned. The
spinning-wheel was before her, but she had paused in her work to play
with a little child. She had taken it up from the cradle, and Gudmund
heard how she prattled to it. Her face was lined and wrinkled and she
looked severe. But, as she bent over the child, she had a mild
expression and she smiled as tenderly at the little one as his own
mother might have done.
Gudmund peered in, but could not see Helga in any corner of the cabin.
Then he thought it was best to remain outside until she came. He was
surprised that she had not reached home. Perhaps she had stopped on the
way somewhere to see an acquaintance and to get some food and rest? At
all events, she would have to come back soon if she wished to be indoors
before it was very late at night.
Gudmund stood still a moment and listened for footsteps. He thought that
never before had he sensed such stillness. It was as though the whole
forest held its breath and stood waiting for something extraordinary to
happen.
No one tramped in the forest, no branch was broken, and no stone rolled
down.
"Surely, Helga won't be long in coming! I wonder what she will say when
she sees that I'm here?" thought Gudmund. "Perhaps she will scream and
rush into the forest and will not dare come home the whole night!"
At the same time it struck him as rather strange that now, all of a
sudden, he had so much business with that marsh croft girl!
On his return from the Court House to his home, he had, as usual, gone
to his mother to relate his experiences of the day. Gudmund's mother was
a sensible and broad-minded woman who had always understood how to treat
her son, and he had as much confidence in her now as when he was a
child. She had been an invalid for several years and could not walk, but
sat all day in her chair. It was always a good hour for her when Gudmund
came home from an outing and brought her the news.
When Gudmund had told his mother about Helga from Big Marsh, he observed
that she became thoughtful. For a long while she sat quietly and looked
straight ahead. "There seems to be something good in that girl still,"
she remarked. "It will never do to condemn a person because she has once
met with misfortune. She might be very grateful to any one who helped
her now."
Gudmund apprehended at once what his mother was thinking of. She could
no longer help herself, but must have some one near her continually, and
it was always difficult to find anybody who cared to remain in that
capacity. His mother was exacting and not easy to get on with, and,
moreover, all young folk preferred other work where they could have more
freedom. Now, it must have occurred to his mother that she ought to take
Helga from Big Marsh into her service, and Gudmund thought this a
capital idea. Helga would certainly be very devoted to his mother.
"It will be hard for the child," remarked the mother after a little, and
Gudmund understood that she was thinking seriously of the matter.
"Surely the parents would let it stay with them?" said Gudmund.
"It does not follow that she wants to part with it."
"She will have to give up thinking of what she wants or doesn't want. I
thought that she looked starved out. They can't have much to eat at the
croft," said the son.
To this his mother made no reply, but began to talk of something else.
It was evident that some new misgivings had come to her, which hindered
her from coming to a decision.
Then Gudmund told her of how he had found a pretext for calling at the
Juryman's at Älvåkra and had met Hildur. He mentioned what she had said
of the horse and wagon, and it was easily seen that he was pleased with
the meeting. His mother was also very much pleased. Where she sat in the
cottage, unable to move from her chair, it was her constant occupation
to spin plans for her son's future, and it was she who had first hit
upon the idea that he should try and set his cap for the pretty daughter
of the Juryman. It was the finest match he could make.
The Juryman was a yeoman farmer. He owned the largest farm in the parish
and had much money and power. It was really absurd to hope that he would
be satisfied with a son-in-law with no more wealth than Gudmund, but it
was also possible that he would conform to his daughter's wishes. That
Gudmund could win Hildur if he so wished, his mother was certain.
This was the first time Gudmund had betrayed to his mother that her
thought had taken root in him, and they talked long of Hildur and of all
the riches and advantages that would come to the chosen one. Soon there
was another lull in the conversation, for his mother was again absorbed
in her thoughts. "Couldn't you send for this Helga? I should like to see
her before taking her into my service," said the mother finally.
"It is well, mother, that you wish to take her under your wing,"
remarked Gudmund, thinking to himself that if his mother had a nurse
with whom she was satisfied, his wife would have a pleasanter life here.
"You'll see that you will be pleased with the girl," he continued.
"Then, too, it would be a good deed to take her in hand," added the
mother.
As it grew dusk, the invalid retired, and Gudmund went out to the
stable to tend the horses. It was beautiful weather, with a clear
atmosphere, and the whole tract lay bathed in moonlight. It occurred to
him that he ought to go to Big Marsh to-night and convey his mother's
greeting. If the weather should continue clear on the morrow, he would
be so busy taking in oats that neither he nor any one else would find
time to go there.
Now that Gudmund was standing outside the cabin at Big Marsh croft
listening, he certainly heard no footsteps. But there were other sounds
which at short intervals pierced through the stillness. He heard a soft
weeping, a very low and smothered moaning, with now and then a sob.
Gudmund thought that the sounds came from the outhouse lane, and he
walked toward it. As he was nearing, the sobs ceased; but it was evident
that some one moved in the woodshed. Gudmund seemed to comprehend
instantly who was there. "Is it you, Helga, who sit here and weep?"
asked Gudmund, placing himself in the doorway so that the girl could not
rush away before he had spoken with her.
Again it was perfectly still. Gudmund had guessed rightly that it was
Helga who sat there and wept; but she tried to smother the sobs, so
that Gudmund would think he had heard wrongly and go away. It was pitch
dark in the woodshed, and she knew that he could not see her.
But Helga was in such despair that evening it was not easy for her to
keep back the sobs. She had not as yet gone into the cabin to see her
parents. She hadn't had the courage to go in. When she trudged up the
steep hill in the twilight and thought of how she must tell her parents
that she was not to receive any assistance from Per Mårtensson in the
rearing of her child, she began to fear all the harsh and cruel things
she felt they would say to her and thought of burying herself in the
swamp. And in her terror she jumped up and tried to rush past Gudmund;
but he was too alert for her. "Oh, no! You sha'n't get by before I have
spoken with you."
"Only let me go!" she said, looking wildly at him.
"You look as though you wanted to jump into the river," said he; for now
she was out in the moonlight and he could see her face.
"Well, what matters it if I did?" said Helga, throwing her head back and
looking him straight in the eye. "This morning you didn't even care to
have me ride on the back of your cart. No one wants to have anything to
do with me! You must surely understand that it is best for a miserable
creature like me to put an end to herself."
Gudmund did not know what to do next. He wished himself far away, but he
thought, also, that he could not desert a person who was in such
distress. "Listen to me! Only promise that you will listen to what I
have to say to you; afterwards you may go wherever you wish."
She promised.
"Is there anything here to sit on?"
"The chopping-block is over yonder."
"Then go over there and sit down and be quiet!"
She went very obediently and seated herself.
"And don't cry any more!" said he, for he thought he was beginning to
get control over her. But he should not have said this, for immediately
she buried her face in her hands and cried harder than ever.
"Stop crying!" he said, ready to stamp his foot at her. "There are
those, I dare say, who are worse off than you are."
"No, no one can be worse off!"
"You are young and strong. You should see how my mother fares! She is so
wasted from suffering that she cannot move, but she never complains."
"She is not abandoned by everybody, as I am."
"You are not abandoned, either. I have spoken with my mother about you."
There was a pause in the sobs. One heard, as it were, the great
stillness of the forest, which always held its breath and waited for
something wonderful. "I was to say to you that you should come down to
my mother to-morrow that she might see you. Mother thinks of asking if
you would care to take service with us."
"Did she think of asking _me_?"
"Yes; but she wants to see you first."
"Does she know that--"
"She knows as much about you as all the rest do."
The girl leaped up with a cry of joy and wonderment, and the next moment
Gudmund felt a pair of arms around his neck. He was thoroughly
frightened, and his first impulse was to break loose and run; but he
calmed himself and stood still. He understood that the girl was so
beside herself with joy that she didn't know what she was doing. At that
moment she could have hugged the worst ruffian, only to find a little
sympathy in the great happiness that had come to her.
"If she will take me into her service, I can live!" said she, burying
her head on Gudmund's breast and weeping again. "You may know that I was
in earnest when I wished to go down into the swamp," she said. "You
deserve thanks for coming. You have saved my life." Until then Gudmund
had been standing motionless, but now he felt that something tender and
warm was beginning to stir within him. He raised his hand and stroked
her hair. Then she started, as if awakened from a dream, and stood up
straight as a rod before him. "You deserve thanks for coming," she
repeated. She had become flame-red in the face, and he too reddened.
"Well, then, you will come home to-morrow," he said, putting out his
hand to say good-bye.
"I shall never forget that you came to me to-night!" said Helga, and her
great gratitude got the mastery over her shyness.
"Oh, yes, it was well perhaps that I came," he said quite calmly, and he
felt rather pleased with himself. "You will go in now, of course?"
"Yes, now I shall go in."
Gudmund suddenly felt himself rather pleased with Helga too--as one
usually is with a person whom one has succeeded in helping. She lingered
and did not want to go. "I would like to see you safely under shelter
before I leave."
"I thought they might retire before I went in."
"No, you must go in at once, so that you can have your supper and rest
yourself," said he, thinking it was agreeable to take her in hand.
She went at once to the cabin, and he accompanied her, pleased and proud
because she obeyed him.
When she stood on the threshold, they said good-bye to each other again;
but before he had gone two paces, she came after him. "Remain just
outside the door until I am in. It will be easier for me if I know that
you are standing without."
"Yes," said he, "I shall stand here until you have come over the worst
of it."
Then Helga opened the cabin door, and Gudmund noticed that she left it
slightly ajar. It was as if she did not wish to feel herself separated
from her helper who stood without. Nor did he feel any compunction about
hearing all that happened within the cabin.
The old folks nodded pleasantly to Helga as she came in. Her mother
promptly laid the child in the crib, and then went over to the cupboard
and brought out a bowl of milk and a bread cake and placed them on the
table.
"There! Now sit down and eat," said she. Then she went up to the
fireplace and freshened the fire. "I have kept the fire alive, so you
could dry your feet and warm yourself when you came home. But eat
something first! It is food that you need most."
All the while Helga had been standing at the door. "You mustn't receive
me so well, mother," she said in a low tone. "I will get no money from
Per. I have renounced his help."
"There was some one here from the Court House this evening who had been
there and heard how it turned out for you," said the mother. "We know
all."
Helga was still standing by the door, looking out, as if she knew not
which was in or out.
Then the farmer put down his work, pushed his spectacles up on his
forehead, and cleared his throat for a speech of which he had been
thinking the whole evening. "It is a fact, Helga," said he, "that mother
and I have always wanted to be decent and honorable folk, but we have
thought that we had been disgraced on your account. It was as though we
had not taught you to distinguish between good and evil. But when we
learned what you did to-day, we said to each other--mother and I--that
now folks could see anyway that you have had a proper bringing up and
right teaching, and we thought that perhaps we might yet be happy in
you. And mother did not want that we should go to bed before you came
that you might have a hearty welcome home."