II

The Miller's son went away. He stayed away a long time, went to school

and learned a great deal, grew up, big and strong, and got down on his

upper lip. It was so far to town, the journey there and back cost so

much, that the thrifty Miller kept his son in town summer and winter

for many years. He studied all the time.

But now he was grown into a man; he was eighteen or twenty.

Then one afternoon in spring he landed from the steamer. The flag was

flying at the Castle in honour of the son who had also come home for

his holidays by the same boat; a carriage had been sent down to the

pier to fetch him. Johannes bowed to the Master and Mistress of the

Castle and Victoria. How big and tall Victoria had grown! She did not

return his greeting.

He took off his cap again and heard her ask her brother:

"Look, Ditlef, who's that bowing?"

Her brother answered:

"That's Johannes. Johannes Miller."

She darted her eyes at him again; but he was too bashful to bow any

more. Then the carriage drove off.

Johannes took himself home.

Dear me, what a funny little place it was! He could hardly get into the

door without stooping. His parents brought out wine for the occasion.

His feelings gripped him, it was all so dear and so touching, his

father and mother so good and so grey, they gave him their hands in

turn and welcomed him home again.

The very same evening he walked round and looked at everything, the

mill, the quarry and the place where he used to fish, listened with a

touch of sadness to the birds he knew which were already building their

nests in the trees, and took a turn round by the big anthill in the

woods. The ants were gone, the hill was deserted. He dug into it, there

was not a sign of life. As he wandered about he noticed that a lot of

trees had been cut down in the Castle woods.

"Do you recognize the place again?" his father asked jokingly. "Have

you found your old thrushes?"

"I find some changes. There's been some felling."

"It's the Master's wood," his father answered. "It's not for us to

count his trees. Anybody may be in want of money; the Master wants a

deal of money."

The days came and went, mild, lovely days, wonderful hours of solitude,

with gentle memories of childhood, the call of earth and sky, of air

and hills.

* * * * *

He walked along the road to the Castle. He had been stung by a wasp

that morning and his upper lip was swollen; if he met any one he would

just bow and pass on. He met nobody. In the Castle garden he saw a

lady; when he came nearer he bowed deeply and passed on. It was the

Lady of the house. His heart still beat as of old when he went past

the Castle. Respect for the big house, the many windows, the Master's

severe and dignified person was still in his blood.

He took the road to the pier.

Then suddenly he met Ditlef and Victoria. Johannes felt uncomfortable;

they might think he had gone to look for them. Besides, he had a

swollen upper lip. He reduced his pace, uncertain whether to go on. He

went on. While still a long way off he took off his cap and carried

it in his hand as he passed. They both acknowledged his greeting in

silence and walked slowly past. Victoria looked straight at him; her

face changed a little.

Johannes went on down to the quay; a restlessness had taken hold of

him, his steps became nervous. Why, what a big girl Victoria was now,

quite grown up, lovelier than ever. Her eye-brows nearly met above her

nose, they were like two fine velvet strokes. Her eyes had got darker,

very dark blue.

On his way home he struck into a path which led through the wood,

avoiding the Castle garden. Nobody should say that he dogged the steps

of the Castle children. He came up a hill, found a stone and sat down.

The birds kept up a wild and passionate music, calling and chasing each

other, and flew with twigs in their beaks. A sweet smell of mould, of

bursting buds and decaying trees filled the air.

He had strayed into Victoria's path, she was coming straight towards

him from the opposite direction.

A helpless feeling of annoyance seized him, he wished himself far,

far away; of course she must think this time that he had followed her.

Should he greet her again? He might perhaps look another way; besides,

he had this wasp sting.

But when she came near enough he got up and took his cap off. She

smiled and nodded.

"Good evening. Welcome back," she said.

Again her lips seemed to quiver a little; but she recovered herself at

once.

He said:

"It looks rather funny, Victoria; but I didn't know you were here."

"Naturally you didn't," she replied. "It was just a whim of mine; I

thought I would walk round here."

Whew! he'd been too familiar.

"How long are you going to stay at home?" she asked.

"Till the holidays are over."

It was hard work answering her, she seemed all of a sudden to have gone

so far away. Then why had she spoken to him?

"Ditlef says you're so clever, Johannes. You always come out top. And

he says you write poetry too; is that true?"

He answered curtly with a squirm:

"Yes, of course. Everybody does."

Now, he thought, she wouldn't stay much longer, for she said nothing

more.

"Did you ever see anything like it, I was stung by a wasp this

morning," he said, showing his mouth. "That's why I look like this."

"Then you've been away too long, the wasps don't recognize you."

It made no difference to her whether he had been disfigured by a wasp

or not. All right. She stood there twirling a red gold-mounted parasol

on her shoulder and nothing else mattered to her. And yet he had

carried her ladyship in his arms more than once.

"I don't recognize the wasps," he answered; "they used to be friends of

mine."

But she didn't see the deep meaning in his words; she didn't answer.

Oh, but it was so deep.

"I don't recognize anything here now. Even the woods have been cut

down."

A little twitch passed over her face.

"Then perhaps you can't write poetry here," she answered. "Fancy if you

would write me a poem some day. No, what am I talking about! That shows

you how little I know about it."

He looked at the ground, stung and silent. She was making a fool of

him in the friendliest way, she talked patronizingly and watched him

for the effect. Begging her pardon, he hadn't wasted all his time in

writing, he had studied more than most....

"Well, we shall meet another time. Good-bye for the present."

He took off his cap and went without making a reply.

If she only knew it, it was to her and no one else he had written his

poems, every one of them, even the one to Night, even the one to the

Spirit of the Mere. She should never find that out.

On Sunday Ditlef called and wanted him to come over to the island. I'm

to be boatman again, he thought. He went. There was a group of Sunday

idlers on the pier, otherwise all was quiet and the sun was bright and

warm. Suddenly a distant sound of music came from over the water, from

the islands outside; the mail-boat swung in towards the pier in a great

curve; there was a band on board.

Johannes cast off the boat and took the oars. He was in a yielding,

pliant mood, this bright day and the music from the ship were weaving a

tissue of flowers and golden grain before his eyes....

Why didn't Ditlef come? He was standing on shore looking at the people

and the ship as if he didn't mean to go any farther. Johannes thought:

I'm not going to sit holding these oars any longer, I'm going ashore.

He began to turn the boat.

Then he suddenly saw a gleam of white and heard a splash; a desperate

cry of many voices rose from the ship and from people ashore and

hands and eyes all pointed to the place where the white flash had

disappeared. The band stopped playing at once.

In an instant Johannes was on the spot. He acted altogether

instinctively, without thinking, without making up his mind. He did

not hear the screams of the mother on deck: "My girl, my girl!" He no

longer saw anybody. He jumped straight away out of the boat and dived.

For a moment he was gone, a minute; they could see the water seething

where he had jumped in and knew he was at work. The cries of distress

still came from the ship.

Then he came up again, farther out, several fathoms from the scene of

the accident. They shouted to him, pointing like mad: "No, _here_ it

was, _here_!"

And he dived again.

Another interval of torture, an unbroken cry of anguish from a woman

and a man on deck wringing their hands. Another man dived off the ship,

the mate who had thrown off his jacket and shoes. He carefully searched

the place where the girl had gone down and they all set their hopes on

him.

Then Johannes' head appeared again above the surface, still farther

out, many fathoms farther than before. He had lost his cap and his

head shone like a seal's in the sunlight. They could see that he was

struggling with something, he swam with difficulty, one of his hands

was hampered. A moment later he had got hold of something in his mouth,

between his teeth, a huge bundle; it was the girl. Shouts of surprise

reached him from the ship and from the shore, even the mate must have

heard the difference; he put his head out of the water and looked

around.

At last Johannes reached the boat, which had drifted off; he got the

girl on board and climbed in himself; all without any stopping to

think. They saw him bend over the girl and literally tear the clothes

upon her back, then he grasped the oars and pulled furiously to the

ship. When the victim was seized and dragged on board everybody cheered

wildly.

"What made you try so far out?" they asked him.

He answered:

"I know the shoals. And there's a current here. I knew that."

A man forced his way to the side of the ship; he was pale as death,

with a tortured smile and tears hanging on his eyelashes.

"Come on board a moment!" he called down. "I want to thank you. We owe

you so many thanks. Only a moment."

And the man left the rail again, pale as death.

The gangway was thrown open and Johannes climbed on board.

He did not stay long; he gave his name and address, a woman embraced

him, soaking as he was; the pale, distracted man pressed his watch into

his hand. Johannes found himself in a cabin where two men were busy

with the drowning girl. They said: "Now she's coming round, her pulse

is going!" Johannes looked at the sufferer, a fair young girl in a

short frock; her frock was all torn open at the back. Then a man put a

hat on his head and he was led out.

He did not know exactly how he got ashore and pulled the boat up. He

heard another cheer raised and the band playing a gay tune as the ship

steamed away. A luxurious wave of rapture, cold and sweet, rolled

through him from head to foot; he smiled and moved his lips.

"No row for us today then," said Ditlef. He looked annoyed about it.

Victoria had come, she joined them and said quickly:

"What are you thinking of? He must go home and change his clothes."

Ah, what an event, in his nineteenth year!

Johannes started off home. The music and the loud cheering still rang

in his ears, a powerful emotion drove him on and on. He went past his

home and took the path through the wood to the quarry. Here he looked

out for a good place were the sun was warm. His clothes were steaming.

He sat down. A wild, blissful unrest made him get up and walk about

again. How full of happiness he was! He fell on his knees and thanked

God with hot tears for this day. She was standing below there, she had

heard the cheering. Go home and put on dry clothes, she said.

He sat down and laughed again and again, rapt with joy. Yes, she had

seen him do it, this heroic deed; she had watched him with pride as he

came back with the drowning girl in his teeth. Victoria, Victoria!

Did she know how unspeakably he was hers every minute of his life? He

would be her servant and her slave and sweep a way for her with his

shoulders. And he would kiss her little shoes and draw her carriage

and put logs in her stove on cold days. Gilt logs he would put in her

stove, Victoria.

He looked around. Nobody heard him, he was all by himself. In his hand

he held the valuable watch, it was ticking, it went.

Thanks, thanks for this good day! He patted the moss on the stones and

the fallen twigs. Victoria had not smiled at him; no, but that was not

her way. She simply stood on the pier; a little tinge of red flew over

her cheeks. Perhaps she would have liked his watch if he had given it

her?

The sun sank and the warmth began to fail. He felt he was wet. And then

he ran home, light as a feather.

* * * * *

There were summer visitors at the Castle, a party from town, with

dancing and revelry. And the flag flew night and day from the round

tower for a week.

And there was the hay to be carried, but the horses were all taken up

by the holiday makers and the hay was left out. And there were fields

and fields of uncut grass, but all the farm hands were pressed into

service as coachmen and boatmen and the grass was left to spoil.

And the music never ceased in the yellow drawing-room.

The old Miller stopped his mill and locked it up while this went on.

He had learnt wisdom, for he had known the times when the rollicking

townspeople had come in a body and played practical jokes with his

sacks of corn. For the nights were so warm and light and they invented

all manner of diversions. The rich Chamberlain in his young days had

once with his very own hands carried an ant-heap in a trough into the

mill and left it there. Now the Chamberlain was well on in years but

Otto his son still came to the Castle and found strange ways of amusing

himself. Many tales were told about him....

The sound of hoofs and shouting come through the wood. The young people

were out for a ride and the Castle horses were glossy and fresh. The

party came up to the Miller's house, knocked with their whips and

wanted to ride in. The door was so low and yet they wanted to ride in.

"Good day, good day," they cried. "We came to say how d'ye do."

The Miller laughed obsequiously at the joke.

Then they dismounted, tied up their horses and started the mill.

"The hopper's empty!" yelled the Miller. "You'll smash up the mill."

But nobody heard him in the roar.

"Johannes!" shouted the Miller with the full force of his lungs in the

direction of the quarry.

Johannes came.

"They're grinding up my millstones," his father cried, pointing.

Johannes went quietly towards the group. He was fearfully pale and the

veins on his temples grew bigger. He recognized Otto, the Chamberlain's

son, who was in cadet's uniform; there were two others besides him. One

of them smiled a greeting to smooth things over.

Johannes made no sound or sign, but went on. He was making straight for

Otto. At that moment he saw two ladies on horseback coming out of the

wood; one of them was Victoria. She had on a green habit and was riding

the white mare from the Castle. She did not get off, but sat watching

them all with questioning eyes.

Then Johannes altered his course; he turned off, went up on the weir

and opened the sluice; the noise gradually subsided, the mill stopped.

Otto called out:

"No, let it go on. What are you doing that for? Let the mill go on, I

tell you."

"Was it you who started the mill?" asked Victoria.

"Yes," he answered with a laugh. "What's it stopped for? Why mayn't it

go on?"

"Because it's empty," answered Johannes, with a catch in his breath,

looking at him. "Do you understand? The mill is empty."

"It was empty, do you hear?" Victoria repeated.

"How was I to know that?" asked Otto laughing. "Why was it empty I want

to know. Wasn't there any corn in it?"

"Get up again!" broke in one of his companions, to put an end to it.

They mounted. One of them apologized to Johannes before they rode off.

Victoria was the last. When she had gone a little way she turned her

horse and came back.

"You must please ask your father to excuse this," she said.

"It would have been more proper if the Cadet had done that himself,"

answered Johannes.

"I know. Of course, but--He is always taking things into his head....

How long it is since I saw you, Johannes!"

He looked up at her, wondering if he had heard aright. Had she

forgotten last Sunday, his great day!

He answered:

"I saw you on the pier on Sunday."

"Oh yes," she said at once. "What a lucky thing you were able to help

the mate with the dragging. You found the girl, didn't you?"

He answered shortly in a hurt tone:

"Yes, we found the girl."

"Or how was it?" she went on, as though something had struck her; "was

it you alone.... Oh, it doesn't matter. Well then, I hope you'll speak

to your father about that. Good-night."

She nodded with a smile, picked up her reins and rode away.

When Victoria was out of sight Johannes wandered on into the wood,

indignant and restless. He found Victoria standing by a tree quite

alone. She was leaning against the tree and sobbing.

Had she fallen off? had she hurt herself?

He went up to her and asked:

"Is there anything wrong?"

She took a step towards him, spread out her arms and gave him a

radiant look. Then she stopped, let her arms drop and answered:

"No, there's nothing wrong with me; I got off and let the mare go home

by herself.... Johannes, you mustn't look at me like that. You were

looking at me down by the pond. What do you want?"

He stammered:

"What do I want? I don't understand...."

"You're so broad there," she said, suddenly laying her hand on his.

"You're so broad there, about the wrist. And then you're quite brown

with the sun, brown as a berry...."

He moved his hand, trying to take hers. Then she picked up her habit

and said:

"No, there was nothing the matter, you see. I only thought I'd go home

on foot. Good-night."