CHAPTER IV

THE HUNT

Tora reached home about the same time as her father, who had been out

sailing with some friends. He was helped on shore, and his reception at

home was warm. The children fled, Tora locked herself into the attic,

and dare not even go down to supper, although she was hungry. She had

to open the door at last for her sisters; she soon began to quarrel

with them, they had been wearing her best shoes and had almost spoiled

them. It ended in one of them flinging the shoes at her, and they came

to blows over it. Complaints followed, which brought the angry mother

upstairs. Tora cried herself to sleep like a child.

The next day she tried to help her mother in the house, not without

some hard words and sarcasms about such fine elegant ladies only being

in the way. Still she set her will to the task of being a help to her

mother, especially in mending the clothes. She gave what she could from

her little annuity, so that they were on fairly friendly terms; but it

seemed to Tora that she had a right to have some time to herself. A

little while before supper, she would take the ferry across to the

other side and go up either into the wood above "The Estate" or into

the "Groves." There was no peace at home. Whether she went to the wood

or "The Estate," she always landed at Bommen, and went up that way,

though it was not exactly the most direct one; but she did not know a

prettier place in the town than the house in the large garden there, so

she gave herself the pleasure of looking at it every day.

Both house and garden had belonged to the Wingaard family, but they had

exchanged them for the Fuersts' house in the market-place, where the

Wingaards carried on the Fuerst business. The brother-in-law, Niels

Fuerst, therefore now owned the house in the large garden at Bommen.

Tora passed it with a little apprehension, although the man she dreaded

was certainly not there, but on board his ship. This became a change

and occupation, and formed, as it were, an incident in her walk.

Every time it was over, she went more carelessly up to the wood, or out

to the "Groves." In a little Norwegian town like this, all the girls go

about as they like. She met others and joined them, or went on by

herself; generally she wished to be alone for an hour or two; she went,

as a rule, to some particular spot, and when there took out her book,

if she had one, or else she wove day-dreams without the aid of books.

Or else, and this was now almost always the case, she wrote long

letters, one every day, about any curious experience. She had her

portfolio with her and an ink-bottle in her pocket; she lay on the

grass with the portfolio on a stone, or she sat on a stone with the

portfolio spread out on her lap and the ink-bottle by her side. That

did splendidly: true open-air letters, where the words seemed to fly

before the wind, and every varying thought found ready utterance. And

how delightful it was in the thicket, just dappled by the sunbeams,

enlivened by the twittering of the birds, a little startled by the

rustle of a squirrel in the boughs! The distant sounds from the

harbour, from the works by the river-bank, the voices in the "Groves"

and on the road, with every now and then a strain of music, only made

the silence of the place where she was sitting the deeper. This was her

one bit of summer poetry. As soon as she opened her eyes in the

morning, she began to long for it; the noise and quarrelling in the

house passed by her as though they did not concern her--it was here

that she lived. Her great expedition to Fru Groendal, and her remarkable

return home in the steamer, were of course recorded up here in letters

to Milla, Nora, and Tinka; on the fourth day, she read over the work of

the three previous ones; she was very pleased, she knew she had

successfully varied the theme. She became, however, somewhat thoughtful

as she read the first letter, for she remembered the others, and the

difference had become by degrees too great. If the girls were by chance

to compare them, one of those tiresome scenes might easily result when

she would have to pay the reckoning. No, she would have no more of

that. In the first letter she had treated the matter seriously,

described her confusion, her blunders, her fright; no one who read it

could doubt that she had been with a person of whom she had been

frightened. In the second letter she made fun of herself, of him, and

the whole affair. In the third, she described how a maiden with dark

hair was wandering on a foreign strand, when a merman rose from the sea

who had fair whiskers and curly hair. In her terror, the dark maiden

fled on board a ship, to return to her own country. But the merman swam

after the ship the whole way, with his hand on his heart; when she got

to land he gave a wail of sorrow, she heard it still in her dreams at

night.

She tore up all the letters, and did not write any others.

Still she continued her walks. She had not the slightest idea that

Niels Fuerst had returned to the town, that a friend had taken his duty

for him, and that he was quietly studying languages to prepare himself

for a new career, more brilliant than his earlier one, and that he was

living in his own house. Still less did she know that on the first day

of his return to the town he had seen her, in the looking-glass fixed

outside his window, look shyly across at the house as she passed, and

that he saw the same thing happen the next day. He knew that this was

not the shortest way up to the wood, which was where she went the first

day, or out to the "Groves," where she had gone on the second; on both

occasions he had put on his hat and gone out, the third day he sat

ready to follow her; now he thought he understood. He knew something

about girls who will and will not; they acted exactly in this way.

To-day she came as usual, glanced apprehensively across, and strolled

on with her portfolio under her arm. Some one stopped her, and she thus

chanced to look round and so detected him. He was already advancing

quickly; he was in pursuit, he had struck the trail.

She said good-bye, and as soon as she could do so unobserved, she

quickened her ordinary pace to the quickest of which she was capable.

She was frightened, unaccountably frightened. Perhaps it would have

been wiser to have turned back, but to-day she could not endure his

gaze, and there was no one else about. So she walked on, and on, and

on, but suspected that he was gaining on her--she almost knew it. She

dare not run on the high-road, but she trusted to the fact that she was

more at home in the "Groves" than he was, and that she could slip away.

She therefore left the road and made her way through the wood; she saw

to her terror that he plunged into it as well, so she ventured to run

up the hill, but in the direction from which he came; then she stooped

down behind a large stone. She was quite successful, for almost

directly afterwards she saw him pass by a little below the place

where she crouched, her heart beating as though it would burst her

dress. Here, where no one could see him, he ran, he climbed, he

jumped--nothing checked his straight upward course. She waited till he

was out of sight, and then ran off through the wood in the opposite

direction from that in which he had gone; she did not stop till she

found herself far above "The Estate" on a rock under a fir-tree, with

leafy trees all round, and, while hot and panting she looked round her,

thinking how wonderful the view was which she took in in a rapid

glance, he rose before her mind's eye as he had looked when he hurried

past the stone. He was horrible! That man could do anything!

After that, she could never get rid of him. It was always he, nothing

but he; or rather every moment of the day she fled from him, but he

always reappeared.

Her sisters reported to her that he hung about the house and looked in;

walked past and looked in, talked to them, asked them to remember him

to her. This immensely excited them, they were proud of it; his remark

that Tora was "the handsomest girl" had reached them too. But Tora's

terror increased; she was pursued. She knew that he would not give up.

Where could she go to? None of the Rendalens were at home. She could go

to them after the holidays, but nearly three weeks still remained. She

could not speak to any one else, she was too much ashamed. She did not

think once of shoemaker Hansen, but Fru Hansen was severe, she would

not exactly understand. Her mother she never once thought of. But after

all it was a thing which entirely concerned herself; she need be in no

man's power if she did not choose.

No, but when she could not by any means get him out of her thoughts?

On Saturday evening she had flung herself upon her bed, as weary as

though she had passed the day in the hardest manual labour. She lay

there and looked at the yards of a ship which was being towed past. She

watched the folds in the loosely hanging sails which were swaying in

the wind. The vessel was so near that she could almost have touched

her. Outside there was a heavy sea, the storm driving the swell up into

the harbour: she, too, longed to find a haven! It was Saturday evening,

to-morrow she would have to go to church. Karl Vangen's face smiled to

her as she remembered this, and she felt happy before she fell asleep.

If he had been a girl she would have gone to him--just to _him_--with

the trouble which oppressed her.

The next day she occupied a seat at the furthest end of the church.

Karl Vangen had met her, and said how nice it was that she was coming

up to them again to help Fru Rendalen. On account of this remark she

had chosen the most remote seat; she did not feel sure that she might

not begin to cry.

She did not, however; there was something soothing in the church and

the stillness and the people, which was unlike the summer day outside.

But when Karl Vangen went into the pulpit, and his prayer was the one

which he had used on her first school-day--that on meeting, almost word

for word the same--it disturbed her: that even Karl Vangen's prayer

should be a lesson from earlier days. This little coincidence occupied

her, and she did not follow him. She gathered that the sermon dealt

with conversion, and that Karl Vangen, as was his custom, illustrated

what he was saying by examples from real life. But she had heard these

examples at school, every one of them.

She was roused by the name of John Wesley. His conversion, Vangen

considered, was the most thorough, the fullest in every particular,

that he knew of. He related it, and then passed on to give examples of

sudden conversions, especially some by Wesley himself; other natures

with different pasts, with different kinds of knowledge, influenced by

other fears. He wished to speak of these sudden conversions separately

to-day. He had known a young girl who had a burning desire for grace

for her sins, which she could by no means obtain, until one day she saw

Rubens' picture of the Crucifixion, and Mary Magdalene standing with

long flowing hair at the foot of the cross. She would be Mary

Magdalene. And all at once it was a joy to her to imagine herself at

the foot of the cross in the place of Mary Magdalene; her thoughts

dwelt on this so powerfully that it seemed as though she, and no one

else, stood there. At once she received the knowledge that it was for

_her_ that Jesus was crucified, _her_ sins were forgiven. She was

seized with a great, great joy. The preacher knew several such examples

especially among women. They had clung so persistently to some single

incident in the life of Jesus, some single word of His, something

special in the mystery of grace, and had gazed upon it until it had the

effect of a strong light, a special knowledge. From that time all

became clear to them, their sins were taken from them; their will

became stronger from that day and hour.

Tora did not hear more, least of all that it was _against_ this that

Vangen wished to speak. Then and there her mind was occupied with an

attempt to follow these examples. His too familiar voice murmured on;

everything round her seemed to fade away. She saw Jesus on the cross in

a strange country, with driving black clouds above Him, each height,

each valley, each tree veiled and mourning. She saw His eyes close, His

chest rise and fall, and it all became night. She felt her own small

sorrows hidden in that awful moment. How long she remained in this

condition she did not know. The sermon was not over, she could not

therefore go; but she could not listen, she did not desire to do so.

When at length she left the church she had only one wish--to be able to

renew that vision as soon as she could.

Through all these days she had not been outside the door, she must go

this afternoon. From fear of Fuerst she went over towards the mountain,

and from there up into the wood along by the churchyard, and then on to

the big fir-tree on the right, and sat down on the stone under it--it

was smooth and flat. She had not come to dream or to enjoy herself, but

for real help to consecrate her life. These weary days had enlightened

her; she knew now that her character combined a little of everything;

that she wished for a little of everything, even of what was wrong, so

that she would be an easy prey for a rogue. She had not been

sufficiently guarded from the first; she had been completely

unprepared--nay, the danger had had something attractive in it.

This must now be changed; she would do any kind of work, if only it

would be a restraint on her. She had no more ambition now, nothing but

dread.

She fell upon her knees, and with her blood coursing the faster from

her hurried ascent, she offered her prayer in her abasement. It was the

most humble, piteous pleading. Her distress was extreme. Power to

resist the will which conquered hers! She did not doubt for a moment

that her petition would be instantly and literally granted.

Mentally she saw herself endowed with strength, she saw herself without

fear--even with a mission; no matter what it was, so that it continued.

And that should regulate her life. Willingly! Always! She could not

picture to herself greater joy, honour, or riches than to give herself

to some hard task; it was her nature to wish for extremes.

And now she began to contemplate herself--no, she came to a stand, her

mind was disturbed when she thought of her friends. Milla's greatest

anxiety in her last letter had been lest the weather should not

continue fine, and Nora had feared that they might forget to send her

some new music. Why should she alone, who was hiding here, have such

dreadful trouble? Her desolate position ought to have made people pity

her, but it only encouraged them.

She sat, turned away from the view, leaning against the big fir-tree.

Before her she saw alder woods, nothing but young luxuriant alder

woods, and fronds of bracken in a thick mass. Ah! how impotent all that

was, that they had discussed together at the Society's meetings, and at

other places. Only a few weeks ago, and now she must hide herself here.

If this became known, she would no doubt lose the small status she had

gained for herself. She would hardly go again to the Engels, she would

not be allowed to be Milla's friend, perhaps not be able even to go up

to Fru Rendalen's again; she began to cry, but she tried to collect

herself. The image of the sly, excited, accursed face that she had seen

from behind the stone down below, seemed to stab her--to thrill through

her; she understood that the dread with which she terrified herself was

greater danger to her than the actual man.

She ought to have gone home again, but it was a shame not to test her

strength, and so she stayed there.

As Tora, a short time before, was climbing the hill, Niels Fuerst was

sauntering up and down the deck of a vessel, the captain of which he

knew, and just as she reached the flat stone under the fir-tree he had

taken up the new ship's telescope to try it; he focussed it and turned

it towards the river-bank, and from there gradually upwards across the

wooden slopes. Tora had just seated herself on the stone as the

telescope was turned to that point, and he recognised her.

He took a short cut across the market-place, and turned up to the right

of "The Estate" gardens.

Latterly he had thought of nothing but her, he could not occupy

himself, and he slept badly. He had never been in pursuit of so

beautiful a girl before.

Although day after day she passed his house, she constantly eluded his

pursuit, and all his efforts were still fruitless. All that was needed

was to find her in her hiding-place; one could not do her a greater

service. Nay, the oftener she hid herself, the greater would be the

refinement of her pleasure in being discovered. Now he understood why

she had left Fru Groendal's that day--now he saw why she had cried on

board the steamer. Ah, these little girls! But the pursuit would become

wearisome if it continued much longer. His own credit was at stake as

well; no one must suppose that they could befool _him_. His character,

too, would be safer when this was all settled; she would be silent

then. If only she did not see him too soon, if he could only get near

enough to hold her with his eyes!

Notwithstanding his intense excitement, he advanced skilfully, not by

the path, but straight up through the wood under cover of the leaves.

He scrambled where he could not walk, he climbed where he could not

scramble. She sat there, searching for some definite idea which might

be extended until it entirely occupied and engrossed her mind; but she

was not successful--there was something which always distracted her.

Just then a branch snapped down below. She had constantly felt tempted

to turn round. Was there really anything behind her? She looked down

below her. At first she saw nothing; yes, the branches moved and she

heard the leaves rustle. That might be a horse or cow from "The

Estate"; they came up here for pasture. All the same, she felt very

hot; she wanted to get up and go away; but her eyes continued fixed on

the branches below, there was something dark beneath them. A head

pushed its way through, a man--_he!_ How in the world----? Did he know

that she----? How did he come to----? She bewildered herself with

useless, frightened questions. He looked up. With all her power she

raised herself, though her feet felt as heavy as lead; but she did not

turn from him, or attempt to go away, and by degrees she lost the

desire to do so. Now there was only the stone between them, a wave of

terror swept over her and roused her; she turned her head now,

staggered a few steps--and met him. She leaned forward, he took her

hand, his arm slipped under hers--she felt as though a burning band

were round her. She fell so unexpectedly and so heavily that he nearly

fell with her.

VI

WHAT FIDELITY WILL SAY

CHAPTER I

HAPPINESS

"Dear Nora,

"I know beforehand that this will not be a regular letter, I have no

time for one. I almost think that you had better not show it to the

others, they will hardly understand my feelings. Last, but not least,

there is something which divides the others from us two; I feel that

instinctively. If only I could do away with some of what I--feel, I had

almost written again. You must know that I have passed the greatest,

the most beautiful, the most enchanting day in my life.

"Ah! now you are curious. I will not bother you, but all the same I

must begin with how and why I came to do so.

"When we arrived at Copenhagen, who should meet us at the station but

Niels Fuerst! Of course it had been arranged between him and papa. I saw

that at once, but papa is so clever at keeping a secret. Do you know

where Niels Fuerst came from? From Sofiero. Yes, now it is written, and

you understand the whole thing. I told you that, long ago, papa had had

the honour of being invited by his Majesty to come and see Sofiero the

next time he went abroad. There are not many Norwegians to whom that

has happened, so it was very flattering to papa.

"He had said nothing to me; he did not wish to make me nervous before

the time, he said. Fuerst came straight from Sofiero--fancy, he is

perhaps to be made orderly officer to the prince who is a sailor--his

Royal Highness Prince Oscar, that is to say. Fuerst told us at what time

the train would leave the next day. Good heavens! actually the next

day. We were expected, then! I was not allowed to make any toilette, I

was to appear just in my travelling dress, as papa was to do as well.

That naughty Lieutenant Fuerst--you know he is related to us--he calls

me cousin, though I am not one. He said I was pretty enough as I was.

Do you know him?

"It was now a question of getting some sleep after the journey--one

does not look well when one has not slept. I have never struggled so

hard to go to sleep before. I was terribly startled, you see. I thought

about the stupidest things in the world. Do you remember chief

custom-house officer Jacobsen's nose? I lay and stared at his nose,

till I really fell asleep thinking of it and of the town bailiff; and I

can tell you I was so tired, that when I was once asleep, I slept like

a top. I was, thank goodness, none the worse when I got up. But it was

awful, really awful later on. You have never been in such

circumstances, so perhaps it may seem odd to you that the more I

thought of the important moment, and that I had no lady to refer to

(men can never tell one anything, and so they laugh), the more

terrified I became. It was rather a cold morning, and one thing with

the other, the cold and the fright--Fuerst called it cannon fever--I was

most miserably uncomfortable. It was dreadfully silly; at last I could

not altogether conceal it. You understand. But I consoled myself with

the thought that I was not the first girl to whom this had happened,

when she was to be presented at Court. I was really quite ill at last,

and therefore have hardly any impression of the journey, or what we

talked about. For all that, I got into a dispute. Fuerst said that all

the monarchies were trying to gather the wealthy classes about

themselves against the lower classes. That seems to me to be too bad.

Is the monarchy meant to protect itself? I thought it was to protect

the lower classes, and I said so too. Papa began to tease me about the

Society and school, and Karen Lote's history lessons; you can hear him,

can't you? Fuerst asked who was to protect the wealthy classes in that

case? They must protect themselves, I should suppose. At all events, it

is wicked of them to betray the lower classes, is it not?

"Oh, how enchanting Oresund is! When we crossed (I forgot to say that

we came there, that is, to Helsingoer, by railway) you see what I am

to-day.... No, I will pass that altogether, or I shall never be ready.

Father wants me to go out with him this morning, you will soon see why.

I will begin with the Palace, which can be seen from the Sound; it is

magnificently situated, but is not so large as we had expected. So at

last we arrived at Helsingborg. There, now you _will_ be astonished--a

royal carriage was waiting for us. Both papa and Fuerst took it as a

matter of course, but I am certain that they were at least as

astonished as I was.

"The carriage was just like any other; it is the livery which is the

important point. But I was in the most deadly terror how it would all

go off. The weather had, however, become delightful. I was obliged to

leave them for a moment before we got into the carriage.

"You can imagine how upset I was by it all, when I tell you that I

perspired through my gloves. Of course I had another pair to put on

when I got there. Papa drove me to despair by saying, 'My dear child,

how wretched you look.' I really believe I had tears in my eyes, for

Fuerst, who was opposite to me, began to try to amuse me, but I hardly

heard what he said. But still through it all I noticed that the

formation was a mixture of sandstone and coal strata, and that there

was a lot of iron in the rocks. I thought of Rendalen and his maps and

collections. You cannot imagine how all this passed through my mind in

the midst of my fright. If any one would have taken me home again, at

the price of every pretty thing I possess, I would have accepted the

offer, I can assure you. We drove through a little wood, and came out

into a great open quadrangle--the Palace.

"When I saw the quadrangle and the grass there--how do things come into

one's head?--I remembered so distinctly the lesson at school when I

learned that _bowling-green_ meant in English just such a place as

this; and that Fru Rendalen came into the class at the moment and asked

why it was called a bowling-green? and that Tora whispered it to me.

How cleverly Tora could do such things! I have no further recollection

of where we drew up. I got out of the carriage, when a very grand

gentleman met us, and gave me his arm. We were shown to some rooms. A

lady came with me, thank goodness. I was not myself till that moment. I

looked at myself in the glass. What a fright I was! I saw that at once

in papa's face when we met in a sitting-room. Fancy, I never noticed in

what direction we went or where the room was. Guess where we were going

to. Into the garden, where we were to lunch with their Majesties. There

could not have been greater condescension to the townsfolk of a little

Norwegian town, could there? Do you remember how we dressed our dolls

for a Court ball? The same gentleman--Fuerst does not remember his name,

but I believe he was a gentleman-in-waiting--escorted me and said

something to me in Swedish. I could not understand him, my wits were

wool-gathering.

"No one could have been in a greater state of mind. When I saw the

garden and came into it--it all whirled round me, trees, people, table,

servants, chairs--the awful fright I was in almost made me drop. I used

all my strength, I can assure you. The gentleman whose arm I had, must

have felt my hand tremble, or have read my trouble in my face; he told

me not to be frightened, their Majesties were so charming. I understood

that.

"Oh dear, and how wonderfully good they were; especially the King. Oh,

that smile, the shape of the hand, those eyes! It was a perfect ocean

of goodness--but more than goodness. There is something, especially in

the eyes, which fascinates one. I will use the word heaven rather than

ocean to describe those eyes, for then you can better understand what

the Swedes call _tjusande_.[3] There is no word in Norse for it. Yes,

_tjusande!_ Only southern people have such eyes. How cold and

egotistical we are, I must say it, when we look at them. At all events,

I feel it so.

"Now you shall hear something wonderful: from the time--I may say from

the very second--in which his Majesty's eyes rested on me, I felt well

again. Well, did I say? I felt this look fill and warm my whole being.

I felt it--it is strange, is it not? but on my honour it is true--I

felt it in my knees; yes, in my knees. There is only one word in our

language which can fully express my state of mind; I am almost in the

same state now, merely with telling you about it, the others would not

understand me. I was in a state of _beatitude_. Perhaps it is profane,

or at least wrong, to use this word in such a sense, but it is _true_.

"What do you think the King said? 'Welcome to my house, Froeken,' in the

prettiest, sweetest Norse I ever heard.

"The Queen smiled. She asked me what town I came from. The King

answered for me.

"'What is the clergyman called?' asked the Queen.

"'Karl Vangen,' I said; but that was stupid; I ought to have mentioned

the Dean's name or that of one of the elder clergy. At the same time

the King welcomed my father, who stood there with Fuerst, and said to

him, 'I think the lieutenant has excellent taste.' That is exactly what

he said, word for word; I have often thought of it since, for it

evidently showed that Niels Fuerst had spoken about me in these high

places. I did not know that they would trouble themselves about

anything so insignificant.

"We then went to table, the same elegant gentleman took me. 'Well?'

said he in Swedish, and I hastened to answer that I was enchanted.

'Every one is,' he assured me. We did not sit down, but walked about as

we liked, and first one and then another came up and was presented to

me. Only think! one of them was a Count, another a Baron, then a

Countess, a Baroness, and a Master of the Horse: he in particular came

and walked about, and talked continually.

"It was not exactly what they said, but their whole style and manner

had something incredibly intellectual and winning. But there was

something as well in the place and surroundings which helped, for I

felt as though I were not on earth.

"The servants themselves made me feel uneasy and small, they gave me

the impression of being so careful, so attentive, of knowing so well

how everything should be.

"I did not always do things right. We Norwegians do not learn anything.

No, there was a nobility, a beauty and kindness, and it was all so

bright and yet so stately; none of the Princes were there, though. What

we had to eat (I hardly touched anything) I can say by heart, for I

wrote it down in my diary, and I will copy it for Tora; that and the

furniture of the castle, and a thousand other things which you do not

care about. You do not understand anything about nice dishes, but I

arrange it so as to tell you all the more intellectual things, and you

must not show it to any one. My word, if you do! Nora, you don't know,

but I must have one confidante, or happiness would be a burden. I have

never felt as I have done yesterday and to-day. I am quite upset. I

will write to Tora about my dress. Of course I have a new one, which I

think would have surprised you all, although there is not much to be

done in black. Still I think it suits me. I got a glimpse of myself in

several mirrors at the castle, for you must understand that we were

shown over it. On the side where we came in first, to the left, is the

great apartment where the royal entertainments are held in all their

grandeur. Ah! if one could only be present. This room is decorated in

white, with an arabesque on a blue ground, and great big pictures, one

by Markus Larsson, full of sunlight, but I don't know what it is, it is

so extraordinary; and divans and chairs in blue silk--an enormous

chandelier of different coloured glass, magnificent! Near the wall two

black figures, dressed in red and gold, holding lamps, real works of

art. A huge marble fireplace, the shape we call '_Pies_,'[4] but the

word is so ugly; and a richly gilded clock and porcelain vases; a

particularly noticeable flower-stand in Japanese porcelain, very

curious. Also a Chinese or Japanese writing-table made of black wood,

with gold ornaments. But that was in the cabinet.

"But no; I will scratch out about the cabinet. You shall read all about

it in Tora's letter. I will just tell you that you look out from the

great balcony over the Sound, and see all the ships and steamers, and

Helsingborg and Krongborg. There is not a view like it in the North.

How should there be? Do you think we did not go into the bedrooms? I

don't know if that were right, but we did. I really have to restrain

myself from telling you about them at once, and about their Majesties'

sitting-rooms. Imagine white silk hangings over both walls and ceiling,

with a light red border, in the Queen's room. And such a writing-table!

The King's rooms were so nobly simple. On the pillow in the King's

bedroom I saw two hairs--you know what sharp eyes I have. I lagged a

little behind, and took them without any one noticing it. I put them

into the case of my watch. But this reminds me of the great event. When

we went into the garden again, the light fell very strongly right on

the gate, and I saw something written on the railing. I went up to it;

it was in French, and undoubtedly by a lady.... Yes, you see I have

scratched that out again. For when one has made up one's mind not to

repeat a thing, it shall not be repeated. It was horrid. I rubbed it

out with my finger; but I had to be quick, and I got a splinter into my

finger, through my glove, and made it bleed. So I rubbed it out with my

blood. I have not said a word to any living being about it until now,

nor must you tell it to any one. To papa I said I had pricked my finger

while I was trying to gather a rose.

"If any one should have seen me--but they were looking at something in

the garden; or if any one had seen what was written before I did? Is it

not extraordinary?

"The royal party and their attendants were no longer in the garden, but

the gentleman who had met us now joined us. As he did not show any

intention of taking us to the others, papa asked him to convey our

respectful thanks to their Majesties, and we then left the garden. The

carriage came up again, and my elegant cavalier handed me a beautiful

bouquet from the royal garden. What do you think of that? It is before

me as I write. The flowers are of the Swedish and Norwegian colours. To

be sure, Fuerst says they are the commonest flowers, but I thought there

was more meaning in it than that. I especially admire a lily and a

rose. I put a few forget-me-nots into my letter, for I must tell you,

my dear Nora, that I am not coming home again. I hope this will be

nearly as great an astonishment to you as it was to me, when papa told

me this morning. I am to go to Paris to learn French thoroughly.

"'Is that a determination he has only lately come to, or why did he not

tell me before?' you will naturally inquire.

"You must know that we start to-morrow. What do you think of that? Papa

cannot spare the time to remain away longer.

"'But why did we not go direct?' you ask again. I asked the same thing,

although, Heaven knows, I would not have missed yesterday for the

world.

"Papa answered that he came to the determination yesterday. Lieutenant

Fuerst drew his attention to the fact that all well-bred Swedish ladies

speak French as well as they do Swedish, and that all Germans and

Russians know it; besides which, every well-educated woman ought to

speak French like her mother tongue.

"It is not disagreeable to me to travel. To be sure, it will be for at

least a year that I shall be separated from you all, but we shall have

all the more to tell each other when we meet again.

"There is one thing I must ask you about. Lieutenant Fuerst says

that---- I had got so far when father came in this morning, and I had

to hide my letter. He took me out all in a hurry. We are only just home

again this evening, and do you know what for? To pack up and start at

once. A fresh determination! Lieutenant Fuerst will give father the

pleasure of coming with him. I shall put my letter just as it is into

the letter-box at the station. I suspect that if I were to read it

through again you would not get it.--Your loving

"Milla."

Nora and her mother had left the Baths when the letter got there. It

was forwarded to Christiania, where they were staying. When Nora

returned she found a telegram, dated from Hamburg, which ran: "Do not

read the letter which is coming; send it me,' Hotel Continental,

Paris.'" But the letter had been already read.

CHAPTER II

A MISFORTUNE

Soon after the beginning of the term Miss Hall began a series of

lectures for the ladies of the town; it had become the fashion to hear

a little of all the objectionable things which their daughters and

sisters had learned about in the past year. The lectures were held

twice a week in the great laboratory, which as a rule was full. Most of

those who had been in the senior class the previous year, and had now

left, attended these lectures. One day late in October, when they were

assembling in the lecture-hall, Tora came in, accompanied by her

friends. There was general astonishment and greeting. Where had she

been? Why was she so pale? And, good gracious, how thin! It was true,

then, that she had been ill. Was it in the west country that she had

been staying? When had she returned to the town? Would she live up here

now?

The conversation ceased as Fru Rendalen and Miss Hall came in, and

those who were not seated turned to find places. But it was soon seen

that there were not sufficient seats; the crowd had never been so

great, for Miss Hall was lecturing upon certain phenomena of the nerves

which had till now been overlooked or denied, and the lectures became

more interesting every time.

To gain space, the large double door leading to the entrance-hall was

opened, the outer door being closed. A number of chairs were placed in

the hall, and two rows as well in front of the laboratory table. Fru

Rendalen's commanding voice was heard giving directions, till quiet was

obtained. Tora and her friends found places at the furthest end of one

of these rows of chairs.

Miss Hall took up her subject where she had broken off at the last

lecture.

"The health and morality of mankind demanded that woman's nerves should

be strengthened. It was not enough that she should feel physically

comfortable, her will must be ripened by knowledge; she must have an

aim in life which will not readily allow her to remain the mere slave

of another human being." In a professional manner she ran shortly

through what she had said before, for the benefit of those who had not

been present.

"People with weak nerves, and especially those of an hysterical

temperament, can by certain mechanical operations be brought into a

'hypnotic,' 'somnambulistic,' or 'magnetic' condition. This condition

was impotence combined with consciousness; we did, while in this state,

what he wished who had brought us into it. We were his prey, and that

not only while we slept, but afterwards when we were awakened--we

absolutely obeyed the commands we had received while we were in this

condition." Miss Hall reminded her hearers of one or two examples she

had given.

"In this state certain mediums could visit other places, read the

thoughts of others, both near and far. Some few could even see into

futurity.

"This fact could no longer be denied, nor could it be explained. At one

time it was believed that this result was dependent on belief; now it

is known that belief has nothing to do with it. _Certain people could

bring themselves_ into this abnormal condition, some by great exertion,

others merely by wishing it. They all accomplish this--with whatever

object--by fixing their minds upon some single thing, either in their

thoughts or in the exterior world.

"Most of us know a little of the effect of doing this, but only those

with weak nerves and in certain conditions can bring themselves by it

into a state of excitement and abstraction. Many conversions have taken

place by this means, especially among women. In this way we come to-day

to what is the most dangerous for women. Some people have the power of

bringing others, and especially women, into this condition without the

ordinary mechanical means, without approaching them, without any

movement, merely by a look. They can force people to look at them, and,

with their eyes on theirs, command their will."

Miss Hall related a story which she had heard of a very celebrated

singer. One day she was in a railway carriage; the train had just

stopped, and she was looking out of the window furthest from the

platform, when she felt an uncomfortable sensation, felt constrained to

turn round; she met the gaze of a pair of eyes which seemed to stab

her, and which looked straight into hers. She hurried out at once and

changed compartments, but the man followed her; he was probably aware

of his power and wished to use it. The lady found her _Impresario_, and

begged him to free her "from those green eyes." It was done, but she

felt certain that otherwise she would have been lost. "Now the Prima

Donna happened to be conscious of her own weakness, but how many are

so? More especially if touch is added to the power of the eyes, they

are lost. A man who does not know what it is, takes it naturally for a

desire for more, and acts accordingly. But this need not be so. I dare

assert that many a woman who has fallen is as guiltless as an

unconscious child."

A chair is overturned--something heavy and soft falls to the ground;

other chairs are pushed aside, and exclamations are heard from several

of the audience as they hastily rise.

Every one now got up, those behind standing on the forms. Through all

the bustle they heard the words, "Stand back!" It was Fru Rendalen's

voice. Those who were standing on the benches could not contrive to see

anything, and questioned those before them in whispers. Only those

quite near saw what it was, and they made no answer, nor did they move

till Fru Rendalen and one or two others had lifted up an inanimate form

which Fru Rendalen carried out in her arms--it was Tora. "Stand back!"

was heard again.

Miss Hall followed her, then Nora, Tinka, and Anna Rogne, and then

several others. Miss Hall hurried forward as soon as they were in the

hall, and opened the door of Fru Rendalen's sitting-room; she went

quickly in, and arranged a cushion on the sofa, while Fru Rendalen laid

down her burden with Nora's assistance. Miss Hall turned to all those

who were standing round and asked them to leave the room; as soon as

Fru Rendalen could raise herself she sharply repeated the request. They

all went away. Outside in the hall they encountered a stream of people

coming from the laboratory--every one was curious; others came from the

class-rooms, which were opening one after the other. But Nora, who had

grown deadly white, took upon herself to stay. When her unhappy friend

began to show signs of life she was seized with a fearful suspicion.

She ran forward and fastened the doors leading to the two passages. It

was hardly done when she heard Tora call out, "Yes, yes, that happened

to me! Oh yes." And a fit of despairing crying followed. It sounded

through the passages. Supposing any one outside should hear it? Nora

flew into the inner passage, meeting the stream of people; she did not

clearly know how she could hinder them from coming near the doors. She

never knew how she got through the crowd of grown people and children;

how she gathered voice and courage to call out that they must not go

on, they must all come back again. She mounted the tribune and rapped

loudly with a ruler. They came streaming in from all quarters. She

rapped again, and every one was quiet. She said: "Tora Holm has had

nervous fever. The air in here was too close, and what was said

frightened her, and--and--and--oh yes, Miss Hall is coming directly."

She made this last assertion because she did not know what else to say.

She rushed away so as not to burst into tears while she was in the

room.

Miss Hall, however, could not come, and at last Fru Rendalen had to go

in and mount the tribune.

"I must beg your indulgence. Miss Hall is obliged to remain with the

invalid. I must partly take the blame on myself for what has happened.

Froeken Holm, being so unwell, ought never to have sat in this crowd. I

ought also to have noticed her sooner, but I was entirely engrossed in

the lecture. It often happens that we who are occupied in teaching

allow ourselves to be too much taken up with it." Her voice

trembled--she was as white as her own cap; she left without heeding

those who wished to speak to her.

In Fru Rendalen's bedroom Nora stood clinging to Tinka, trembling and

crying. Tinka was very dejected. Some one peeped in from the passage.

As no one forbade it, she entered softly; she looked at them with wide

open questioning eyes--it was Anna Rogne.

"What is it?" she whispered. Nora raised her face; they both looked at

her. Anna remembered some remarks which Tora had made in the course of

the summer; on these she now formed her opinion--"I suspect the worst."

She folded her hands; her tears began to flow. Nora laid her head down

again on Tinka's shoulder and cried bitterly. All the time they could

hear Tora in the sitting-room; they could not distinguish her words,

they were broken, wrung from her by bewilderment, danger, despair.

Presently there was silence; the silence was almost worse, there also

they were as still as death. At last they could bear it no longer, what

did it mean? They exchanged looks, and were on the point of breaking in

on them, when they heard heavy, rapid steps across the floor; the door

was opened violently, and Fru Rendalen rushed past them with her hands

above her head. What is it! in Heaven's name, what is it?

They went in. Tora was lying on the floor, Miss Hall stood over her; on

the table was a cup of water. Miss Hall looked up quickly. "Help me to

get her up again." They did so; they saw that Tora had not fainted, but

she either would not or could not help herself. When she again lay on

the sofa, looking like death--ghastly, thin, dishevelled--Miss Hall

turned with a meaning look towards the others. They gazed at her

terrified; Miss Hall answered their looks with two confirmatory nods.

They all three drew back a few steps. After a little while they slipped

out one after the other to Fru Rendalen. She was sitting motionless in

a large arm-chair. Nora came and laid her hand on her lap. There was

not a word spoken.

Again they heard Tora from within. They heard her explain, cry, bemoan

herself. Miss Hall came in to them. "What is it now?" asked Fru

Rendalen almost grudgingly, she was quite overdone.

"Did you know," said Miss Hall, "that he came after her again?" They

stared at her. "She had taken refuge out on an island with the family

of a pilot. He traced her and laid wait for her there as well, the

wretch! It was then that she went into the west country, where she was

taken ill."

"The poor child!" cried Fru Rendalen. Her sympathy was aroused again;

she got up quickly, and went back to Tora; she ought never to have left

her.

"My dear, dear child," she said. But the moment Tora saw her she turned

and repulsed her with her hands, crying "No, no, no! Don't come; don't

say anything--no, no, no! It is not my fault, it is not my fault. Yes,

great God, it is my fault!" And she broke into the wildest crying.

All the same, Fru Rendalen came up to her; so soon as she could she

said, "Don't take it in this way, my child; we shall never desert you

for it." This seemed to calm her, but when Fru Rendalen added that some

steps must be taken, she must speak to her son about it, Tora broke out

again, "No, no, no! Oh God, no!" She became almost frantic.

"But, dear Tora, you know yourself how things are. It cannot be helped,

this will become known everywhere."

"I know, I know; but say nothing to him. No, I must get out of the way

first. Do not say anything. There is no need." She raved on, and her

voice was so heart-breaking that they all hastened to her. They wanted

to quiet her by holding her, but she did not look at them. Each time

she freed her hands or her head, and cried and implored, "They must,

must, must be silent." In the midst of it all arrived Rendalen. He had

chanced to open the bath-room door, and so heard the cries and moans.

He thought that they came from the bedroom and crossed the passage to

it. There he stood; Tora sprang up with a shriek, and then suddenly

flung herself down, with her face in her hands. Fru Rendalen went

towards her son, took him by the hand, and went with him to his room.

Tora tried to rise, to go away. She would live no longer--no, not for

the whole world. She struggled with the others, but for Tinka she would

have fled. She was beside herself. She implored and struggled. Tinka

held her till her strength began to fail; she called for help. Anna

fetched Fru Rendalen, and as soon as she came Tora gave in. She allowed

herself to be led by her to the sofa, and, when she was calmer, into

the bedroom. There she was undressed and laid in a bed, which had been

placed by the side of Fru Rendalen's. Fru Rendalen was obliged to sit

by her side and hold her hand--even in her sleep she sobbed like a

child and bemoaned herself.

CHAPTER III

PEACE-MAKING WITHIN, PROPOSALS OF

PEACE WITHOUT

When Fru Rendalen took her son by the hand, when she proposed to speak

to him, it was by no means with pleasure that she did so, but, on the

contrary, with great anxiety.

The relations between mother and son had, as we know, for some time

lost their confidential character; for some time they had not been

good, and at the present moment they were actually bad. On his side it

almost amounted to a breach. No one could interfere, not even Karl

Vangen. Tomas declined to speak on the subject, it pained him if Karl

brought it up. This last phase had been produced quite by chance, by an

external cause.

According to arrangement, Tora Holm was to have assisted Fru Rendalen;

but when she remained ill in the west country, Nora offered to take her

place. Nora's gifts lay in a different direction from Tora's--her help

was therefore given in a different way; among other things, she was

deputed to keep the books. One day when, for want of something to do,

Nora chanced to be comparing past and present expenses, turning over

the earlier pages of the books, Tomas, elegant as usual, hurried

through the room on his way out. "Who is this Tomasine," Nora inquired,

"who has had so much money? It is not your mother, for she always puts

'self' in the entries, and nothing more."

"Tomasine? I never heard of any Tomasine." He came up to her, put down

his hat, and in his short-sighted way bent over the register, knitting

his light eyebrows, staring with his sharp grey eyes. She turned over

the pages and showed him the entries, month after month, which extended

back for several years. She could not make much of it, but _he_ began

to do so; for her the subject had no great interest, for him it

appeared all-important. While he studied the books, she observed him

and the effect which his near neighbourhood had on her; it was

agreeable. She looked at the freckles on his clean-shaven face. In

repose the sharp lines of the mouth, the quickness of the eyes, and the

power of the brow showed more distinctly; the strong jaw, the bristling

red hair, pleased her. She followed the short, slightly recurved,

nervous fingers as they turned over the leaves and toyed with the cover

of the book. A strong, freckled hand, covered thickly with light

bristles, a thick wrist--one felt the strength of the arm, she traced

it involuntarily to the shoulder; how strong he must be. She heard the

scraping of his necktie on his shirt-front when he drew his breath. She

noticed the slight whiff of scent which, now that his head was so near

her, mingled with the smell of his skin. Something of half terror, an

intoxication, a feeling of increased intelligence came over her--her

thoughts moved more quickly, were more highly strung. She wished it

might continue--it was absolutely pleasant.

"Where is mother?"

"I don't know."

"This is very curious." He took up his hat and went out. Hardly five

minutes later, Fru Rendalen came quickly in from the inner passage.

"You excite yourself so, Tomas."

"Excite myself?" As soon as she saw that Nora was there she turned

quickly towards him. "Hush," she said, and went towards her bedroom, he

following her. Nora heard him talking quickly and without a pause; she

could hear Fru Rendalen as well, parrying his words, and at last

tearfully justifying herself. At length he went away; long afterwards

Fru Rendalen came back, sad and sorrowful. "I have done a dreadfully

foolish thing," said Nora shamefacedly.

Fru Rendalen made no reply; she continued to walk slowly up and down.

It was more than she could bear alone, and Nora's evident sympathy

tempted her.

"God knows, I believed it was one of the best acts of my life, and now

I am told it is the worst." Tears bedewed her spectacles, and as usual

she turned her attention to them as she sat down. Nora rose and came

forward sympathetically. "But, dear Fru Rendalen." She knelt down

beside her. The old lady wanted this friendliness, wanted some one to

confide in, and so Nora learned that "Tomasine" was Tomas's sister. The

girl had begun well, but from the time that she had gone to America she

fell into bad ways, and was sent home again, out of her mind. Fru

Rendalen had paid for her till her death. She had been entirely silent

about it to her son--why need he know of it? But now he fell upon her

with the most frightful accusations. The dead girl had had the same

right in her father's fortune as he; the law on this subject was vile,

no honourable person could abide by it. In the most violent words he

had cast his sister's misfortune in Fru Rendalen's face. _She_ was

responsible for it.

Nora was dismayed. She had heard one or two things said since she had

been up here, but this----!

Rendalen's manner during the time which followed frightened her, if

possible, still more; she suffered almost as much as Fru Rendalen. He

treated his mother distantly and coldly when he was obliged to be with

her; as a rule he avoided her.

From the time he was a boy Tomas had at times felt her to be

coarse-grained and wanting in refinement, as though he had no

relationship with her. The feeling had always yielded to gratitude, and

to the similarity in their views and purposes of life; and, whatever

his feelings might be, he nourished a constant admiration for her

strength and power of government. His ill-temper had always come

suddenly, and passed away directly.

It was quite the contrary at a later time.

His mother did not understand all this, neither did Karl, but they

realised that he was unhappy. He seemed to them to be in a growing

state of self-torment, and in this they were not mistaken. He would

discover, with all the ingenuity of a _Kierkegaard_, that if _he_ had

never existed, his sister would have lived happily. She would have had

the property then, and the hereditary tendency would not have grown

into insanity; or he would picture his sister brought up there with

him, with Augusta, and with the other girls, in the garden, in the

school; all those strangers had admittance here, she only had not--his

sister, his father's daughter. That his mother could with an easy

conscience buy herself free from this imperative duty, and that with a

few paltry daler a month; that she had never felt that more was

demanded of her!--what a crime had been committed against the

unfortunate girl, and she had never once comprehended this!

In the midst of it all came the incident of Tora. His mother _insisted_

on speaking to him. The first time, as we know, she was interrupted;

but when Tora was asleep she went in and confided it all to him. He

perceived at once its bearing on the school, on her friends, and on

himself, and fell into such a fury against Niels Fuerst, whom he had not

loved before, as can be best described by his own exclamation: "If I

had him here I would beat him to a jelly with my own two hands."

Although Tomas had no outward resemblance to his father, he could look

so like him that it made Fru Rendalen shudder.

This very fear gave her courage. For a whole year she had seen how his

impatience, irritability, and quickness of temper increased. When she

herself aroused it she did no more than justify herself, or perhaps go

away; he had really cowed her by degrees.

But now another was in question. Tora's despair forced her on; it had,

too, an alarming resemblance to what she saw before her. When, after

another overpowering outburst, he was about to rush away, she placed

herself before him.

"Tomas, you frighten the life out of me with your violence. You give

way to it more and more; it will grow beyond you at last, my son."

He shuddered, and grew deadly white.

"Yes, excess is excess in whatever way it shows itself, and I think you

ought to be on your guard."

Her voice trembled; their eyes met and measured each other; an

unhappiness and bitterness had risen into his, which wounded her.

"What, Tomas, may I not so much as warn you--I, your own mother? No, do

not look at me like that. It is not _my_ fault. I have combated it as

well as I could--yes, before you were born, Tomas, and I intend to

combat it still. For the last year you have not struggled against your

temper, and it is especially on me that you vent it."

He stood near the window, looking out. He turned now with a melancholy

expression.

"What is it, Tomas? Tell me, in God's name, what it is."

But he turned away again, and laid his head on his arm.

"I do not understand you, Tomas, you are so supercilious to me. You say

there is something naturally blind about me, and I know it. Yes, you

often humiliate me--often when I am alone, and that I can bear; but

often before others as well, and that you should not do. At all events,

you ought to be able to bear having your faults pointed out to you by

me."

She said the last words almost humbly; they worked strongly upon him.

He did not speak, but he turned and began to walk quickly up and down

in visible agitation.

"If I could only understand what it is you are vexed with me for. It is

not only what you rebuked me for---- Yes, Tomas, you cannot bear to

hear that word; but I have had to endure more than words. It is not

that alone; there is something more under all this. What is it? Why do

you never talk, now, Tomas, either to me or Karl? You are unhappy; do

you think we have not noticed it? I would so joyfully do anything for

you. Even if I am inferior to you----"

"I cannot endure to hear that word," he cried.

"No, no, but you never will condescend to speak to me, so I am

compelled to think--no, I will not say that, but you see yourself what

you are; one must not so much as make use of a word before you, and

you---- But I will be silent, I see that you are suffering, my son; if

only you would remember that I suffer as well. Great heavens! must I

ask permission before I remind you that this has been going on for a

year? I have not the slightest idea what is the matter--not the

slightest, Tomas, beyond what results from my want of ability. If there

is anything that I can set right, only tell me--tell me, whatever it

is. Can you not trust me?"

"Cannot you trust me?" he burst out, and threw himself down on the

sofa, with his face in his hands.

And then it transpired that he thirsted for sympathy.

His was a warm, impulsive nature, which must have trust and affection

if he were not to waste his whole life. The independence to which he

had accustomed himself, and which had increased during his violent

studies, his continual journeys, and by his different plans, had

changed into a sense of deprivation--had been succeeded by the most

terrible hunger when he was here in the midst of a daily recurring

life, full of heartiness and devotion--devotion to one another, while

he was always outside it. All his being yearned for what he saw. "Not

the cursed littlenesses," as he expressed himself; "no, only to have

trust as the groundwork of everything--trust, and nothing but trust."

They must just bear with him and take him as he was, _because they

believed in him_. Otherwise, he should go to destruction.

Fru Rendalen sat there, she had taken his head on her lap; she listened

and listened, her heart swelled, and she laid her spectacles aside, for

they were no longer any use to her.

"He is right," she thought; "oh, how right he is!" One image rose up in

her mind after another; above all, the incident with the teachers. She

had believed them at once, and to humour them had taken the school away

from him, and from that time forward had in a manner controlled it.

Till this moment she had lived in the blessed delusion that he was

indifferent to this--nay, that it was a relief to him. And thus things

began to dawn upon her which she might otherwise never have discovered.

She did not understand this delicate, sensitive nature. If his

repressed powers did not recover their strength, the fault would be

hers.

"You mean about the teachers, Tomas?" she asked, and she could hardly

control her voice. He took her hands and held them while he enumerated

his grievances.

There were, oh, such a string of them, both great and small--some so

small that she had never been conscious of them. An answer, a word of

advice in passing, a remark to some one else, even a silent look in

response to something he had said. In her distress, the worthy Fru

Rendalen asked his pardon with voice and gesture and tender embraces,

declaring that hereafter if he said he wished to go to the moon, she

would believe him. She had never worked herself up before to such

decided exaggeration, so that Tomas was forced to smile. Her memory was

awakened. She remembered clearly how it had all happened, and how she

had first lost confidence in him. It had been after his famous lecture;

he had taken her much farther with him on to "slippery ice" than she

had really the courage to go, and she had only discovered this

afterwards. That was the foundation of it all. His power of persuasion,

his gift for talking people over, and something indescribable added to

this, carried one away; that was undoubtedly what the teachers had

felt. Now unfortunately it is the way with mankind, that as soon as we

discover that any one has carried us farther than it suits us to go, we

not only try to fight against it--that would be right enough--but we

look ever afterwards with mistrust at what that person says. Fru

Rendalen knew that at times she had done this, and had tried to correct

it; but she had had no idea how often she had done so, and still less

how often he had noticed it. She knew that she hurt herself when she

did so, but till now it had never occurred to her that she had hurt

him--he seemed so superior and so distant.

There was a real reconciliation. It was broken off, and taken up again

during the next few days, whenever it was possible.

The immediate fate of the unfortunate Tora was decided at the same

time, but this was but a small settlement compared to the great one

which had been accomplished. A confidence was now opened between them

which on his side poured out with overwhelming wealth. The long

privation of a year satisfied itself in two days; he was so

spontaneous, so tender, and so loyal in the smallest things, that she

more than admired him, she adored him. If when she was wrapt in her own

thoughts, he came unexpectedly upon her, she coloured; you could see by

her face when she heard his step--she guessed everything he wanted, and

_everything_ he wished for was remarkable. If she saw that he was in a

good humour, she sang--the worst thing she could have done, for no one

ever yet discovered what it was she believed herself to be singing.

Nora would have felt unhappy if she had not as well been drawn into

this great feast of reconciliation, which lasted from morning till

evening, and from morning till evening again.

In the midst of all their joy, Tora's affairs, as has been said, were

arranged. Tomas had soon come to a clear understanding of what should

be done. The newspapers announced that Fuerst had been ordered to

Stockholm, and he offered to take Tora there at once. Fuerst should be

forced to marry her--not, of course, that she should live with such a

scoundrel, but in order to give his name to her child and support to

herself, so that she might learn to do something, and be able to care

for her child. If Rendalen had to go to Fuerst's superior officers--nay,

to the King himself--he would answer for it that the wretch should do

her justice. None of those in the secret, least of all Fru Rendalen,

doubted for a moment. They were surrounded by an atmosphere of

confidence and hope.

The unfortunate Tora had from the first felt the deepest aversion to

Rendalen's plan; the ground on which she consented to yield was

consideration for the school and her friends, that as little shame as

possible might fall on them. They had forborne to mention this, but it

forced itself upon them.

Only in one particular was Rendalen's plan altered--Fru Rendalen would

go instead of her son; his presence might have produced the very

opposite of what they wished.

Two days after this plan had been conceived--three days after the

violent interruption to the lecture--Fru Rendalen and Tora set off.

On the afternoon of the last day Fru Rendalen had become suddenly very

despondent. It was known that there had been some worry about money,

but that was always happening; and, indeed, it had been set right, but,

notwithstanding, the gloom did not disappear. Rendalen went to her and

tried to find out what it was. She put him off with excuses once or

twice, but when he held her fast she was obliged to blurt out that she

could not tell him; it was another person's secret--"not Tora's," she

hastened to add. "Use your own eyes, and then you will not need to

tempt me." He did use them, both on man and beast, but found it quite

impossible to discover the cause of his mother's low spirits. She

carried the secret away with her. He went round and asked everybody,

but they were all equally obtuse.

It made some stir in the town that Fru Rendalen, at this time of the

year, and in the midst of the school work, should go to Stockholm; and

that if she needed a companion she should have chosen Tora Holm, who

was ill.

Tora Holm's mother announced with some pride that probably her daughter

would not return, for if Stockholm seemed to be the best place, she

would continue her studies there. Every one had heard that Tora's

talents were more than ordinary, so this seemed quite reasonable.

Fru Rendalen had been up to speak to Sheriff Tue and his wife about

Nora. According to her ideas, Nora was cut out for teaching and

directing. She became less self-assertive, too, the more responsibility

she had, and she had ceased to be capricious.

Fru Rendalen asked if Nora might not move over to "The Estate," and

during her absence overlook the house and school, and take charge of

the money and books. Afterwards she might help with them, and perhaps

perfect herself in school subjects. Both parents gave their unqualified

consent to this at once, they had precisely the same opinion of their

daughter as Fru Rendalen. Her father added, smiling, that she seemed to

have no notion of falling in love. "No," her mother observed gladly;

"she has no inclination for marriage."

At the house and in the school, all thought it strange that the

youngest teacher, a pupil a year ago, should be put over them; but it

was certainly true that Nora displayed her best qualities--she was

clear-headed, ready, and marvellously helpful.

She got on well with Rendalen, he seemed to find pleasure in conversing

with her. "Conversing with" is not the right expression--_he_ talked

and she listened, but then he never did otherwise; he always went away

when others joined in.

Although he was not quite thirty, he had by degrees acquired a number

of curious ways, but each one was the result of something in the

development of his character. Had not his fashion of running away from

any discussion had its origin in a series of sorrowful experiences?

He was making a noble struggle with the bursts of passion which certain

things, certain names, always aroused. The result was that whenever he

restrained himself, he choked as though he had swallowed something the

wrong way; and if it was very violent, he spat quickly two or three

times through his closed lips--not actual spitting, at the most a sort

of fine spray.

Tinka mimicked him incomparably. She made a face over little things as

though she had taken too much mustard, for greater ones as though she

had swallowed soft soap; she would turn her head and give a cough like

a cat, or if she pretended to spit, it was with an air of disdainful

superiority. Very soon all the pupils followed her example--there was

nothing they did better.

At the school, Tomas Rendalen was just what he had been when he first

came home--all brightness and life, wonderfully careful in making all

his explanations clear, and often quite fascinating in his manner.

It must be confessed that he proved a rod in pickle for the teachers,

but there was no longer any misunderstanding him, though they were

often on pins and needles when he began to interfere; but it was only

necessary to speak to him about it, and he became at once irresistibly

charming; this, however, did not prevent a recurrence.

His uneven treatment of the children, his way of treating any subject

according to the temper of the moment, remained unfortunately the same,

but it was done unconsciously; and this fact, the absolute justice of

his mind, and more than all the frankness with which he begged pardon

when he had once been convinced that he was to blame, set things for

the most part right again.

Miss Hall was obliged to confess that she had looked too hardly on this

his incorrigible failing, as well as on several others; for even his

admirers had to allow that he was not perfect. For instance, in the

face of several classes assembled for a lecture on physics, he would

begin to carve a face on the laboratory table, which some chance had

begun there, and shortly afterwards would rave like a Turk because a

little girl had cut a tiny little name on her desk! "Did she think that

was what she came to school for? did she suppose her desk was made to

be cut to pieces?"

Fru Rendalen sent word from Stockholm that Fuerst was away, but was to

return in a few days, they must therefore wait. She would employ the

time in establishing Tora in some respectable family, and in collecting

some requisites for the school. They had made the journey slowly, and

notwithstanding the time of year it had done them both good, as did

their stay in Stockholm. The letter was very hopeful, Tora improved

every day. Rendalen was enchanted; any one who did not know him would

have thought that he looked upon Tora's misfortunes as the greatest

good luck. "Now you see," he called out cheerfully whenever he met any

of those in the secret. What he meant by it was not very easy to

understand.

But his certainty of victory and that of the others received a serious

blow when the report spread about that Niels Fuerst was engaged! and to

whom? To "Your affectionate friend, your ever grateful Milla Engel."

The report came from Anton Doesen, Niels Fuerst's greatest friend; he did

not give it as more than a rumour, but he believed that it was certain.

The families on both sides were diplomatic; they knew nothing about it.

The members of the Society were a sight to see when they met during

this time! Above all, Tinka Hansen, when she solemnly opened the

register and pointed to Milla's name! She could take her oath that

every one looked upon Niels Fuerst as thoroughly immoral. No one had

been more severe than Milla; her mother's legacy made this only

natural. No, this engagement was impossible! One could not think so

badly of her. Such a thing would be disloyal, both to the living and to

the dead. Milla's different letters to Nora from Paris were now read

aloud again.

She and an American lady were living in a French family, who had had

great losses, but who had aristocratic relations and acquaintances; she

lived in a legitimist atmosphere, but it was not too severe. She had

both the opportunity and the inclination to admire everything "fine,"

independent of religion and politics--everything fashionable,

everything where talent and beauty were to be found. And she used her

opportunity; "with my enthusiastic temperament, you know," wrote Milla.

She had begun as a loyal member of the Society, the obedient pupil of

the school, and therefore gibed at the French spirit. But almost

without warning she turned round: paintings, novels, and theatrical

representations enchanted her; life, even when viewed from a distance,

stimulated her.

It was evident that this was no real change of opinion; one heard the

American's voice, though the writing was Milla's; but for this very

reason it had not received the attention which it deserved.

Milla wrote that what they believed when they were together at school

would not really do: her father had been right. In every letter she

related something or another which was to prove this--not in the

slightest degree in doubtful taste; on the contrary, with a delicacy

which was not without its talent. "One must have no illusions," she

wrote; "one will thus be least unhappy." Nora had replied, giving her

her opinion of it.

This all now received fresh importance. Was Milla's way of writing

something more than the reflection of the life around her? Was it

really a well-considered introduction to her engagement to Niels Fuerst?

Impossible! Nora was above thinking so ill of friends. She had given

Tora her solemn promise not to tell anything to Milla; she now

considered herself released from it, and wrote out of the fulness of

her heart. Tinka wrote as well; she was full of the offence against

Tora, and the report that it was to such a person that Tora's greatest

friend had engaged herself--she whose name stood in the register!

Five days passed before they again received a letter from Fru Rendalen,

and it was short and dry. Fuerst had not yet returned. A short time

afterwards they received a long and touching letter from Tora, and then

several days passed without anything further from either of them. Ten

days had gone by since Nora and Tinka had written to Milla--they would

have sworn that she would have answered at once. She ought to have done

so after such a piece of information and such a charge.

They became very nervous, especially when some one, who had taken no

part in the affair, now remarked that, as soon as she had heard that

Milla and Fuerst were travelling together, she had thought "that would

be a suitable match."

Of course, this was Anna Rogne: why had she not said anything? "Because

the others would have mistrusted it; and," she added, smiling, "it

would have been wrong." At last one afternoon, when Nora came in from

the singing lesson, she found a sealed envelope on the table in the

sitting-room. "Here it is," was written at the bottom in Rendalen's

large handwriting. Nora suspected bad news, as he had not brought it to

her at once. She had promised the others not to read it before they

came, but one cannot keep those sort of promises.

Fru Rendalen had had her great conversation with Fuerst. He had listened

to all she told him with a cool politeness, as if he had been prepared

for it, and when at last he had to answer, he began by saying that this

was difficult, as their views differed so much as to the person in

question. In his eyes Tora Holm was, in no small degree, a sensual

woman, who could hardly restrain herself in the neighbourhood of a man.

To the question if he were aware of the power which he possessed, he

answered "Yes." It only, however, affected a certain description of

woman, and Tora was precisely one of these. He was under no more

obligation to marry her than any other with whom he had had an

intrigue. He would provide for the child, and for her as well, with

pleasure--that is to say, he would make a reasonable annual allowance.

Fru Rendalen threatened to bring the whole thing before his superiors,

or even, if necessary, before the King.

"Pray do; I can reach as far as you can, Frue."

She said to him that this would be a hard fight; to which he answered

that he knew how it should be conducted--he was not going to have his

career spoilt by a lot of schemers. The lady in question was stamped in

good society as a _femme entretenue_--it was shocking to wish to force

her upon him as his wife.

He understood what it all meant: he was to offer himself up for the

school, but he was not inclined to be so amiable. He knew what kind of

lectures were given both in the girls' "Society" and elsewhere--what

sort of conversations and readings they had had; it was natural enough

that sensual natures should be aroused by such things. He therefore

considered that the school should bear the blame; it would have a good

deal of that sort of thing.

Fru Rendalen had a decided impression that something had happened to

annoy him, and that, before he came to her, he knew for what he would

be called in question. The conversation had so agitated her that she

became ill, which was the reason for her not writing sooner. She had

not wished to mention her illness until she could say, at the same

time, that she was starting the next day. This she could now do. She

had not the courage to undertake anything more in this strange place,

nor did she think it would be wise. As far as she could understand,

publicity and open war were just what he wished for.

He was a dreadful man; they must all be on their guard. She had no

doubt that this would bring their school into danger, and remain a

great grief to Tora and her innocent friends. Tora was quite overcome.

They both looked forward with dread to the parting to-morrow.

The letter closed with a lament that this warfare, which had arisen out

of the school work, should never have an end. "Our enemies have gained

a dangerous ally; we shall soon see if we have gained any as well."

Late that evening--Miss Hall, Tinka, and Anna Rogne had all read the

letter, and were in the sitting-room with Nora--there arrived a

telegram. They supposed that it was from Fru Rendalen to Tomas, and

Nora had got up to ask one of the servants to take it to him, when

Tinka called out that it was not for Rendalen, but for Nora herself.

"For me?" asked Nora, and came forward. It was true, it was for her,

from Milla. It ran: "_Frightful: report untrue_."

A fortnight had passed since Nora and Tinka had written. Milla had

therefore had the letters for ten days, and then sent--a telegram! What

did it mean? While the others soon forgot it in Fru Rendalen's news,

compared to which this last event was comparatively indifferent, Anna

Rogne remained sitting with the telegram in her hand. She pondered over

it.

The others began to ask themselves whether they also would now be mixed

up in the Tora scandal. "War" might already be declared. If Niels Fuerst

had written to any one in the town and given _his_ version, what would

happen? A time might come when they would hardly dare, any one of them,

to show themselves in the streets.

Anna Rogne interrupted them. "This telegram; ought it not to be taken

in to Rendalen?" Yes, of course, and it was done at once. They all

expected that Rendalen would come to them directly, but they waited in

vain; on the contrary, they heard him a little time afterwards at the

piano.

"Well, as Rendalen does not seem to pay any attention to this telegram

either, perhaps I may be allowed to suggest what may have happened?"

asked Anna, rather ceremoniously. The state of things she thought must

be that Fuerst and Milla really had been engaged, but that on the

receipt of Nora's letter she had at once broken it off, with such an

intimation as to make him understand the reason; that was why he had

been prepared to meet Fru Rendalen, that was why he wished for

publicity and war. He can never win the day without it, and he must

win; a marriage with the richest girl in any of the coast towns is the

condition for the success of his career. Just because Milla had been

engaged to him she had been ashamed to write. She had reflected--tried

as well, perhaps--until she had found a way out of the difficulty by

telegraphing.

Anna ended by saying, "I suspect that Lieutenant Fuerst is at this

moment in Paris."

It may as well be said at once that Anna's position in regard to Milla

was fateful for the latter. It influenced firstly those whom she was

constantly among, later Fru Rendalen. Neils Fuerst really was on the way

to Paris, but if Milla's friends had sent on Fru Rendalen's letter to

her she would hardly have received him; and if they had asked Tora to

write to Milla--as she at a later time, when it was necessary, wrote to

them--he would never have been able to approach her either personally

or by letter. Indeed, even as it was he did not do so. He had first to

obtain help from home; but he had taken that into consideration, he had

not wasted his time.

CHAPTER IV

WAR

The day before Fru Rendalen's letter and Nora's telegram reached "The

Estate," Anton Doesen had received a letter from Fuerst. It had been well

considered before it was written, and evidently was intended to be read

aloud or sent the round of the town. In his narration about Tora he

laid great stress upon their meeting at Fru Groendal's. He had only seen

her once before, and only in passing; he had not the slightest idea

that he should meet her there. She had been entertaining and pleasant,

Fru Groendal had said, until he came, when she became unnatural at once;

she could not bear him to speak to Fru Groendal, she hid herself, and

let herself be sought for, and then took it into her head to go away.

Of course he followed her, just to see what it was all about. As soon

as he came near her on board the boat, she began to cry. She would not

let him help her on shore; but all the same, she walked past his house

every day, and peeped in to see if he were at home, and then went on to

the wood or up to the "Groves"--alone. He recalled certain readings and

lectures up at the school; it seemed to him that a girl who had come

from an atmosphere so exciting to the senses, would be sure to conduct

herself somewhat in that way. He thought that this was "magnetic

influence" enough, no more was needed.

He would not deny that at last he had allowed himself to be tempted

to follow her into the wood, where she amused herself by playing

hide-and-seek with him. Little girls always begin in that way. But he

asked if any man, with a regard for himself would marry a girl who went

past his windows every day to tempt him out into the woods. Fru

Rendalen thought otherwise. She had come after him to Stockholm to

arrange the marriage on the spot. It might have proved like her own.

For his part, he had far too high a conception of marriage to attempt

to profane it in such a way. He had offered to support the girl, at

all events as long as the child remained a burden, and he would

acknowledge it as his. Honour and duty compelled him to go thus far,

but further---- That would be to patch a bad business with a still

worse one.

To this every one to whom Doesen read the letter agreed. He read it in

the shop, in the streets, at the club. Some people borrowed the letter

from him, and although the paper had been carefully chosen, it was

passed about so much that it became an illegible rag. Two copies had

been made of it, one for Rendalen, at his request, and one--yes, Doesen

hesitated a moment about this one, but after repeated requests he could

not refuse--for Tora Holm's mother. He obtained some enjoyment from

this copy. Tora's mother was a violent, powerful woman, embittered in

the struggle of life. She looked with doubt and scorn upon most

circumstances. When angry she was regardless of consequences. One

morning, in the middle of school time, she came up to "The Estate" in a

heavy, shabby duffel cloak, a bonnet with bright-coloured feathers, and

her bare hands in an old muff, with which she gesticulated while she

cried and screamed. In the broadest Bergen accent she demanded her

daughter--they must give her back her daughter; they had ruined her and

stolen her. She was a good girl when she went there, but "up here, in

the cursed old Kurt house, she had been ruined. Now, God forgive them

for it, she was brought to shame, and made the talk of the town. She,

her mother, had been stuffed with lies." But they should pay for it;

they should be locked up. She would send the police after them. Her

passion was uncontrollable, but her grief was real.

All fled far and wide, so she burst into one of the classes, which at

once broke up, the teacher deserting her post. She contrived to break

up three classes in this fashion: she made a tremendous turmoil. Some

of the girls were so frightened that they rushed right up to the top

attic, and stood there shivering, straining their ears and wondering if

they dare go down. Some of the elder pupils, who remembered from

stories that on such occasions you must show determination, remained

behind, and tried to talk her into reason. But at this she became

beside herself. This was evidently an example of the way in which they

learned to be indecorous up here. It shocked her that "the children of

worthy men" should justify such a thing. They had to run away as well,

with their fingers in their ears.

But the little ones got the greatest amusement out of her. They

surrounded her, and followed her about in triumph. The whole procession

swept into the kitchen, where she began the same story. The occupants

felt sorry for her, but they did not venture to say a word. So the

whole train went off again along the hall, to Rendalen's door, which

was fastened, then to Karl Vangen's, which was also fastened, back to

Fru Rendalen's, which was open. In they went, she wanted to see if she

could not find Rendalen.

Rendalen was in the town, and would not return for an hour. But Karl

Vangen came in. He very gravely commanded silence, sent away the

children, and took the poor mother into his own room. There she sat for

at least an hour, and poured out her heart to him. It was a bewildered

tirade, about Tora, about her husband who drank, about their poverty.

At last she went away down the avenue, with a hundred kroner in her

pocket, weeping quietly.

The school had all the appearance of a hen-house when some one has

broken in upon its denizens. Has not every one seen such a sight? At

first the hens fly with terrified cries against windows, walls, steps,

and roosting-places, till they become tired and confused, and can fly

no more. Then they run about the floor with wilder cries than ever,

knocking against dishes, troughs, one another. And when the danger is

past, the commotion is not--they chatter, lament, scream all at once,

in continual commotion. This goes on and increases, for whenever one of

them is inclined to stop, some others are more persevering and will

not. They recall all the remembrance of their affright, and the whole

bevy starts off again worse than before.

Finally, they begin to plume themselves, to flap their wings, and set

themselves straight, till at last things return to their original

condition. But at the school things did not settle down during the

whole day--some effects remained even longer, and threatened to become

dangerous.

What spiteful pleasure was shown in the town, what victorious laughter

was heard! Nothing else was talked of in the offices, on the quays, in

the streets!

When a day or two later Fru Rendalen returned, the landing-place was

crowded with people, mostly young men, who had come to meet her. It

became known at the school on Saturday that she would arrive by the

steamer on Sunday afternoon. No one could find a better use for his

leisure time than to see how a great person returns from a defeat.

The scandal, which she had sought to cover by the journey, had now

become as great as the journey had been long. When Rendalen came down

with the carriage, he could not push his way through, but had to get

some one to take charge of it while he tried to get past himself. Nora,

Tinka, Anna, and several other friends, who had talked of going down

together, stopped when they saw the crowd; thus following the example

of St. Peter of old, naturally with the difference demanded by modern

days. Little Miss Hall alone defied these dangerous warlike

preparations. She slipped along till she reached Rendalen's side, just

as he was preparing to go on board. He was very nervous.