A MAN was coming down the hills from the north, and stopped at Norby
Sæter, at the door of which Einar was sitting making a birch-broom.
While the stranger lay full length upon the grass, his head resting on
his wallet, he related how he had met a she-bear and two cubs west of
the Great Snow-field. As news from the valley, he mentioned that
Wangen's trial was to take place that day.
"Indeed?" said Einar, and went on with his birch-broom.
He rowed the man across the mountain lake, for he was going west and
down into the other valley. Einar heard that the doctor's
twenty-year-old daughter had come up to Buvik Sæter, and this awakened
pleasant recollections of the ball at Christmas.
He had lived here for a month in delightful quiet. For company he had
the old dairymaid, the dog and the cattle. He was to drink milk, go
for walks, keep his feet dry, and sleep and eat well. And day after
day he plodded about in wooden shoes and frieze clothes like any
peasant. It was splendid!
But now his peace was destroyed. The news of the trial had cut like a
knife. Old wounds were reopened, and he felt a despair approaching,
which he was not equal to bearing, and to which he involuntarily rose
in opposition, in order to dismiss it. Had he not suffered enough in
this matter?
At night, when he lay sleepless, he represented to himself how good
his father had always been; but as that did not feel sufficient, he
resorted to the young girl who was also up in the mountains now at a
sæter. How pretty she had been last Christmas when they danced
together! People whispered and pointed at them. But why had he thought
so little about her since? "I'm too old-fashioned," he thought; "I
live in books and great ideas, and meanwhile the good years are
passing, and I haven't lived the life of youth. But there is sunshine
in the world, too, thank goodness."
These thoughts helped him to make the young girl's stay in the
mountains still more important, and at length he fell asleep in the
middle of a dance with her, just as at Christmas.
The day following, when he went for a walk over the hill, he
frequently stopped to look at Buvik Sæter. It lay on the other side of
the lake just below the snow-field, at a distance of some three or
four miles. "Perhaps he's already in prison" was the thought that cut
through him; but he still looked up oftener and oftener towards Buvik
Sæter, which had now acquired much greater importance than before.
Smoke was rising from the little grey houses; perhaps she was
preparing her dinner.
As the days passed, his thoughts were continually occupied with the
young girl, as he then had no time to think of anything unpleasant or
painful. He was no longer alone; there were he and she, they two alone
in the mountains. Two eyes always seemed to be resting on him from
something beautiful close by. They were so near one another, because
they were many miles from the valley. He might go there on a visit,
but he would prefer that they should meet by chance, perhaps down on
the lake.
He often fished along the shore on the other side, but he never saw
her; and when he rowed home he laughed at himself for actually being
disappointed and sad.
He had to keep her continually in his thoughts in order to feel quite
calm. The mountains seemed to acquire a peculiar grandeur. One evening
he rowed out to a little island, and lighted a large bonfire; but
still no boat came rowing out; only the silent shores looked on. He no
longer went about in wooden shoes, however; and he always took care
that his shirt and his hands were clean. Not because he expected any
one, but because there was always something beautiful within him, for
which he had to adorn himself.
At last one day a man came up from the valley with a pack-horse, and
before Einar could prevent him, he had told him that Wangen was
sentenced to a year's hard labour. The punishment had been increased,
because he had produced a forged letter in court.
Einar sat on the doorstep and heard this. He covered his face with his
hands, and sat motionless.
"And I think of going on with my studies! I, who can never look any
one in the face again!"
It was a beautiful day, with a clear sky above the brown moors and
distant blue mountain ridges, and the snow-fields lay shining like
silver in the sun.
In the evening Einar went down to the lake and pushed off the boat. He
had thought for a time that the whole world was extinguished, and that
he ought to jump into the water because he was too full of shame to
live. But from force of habit he once more recalled the young girl to
his mind; and just because he himself now stood so immeasurably low,
it seemed to him that she stood high--high, and stretched out her
hands to rescue him. He rowed slowly over the smooth water, in the
middle of which the red sky was reflected. Twilight enveloped the
silent shores in a light haze. The houses and the green fold of Norby
Sæter were reflected in the water, and in the wake of the boat lay two
rows of rings in the water, left by the dip of his oars.
Gradually he seemed to enter a peaceful land, and at last he shipped
the oars, and let the boat drift. Gradually the world grew large and
radiant. The moors looked at him and smiled. Everybody was happy in
the main.
"Good heavens!" he thought. "Now I'm beginning to understand what love
is."