"They say that he irritates them dreadfully--is exacting and
ill-tempered, and punishes for nothing."
Mary turned her largest eyes upon Margrete Roey.
"Yes, it is true," said the latter indifferently; she, too, was eating
ice.
When, late in the evening, after the dance, they were all trooping down
to the steamer, Mary and Joergen arm in arm, she said to him: "Is it true
that the soldiers under your command complain of you?"
"It is quite likely that they do, Miss Krog." He laughed.
"Is there anything to laugh about in that?"
"There is certainly nothing to cry about."
He was in a very jovial mood, and would fain have put his arm round her
and danced down to the pier, as many of the others were doing. But Mary
warded him off.
"I was very sorry to hear it," she said.
Then he understood that she was in earnest.
"The fact is, Miss Krog, that Norwegians, generally speaking, don't know
what obedience and discipline are. During the short time we have them
under command, we must teach them."
"Teach them in what way?"
"In small things, of course."
"By plaguing them about small things?"
"Exactly."
"Giving orders for which they see no necessity?"
"Precisely. They must learn to give up reasoning. They must obey. And
what they do, they must do properly; exactly as it should be done."
Mary did not answer. She addressed another couple who now made up to
them, and continued doing so till they all reached the pier.
On board the steamer she noticed that Joergen Thiis was out of humour.
When they landed, he was not standing at the gangway. Without any
previous arrangement, the whole party accompanied her home to the house
on the market-place. They sang and shouted under the windows until she
came out on the balcony and threw flowers down on them--those she had
brought home with her and any more she could find. Then they dispersed,
laughing and joking.
As they were going off, she looked for Joergen; he was not there. This
vexed her; she felt that she had rewarded him ill for one of the most
delightful days in her life.
Entertainments, large and small, followed one on the other. But Joergen
Thiis was absent from them all. He had first gone home to see his
parents, then to Christiania. Mary had never devoted much thought to
Joergen Thiis, but now that he kept away, she could not help remembering
that she had chiefly him to thank for the happy meeting with the young
people of her own age. And that remarkable toast of his--"fidelity to
the ideal"--at the time he proposed it she had merely thought: How
sentimental Joergen Thiis can be! Now she thought: Perhaps it was an
allusion to me? She was accustomed to such exaggerations; and she did
not care in the least for Joergen Thiis. But when she remembered how
deeply in love he had fallen at their first meeting, and how all these
years he had been exactly the same whenever and wherever they met, the
matter assumed a more serious aspect. The gloating, greedy eyes acquired
something almost touching. The fact that he could not bear to be with
her when she was the least displeased with him was another proof of the
strength of his attachment. His saying nothing, but simply staying away,
appealed to her.
One day Mille Falke, the consumptive head-schoolmaster's pretty, gentle
wife, came out to see Mary. She had had a letter from Joergen Thiis. A
party of ten Christiania people had arranged a trip to the North Cape.
They had taken their berths two months ago; now circumstances prevented
their going. Joergen Thiis had been asked if he could not take the
tickets and find nine people to accompany him on the glorious
excursion. In the small towns there was more neighbourliness; it was
easier there to make up such a party. Joergen Thiis declared himself
willing if Mary Krog would agree to go; he knew that in this case he
would have no trouble in finding others.
Mrs. Falke laid the matter before Mary with the soft, feline
persuasiveness which few could resist. Mary had, however, not the
slightest desire either to sit on the deck of a steamer in the midsummer
heat, or to interrupt all that was going on at home--it was much too
pleasant. At the same time she was unwilling to offend Joergen Thiis
again. She consulted with her father and Mrs. Dawes; she listened once
again to Mrs. Falke--and consented.
Early in July the party assembled at night on board the coasting-steamer
which was to take them to Bergen, the starting-point of the excursion
proper. They were six ladies and four gentlemen. The eldest lady was the
respected principal of the chief girls' school in the town--mother of
one of the gentlemen and former instructress of three of the other
ladies. She was the moral support of the party. Two of its members were
on their honeymoon, and they were teased by the others the whole time.
It was worth doing, for they were quick-witted, both of them, and gave
as good as they got. Then there was a young merchant, who paid attention
to two of the ladies, unable--so it was averred--to make up his mind
which he liked best. The whole party, including the ladies in question,
did their best to assist him in coming to a decision. The very first
night on the coasting-steamer, a schoolmaster was christened "the
forsaken one." All the others, with the exception of the old lady kept
up a constant racket; no one slept. He alone could neither dance nor
sing, and he was incapable of flirting; he could not even be flirted
with, it put him out so terribly. The consequence was that all the
ladies, even Mary, made love to "the forsaken one," simply to enjoy his
misery.
The originator of most of the mischief that went on was Joergen Thiis;
teasing was his passion. His inventiveness in this domain was not always
free from malice.
At first he himself was unmolested. But in course of time even "the
forsaken one" ventured to attack him. His appetite, his inclination to
tyrannise, and especially his role as Mary's humble servant, were made
subjects of jest. Mary had the Krogs' keen eye for exaggeration in every
shape, so she laughed along with the rest, even when it was at his
submissiveness to her they were laughing. Joergen was not in the least
disturbed. He ate as much as ever, was as strict as ever in his capacity
of leader, and continued, unmoved, to play the part of Mary's inventive,
ever-ready squire.
The ship had its full complement of passengers, amongst them a number of
foreigners; but Joergen Thiis's merry party was the centre of attraction.
Nature made such perpetual calls on the passengers' admiration that they
were not in too close and constant contact with each other. It was as if
they were attending some grand performance. One marvel followed the
other. The length of the days, too, had its influence. Each night was
shorter than the last, until there was none at all. They sailed on into
unquenchable, inextinguishable light, and this produced a kind of
intoxication. They drank, they danced, they sang; they were all equally
highly strung. They proposed things which under other circumstances
would have seemed impossible; here they were in keeping with the
wildness of the landscape, the intoxication of the light. One day in a
strong wind Mary lost her hat; two cavaliers jumped overboard after it.
One of them was, of course, Joergen Thiis. The minds of all were working
at higher pressure than that of every day. Some of them became exhausted
and slept whole days and nights. But most of them held out--at least as
long as they were northward bound--Mary amongst the number.
Joergen Thiis, with his persistent deference, in the end obliged all of
them to treat Mary more or less as he did himself. Nor did anything
occur the whole time to disturb this position of hers--thanks
principally to her own carefully cultivated reserve of manner.
When they returned to the coasting-steamer, genuine gratitude prompted
her to invite Joergen Thiis to go home with her to Krogskogen. "I can't
stand such a sudden break-up," she said.
He stayed for some days, delighted with the beauty and comfort of
everything. Such art taste as he possessed lay chiefly in the direction
of knick-knacks; he was devoted to foreign curios, and of these there
was abundance. The rooms and their furniture and decorations were
exactly to his taste. To Mrs. Dawes, who encouraged him to speak freely,
he confided that the comfort and quiet disposed him amorously. He sat
often and long at the piano extemporising; and it was always in an
erotic strain.
He treated Mary with the same deference when they were alone as when
they were in company with others. All the time she had known him he had
not let fall a single word which could be interpreted as a preface to
love-making, no, not even as the preface to a preface. And this she
appreciated.
They wandered together through the woods and the fields. They rowed
together to relations' houses to pay calls. Joergen had the key to the
bathing-house, where he went before any one else was up, and often again
after their excursions.
Mary herself had become more sociable. Joergen told her so.
"Yes," answered she. "The Norwegian young people associate with each
other more like brothers and sisters than those of other countries, and
are consequently different--freer, franker. They have infected me."
One morning Joergen had to go to town, and Mary accompanied him. She
wished to call on Uncle Klaus, his foster-father, whom she had not seen
since she came home.
Klaus was sitting behind a cloud of smoke, like a spider behind its grey
web. He jumped up when he saw Mary enter, declared he was ashamed of
himself, and led her into the big drawing-room. Joergen had warned her
that he was not likely to be in a good humour; he had been losing money
again. And they had not sat long in the empty, stiff drawing-room before
he began to complain of the times. As was his habit, he rounded his
back and sprawled out his legs, supporting his elbows on them and
pressing the points of his long fingers together.
"Yes, you two are well off, who do nothing but amuse yourselves!"
He possibly thought that this remark demanded some reparation, for his
next was: "I have never seen a handsomer pair!"
Joergen laughed, but coloured to the roots of his hair. Mary sat unmoved.
Joergen accompanied her to the house on the market-place; it was quite
near. He did not say a word on the way, and took leave immediately.
Afterwards he sent to let her know that he would be obliged to stay in
town till the evening; then he would cycle out. Mary herself left at the
previously appointed hour.
On her way home in the steamer she revolved the idea: Joergen Thiis and
herself a pair. No! This she had never contemplated. He was a handsome,
well-bred man, a courteous, pleasant companion, a really gifted
musician. His ability, his tact, were unanimously acknowledged. Even
that which at one time had repelled her so strongly, the sensuality,
which would suddenly leap into his eyes and produce that insufferable
gloating expression--perhaps it was of this underlying quality that all
the rest were cultivated developments? Might it not account for his
appreciation of the perfect in art, in discipline, in language? Still
there remained something unexplained. But it was a matter of
indifference to her what it was. She cast all these reflections aside;
it was no concern of hers.
As she came on board she had noticed a peasant-woman who had once been
their servant; now she went and sat down beside her. The woman was
gratified.
"And how is your father, Miss? I am old now, and I have known many
people in my day, but never a kinder man than Mr. Krog. There's no one
like him."
The affectionate warmth of these words touched Mary. The woman mentioned
one instance after the other of her father's considerateness and
generosity; she was still talking of it when they arrived. At first Mary
felt as if nothing so pleasant as this had happened to her for a long
time. Then she felt afraid. She had actually forgotten how dearly she
herself loved her father, and had left off giving expression to her
affection. Why? Why did she give her time and thoughts to so much else
and not to him, the best and dearest of all?
She hurried up to the house. Although her father was very much of an
invalid now, she had latterly spent hardly any of her time with him.
As she approached she saw Joergen's bicycle propped against the steps;
she heard him playing. But she hurried past the drawing-room, and went
straight to her father, who was sitting in the office at his desk,
writing. She put her arms round him and kissed him, looked into his kind
eyes and kissed him again. His bewilderment was so comic that she could
not help laughing.
"Yes, you may well look at me, for it is certainly not often I do this.
But all the same you are dearer to me than I can tell." And she kissed
him again.
"My dear child!" he said, and smiled at her assault. He was happy, that
she saw. Into his eyes there gradually crept that curious brightness
which none ever forgot. She thought to herself: I'll do this every day
now, every day!
Joergen and she had planned a cycling excursion back into the country.
They set off next day. The relation at whose house they stopped that
evening, a military man, was delighted to have a visit from them.
They were persuaded to stay for several days. The young people of
the neighbourhood were summoned; an excursion to a saeter was
arranged--again something quite new to Mary. "I know every country
except my own," said she. She was determined to travel the next year
in Norway; there not much chaperonage would be necessary. With this
prospect in view Joergen and she rode home, enjoying themselves royally.
As they were propping their bicycles against the house, little Nanna
came rushing out at the door and down the steps. She was crying and did
not see them, as she was looking in the other direction. When Mary
called: "What is the matter?" she stopped and burst out: "Oh, come,
come! I was to go and call people." Up she rushed again to tell that
they were coming, Joergen after her, Mary behind him--across the hall, up
the stairs, along the passage to the last door on the right. Within, on
the floor, lay Anders Krog, Mrs. Dawes on her knees beside him, weeping
loudly. He was in an apoplectic fit. Joergen lifted him up, carried him
to his bed, and laid him carefully down. Mary had rushed to telephone
for the doctor.
The doctor was not at home; she tried place after place to find him, a
voice within her all the time crying despairingly: Why had she not been
beside her father when this happened? Immediately after vowing to
herself that she would show him every day how much she loved him, she
had left him! And this very day she had looked forward with pleasure to
being able to travel without him! How had she come to be like this? What
was the matter with her?
As soon as she had found the doctor, she hurried back to her father. He
was now undressed and Joergen had gone. But Mrs. Dawes sat on a chair
beside the pillow, with a letter in her hand, in the deepest distress.
The moment she saw Mary, she handed her the letter without taking her
eyes from the sick man's face.
It was from a correspondent in America of whom Mary had never heard. It
told that her uncle Hans had lost their money and his own. His mind was
deranged, and probably had been so for a long time. Mary knew that on
the male side of the Krog family it was not uncommon for the old people
to become weak-minded. But she was horrified that her father should not
have exercised any control over affairs. This, too, was a suspicious
sign.
He must have been on his way to Mrs. Dawes with this letter when the
seizure occurred, for the door had been opened and he lay close to it.
Mary read the letter twice, then turned towards Mrs. Dawes, who sat
crying.
"Well, well, Aunt Eva--it has to be borne."
"Borne? borne? What do you mean? The money loss? Who cares for that? But
your father! That man of men--my best friend!"
She watched his closed eyes, weeping all the time, and heaping the best
of names and the highest of praise on him--in English. The words in the
foreign language seemed to belong to an earlier time; Mary knelt by her
father, taking them all in. They told of the days which the two old
people had spent together. Each a lament, each an expression of
gratitude, they recalled his friendly words, his kind looks, his gifts,
his forbearance. They flowed abundant and warm, uttered with the
fearlessness of a good conscience; for Mrs. Dawes had tried, as far as
it lay in her power, to be to him what he was to her. The more precious
the words poured forth in her father's honour over Mary's head, the
poorer did they make her feel. For she had been so little to him. Oh,
how she repented! oh, how she despaired!
Joergen Thiis appeared outside the door just as she was rising to her
feet. She stooped again, picked up the letter, and was about to give it
to him, when Mrs. Dawes, who had also seen him, asked him to help her to
her room; she must go to bed. "God only knows if I shall ever get up
again! If this is the end with him, it is the end with me too."
Joergen at once raised the heavy body from the chair and staggered slowly
off, supporting it. In Mrs. Dawes's room he rang for a maid; then he
went back to Mary. She was standing motionless, holding the letter,
which she now handed to him.
He read it carefully and turned pale; for a time he was quite overcome;
Mary went a few steps towards him, but this he did not see.
"This has been the cause of the shock," she said.
"Of course," whispered Joergen, without looking at her. Presently he left
the room.
Mary remained alone with her father. His sweet, gentle face called to
her; she threw herself down beside him again and sobbed. For him whom
she loved best she had done least. Perhaps only because he never drew
attention to himself?
She did not leave him until the doctor came, and with him the nurse.
Then she went to Mrs. Dawes.
Mrs. Dawes was ill and in despair. Mary tried to comfort her, but she
interrupted passionately: "I have been too well off. I have felt too
secure. Now misfortune is at hand."
Mary started, for the thought had been in her own heart all the time.
"You are losing us both, poor child! And the money too!"
Mary did not like her mentioning the money. Mrs. Dawes felt this and
said:
"You don't understand me, my poor child! It is not your fault, it is
ours. We gave in to you too much. But you behaved so badly if we did
not."