Next morning she slept too long. She was awakened by singing and
playing. First as in a dream and then consciously, through a rushing
stream of memories, she heard Joergen Thiis. He was at the piano, singing
in the freshness of the early morning, the windows flung open, his
clear, jubilant tenor wafting festal tones up to her.
In a moment she was up and dressing, afraid lest she might be too late
to go down with him to the steamer. The wider awake she became with the
rapid motion, the more impetuously did her thoughts rush towards him and
his joyful agitation. That heartfelt, soul and sense pervading gratitude
and praise--she would fain enjoy it in his immediate neighbourhood. She
longed to be uplifted and borne in triumph as his life's queen! Of her
sovereign grace she had bestowed on him life's highest prize. He was
rewarded now for his long sufferings!--without bargaining, without
regard for established prejudices. She knew him now; she knew exactly
how he would look, exactly in what manner he would make her the
partaker of his happiness. Therefore her breast heaved high in
expectation of the meeting--expectation of his gratitude and homage.
In her blue morning dress she passed through the little Dutch ante-room
and stretched out her hand to open the door of the big drawing-room with
the windows to the sea; but so excited was she that she had to pause to
take breath--enjoying Joergen's triumph the while. He was so carried away
with his own music that she was quite close to him before he noticed
her. He looked up, radiant--rose slowly, silently, as to a festal rite.
This impression he would do nothing to destroy. He opened his arms, drew
her into his embrace, kissed her hair gently, stroked the cheek that lay
bare--slowly, protectingly. He was trying to shield, to hide, to help
her with manly tenderness to overcome the feeling of shame from which
she must be suffering. His whole attitude was tender and reassuring.
"But we must hurry in to breakfast now," he whispered affectionately,
kissing her beautiful hair again, and inhaling its fragrance. Then he
passed his arm gently, yet in a controlling manner, round her waist.
Near the door he said in a low tone: "You have slept well, since you
come so late?" He opened the door with his disengaged hand, and,
receiving no answer, looked sympathisingly at her. She was pale and
confused. "My sweet one!" he whispered soothingly.
At breakfast there was no end to his consideration for her, especially
when it became evident that she could not eat. But time was short; he
had to attend to himself; so he could not talk much. Mary did not say a
word. But it struck her that Joergen handled his knife and fork in a new,
masterful manner, of a piece with that in which he now spoke to her and
looked at her. He evidently desired to inspire her with courage--after
what had happened last night. She could have taken her plate with what
was on it and flung it in his face!
His triumphal song had been in his own honour! He had been hymning his
own worthiness!
A decanter with wine stood on the table. Joergen poured out a large
glass, drank it slowly, and rose with a dignified: "Excuse me!" adding
in the doorway: "I must look if the boy has taken my portmanteau."
In a moment he was back again. "Time is almost up." He closed the door,
and hurried across the room to Mary, who was now standing at the
window. This time he drew her quickly into his arms and began to kiss.
"No more of that, please!" she said with all her old queenliness, and
turned away from him. She walked proudly into the hall, put on her coat
with the assistance of the maid who hastened to help, chose a hat,
looked out to see the state of the weather, and then took her parasol.
The maid opened the front door. Mary passed out quickly, Joergen
following, mortally offended. He was unconscious of any transgression.
They walked on for a time silent. But Mary was in such a state of
suppressed rage that when she at last remembered to put up her parasol,
she almost broke it. Joergen saw this.
"Remember," she said--and it sounded as if she had suddenly acquired a
new voice--"I don't care about letters. And I can't write letters."
"You don't wish me to write to you?" He had also a new voice.
She did not answer, nor did she look at him.
"But if anything should happen--?" said he.
"Well, of course then--! But you forget that you have Mrs. Dawes."
And as if this were not enough, she added: "I don't imagine that you,
either, are a good letter-writer, Joergen. So there will be nothing
lost."
He could have struck her.
As ill luck would have it, the surly old Lapland dog was at the
landing-place with his master. No sooner did he catch sight of Joergen
than he began to bark. All his master's attempts to silence him were in
vain.
Every one turned to look at the new-comers. Joergen had at once picked up
a small stone, and Mary had asked him in a low voice not to throw it.
The steamer was now lying to; it diverted the attention of all,
including the dog. For this moment Joergen had been waiting; he flung the
stone with all his might, and a loud howl arose. He immediately turned
to Mary, swept off his hat with his best smile, and thanked her for the
hospitality shown him.
For the sake of appearances she could not but remain on the pier until
the steamer went; she was even obliged to wave her parasol once or
twice. Smiling and triumphant, Joergen returned sweeping bows from the
steamer's deck.
How furious she was! But he was hardly less so.
* * * * *
"He, who should have thrown himself in the dust before me, and kissed
the hem of my dress!" This was Mary's feeling.
She had had a dawning suspicion last night of a want of delicacy in her
lover. He would not let her go. She had had to resort to artifice, and
had been obliged to lock her door. But she had explained his behaviour
to herself as an unfortunate result of those years of longing which had
turned his passion into a morbid possession.
Now uncertainty was no longer possible! Only an "experienced hand" could
behave like this. She had been deceived! The very best that was in her,
fostered and guarded by her noblest instincts, had been led loathsomely
astray.
With this thought she wrestled and strove all day long. She called
herself betrayed, dishonoured. At first she thrust the blame away from
herself. Then she took it all upon herself, and pronounced herself
unworthy to live. She did nothing but make mistakes; she was her own
betrayer! One hour she said to herself: "Violence was done me, although
I gave myself to him voluntarily!" The next she said: "All this has its
beginning farther back, and I cannot unravel it."
What a blessing that her own room remained undefiled! The one next it
she would never enter again.
With Joergen she would have nothing more to do! But would he in these
circumstances keep silence? She felt certain that he would. His faults
did not lie in this direction--otherwise she, too, must have heard
something. But that even one human being should exist who----! She wept
with anger and impotence. It would break her spirit. It would weigh on
her like an incubus--heaviest when she rose highest.
She would meet him! She would tell him what she had taken him for, and
what he was--to whom she thought she was going that night and whom she
found. He should not be able to boast! But to carry out this intention
she must know something about his life. Whom dared she ask? who knew?
When she awoke next morning, her mind was clearer--clearer in the first
place as to how she must proceed in acquiring information regarding
Joergen. It must be gathered as opportunity offered, so that no one's
attention should be attracted. It was also clear to her that the breach
with him, and the meeting which was to prepare it, must be
postponed--chiefly for the sake of the old people. But her second and
much more important resolve was to restore the equilibrium of her own
life, to escape from the unhealthy atmosphere which had been her
undoing. This could be done in only one way; she must take up her work
again, fit herself to do it better, and gain new courage by success.
Work and duty! She raised herself on her elbow, as if imitating the
corresponding uplifting of her mind. The next moment she was out of bed,
preparing to begin.
The 50,000 kroner which her father had given to Uncle Klaus, and of
which she had found no record in his books--did they not indicate that
he probably had money in America over and above that which had been in
his brother's business? that the interest which he had not spent had
been invested there? that 50,000 kroner of capital had lately been paid
up and sent home?
Ever since Joergen had told her about these 50,000 kroner, the thought of
them had been haunting her. Now she must examine her father's American
correspondence; they must be mentioned in it. But no American letters
could she find, until she opened a small box which was shoved under a
book-shelf, and the key of which she found in her father's purse. She
remembered that this box had accompanied them on their travels, but she
had never known what it contained. In it lay the American correspondence
and accounts. It seemed as if, ever since her mother's days, he had
kept this American part of his fortune, and everything relating to it,
separate from the rest. And a very considerable sum he must still own
over there, even although the principal part, the million, was lost.
Mary became quite excited. Her father had undoubtedly understood from
the fatal letter that everything he possessed in America was lost; and
she and the others had received the same impression.
She now went to her father's room, explained things carefully to him,
and said that she intended to go to America at once to investigate the
matter. He was startled, but soon recognised the necessity of the step,
and agreed to it.
Mrs. Dawes was not so confiding. She felt that there was something
wrong, and that Mary was seeking distraction. But Mary's manner in
telling of her discovery and intention was quite determined. Therefore
the old lady confined herself to a gentle reminder of the gales likely
to be encountered at this season.
Three days later Mary, with an English-speaking maid, was on her way to
America, confident, as she had assured her father, of finding some one
among her many acquaintances capable of giving her the assistance she
required.
Everything happened as she had hoped, and in six weeks she was home
again. It was fortunate that she had gone out when she did, for
proceedings were on the point of being taken on the assumption that
Anders Krog had been his brother's full partner, whereas his partnership
was limited to the amount which he had invested in the business. This
Mary was in a position to prove.
Her business success inspired her with courage. Why not go on? She had
capital at her disposal now with which to commence operations. She felt
very much inclined to try. And the timber trade too! Was she not as
capable as any one of learning it? Was book-keeping by double-entry so
very difficult? She set to work at once.
Anders Krog seemed to revive after his daughter's return. The certainty
that the money which had not been in his brother's business was saved
gave him the greatest satisfaction. Mary's future was his one thought.
Mrs. Dawes, on the contrary, became visibly worse. It seemed as if the
once active, indefatigable woman had no strength left to draw upon. She
did not even ask after Joergen; her correspondence she had quite given
up.
Mary managed the property with the assistance of the overseer, and her
father's money with the aid of a lawyer. She took lessons and studied.
Twice a week she went to town.
The time passed thus until the beginning of November. Then Anders Krog
received a letter from a near relation in Christiania, whose only child,
a daughter, had just become engaged. He was particularly anxious that
Mary should come and take part in the festivities to be held on this
occasion. Several entertainments were to be given by both families
concerned.
Mary was surprised at the pleasure with which the prospect suddenly
filled her. The old Adam was not dead! She hummed cheerfully as she went
about the house making her preparations. She was longing for new
surroundings--and for new homage! It was as reparation she desired it;
this she was obliged to confess to herself.
She had not been in Christiania many days before Anders received a
letter proclaiming her praises in the strongest words in the language.
It was not the engaged couple, but Mary, who attracted most attention at
the balls; it was she who was distinguished and feted--the young couple
themselves being amongst her most devoted admirers! Her unique style of
beauty, her charm of manner, her accomplishments, her tact, had made an
indelible impression upon them all. They must be allowed to keep her a
little longer.
Anders Krog sent the letter in to Mrs. Dawes, with the request that it
should be returned soon. He spent most of the day reading it.
Next morning Mary came home. She went upstairs quietly to her father's
room. He was shocked with her look. She was ill, she said; and this was
plainly visible. She was not pale, but grey; her eyes were heavy with
sleep, her voice was faint. She embraced her father long and tenderly,
but would neither look at his letter nor tell him about her visit. She
must go to bed and rest, she told him, as soon as she had seen Mrs.
Dawes.
She did not stay half a minute with Mrs. Dawes, whom she left terribly
anxious.
She slept all day, ate a little at supper-time, and slept again all
night.
When she got up she looked much as usual, and was active and interested
in everything. Overseer, gardener, and housekeeper came with their
reports, and she went her usual rounds. Then she made her father happy
again by coming smiling into his room.
She had come to tell him that there was nothing now to prevent her
marrying at once. They would be quite well enough off. Her father
managed with great difficulty to say that he had been thinking the same
himself. His eyes and the one hand said more, namely, that nothing would
please him better.
But when she told Mrs. Dawes, and added that she thought of going at
once to Stockholm to propose it (Joergen's name was not mentioned), Mrs.
Dawes's usual perspicacity returned; she sat up in bed and began to weep
bitterly. Then Mary's courage failed her; she threw herself on the bed
and whispered: "It's only too true, Aunt Eva!" She wept as she had never
wept in her life before. But as Mrs. Dawes's agitation was increased by
this, she was obliged to raise her head and say: "Aunt Eva, dear, Father
will hear us!" This subdued them a little. Then Mrs. Dawes told, through
her tears, that this was her own story over again. Not until after her
fiance had induced her to go the same length did she discover what a
despicable man he was.
"Then we were obliged to marry. You see now, child, what we women are;
we never learn."
"Oh, if only you and Father had not insisted on bringing this man into
my life!" moaned Mary. "My instinct warned me to keep him at a
distance, but you deadened it." She added at once: "No, don't take it
like that, Aunt Eva! I am not reproaching you and Father. Besides,
there's no use in complaining now. There is only one thing to be
done--to shut my eyes and take the plunge."
In this Mrs. Dawes entirely agreed with her. "Afterwards you will do as
I did; when your reputation is saved, you will separate from him."
"No, that I shall not do. There will be something then that will bind us
together. Good God! good God!" she moaned, clinging to her old friend
and smothering her cry in the bed-clothes.
Mrs. Dawes sat helpless, holding her. "I don't understand this," she
said.
Mary raised her head quickly: "Do you not understand? He did it on
purpose to bind me. He knew me."
Then she threw herself across the bed again, miserable, despairing.
Between her outbursts of weeping came the cry: "There is no way out of
it! no way out of it!"
Mrs. Dawes had neither the strength nor the courage to seek for words to
comfort such distress.
It took its free course, until the anger cooled. Mrs. Dawes could feel
that another emotion was gradually taking the upper hand. Mary raised
her head; in her eyes, red with weeping, was hatred.
"I thought that I was giving myself to a gentleman; I discovered that it
was to a speculator." She rose slowly.
"Will you say that to him, child?"
"Most certainly not! Nothing whatever to that effect. I shall merely say
that it is necessary we should marry."
* * * * *
Three days later a letter was brought in to Joergen Thiis at the Foreign
Office. It was from Mary. "I am at the Grand Hotel, and expect you to
meet me there, outside the entrance, at two o'clock punctually."
He understood at once what this implied, and hurried off, for it was now
a quarter to two. It did not strike him until he was on his way
downstairs that their meeting was to be "outside the entrance"!
She did not wish to be alone with him in her room.
This altered his intentions. He ran up to his rooms and released from
imprisonment a little black poodle puppy, a valuable animal, which he
was training.
The middle of the road was filthy with slush and mud, and the dog was at
once ordered to keep beside his master on the pavement, which was clean.
After a few sprightly excursions he became obedient; he was afraid of
Joergen's thin cane.
Mary's erect figure was distinguishable from a long distance. She stood
with her back to them, looking in the direction of the palace. Joergen's
heart beat violently; his courage was failing him.
Mary became aware of his approach by the dog's rushing up to her as to
an old friend. She loved dogs; nothing but her constant change of abode
had prevented her keeping one. And this was such a beautiful, healthy,
well-kept animal, so entirely to her taste in every way, that she
involuntarily bent down to take notice of him. As she did so she saw
Joergen. She drew herself up again at once.
"Is this your dog?" she asked, as if they had parted half an hour ago.
"Yes," answered he, taking off his hat respectfully.
Then she bent down again and patted the dog: "What a beauty you are! a
real beauty! No--keep down!"
"Keep down!" came in a more peremptory tone from Joergen.
Mary straightened herself again. "Where shall we go?" she asked. "I have
never been in Stockholm before."
"We may as well go straight on. If we take the turning yonder we shall
come to John Ericson's monument."
"Yes, I should like to see that." They walked on.
"Come here!" called Joergen to the dog, indicating the spot with his
stick. He was offended by Mary's not even having offered him her hand.
The dog came dejectedly, but cheered up immediately, for Mary spoke to
him and patted him again.
"I have been over in America," she said.
"Yes, I heard that."
"The 50,000 kroner of which you spoke were not in my father's books,
which made me certain that he must keep a separate account of the money
in America. This account I found. It showed me the necessity for going
across and saving what could be saved. The main sum was, of course,
hopelessly lost."
"What success had you?"
"I brought home with me the accumulated interest of all these years."
"The money had been well invested?"
"Better, I believe, than it could have been in Europe."
Here followed a short intermezzo. The dog had been off the pavement, and
now received a few cuts with the cane. This made Mary indignant.
"Dear me! the dog doesn't understand."
"Yes, he understands perfectly; but he has not learned to obey."
They walked on quickly. "What is your intention in telling me this?"
asked Joergen.
"To show you that we can marry at once."
"How much is there?"
"About two hundred thousand."
"Dollars?"
"No, kroner. And the 50,000 besides."
"It is not enough."
"Along with the rest?"
"The 'rest' is hardly yielding anything at present. That you know."
Mary began to feel ill. He knew it by her voice when she said: "We have
the timber to fall back upon."
"Which cannot be felled for three years; possibly not for four, or even
five? That depends entirely on its growth."
Mary knew that he was right. Why had she mentioned it? "But--ten to
twelve thousand kroner a year...?"
"Is not enough in our position."
Another intermezzo. There was no pavement here. They had come to a
large, open space, thick with mud. Both had forgotten the dog. A fat,
dirty ship-dog, also of the poodle tribe, had come on shore with some
sailors, who were sauntering along in the same direction as Mary and
Joergen. With this welcome playfellow Joergen's dog had joined company.
Joergen had the greatest trouble in inducing him to come back--dirty as
he already was. As soon as Mary called too, he came boldly and joyfully.
But a stroke with the cane awaited him, and called forth a howl.
"It is strange," said Mary, "that you cannot treat a nice dog kindly!"
She was thinking of his cruelty to their neighbour's old Lapland dog.
Joergen did not answer. But as soon as he felt sure that the dog was
following meekly, he said: "Does Uncle Klaus know anything about this
money?"
"I do not believe that any one knows about it except ourselves. Why do
you ask?"
"Because it will be our best plan to speak to Uncle Klaus."