Tuft left the supper-table and went into his study; but he did not
notice the envelope as he did not look at the desk. He went for a walk,
which he often did in the evenings; if Josephine had been down she
would have gone with him, he thought. He walked for an hour; it was
Saturday and he got ready his sermon for the morrow. When he got home
he sat down by the window with a book he was in want of; he read, he
dawdled about, and read again till ten o'clock.
He went up to bed but did not find Josephine, neither was she in her
own room, in fact, nowhere all over the house. Then he went down to the
study again, he would wait for her down there; but where could she be?
Gone to see some sick person? He knew of none. In mere absence of
mind he took up the envelope as he passed the desk; his name was
outside--was it written in Josephine's hand? He turned hot and went to
the window the better to see. There was no seal; but on the top of
several papers lay a little note with the following words from
Josephine:
"I have gone to him for my life's sake."
What was the meaning of this?
A quarter of an hour later Tuft was on his way past the church; he,
too, rather ran than walked. He was the only guilty one; long ago it
was he who had given Josephine to understand that Ragni had been
unfaithful to her first husband, and had thereby started everything
that had since happened! And unless it had been that he was jealous of
his brother-in-law, he would hardly have taken their breach with the
church, their intercourse with scoffers, as sufficient reason for
keeping away and avoiding them. Even if his brother-in-law were to
answer that Josephine was not sufficiently a Christian to join in
persecuting Ragni on that account; nor could she for that reason at
once think the worst of a freethinker, then Tuft would answer that it
is not true Christians who do such things, but only those who are
half-Christians. That man whose love for God has become the law of his
life never judges; but so much the more eagerly do the others do it.
Josephine had been so situated that she could not become more than a
half-Christian; these theological studies stop a man's growth.
How clearly he saw it all now! He could not bear, therefore, to think
of her in her soul's distress; he ran so fast that he arrived panting
through the park, the yard, and up on to the steps. The front door was
locked--was it not more than ten o'clock? He rang, and rang again,
heard steps in the passage, it was the step of a man, Kallem himself
opened the door.
"Is Josephine not here?"
"No."
"Has she not been here?"
"Yes, about an hour and a half ago."
"Well?"
"I forbade her to enter."
"You did not even speak to her?"
"No."
Then Tuft, throwing out his right hand: "Now you, too, are ruled by
dogmas," turned his back on him and went off again. His broad hat over
his broad shoulders had the effect of broadly accentuating his last
words.
Shortly after eleven the bell rang again, just in the same way. Kallem
came out at once, he had evidently not been in bed yet.
It was Tuft who was there again; but as far as Kallem could see,
without being near him, he appeared like another man, horrified and
harrowed.
"Where do you think she can have gone to, Edward?"
"I think she must have gone to Ragni's grave."
A choking sob, a visible welling-up of grief, and he turned and went
away. His heavy footfall was heard far off through the stillness of the
grove.
Toward one o'clock there was again a ring at the door, but this time it
was only one single timid peal. Kallem heard it directly and came out
from the room--he was still sitting up.
A woman stood there. Kallem, who was shortsighted, hurried up to her,
but the voice proved to be Sissel Aune's. "Dear, kind doctor, be good
and merciful!" Kallem thought she had come on his sister's behalf, and
that something had happened; he shivered. But Sissel continued: "None
but you can manage him; he gets quite mad every blessed night."
"Do you mean Anne?" shouted Kallem.
"Yes, he fancies he sees Kristen Larssen after him, so he rushes away
through the town, into the wood and out on the high road; this is the
third night, and I cannot stand it any longer. Dear, good doctor, I
have no one but you to turn to," here she began to cry, "and no one
else has any power over him but you."
Had the clever bookbinder and fiddler gone mad? Then had he freed
himself from his power? Had he taken to drink again, was this delirium?
No, no, he was "mad" from fear of Kristen Larssen's ghost. Kallem
started directly with her.
The sky was clouded, and the night very dark; but a fresh northerly
wind began to sweep the clouds away. It shook and rustled the trees by
the roadside, whistling through the thick foliage and seeming to ask
and ask all manner of things as they passed by. Was it not very strange
that Aune, who had fooled people into believing in Kristen Larssen's
ghost, should now be rushing about mad with terror of what he had
himself set going? Every evening after dark, Sissel declared that Aune
imagined Kristen Larssen was after him and going to take him to hell!
At that instant a shriek was heard far off, one sharp, breathless call
for help. It rose up like a spectre in the night, it seemed almost
visible.
"There he is!" cried Sissel, clasping her hands. "Christ help us!" she
shrieked, and began running.
But Kallem hurried after her: "You will only be slower like that,
Sissel; go quietly--go quietly, I tell you!"
She obeyed at once, but turned eagerly to him: "Who but Satan can
persecute a man like that!" she said, breathlessly. At the same moment
a watch-dog began barking close by, it was startled by the cries and
barked on without stopping. Kallem raised his voice above the barking:
"It does not follow that Aune is more beset by Satan, Sissel, than that
angry bitch in there! Do you know how people found out Satan? They
thought everything was created perfect and they were in want of
somebody on whom to throw the blame when sin did come into the world."
The furious dog rushed at them just at that moment; Sissel fled over to
Kallem.
"What a savage beast!" he exclaimed, and stooped to pick up a stone.
The dog retreated a few paces. There came a fresh shriek, nearer than
the first one, a call for help with a last expiring gasp; they
shuddered, the very dog stopped short. Then it swung round and dashed
past them in the direction of the ghost.
"God help us, now he will be hurt!" said Sissel, crying and hurrying
onwards; "the mad man must not be exposed to the dog's attack!"
But they heard it bark as though a wild beast were confronting it and
going to fasten its teeth in it; so they both ran as hard as they
could; Kallem was at once far past Sissel. It could hardly be Aune who
was in danger; the last shriek had not been so near; the furious beast
had attacked the first person it came upon; and who could that be?
Since he was a boy Kallem had not run so fast; he could hear by the dog
that there was a fight and he pushed on with renewed strength. Soon he
saw something large and black by the roadside near the corner of the
wood, and it was before this that the dog had stopped. Once again a
piercing shriek rang out through the night; it really came from there!
What was that great black mass? Surely not an animal?
No, it was a man, a big man fighting with a smaller one, and a dog with
both of them. The big man kept turning round and round hitting out at
the dog, at the same time keeping fast hold of the other man with his
left hand. Then Kallem recognized the broad hat and the broad
shoulders; it was Tuft who was holding Aune, holding him with a giant's
strength; the dog was trying to attack the latter, who kicked it away
from him each time. Maybe Aune thought the dog was the devil and
possessed by Kristen Larssen's spirit, for the little man kicked and
wriggled, bit, hit out, and struggled to get free; he threw himself
backwards and with the last remains of his hoarse voice he groaned,
"Help! help!" If he had been frightened before, he became so now in
good earnest as he saw Kallem's figure appear in the dim light; he let
himself fall and began to howl. The dog flew at his leg directly. The
minister lifted them both up; the beast was in such a rage that it did
not see Kallem before it got a kick from his foot which sent it flying
a few metres off! One short howl and a whine--a doctor knows where to
hit--and they neither saw nor heard it again; it may have been dead.
Then Kallem took hold of Aune and the minister let him go. He, too, had
been much maltreated; his coat was all torn and dragging on the ground,
the sleeve hung in rags down over his hand, his flannel shirt likewise.
He was bleeding from bites and scratches, but was so excited that he
felt no pain. Kallem took little wretched Aune with both hands by the
collar, lifted him up to his level, and, panting from his run and the
rapid coursing of his blood, he stared straight into his eyes, until
they grew wide open, dazed, and glassy, his mouth gaped, the muscles of
the face relaxed, he hung there like a gutted herring. By the time that
Sissel reached them, breathless and crying, Aune lay under the trees on
the grass and slept. Both the men stood over him.
Kallem said that Aune could stay where he was; there would be no dew on
account of the wind; they should be sent for later. He expected to be
able to cure this madness.
The minister had taken off his coat, dried the blood, and bound up the
worst places; then they turned towards home.
Not a word about Aune, or how it was he had come across him; but hardly
were they out on the road before Tuft said piteously:
"She was not there, Edward, she was not there!" And shortly after: "I
can think of nothing else; no, now I can think of nothing else. That
you could send her away from you, Edward!" The thick foliage of the
trees took up the murmur and kept on unceasingly: "That you could send
her away, Edward!"
"Do you know what she wrote and put beside the letters from you? 'For
my life's sake I go now to my brother's.'"
Kallem felt an icy chill. A thousand voices reechoed: "For my life's
sake," and the sound drew nearer, encircling him closer and closer,
till he could hardly draw breath.
The day was about to dawn; Tuft's scratched and shiny face was turned
toward the rising sun as though he were imploring: "Mercy, mercy for
her!" He hurried along as fast as he could; he did not know where to
look for her, but he felt he must walk and walk. Kallem too.
"Oh, the horror of it, the horror of it!" he burst forth. "Do you
remember the night of the storm in our childhood, Edward? We thought
the world was at an end. Do you remember how frightened you were up on
the hill the evening after? This whole night the 'deep-sea monsters'
have been trying to reach me too. The horror of it! our soul's horror
of the punishment of sins! From our childhood it drives away all our
intelligence, just when we are most in need of it; we run away in
despair--or cast ourselves down in the dust before God. Perchance later
on we get rid of this dogma of terror, but never of its effects. As I
was walking along thinking of this, I came across that madman. He leapt
up; the terror was upon him; he thought I was a ghost and the dog the
devil! And Josephine! She too is in despair and flees away. And you,
Edward? You too must be swayed by terror if you can have the heart to
torture her more than she now tortures herself. For that is the worst
of terror, it hurts one; he who has been terrified himself, learns to
terrify others!"
The words came from him heavily; his walk was heavy too as he plodded
along. Kallem did not say a word; when he suffered he was silent.
But from a child the lay preacher's son had been accustomed to hear all
life experiences converted into learning. His heart was bleeding; but
he talked on all the time. Kallem ought not to doubt Josephine; she was
the most honourable and truthful creature on the face of the earth. In
this affair she had been led astray by him. In his deep pity for her,
he laid bare her soul's history as he himself saw it, and proved to him
clearly that if she were to be cast off now by her brother she could
not live.
Occasionally Kallem interposed with a "Dear Ole," "Listen to me, Ole;"
but never got any further. For even when they reached his home and he
took his brother-in-law in with him to attend to his wounds, Tuft
talked on without ceasing; it was as though his fear and uncertainty
would have increased had he been silent; and then too Edward must see
her as he saw her, and above all help her! "All who have gone astray
must be helped; they who have sinned against us--as soon as they
acknowledge it they must be helped above all others! God's forgiveness
is, to help us on." He was still going on with his explanations as
Kallem accompanied him to the door; his giant strength was unfailing.
But supposing that she meanwhile had gone back to her child and to him.
Certainly there was no great hope of it; but he hurried away.
It grew lighter. Kallem could not sleep, and at last could not remain
at home. In fear, greater than he would own to his brother-in-law, he
went in and out of the rooms, up and down as though the house were to
be searched. For it was true enough that he too had both judged and
condemned.
His sister had always been fonder of him than he of her. That time they
had danced together last winter he could tell that her love for him had
not diminished. Yes, even when he struck her--had she not come then to
do him good? Her attack on Ragni that time----of course there was more
than dogmatical narrow-mindedness in it--it was jealousy! Jealousy
because he had become all in all to Ragni and was nothing to her. He
could have brought those two women together; it was impossible to doubt
that. Had he tried to do that?
The more he thought of it, the less right he had to be severe; for he
was guilty too! His sister's great eyes, as he had seen them last
evening, were resting on him now in her direst need, they seemed to
gaze full at him. All her life long, confused and shy, when not carried
away by passion, hampered by unnatural doctrines and defiant in her
truthfulness--she had looked out for him, from year to month, from week
to day. Then he came and had cast her off. Cast her off for one who
was not worthy of him--so it seemed to her.
Poor, poor Josephine! He had thus never been anything for her, had only
harmed her, and yet she in her faithfulness had always longed for him.
The rooms became oppressive and he felt afraid; he must go out and look
for her. It was getting lighter and lighter and with the feeling that
morning was near, he threw open the veranda doors; but he had nothing
to do out there; on the contrary he would have to shut them again if he
were really going out. So he stepped out to close them again and in
doing so glanced on one side--and there, sheltered from the north wind
by the veranda, sitting on Ragni's bench just under his office windows,
was Josephine, with her shawl over her knees. She saw him and crouched
down like a wounded bird, which cannot move away, yet must not be seen.
And yet she was sitting there just to be seen. There was nowhere else
she could be, for she had tried. He hurried down the steps toward her.
Then she trembled:
"Oh, no, Edward, oh, no; let me stay," she implored and burst into
tears. And even when he took her by the arm and raised her up she
kept on beseeching him, weak as any child: "Oh, no, no, Edward, let
me----" but she got no further, for she felt herself folded in his
arms, and felt how he too was quivering with the emotion he could not
control. He was not cruel, perchance he would listen to her, and she
raised her arms and threw them round him mingling her tears with his;
the brother and sister stood with their heads together, cheek resting
upon cheek, all the similarity of their temperament, their first and
oldest feelings, their love of homelike things, down to the very smell
of their clothes in the passages at their parent's house, all this met
together in their one desire never again to part.
And yet, when he began to move with her toward the veranda, she
stopped; she could not believe that she would be allowed to go in. She
looked at him through her tears; he forced her along, step by step. On
the steps she again held back. But he led her on till they stood in the
room; here she clasped her arms round him again and sinking down upon a
chair, buried her face in her hands--everything in the room, he too,
seemed listening to her sobs.
Then he went up to her and stroked her hair; but he knew it was not
really he who did it, it was Ragni!
Arm in arm they walked that summer's night through the town that was so
wide-awake, although everyone seemed asleep. The long steps of brother
and sister hurried on, keeping time as of old; they said nothing about
it, but they were looking for Ole; forgot the short cut and came down
the road to the shore. Soon they turned up toward the minister's house.
They had just gone a few steps along the road, when Josephine as it
were felt drawn to look across the shore. She stopped directly and held
back Edward.
"Yes, it is he!" she whispered.
Tuft came hurrying from out yonder, quickly, quickly, but with
hanging head as though he could not bear it. In vain he had searched
for her along the shore, he was now going on with his search further
southward--quickly as ever, though ever in vain. They both understood,
her arm trembled in that of her brother. She pressed closer up to him,
for just a moment ago she had told him that had she been driven out of
his garden, then----! Hush! They turned now and went to meet Ole. His
quick ear heard the steps, he looked up, recognized her, opened his
arms and could neither go a step further nor utter a sound. But
Josephine left her brother's arm and went to him.
* * *
All three walked slowly homewards, the minister with Josephine on his
arm, and Kallem at his other side. He said repeatedly: "God's ways!
God's ways!"
"But I do not share your faith," Kallem felt bound to interpose.
"No, no, no, no," exclaimed the minister eagerly. "There where good
people walk, those are God's ways."