The next morning Merle was alone in the pantry when she heard steps
behind her, and turned her head. It was Klaus Brock.
“Good-morning, madam--ah! so this is what you look like in morning
dress. Why, morning neglige might have been invented for you, if I
may say so. You might be a Ghirlandajo. Or no, better still, Aspasia
herself.”
“You are up early,” said Merle drily.
“Am I? What about Ferdinand Holm then? He has been up since sunrise,
sitting over his letters and accounts. Anything I can help you with? May
I move that cheese for you?--Well, well! you are strong. But there, I’m
always de trop where women are concerned.”
“Always de trop?” repeated Merle, watching him through her long lashes.
“Yes--my first and only love--do you know who she was?”
“No, indeed. How should I?”
“Well, it was Louise--Peer’s little sister. I wish you could have known
her.”
“And since then?” Merle let her eyes rest on this flourishing gentleman,
who looked as if he could never have had a trouble in the world.
“Since then, dear lady?--since then? Let me see. Why, at this moment I
really can’t remember ever having met any other woman except . . .”
“Except . . . ?”
“Except yourself, madam.” And he bowed.
“You are TOO kind!”
“And, that being so, don’t you think it’s your plain duty, as a
hospitable hostess, to grant me . . .”
“Grant you--what? A piece of cheese?”
“Why, no, thanks. Something better. Something much better than that.”
“What, then?”
“A kiss. I might as well have it now.” As he took a step nearer, she
looked laughingly round for a way of escape, but he was between her and
the door.
“Well,” said Merle, “but you must do something to make yourself useful
first. Suppose you ran up that step-ladder for me.”
“Delighted. Why, this is great fun!” The slight wooden ladder creaked
under the weight of his solid form as he climbed. “How high am I to go?”
“To reach the top shelf--that’s it. Now, you see that big brown jar?
Careful--it’s cranberries.”
“Splendid--I do believe we’re to have cranberry preserve at dinner.” By
standing on tiptoe he managed to reach and lift the heavy jar, and stood
holding it, his face flushed with his exertions.
“And now, little lady?”
“Just stay there a moment and hold it carefully; I have to fetch
something.” And she hurried out.
Klaus stood at the top of the ladder, holding the heavy jar. He looked
round. What was he to do with it? He waited for Merle to return--but she
did not appear. Someone was playing the piano in the next room. Should
he call for help? He waited on, getting redder and redder in the face.
And still no Merle came.
With another mighty effort he set the jar back in its place, and then
climbed down the ladder and walked into the drawing-room, very red and
out of breath. In the doorway he stopped short and stared.
“What--well, I’ll--And she’s sitting here playing the piano!”
“Yes. Aren’t you fond of music, Herr Brock?”
“I’ll pay you out for this,” he said, shaking a finger at her. “Just you
wait and see, little lady, if I don’t pay you out, with interest!” And
he turned and went upstairs, chuckling as he went.
Peer was sitting at the writing-table in his study when Klaus came in.
“I’m just sealing up the letter with the money for Martin Bruvold,”
he said, setting the taper to a stick of sealing wax. “I’ve signed it:
‘From the shark fishers.’”
“Yes, it was a capital idea of Ferdinand’s. What d’you think the poor
old fellow’ll say when he opens it and the big notes tumble out?”
“I’d like to see his face,” said Peer, as he wrote the address on the
envelope.
Klaus dropped into a leather armchair and leaned back comfortably. “I’ve
been downstairs flirting a little with your wife,” he said. “Your wife’s
a wonder, Peer.”
Peer looked at him, and thought of the old days when the heavy-built,
clumsy doctor’s son had run about after the servant-girls in the town.
He had still something of his old lurching walk, but intercourse with
the ladies of many lands had polished him and given lightness and ease
to his manner.
“What was I going to say?” Klaus went on. “Oh yes--our friend
Ferdinand’s a fine fellow, isn’t he?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“I felt yesterday exactly as I used to feel when we three were together
in the old days. When I listen to his talk I can’t help agreeing with
him--and then you begin to speak, and what you say, too, seems to be
just what I’ve been thinking in my inmost soul. Do you think I’ve become
shallow, Peer?”
“Well, your steam ploughs look after themselves, I suppose, and the
ladies of your harem don’t trouble you overmuch. Do you read at all?”
“Best not say too much about that,” said Klaus with a sigh, and it
suddenly struck Peer that his friend’s face had grown older and more
worn.
“No,” said Klaus again. “Better not say much about that. But tell me,
old fellow--you mustn’t mind my asking--has Ferdinand ever spoken to you
as his brother . . . or . . .”
Peer flushed hotly. “No,” he said after a pause.
“No?”
“I owe more to him than to anybody in the world. But whether he regards
me as a kinsman or simply as an object for his kindness to wreak itself
on is a matter he’s always left quite vague.”
“It’s just like him. He’s a queer fellow. But there’s another thing. . .
.”
“Well?” said Peer, looking up.
“It’s--er--again it’s rather a delicate matter to touch on. I know,
of course, that you’re in the enviable position of having your fortune
invested in the best joint-stock company in the world--”
“Yes; and so are you.”
“Oh, mine’s a trifle compared with yours. Have you still the whole of
your money in Ferdinand’s company?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking of selling a few shares, by the way. As you
may suppose, I’ve been spending a good deal just lately--more than my
income.”
“You mustn’t sell just now, Peer. They’re--I daresay you’ve seen that
they’re down--below par, in fact.”
“What--below par! No, I had no idea of that.”
“Oh, only for the time being, of course. Just a temporary drop. There’s
sure to be another run on them soon, and they’ll go up again. But
the Khedive has the controlling interest, you know, and he’s rather
a ticklish customer. Ferdinand is all for extension--wants to keep
on buying up new land--new desert, that is. Irrigation there’s just a
question of power--that’s how he looks at it. And of course the bigger
the scale of the work the cheaper the power will work out. But the
Khedive’s holding back. It may be just a temporary whim--may be all
right again to-morrow. But you never know. And if you think Ferdinand’s
the man to give in to a cranky Khedive, you’re much mistaken. His idea
now is to raise all the capital he can lay hands on, and buy him out!
What do you say to that? Buy the Khedive clean out of the company. It’s
a large order. And if I were you, old man, as soon as the shares go up
again a bit, I’d sell out some of my holding, and put the money into
something at home here. After all, there must be plenty of quite useful
things to be had here.”
Peer frowned, and sat for a while looking straight before him. “No,” he
said at last. “As things stand between Ferdinand Holm and me--well, if
either of us goes back on the other, it’s not going to be me.”
“Ah, in that case--I beg your pardon,” said Klaus, and he rose and
departed.
The christening was a great occasion, with a houseful of guests, and a
great deal of speechmaking. The host was the youngest and gayest of
the party. The birth of his son should be celebrated in true Ethiopian
fashion, he declared--with bonfires and boating parties.
The moon was hidden that evening behind thick dark clouds, but the boats
full of guests glided over the black water to the accompaniment of music
and laughter. The young madcap of a lawyer was there, again sitting on
the lap of someone else’s wife, and playing a concertina, till people
in the farms on shore opened their windows and put their heads out to
listen.
Later on the bonfires blazed up all along the lake shore and shone like
great flaming suns in the water below. The guests lay on the grass in
little groups round picnic suppers, and here and there a couple wandered
by themselves, talking in whispers.
Merle and Peer stood together for a moment beside one of the bonfires.
Their faces and figures were lit by the red glow; they looked at each
other and exchanged a smile. He took her hand and led her outside the
circle of light from the fire, and pointed over to their home, with all
its windows glowing against the dark.
“Suppose this should be the last party we give, Merle.”
“Peer, what makes you say that?”
“Oh, nothing--only I have a sort of feeling, as if something had just
ended and something new was to begin. I feel like it, somehow. But I
wanted to thank you, too, for all the happy times we’ve had.”
“But Peer--what--” She got no farther, for Peer had already left her and
joined a group of guests, where he was soon as gay as the rest.
Then came the day when the two visitors were to leave. Their birthday
gift to the young gentleman so lately christened Lorentz Uthoug stood in
the drawing-room; it was a bust in red granite, the height of a man,
of the Sun-god Re Hormachis, brought with them by the godfathers from
Alexandria. And now it sat in the drawing-room between palms in pots,
pressing its elbows against its sides and gazing with great dead eyes
out into endless space.
Peer stood on the quay waving farewell to his old comrades as the
steamer ploughed through the water, drawing after it a fan-shaped trail
of little waves.
And when he came home, he walked about the place, looking at farms and
woods, at Merle and the children, with eyes that seemed to her strange
and new.
Next night he stayed up once more alone, pacing to and fro in the great
hall, and looking out of the windows into the dark.
Was he ravelling out his life into golden threads that vanished and were
forgotten?
Was he content to be fuel instead of light?
What was he seeking? Happiness? And beyond it? As a boy he had called
it the anthem, the universal hymn. What was it now? God? But he would
hardly find Him in idleness.
You have drawn such nourishment as you could from joy in your home, from
your marriage, your fatherhood, nature, and the fellowmen around you
here. There are unused faculties in you that hunger for exercise; that
long to be set free to work, to strive, to act.
You should take up the barrage on the Besna, Peer. But could you get
the contract? If you once buckle-to in earnest, no one is likely to beat
you--you’ll get it, sure enough. But do you really want it?
Are you not working away at a mowing-machine as it is? Better own up
that you can’t get on without your old craft, after all--that you must
for ever be messing and meddling with steel and fire. You can’t help
yourself.
All the things your eyes have been fixed on in these last years have
been only golden visions in a mist. The steel has its own will. The
steel is beginning to wake in you--singing--singing--bent on pressing
onward. You have no choice.
The world-will goes on its way. Go with it or be cast overboard as
useless.
And still Peer walked up and down, up and down.
Next morning he set off for the capital. Merle watched the carriage as
it drove away, and thought to herself: “He was right. Something new is
beginning.”