In the afternoon the mail from the Point arrived, bringing a letter for
Magnhild. She was alarmed, and handed the letter to Roennaug, who soon
returned it to her, with the information that she need not be afraid to
read it herself.
"You will see by this what your journey has already brought about,"
Roennaug added.
The letter was from tall Louise.
DEAR MAGNHILD,--I was obliged to go up to your house to-day to
ask for the pattern you had promised to explain to us. But I
found only Skarlie at home, and he was not exactly--ah! what
shall I call it? for I have never before seen so unhappy a
person. He said you had gone on a journey.
I heard later that you were traveling with Mrs. Randon, and
thinking it most likely that you are at the parsonage in the
mountains I address you there. For you must not leave us,
Magnhild, or if you do go away, you must come back to us again!
We have all of us plainly seen that you were unhappy; but as you
said nothing, we did not like to say anything either. But can
you not stay with _us_?
How shall we make progress with the new work which has just been
introduced? We cannot understand it without some one to explain
it to us. And there is the singing, too! Dear Magnhild, so many
people thank me and Marie; she and I take the lead now, it is
true, but we all know to whom we owe our excellent means of
support, the good times we have together, and our opportunities
for helping one another. Now that you have left us it seems very
dreadful to think that we never did anything to give you
pleasure, and that you do not really know us.
I can assure you we could do much for you in return for your
kindness to us if you would only let us. Do not leave us! Or if
you must, come back to us when your journey is over!
Your devoted, heartily grateful
LOUISE.
There was added to the letter an extremely neat postscript from Marie.
I was so grieved when Louise told me you had gone. She has more
energy than I, poor hunchback. She has written and said what we
all, yes, all of us, think of the matter.
But I have the _greatest_ cause to write to you. What in the
world would have become of me if you had not come to the school
and made me skillful in work that is just suited to me. Without
you I should have been a burden to others, or at least I should
never have learned to take pleasure in work. Now I feel that I
am engaged in something which is continually growing. Yes, now I
am happy.
I have told you this at last. How often have I wished to open my
heart to you, yet did not quite dare, because you were so
reserved!
What delightful times we might have had together! But can we not
have them yet?
Your
MARIE.
Postscript.--You may think I mean that you took no interest in
us. No: I did not mean that. You were too patient with us for me
to have any such thought. But it seemed as if you were
indifferent to everything about you, people as well as all else;
that is what I had in mind.
Cannot you, as Louise says, come to us? We will gather about
you, as bees about their queen, dear Magnhild.
There is no better way to express what now happened to Magnhild, than to
say that a new life-spring welled up within her. This help from what she
had never thought of as anything but a pastime and a monotonous routine
worked wonders. She felt that she must endeavor to deserve this
devotion; she knew now what it was her duty to do.
She was walking and talking with Roennaug in the court-yard. Evening was
drawing nigh; the fowls had already sought shelter and were settling
themselves cackling on the roost; the cows were being driven home from
the pasture, and slowly passed by. The perfume of hay was wafted toward
the ladies, ever and anon, for loads were being hauled into the barn.
Roennaug was so sure of what she was doing that she did not hesitate to
tell Magnhild what the same mail had brought her: it was a newspaper
containing a telegram from Munich announcing the death of Tande. These
tidings produced no further effect upon Magnhild than to make both her
and Roennaug pause for an instant and then walk on in silence. Tande had
always been thought of as one very far away, and now he seemed nearer.
What he had recently sent her for her guidance became more profoundly
true than ever.
The first words she uttered were not about Tande but about Skarlie.
Perhaps it would be best to send for him that they might have an
explanation before she started on her journey. Roennaug was not
disinclined to agree to this; but she thought that she, not Magnhild,
should attend to the explanation. In fact, there was nothing to say
except to announce what Magnhild had resolved upon doing.
The conversation was spasmodic like their walk. All the people of the
house were out making hay. Miss Roland and the child had also gone to
the field. Magnhild and Roennaug were about going there themselves when a
boy came walking into the yard whistling, with his hands in his pockets.
Seeing the ladies he stood still and stopped whistling. Then he took a
stand on his right foot; the left heel he planted in the ground, and
moved his leg in such a way that the sole of the foot stood erect and
fanned the air.
Presently he drew nearer.
"Is it you they call Magnhild?" he asked, in the ringing dialect of the
parish.
He addressed the question to the right one, who replied in the
affirmative.
"I was sent to ask you to come down to our place, Synstevold; for there
is a fellow there waiting to see you."
"What is his name?" asked Roennaug.
"I was told not to tell," said the boy, as he planted his left heel in
the ground again, fanned the air with his foot, and stared at the barn.
Roennaug broke into the dialect as she asked whether the "fellow" was not
lame.
"That is very possible," answered the boy, with a grin, and an oath.
Here Roennaug ran to meet old Andreas who was just coming out of the barn
with an empty hay wagon to go after another load; the rumbling of the
wheels prevented him from hearing her call; but she overtook him.
"Was it you who took one of the fore-wheels from my carriage?" asked
she.
"Fore-wheel of the carriage," repeated old Andreas. "Is it off? Stand
still, you fool there?" he cried, giving the reins such a jerk that one
of the horses started to move backward instead of forward, for it was a
young horse.
But in the mean time Roennaug had gained light on the question, and left
Andreas. In slow English she told Magnhild what she believed she had
discovered; she did not want the boy who was standing by to understand.
Andreas drove on.
Magnhild laughed: "Yes, Skarlie has come. It is undoubtedly he!" and
turning to the boy she said that she would accompany him at once.
Roennaug tried to persuade Magnhild to remain where she was and let _her_
go. No, Magnhild preferred to go herself. She was already on her way
when Roennaug called after her that she would soon follow herself to see
how things were going. Magnhild looked back with a smile, and said,--
"You may if you like!"
So after a time Roennaug set forth for Synstevold. She knew very well
that Skarlie could offer nothing that would tempt Magnhild, but he might
be annoying, perhaps rough. The fore-wheel was a warning.
There was perhaps no one to whom Skarlie was so repulsive as to Roennaug.
She knew him well. No one besides Roennaug could surmise how he had
striven, dastard as he was, to taint the purity of Magnhild's
imagination, to deaden her high sense of honor. Magnhild's frequent
blushes had their history.
What was it that so bound him to her? At the outset, of course, the hope
that failed. But since then? The evening before, when the conversation
had turned on the Catholic cloisters, the priest had remarked that
Skarlie--who was a man that had traveled and thought considerably--had
said that in the cloisters the monks prayed night and day to make amends
for the neglected prayers of the rest of the people. That was the reason
why people were willing to give their money so freely to the cloisters:
it was like making a cash payment on the debt of sin.
Roennaug had sat and pondered. Had not Skarlie hereby explained his own
relations with Magnhild? It was his way of making payments on his debt
of sin.
And so, of course, he grudged giving her up.
Had he but been harsh and impatient, Magnhild would immediately have
left him. That was just the misfortune; he was a coward, and he could
not bear to renounce her. He was very humble whenever he failed in his
attempts to win her, and when he had been especially malicious he
forthwith made amends by being as friendly and interesting as possible.
And this was what had kept the ball rolling.
Amid these and similar reflections, Roennaug took the way across the
fields in order not to be seen from the place. The grass where she
walked had not been mown; she trampled it mercilessly under foot, but
she paused before a patch of flowers whose varied hues and leaves she
could not help contemplating. Suddenly she heard voices. In front of her
there were several willow copses through whose branches she espied the
pair she was seeking.
There sat Skarlie and Magnhild in the grass, he in his shirt-sleeves and
without a hat.
Half-frightened for Magnhild and utterly without respect for _him_,
Roennaug immediately stood guard. Concealing herself from view she took
her post between two copses. Skarlie and Magnhild could be seen quite
distinctly, for the space behind them was open.
"Then I shall certainly close up down at the Point, and I will follow
you."
"You may if you choose. But spare me further threats. For the last time:
I have resolved to go. I wish to travel in order to see and to learn.
Some day I hope to return and teach others."
"Do you intend to come back to me?"
"That I do not know."
"Oh, you do know very well."
"Perhaps I do, for if you should lead a better life I presume I would
come back to you; but I do not believe you capable of changing, and so
I might just as well say at once that I shall not return to you."
"You do not know all I mean to do for you."
"What, your last will and testament again? Suppose we drop this subject
now."
She sat twirling a flower, upon which she was intently gazing. Skarlie
had placed his shorter leg under him; his face was all puckered up and
his eyes stung.
"You have never appreciated me."
"No--that is true. I have much to thank you for which I have taken
without thanks. Please God, I shall one day show my gratitude."
"Cannot we make it right now? What is it you want? To travel? We can
travel; we have means enough."
"As I said before, let us drop this subject now."
He sighed, and taking up his cutty, he laid his forefinger over it. It
was already filled; he produced a match-box.
"If you can smoke there is hope for you," said Magnhild.
"Oh! I am not smoking; it is nothing but habit,"--he drew a long sigh.
"No, Magnhild, it is impossible for things to go well with me if you
leave me. For that is about equal to closing up my house and driving me
out into the world. The gossip of the people would be more than I could
bear."
He looked now positively unhappy. Magnhild plucked several flowers; but
if he expected an answer from her it was in vain.
"It is hard for those who have strong natures," said he; "the devil
gains the upper-hand over them in many ways. I thought _you_ would have
helped me. One thing I must say: if we two could have had a right cozy
home together, and a child"--
But here she sprang up quickly, and the flowers fell from her lap.
"Let us have no more of this! He who means to do right does not begin as
you did. But in spite of the beginning you might perhaps still have--Yet
how did you act? I say: let us have no more of this!"
She moved away a few paces and came back again with: "No, I was not to
blame when I gave myself to you, for you promised that I should do and
live precisely as I pleased. And I was such an inexperienced child that
I did not in the least understand how you were outwitting me. But I did
wrong when I heard how matters really were and did not at once leave
you. Also when I failed to do so later. However, this is connected with
many things about which we will not talk at present. All we can do now
is to make amends, as far as we can, for the past. Give me up, and try
to do your duty toward others."
"What do you mean by that?" His eyes blinked and his face grew sharp.
"I mean that you have outwitted others, so I have heard, for your own
selfish ends. Try to make amends for your evil deeds, if you really
desire improvement."
"That is not true. If it was, it is nothing to you."
"Alas! alas! There is little hope of improvement, I fear, in this as in
other things. Aye, then, farewell! It shall be as I have said."
He looked up and distorted his face to a grin, making the eyes almost
wholly disappear beneath the bushy brows.
"You cannot leave here without my consent."
"Oh!"
"Moreover, have you considered what you are doing? Are you right in the
eyes of God?"
"You know very well what I think upon _this_ subject."
"Pshaw! If you mean that talk about unholy marriages, it is sheer
nonsense. There is not a word in the Bible about it. I have looked."
She stroked the hair from her brow. "Then it is written here," said she,
and turned to go.
Skarlie began to get up. He was very angry.
Roennaug felt the necessity of making haste, for now she was in danger of
being seen.
Suddenly the three stood face to face.
Roennaug went right up to Skarlie, in the sweetest, most amiable manner,
heartily shook his hand, and said in English that she was delighted to
see him, he had often been so extremely kind to her. Then she began to
jest; she was at once insinuating and daring. Skarlie could not help
laughing and offering some remarks, also in English; then Roennaug said
something witty to which Skarlie could retaliate; soon they were both
laughing heartily. The impression made on him by this handsome, finely
developed woman, transported him, as it were, before he was aware, to
other scenes and spread a new train of thoughts over his spirit. The
jesting became livelier. English alone was spoken, which particularly
pleased Skarlie; and it put him in a good humor, too, to have a chance
of displaying his ready wit, of which he possessed an abundance.
Finally, Roennaug held him completely bound by the spell of her witchery,
and thus made no unalloyed good impression on Magnhild, who was alarmed
at this display of the powers Roennaug had at her command. She wound her
spell about him, with her look, her words, her challenging figure; but
her eyes flashed fire, while she was laughing: she would have liked,
above all things, to give him a good box on the ear! Women become
wonderfully united when they have occasion to defend or avenge one
another.
Amid the stream of conversation she gradually led the limping Skarlie
round the willow copse, and when they stood on the other side she turned
toward the copse which had concealed her while she was eavesdropping.
Thrusting aside some of the branches, she asked Skarlie, with a laugh,
if he would not be "gallant enough" to aid them in rolling home the
wheel that lay concealed here. He could not possibly allow the ladies to
do it alone, she said.
Skarlie heartily joined in her laughter, but showed no readiness to give
her any assistance. He was in his shirt sleeves, he said; he must go
after his coat if he was to accompany them to the parsonage.
Roennaug assured him that his coat could be sent after him, and that he
would find it far easier to roll the wheel without it. She went to work
to raise the wheel unaided, shouting "Ahoy!" No sooner had she, with
great effort, succeeded in getting it up, than it fell over again.
"It requires two to do this!" said she.
She once more stooped to take hold of the wheel, and while bending over
it flashed her roguish eyes on Skarlie. His were irresistibly attracted
to her face and superb form. The wheel was raised. Roennaug and Skarlie
rolled it forward between them, she skipping along on one side, he
limping on the other, amid merry words and much laughter. Magnhild
slowly followed. Roennaug cast back a look at her, over the top of
Skarlie's bald head; it sparkled with mirth and victory. But ere it was
withdrawn, its fire was scorching enough to have left two deeply seared
brown stripes on his neck and shoulders.
The distance was not very short. Skarlie groaned. Soon Roennaug felt
great drops of sweat rolling down from his face upon her hands. All the
more swiftly did she roll. His sentences became words, his words
syllables; he made a vigorous effort to conceal his exhaustion with a
laugh. At last he could neither roll himself nor the wheel; he dropped
down on the grass, red as a cluster of rowan berries, his eyes fixed in
their sockets, his mouth wide open. He gasped to recover his breath and
his senses.
Roennaug called to old Andreas, who at this moment appeared on the road
with a load of hay, to come and take the wheel. Then she drew her arm
through Magnhild's, bowed and thanked Skarlie--still in English--"many
thousand times for his admirable assistance." Now they could start the
next morning early--and so, "farewell!"
From the road they looked back. The attitude of Andreas indicated that
he was asking Skarlie how the wheel had come there. Skarlie made a
wrathful movement of the hand, as though he would like to sweep away
both the wheel and Andreas; or perhaps he was consigning them to a place
where the inhabitants of Norway are very apt to consign their least
highly-prized friends. The ladies now saw him turn his face toward them;
Roennaug promptly waved her handkerchief and cried back to him,
"Farewell!" The word was echoed through the evening air.
The two friends had not proceeded many steps before Roennaug paused to
give vent to the residue of her wrath. She poured out a stream of words,
in a half whisper. Magnhild could only distinguish a few of these words,
but those she did make out were from the vocabulary of the old days of
service on the road; they compared with Roennaug's present vocabulary as
the hippopotamus compares with the fly.
Magnhild recoiled from her. Roennaug stared wildly at Magnhild, then
composed herself and said in English, "You are right!" but immediately
gave way to a new outburst of wrath and horror; for she was so forcibly
reminded of the time when she herself crept along as best she could down
among the slimy dwellers of the human abyss where darkness reigns, and
where such as he down on yonder hill sat on the brink and fished. She
thrust her hand into her pocket to draw forth Charles Randon's last
letter, which she always carried about her until the next one came; she
pressed it to her lips and burst into tears. Her emotion was so violent
that she was forced to sit down.
It was the first time Magnhild had ever seen Roennaug weep. Even upon the
deck of the vessel on which she had set sail for America she had not
wept. Oh, no, quite the contrary!