It was Katharine who proposed the expedition to a group of Saeters. She
came down one morning in a determined frame of mind, and no obstacles
could deter her from carrying out her scheme. F---- was about a day's
journey distant from the Gaard, and Katharine had heard of its beauties
from several of the guests, including the Sorenskriver. The difficulty
was to get horses at the Gaard, for they were wanted in the fields, and
when not required for work, they appeared to be wanted for rest. Solli
did not like his horses to go for expeditions, and as a rule he was not
to be persuaded to change his views. When asked, he always answered:
"The horses cannot go." And there the matter ended.
To-day also he said, "The horses cannot go;" and Katharine,
understanding that entreaty was vain, made no sign of disappointment,
and determined to walk. She invited Alan specially to come with her, and
the boy, in his shy way, was delighted. Her manner to him was so genial
that, spite of his trouble, he cheered up.
"The others may come with us if they like," she said to him; "but we are
the leaders of this expedition. It is true that we don't know the way;
but born leaders find the way, don't they?"
Ejnar declared he would go, and Gerda, still feeling injured, said she
would stay behind. But Tante advised her to go and see that Ejnar did
not run away with Katharine. The Sorenskriver refused rather sulkily,
but was found on the way afterwards, having changed his mind and
discovered a short cut. The little Swedish lady-artist accepted gladly,
and the Swedish professor accompanied her as a matter of course, being
always in close attendance on his pretty young compatriot. Clifford said
he would remain with Knutty, but Knutty said:
"Many thanks. But I'm coming too. Do you suppose I've come to Norway to
let others see Saeters? Not I."
"But, Knutty," he said, looking gravely at her, "you know we'd love to
have you, but----"
"But you think it is not humanly possible," she answered, with a twinkle
in her eye. "Well, I agree with you. If I walked, I should die; and if I
rode, the horse would die! And as there is no horse----"
But just then Jens came into the courtyard leading Svarten, the black
Gudbrandsdal horse, and Blakken, a sturdy little Nordfjording.[L] Jens
hitched Svarten to the gig. Another pony was brought from the field hard
by.
"The horses can go," said Solli, looking rather pleased with himself;
and the little band of travellers, agreeably surprised, called out:
"Tusend tak, Solli!"
"Well, now, there _are_ horses," Clifford said, turning to Knutty.
"Kjaere," she answered, "I may be a wicked old wretch, but I'm not as
bad as that yet! I'll stay at home and read to Bedstemor out of the old
Bible which Bedstefar bought in exchange for a black cow! Could anything
be more exciting? But you go--and be happy."
"Happiness is not for me, Knutty," he said.
"No, probably not," she answered gravely. "But go and pretend. There's
no harm in that."
"All the same," he said a little eagerly, "it is curious how much
brighter and happier I do feel since we came here. It's the getting
back to you, Knutty. That is what it is."
"Yes, I can quite believe that," replied Knutty. "There now. They are
starting off."
But he still lingered in the porch.
"What sort of nonsense have you been telling Miss Frensham about my
researches?" he said, smiling shyly.
"Oh," said Knutty, "I only told her you were engaged on some ridiculous
stereo-something investigations. I didn't think it was anything against
your moral character."
He still lingered.
"Do you know," he said, "I've been thinking that I shall enlarge my
laboratory when I get back. I believe I am going to do a lot of good new
work, Knutty."
"I shouldn't wonder," she answered. "A man isn't done for at
forty-three."
"No, that's just it," he said brightly. "Well, good-bye for the
present."
She watched him hasten after the others. She laughed a little, and
congratulated herself on her beautiful discretion. And then she went
over to Bedstemor's, and on her way met old Kari carrying a bundle of
wood. Old Kari, who always plunged without preliminaries into a
conversation, said:
"Perhaps that nice Englishwoman will find a husband here after all, poor
thing. Perhaps the Englishman will marry her. What dost thou think?"
Meanwhile Clifford hurried after the Saeter pilgrims, and caught up with
Gerda and Ejnar. Katharine and Alan were on in front, but he did not
attempt to join them. But he heard Alan laugh, and he was glad. A great
gladness seized him as he walked on and on. She was there. That was
enough for him. Ah, how he had thought of her when he was away. She did
not know. No one knew. It was his own secret. No one could guess even.
No one would ever know that Alan's unhappiness was only one of the
reasons for their sudden return. There was another reason too: his own
unconquerable yearning to see her. He had tried to conquer it; and he
had not tried to conquer it. He had tried to ignore it; and he had not
tried to ignore it. He had said hundreds of times to himself, "I am not
free to love her;" and he had said hundreds of times too, "I am free to
love her." He had said of her, "She is kind and pitiful; but she would
never love me--a broken-spirited man--never--never." And he had said,
"She loves me." He had said, "No, no, not for me the joys of life and
love--not for me. But if only in earlier days--if only----" And he had
said, "The past is gone, and the future is before me. Why must I turn
from love and life?"
But he had ended with, "No, no, it is a selfish dream; there is nothing
in me worthy of her--nothing for me to offer her--nothing except failure
and a saddened spirit."
But this morning Clifford was not saying or thinking that. He remembered
only that she was there--and the world was beautiful. For the moment,
all troubles were in abeyance. He scarcely remembered that the boy
shirked being with him and went his own way in proud reserve. He had,
indeed, scarcely noticed it since his return. If Alan went off with
Jens, it was only natural that the two lads should wish to be together.
And for the rest, the rest would come right in time. So he strode on,
full of life and vigour, and with a smile on his grave face. And Gerda
said:
"And why do you smile, Professor?"
He answered:
"The world is beautiful, Frue.[M] And the air is so crisp and fine."
Gerda, who enjoyed being with Knutty's Englishman, was glad that Ejnar
was lingering behind picking some flower which had arrested his
attention. She did not mind how far he lingered behind alone. It was the
going on in front with Katharine which she wished to prevent! She said
to Clifford:
"Your countrywoman is very attractive. I like her immensely. Do you like
her?"
"Yes," said Clifford.
"She is not fond of chemistry, I think."
"No."
"Nor is she botanical."
"No," said Clifford.
"Nevertheless, she has a great charm," said Gerda. "Tante calls it
temperamental charm. It must be delightful to have that mysterious gift.
For it is a gift, and it is mysterious."
Clifford was silent. Gerda thought he was not interested in the
Englishwoman.
"How blind he is!" she thought. "Even my Ejnar uses his eyes better. He
knows that woman is charming."
Katharine was indeed charming that morning, and to every one. She had
put little Fröken Eriksen, the Swedish artist, and the Swedish
mathematical Professor, Herr Lindstedt, into the gig, so that they might
enjoy a comfortable flirtation together. They laughed and greeted her
pleasantly as they drove on in front.
"Tack!" they said, turning round and waving to her. They felt she
understood so well.
Soon afterwards the Sorenskriver was found sitting on one of the great
blocks of stone which formed the railing of the steep road down from the
Solli Gaard.
"Good-morning," he said. "May a disagreeable old Norwegian join this
party of nations?"
Katharine beamed on him, and spoke the one Norwegian word of which she
was sure, "_Velkommen!_"
But she did not let him displace Alan. She kept the boy by her side,
giving him the best of her kindness and brightness. She drew him out,
heard something about his American journey, and listened to a long
description of the ship which took him out and brought him home. He did
not once speak of his father. And she did not speak of him. But she had
a strong belief that if she could only manage to win the boy for
herself, she could hand him back to his father and say, "Here is your
boy. He is yours again. I have won him for you."
It was a joy to her to feel that she was working for Clifford Thornton.
And with the pitiful tenderness that was her own birthright, she was
glad that she was trying to help the boy. She knew she would succeed. No
thoughts of failure crossed her mind. No fears of that poor Marianne
possessed her. She made no plans, and reckoned on no contingencies. She
had never been afraid of life. That was all she knew. And without
realising it, she had a remarkable equipment for success in her
self-imposed task. By instinct, by revelation, by reason of her big,
generous nature, she understood Marianne: that poor Marianne, who, so
she said to Knutty, could not be called unmerciful if she was
ignorant--since mercy belonged only to true knowledge.
So she kept Alan by her side, and he was proud to be her chosen
companion. She said:
"This is our show, you know. The other people are merely here on
sufferance. And if the Sorenskriver says anything disagreeable about
England, we'll wollop him and leave him tied up to a tree until we
return."
"Or shove him down into the torrent," said Alan, delighted. "Here it is,
just handy."
"Yes; but he has not begun yet," she answered. "We must give the poor
man a chance."
"Don't you feel beastly angry when these foreigners say anything against
England?" he asked.
"Beastly angry!" she replied with gusto.
He smiled with quiet satisfaction. He loved her comradeship of words as
well as her comradeship of thoughts.
They passed over the bridge leading to the other side of the Vinstra
gorge, stopped to rest at the Landhandleri (store-shop), and then began
their long ascent to the Saeters. Up they went past several fine old
farms; and as they mounted higher, they could see the Solli Gaard
perched on the opposite ridge. The road was a rough carriage-road
leading up to a large sanatorium, which was situated about
three-quarters of the way to F----. As they mounted, the forest of
Scotch firs and spruces seemed thicker and darker, being unrelieved by
the presence of other trees, as in the valley below. Leafy mosses formed
the carpeting of the forest, and a wealth of bilberries was accumulated
in the spruce-woods; whilst the red whortleberry showed itself farther
on in open dry spots amongst the pines which crept up higher than the
Scotch firs--"Grantraer," as the Norwegians call them. Then they, in
their turn, thinned out, and the lovely birches began to predominate; so
that the way through the forest became less gloomy, and the spirits of
the pilgrims rose immediately, and Gerda sang. But, being Danish, she
sang a song in praise of her native beech-woods! And the Sorenskriver
joined in too, out of compliment to Denmark, but said that he would like
to recite to the English people the poem about the beeches of Denmark,
the birches of Sweden, and the fir-trees of Norway. The beeches were as
the Danes themselves, comfortable, easy; the birches were even as the
Swedes, graceful, gracious, light-hearted; and the grim firs were as the
Norwegians, gloomy, self-contained, and sad.
"Therefore, Fröken," he said, turning to Katharine, "judge us gently. We
are even as our country itself, stern and uncompromising."
"But grand, Herr Sorenskriver," said Katharine, "with nothing petty."
"Nei da!" he said, looking pleased. "It would be nice to think that this
was as true of ourselves as of our mountains."
Then they glanced back at the snow-clad Rondane in the distance; and
they came out into the open country, and saw the Jutenheim (the home of
the giants) in front of them. They had left the region of the firs,
pines, and birches, and reached the land of the dwarf-birch, the willow,
and the persistent juniper. And here the rough carriage-road ended; for
the sanatorium, where the fashionable Scandinavians were taking their
summer mountain-holiday, was now only a few yards off. The saeter
pilgrims had thought of dining there; but no one seemed inclined to face
a crowd of two hundred guests. So the little company drew up by the side
of a brook, and ate Mysost[N] sandwiches; the Sorenskriver, who
continued in the best of good humours, assuring Katharine that this was
an infallible way of learning Norwegian quickly. Alan was disappointed
that he was not rude.
"Then we could go for him," he said privately to Katharine.
"Oh, perhaps he may even yet be rude!" whispered Katharine, reassuring
him.
When they had lunched and taken their ease, they started once more on
their journey, passing the precincts of the sanatorium in order to hire
boats for crossing the beautiful mountain lake; for F---- was on the
other side, perched high up on the mountain-slope. By rowing over, they
would save themselves about two miles of circuitous rough road. Jens
said that he would take the gig and the horses round by the road to meet
the boat. Alan went with him, but he looked back wistfully at Katharine
once or twice.
And now a curious thing happened. As Katharine and Gerda were standing
waiting for their boat, the sound of English voices broke upon them.
"English," said Gerda. "That is a greeting for you."
"Well, it's very odd," said Katharine, listening; "but I've heard that
voice before."
"Perhaps you think it is familiar because it is English," suggested
Gerda.
"Perhaps," answered Katharine; but she was still arrested by the sound.
"I thought the Sorenskriver said that no English people came here?" she
said.
"He said they came very rarely to these parts," Gerda replied. "One or
two Englishmen for fishing sometimes; otherwise Swedes, Danes, Finns,
Russians."
"I am sure I have heard that voice before," Katharine said. She seemed
troubled.
"There they go, you see," Gerda said, pointing to two figures. "They
were in the little copse yonder--two of your tall Englishwomen. How
distinctly one hears voices at this height! Well, the Kemiker is waiting
for us. Du milde Gud! Look at my Ejnar handling the oars! Bravo, Ejnar!"
"Come, ladies," called Clifford cheerily from the boat. "Let us be off
before the Botaniker upsets the boat. He has been trying to reach a
plant at the bottom of the lake."
When they had taken their places, Katharine turned to Clifford, who was
looking radiantly happy, and she said:
"Row quickly, row quickly, Professor Thornton. I want to get away from
here."
"Do you dislike the great caravanserai so much?" he said. "Well, you
have only to turn round, and there you have the Jutenheim mountains in
all their glory. Are they not beautiful?"
She looked at the snow-capped mountains; but for the moment their beauty
scarcely reached her. She was thinking of that voice. When had she heard
it? And where?
"The mountains, the mountains of Norway!" cried Clifford. "Ah, I've
always loved the North, and each time I come I love it more
passionately, and this time----"
No one was listening to him. Gerda and Ejnar were busy trying to see
what was in the bottom of the lake, and Katharine seemed lost in her own
thoughts. Suddenly she remembered where she had heard that voice. It was
Mrs Stanhope's. The words rushed to her lips; she glanced at Clifford,
saw and felt his happiness, and was silent. But now she knew why the
sound of that voice had aroused feelings of apprehension and anxiety,
and an instinctive desire to ward off harm both from the man and the
boy.
For directly she heard it, she had been eager to hurry Clifford away,
and relieved that Alan had gone on with Jens.
[Footnote L: Horse from the Nordfjord. Svarten, the black one; Blakken,
the yellow one.]
[Footnote M: _Frue_, Norwegian for Frau.]
[Footnote N: The favourite Norwegian cheese.]