Once more a shifting of sunny lights and purple shadows, of ever-varying
colours, of small hamlets nestling by the water-side, each with its
pier, its boats, and its many-hued little crowd, as they steamed down
the Hardanger fjord towards Eide. Contempt for waterfalls was balanced
by joy in the effort of reaching them, and, by dint of swearing to
travel night and day until he overtook them again, Colonel Martyn
obtained leave from his wife to go off to the Voringfos, and young Grey
he dragged reluctantly with him. This threw the others of the party
more together, and it seemed necessary for Wareham to offer his services
to those who were bereft of their nominal protector. The mid-day meal
was taken at the excellent "Mellands" at Eide; afterwards they strolled
about in the meadows, and sat under hay-hurdles, in order to allow the
great noonday heat to subside, before mounting the steep hill which lay
between them and Vossefangen. Anne, indeed, vowed she would not walk,
and chose a carriole, as a lighter conveyance; but Mrs Ravenhill and
Millie soon jumped out of their stolkjaerre. And what a road it was!
High up, a great waterfall hurled itself into a chasm of foam, and while
the carriages crawled round zigzags, those on foot could cut off green
corners, clambering ever higher into the sweet elastic air, until at the
top they rested, breathless, until the cavalcade of patient ponies
pulled slowly up, then merrily along the level road to Voss.
Voss is ugly, but friendly. It has a good inn and a well-known
landlord, an ancient church with a brown timber spire, a few shops, and
a little train, which leisurely trots backwards and forwards to Bergen.
Between it and Stalheim lies one of the most beautiful roads in Norway,
a road constantly changing, with every variety of river and lake, of
waving sorrel-tinted grass, now red, now green, now grey, as the wind
kisses it; of distant snowy heights, and nearer sterner hills; here and
there a fall, a water-mill, a group of cottages with turf-roofs starred
by ox-eyed daisies, and always before you the road running, white, into
the far away.
No zigzagged hills, however, and no opportunities for talk except in the
halts which come occasionally for the hardy ponies. And once, from
Anne's skydsgut, a little gill of eight or nine years old, with the
usual white handkerchief over her head, there rose an agonised wail of
"Toi, toi!" Wareham drove up rapidly. Anne's portmanteau, which also
formed the seat of her infant driver, hung threateningly over the edge;
there was much hoisting and roping before it was restored to
equilibrium.
"No more carrioles for me," said Anne. "It is too dull. Think of not
being able so much as to inveigh against the dust! Apparently it would
cause a revolution in the country if you, for instance, were to drive by
my side?"
"I don't pretend to cope with a Norwegian pony and its skydsgut,"
answered Wareham, laughing.
He said no more; but, after these words of hers, it might have been
noticed that he contrived to keep sufficiently close to exchange
remarks, if only in pantomime, and when they halted at Tvinde, it was he
who was at hand to help her down from her dusty perch. There was, as
usual, a _fos_ to be visited.
"Not worth seeing," announced Mrs Martyn. "Some one, I forget who,
said so."
"The more reason for going," Anne insisted. She invited Wareham to
accompany her, Mrs Martyn watching their departure with expressive
lifting of her eyebrows.
"There is Anne at her usual pastime, making fools of the men," she said
to Mrs Ravenhill. "I thought she had had a lesson, and might be
trusted for a time; but it's in her, it's in her! If there is no one
else, she sets to work upon my husband. Fortunately he's wood, not
wax."
"What was the lesson?"
It was irresistible to Mrs Ravenhill to put this leading question.
"Don't you know? London was full of it. She was engaged to a Mr
Forbes, a son of Sir Martin's, and broke it off with outrageous
abruptness. I never expected her to marry him, it was the way she put
an end to it which incensed people. We thought the best thing for her
was to get her abroad. And here--you see!"
"Why was she so abrupt?"
"She is ambitious. Only a brilliant position will capture, but a fancy
will sway her."
Thankfulness sometimes goes oddly askew. Mrs Ravenhill breathed a sigh
of relief that Millie's innocent inclination had been checked in good
time. Still, a touch of hostility towards the man who had roused it was
in her tone.
"Possibly Mr Wareham is of the same kind, and can take care of
himself?"
"Oh, poor fellow, poor fellow!" ejaculated Mrs Martyn, rejecting the
possibility.
The last thing in the world that would have entered Wareham's head was
that he was already the subject of comment. He allowed that there was a
change in his thoughts of Anne, but would have scouted the idea that it
implied change in his attitude towards Hugh. He now told himself that
her conduct was probably capable of explanation. That meant pardon. He
even indulged in dreams of reconciliation under his auspices. That
included friendship. Hugh's infatuation no longer amazed him, he was
only surprised that he had not held her more strenuously; for it seemed
to him that had he been in such a position he would not easily have been
ousted. Thinking this, the rash man also watched her, noting the
delicate side-lines of her face, the short curve of the upper lip, the
soft growth of hair where it touched the neck, and the dainty ear;
details which only stepped into prominence when, as now, her eyes were
turned away, for their dark depths drew, and held captive, other eyes.
They gave the impression of offering much to one who could interpret
what they said, and in face of them it was useless to moralise upon the
untrustworthiness of woman's beauty. This was what Wareham had presumed
to do, and now, when she suddenly turned them upon him, something
startled him.
"Have you got over your prejudice?" she asked, smiling.
"Prejudice?"
"Against me? But I should not have asked you, I didn't mean to do
anything so imprudent, only that you are changed, and wonderfully
pleasanter, and women never know when to let well alone. They want
words to quiet them, and I want you to tell me with your own lips that
you don't dislike me any more."
Again that momentary feeling of intoxication. He murmured almost
inaudibly--
"I can't."
She slackened her steps.
"Why not?"
"Say that I don't dislike you any more? Had I ever known you to dislike
you?"
"No, no, but you had imagined me, and it was not a pretty picture you
evolved. Tell me whether the picture still exists, or whether it is
blotted out?"
Protestation was on his lips, when the recollection of Hugh's misery
rose up and checked him. She was still watching him, but now she turned
away her face.
"It is not, I see," she said quietly. Wareham clutched at a feverish
memory.
"How can I forget his suffering? But," he hastened to add, "since I
have known you, I can't believe that caprice or heartlessness caused it.
There must have been something I don't understand, and I am certain you
could explain it if you would."
Among Cupid's pitfalls there is no occupation so dangerous as for two
persons to discuss each other's sins and virtues--none perhaps more
attractive. Wareham would have pointed this out in his books, yet here
he was floundering. And Anne? Was she playing Will-o'-the-Wisp? She
looked at him again.
"I suppose you expect me to drop a curtsey, and offer a meek thank you?"
"I don't expect the impossible."
"Impossible?"
"I can't imagine the meekness."
"Your own fault. You don't inspire it. You try to ruffle my temper."
"What is that but giving you an opportunity to display the virtue? You
can't display meekness without cause for it."
"Cause for it?" Anne struck back. "You offer cause freely!"
"Oh!"
"Can you say you have not been harsh in all your judgments?"
"Before I knew you."
Hugh was forgotten. He had ceased to be anything but a peg on which to
hang banter, and, perhaps strangely, it was Anne who recalled him with a
sigh.
"Did he--did Mr Forbes blame me so much?"
"He never blamed you."
"Yet his friend was unmerciful."
"What could I think? I came home to find Hugh dashed from his heights
to lowest depths of wretchedness. He neither slept nor ate, but talked
immoderately. From his talk I gleaned my own impressions. He was
devoted to you, he was miserable--you must forgive me if I became
unjust."
Apparently she had forgotten the compassion which had made her sigh, for
she repeated his words demurely--
"Talked immoderately! And your patience held out all the time?"
"I believe I can be patient."
"And I can't. There's the mischief!"
He did not ask her to what mischief she alluded. They were close to the
_fos_, and had been looking at it with unseeing eyes. Now some pause in
the flutter of their thoughts made them turn with relief to an outward
object. Wareham muttered a platitude about its beauty. He thought Mrs
Ravenhill would have liked it for a sketch, while Anne scorned the
thought.
"Sketch a waterfall? As well sketch a disembodied spirit."
Silence again, spent apparently in dreaming of the delicious freshness
of the leaping water. Really, Wareham was looking at her, and wondering
how he could ever have been such a prejudiced fool. He had made up his
mind, that she was a creature of the world, adept in its wiles, knowing
how to torment poor Hugh, and using her knowledge remorselessly. Here,
by the flashing waters, she was young, frank, imprudent, perhaps, but
cruel--never! Whatever had happened, hers was not the fault. So far on
the primrose path Wareham had strayed, and was certain of his footing.
Presently she spoke again.
"Some day perhaps I shall tell you. Not yet, for I am not sufficiently
sure of my ground. If I have gained anything, it would be humiliating
to see it all melt away, as it might. I was vexed at your prejudging
me, because it was not fair; all your sympathies were heaped on one
side, and I really believe if you could have crushed me with them, you
were quite ready to have done so. Now I start on a better footing. Now
if you blame me, as you will, it will not be in that hard, unreasoning
fashion."
"Why say that I shall blame you?" His voice was not quite steady.
She turned and walked down the hill. "Because you cannot yet judge
fairly."
He remonstrated.
"You need not be displeased. It is not your fault. No man is capable
of placing himself in a woman's position in such a matter."
"Try me."
She laughed merrily.
"There is another thing which no man can do--imagine that he is not an
exception to the general rule!"
"I wish you would find something which a man can do, instead of crushing
with negatives!" He was growing impatient, and she said abruptly--
"I believe I will tell you."
He waited, eagerly desiring that she should look at him.
"But I risk a great deal, because you are Mr Forbes' friend, and you
will not believe it possible."
Alas for friendship when it is first confronted with love! Afterwards
it may recover its footing, but in the, as yet, unacknowledged whirl of
head and heart, the poor thing gets swept into the vortex. At that
moment Wareham could have believed much.
"And it sounds so little when one puts it into words!" the sinner went
on hesitatingly. "It must have been that I did not like him well
enough--ever. I thought I did. I assure you I was quite glad to
discover that I could feel so much, but--"
She paused so long that Wareham repeated the word.
"But?"
"I got tired of him, of it, of all!" She turned her eyes on him. "You
have never tried, have you, being adored from morning to night?"
"Never."
"It is sickening. Like living upon sweetmeats. I used to try to
provoke him, and if once I could have got him out of temper, there might
have been some hope. If he had contradicted me! I longed for a breath
of fresh air. And dragging on--oh, he made a mistake all through. Of
course you can't understand--" She ended abruptly.
He felt a burning desire to assure her that he could, but his muttered
words struck him as absurdly inadequate. Silence became more eloquent.
Anne broke it at last--
"It was a hundred pities," she mused, "and rough on him, for what could
I say? What reason could I give? Tell him that he bored me? I
couldn't, I couldn't! I can't lose my friends. No, no, no, poor
fellow! Here we come upon all those people, and Blanche is beckoning
wildly, and I can't think how I have had the face to talk to you.
Forget it!"
With a sudden movement, for which he was unprepared, she sprang from
him, and ran down the steep slope. He restrained the impulse to quicken
his own pace, and by the time he reached the road, the carrioles had
started, and Mrs Ravenhill and Millie, the clergyman and his wife, were
moving off in a cloud of dust. Wareham, in spite of the impatience of
his skydsgut, held back until carriages and dust had rolled away in the
distance.
Tumultuous thought made it at first impossible to grasp a single idea,
and to hold on to it as a centre for others. Anne's face, the flutter
of a small curl on her forehead, softly outlined arch of eyebrows, all
manner of idiotic fancies, hustled and jostled each other in his brain;
and he presently became aware that instead of sending the airy traitors
to the right-about, he was encouraging them to stand, wall-like, between
himself and the truth about himself. Too strong a man to keep up the
mask when once he discovered it, he proceeded to chase the busy throng.
From behind them Anne's face peeped again.
He dragged out a hiding fact, and held it bare to his own scorn. He
loved her--loved her; and though but a day before the amazement of it
would have struck him mute, it had already ceased to look strange. All
had led to it. The inconceivable would have been his failing to love.
So far his heart with easy swing.
But judgment stood stubborn in refusal to go with it. Judgment it was
which held the scourge. With Hugh Forbes in the background, what might
be acknowledged natural became also offensive. As Wareham jogged along
the white road, unheedful of bold outlines or lovely verdure, he found
himself mentally writing to his friend, and recoiling with a start. How
could he word such a dispatch--"I have seen the woman for whom you are
breaking your heart. I love her myself, and shall try to win her"? The
very thought was brutal.
Yet--to resign her for a dream, even for an ill-placed devotion, what
could be more foolish and morbid? What fresh chance could come to Hugh?
His had passed when, sooner than carry out an engagement, she had
broken away abruptly, and faced the talk and jibes of her world by
venturing on a course for which blame was the more unsparingly heaped on
her because it was inexplicable. Hugh was young, handsome, ardent.
Until this moment Wareham had fancied him the very man to catch the
fancy of a woman, and it was only since Anne had lifted the curtain
which friendship held tight, that he could admit that possible
something--was it the power of boring?--which had driven her from him.
This was what she meant when she said she had no patience. That
patience should be wanted!
Here was his heart once more racing smoothly, until judgment caught the
reins again, and tugged at the runaway steed. What boy's work was this!
A woman but a few weeks ago betrothed to his friend, and still beloved
by him--crazily it might be, but with all his heart--a woman of whom he
knew next to nothing, and that little, up to now, not in her favour--and
here, at a word, a look, he was at her feet! Shameful! Yet--worst
shame of all--not to be parted with at any price. Already the world
without Anne's figure in the foreground looked cold and unendurable.
His eyes tried to pierce the whirl of dust ahead, and to distinguish her
amid its folds; he fancied he could do so, and straightway his thoughts
were occupied with nothing but foolish longing to know what her eyes
were saying at this moment. The confidence she had given surely pointed
to a touch of sympathy, a budding liking? Happy, happy he! In another
hour or two they might be again together, and he would show better than
he yet had done, how much he prized her frankness. The next moment
these thoughts turned upon him with scourges. Honour stood by, and
scornfully directed the flagellation, and he felt himself a miserable
traitor. Here was friendship! Here was a creditable sequel to his
offices for Hugh! So his mind wandered backwards and forwards.
Chaos lasted for a while, and it is not impossible that the tumult was
so new that he rashly suffered it, believing in his own powers of
self-government, and aware of a whirl, as of hot-headed youth, which he
had thought the years had left behind. The day changed, brooding clouds
gathered round the mountains, which closed in, rank after rank; nearer
hills, heavily purple, swept up from the gloom of the valley. The road
slowly mounted, the dust subsided, and the crawling carrioles in front
looked as if an effort might overtake them. But Wareham checked the
impulse, and his skydsgut's attempted spurt. He would not see Anne
until he had resolved on a line of action. A resolution, carefully
thought out, would serve as a guard against the rasher promptings of his
heart, and between this and Stalheim he had to come to terms with this
resolution. One was already there--not to give her up if he could gain
her. Behind this his heart entrenched itself, grumbling.
Yet, in spite of such a reservation, carrying a good deal with it,
Wareham hugged the delusion that the other was the more important.
Conscience had much to say as to what he should write to Hugh, how wrap
up the communication which was so abominably angular and assertive,
that, say what he would, it inevitably presented itself in a repulsive
form. Conscience harped loudly upon truth, yet was anxious to give
truth what should have been unnecessary adorning. Finally he resolved
to write to Hugh that night, and to tell him--? to tell him that he had
met Miss Dalrymple. This decided, he was forced to admit that so much
Hugh knew already. There must be a more expansive confession; he had to
add--admired, liked her. And this written, in thought, appeared so
significant to Wareham, that he imagined himself closing the letter
here, and drew a breath of relief. But conscience, refusing compromise,
cried out for something explicit, and here came the difficulty. All the
sentences he revolved looked either inadequate or shameful. "Do you
give her up?" Free she undoubtedly was, having herself asserted her
freedom, but free to Hugh Forbes' chief friend?
Yet something he must write, and until it was written and answered, keep
his feelings out of reach of betrayal. Here was a resolution which he
grasped, for it belonged to the honourable instincts of a fine nature,
too deeply rooted to suffer in the general upheaval. He added a rider,
necessary if unpalatable. He would not avoid Anne to the extent of
provoking her own or other remark, but he must avoid--well, such a walk
_a deux_ as they had taken that day, for instance.
The road grew steeper, and he jumped out of his carriole. Stalheim was
perched above, a hotel, two or three scattered cottages, and a
waterfall. He climbed through gathering clouds, and when he reached the
door, was met by English tourists of the most noisy and offensive type.
All his own people had vanished, and he saw no more of them until
supper, which was eaten to the accompaniment of a band. Mrs Ravenhill
confided to him that she hated the place, in spite of the magnificence
of the scenery.
"And Millie and I have determined to go to Gudvangen to-morrow, and wait
for the Monday steamer. I cannot stay here to see my own country-people
making themselves so obnoxious--" She hastened to add with scrupulous
care, "You don't expect me, I hope, to repeat that you are not in the
least tied to us, and must not be influenced by anything we may do."
"Does that sentence mean that I am forbidden to accompany you?"
"Forbidden? Oh, no; but the others stay on, and this is one of the
special places in Norway."
"I detest special places."
She warned further.
"Remember that we heard the little inn at Gudvangen was very primitive."
"That decides me. If you will allow me, I shall certainly go there with
you."
Millie's face was all brightness. Wareham, indeed, was inclined to look
upon the proposal as the reward of merit, to plume himself upon a sort
of recognition of his having kept on the side of his conscience. It was
a step out of his dilemma. Two days of voluntary banishment from Anne
meant a sacrifice worthy of the altar of friendship. He would write his
letter, avoid walks, avoid the smallest betrayal of feeling. All looked
easy.
If love laughs at locksmiths, how much more at lovers' resolutions!