The steamer was to start from Gudvangen at two. Wareham already felt as
if he had offered up so much to duty that he might expect reward. To
have left Miss Dalrymple to the mercy of possibilities in the shape of
other men, for two long days, was in itself an assurance that he could
trust himself; and if that were so, the reasons for avoiding her became
ludicrously small, almost, indeed, offensive. He went to fish, but the
point he chose commanded the road through the Naerodal, and when he saw
the carriages broadening from specks into shape, and at last could
distinguish clearly, he was not very long in making his way after them
to Hansen's.
Mrs Martyn and Anne were standing in the porch talking to old Hansen,
as well as limited vocabularies would allow. Wareham was welcome as an
interpreter to three of the party; he hoped that Anne's smile meant
more.
"You see, we are here," she said; "we have torn ourselves from Stalheim,
wicked Stalheim!"
"Why wicked?"
"By contrast only. Here you look so pastoral, so idyllic, that our
little crowds, and bands, and bad dinners, take quite an iniquitous
air."
"We had a chaplain," put in Mrs Martyn. "To point out how bad we
were!"
"Well, I am glad you have escaped," said Wareham. "Where's Colonel
Martyn?"
"Thereby hangs a sad tale, for he has telegraphed that he will join us
at Balholm, and Blanche is much displeased. And Mr Grey is left in the
vortex at Stalheim. Don't look so reproachful, or we shall ask you to
go back and rescue him."
"And miss my steamer? Forbid it, fates! Gudvangen is a charming spot,
as you see--Eden, if you like; but to be left here without a companion,
to live upon trout and biscuits, and amuse oneself with a jingling
piano, and old photographs, would make one hate Eden. Besides, all my
philanthropy is packed up in England. But what have we here?"
A larger carriage drove by to the other hotel, and was followed by a
second. Both were filled with shouting parties of tourists, waving and
yelling. Old Hansen set his face grimly.
"Now," he said to Wareham, "tell me, what people are those? They belong
to your country. You can explain. We have nothing like them. They do
not care about the beauty, or the history, or those who live here. They
are middle-aged men, many of them. They shout, and sing, and laugh as
loud as they can. What are they? Why do they come?"
Wareham muttered something to the effect that there were fools in all
countries.
"Tell him it's the way we treat our lunatics," Anne said. "It's our new
system of cure."
"The steamer does not go until two," Wareham said, in a low voice.
"Will your Eden bear looking into?"
"Come and see."
"Blanche, will you explore?"
"No. It is too hot. I hear there is a shop with rather nice furs, and
I haven't seen one for a week. Mind you two aren't late."
"Late, when it isn't half-past twelve! But I can't sit on the steamer
with those lunatics a moment longer than is necessary, and Mr Wareham's
inn may be delightfully primitive, but I have never set myself up as a
specimen of primitive woman, and I prefer Eden without its inn. Well,
Mr Wareham, I am waiting." She stood erect, smiling.
"Where will you go?"
"What have you to offer?"
"A path by the fjord, where you will find Mrs and Miss Ravenhill
sketching, and the road by which you have just come."
"You don't perplex one with the amount of choice. We will go back.
Stalheim, wicked Stalheim, attracts me, I own."
They were walking along the road. Whenever he could, Wareham glanced at
her, admiring the easy poise of her figure, her light strong step.
"Aren't you contented with having brought down a part of the world you
admire?"
"They don't harmonise with Eden, to tell the truth," said Anne,
laughing. "I'm not sure that any of us do. But I grant you all that
you demand as to its charms. Look at the soft shadows on the hills. I
can fancy it a very refreshing little place for a day; perhaps two,"--
doubtfully--"if one was sure--absolutely sure--of getting away the day
after."
"Is that all you could give to Eden?"
"Alas, alas!" Rather to his surprise, Anne was grave. "But when one
has lived always in Vanity Fair? Do you not feel with me? Something
else will be provided for us poor things, something more in accord with
our heritage of ages?"
She gave him a look in which he read what she did not say, and they
walked on silently, making their way at last to the brink of the river.
The clear water rushed noisily past them.
"A chatterer," Wareham declared. "Pleasant chatter, don't you think?
If you are sure we have time we might sit down here a little while, and
perhaps grow cool."
"Plenty of time," he said, consulting his watch. "If we are back by a
quarter to two, we shall do very well, for all your things will have
gone on board."
Anne was already perched on a stone.
"I throw responsibility on you. I have come here to enjoy myself, not
to fidget."
"What shall we do to secure your object?"
"Oh," she cried impatiently, "don't talk about it! If it isn't
spontaneous it is failure."
"Then I mayn't even ask whether you prefer silence or--"
"Ask nothing. Tell me, if you like, what you did yesterday?"
"Walked."
"Here?"
"No, by that other path which you rejected, to a village called Bakke."
"Were you alone?"
"Oh, no, we all started together. Mrs Ravenhill fell upon a sketch,
and her daughter and I went further and returned to her. There you have
it all."
Miss Dalrymple scrutinised his face with a smile.
"There is something very attractive about her," she said, "though she
does not like me."
"I have never heard her say so."
"No, she would not. She is good. I can quite imagine her in Eden. She
would make Adam very happy. Don't you think so?"
"I believe she would make an excellent wife," said Wareham, keeping on
open ground.
Anne said no more. She asked questions as to how the salmon got up
these rivers, and announced her intention of trying to catch one when
next she went to Scotland. At last Wareham looked at his watch.
"There is time enough to take it as coolly as you like," he said, "but
perhaps we had better go back."
Anne sprang up.
"I am ready. As we cannot stay, I believe I shall be sorry to leave
Gudvangen." Wareham's heart throbbed.
"I shall never forget it," he said.
"Never? Why? Was Bakke so delightful a place?"
"I leave you to imagine why," he said, in a low voice.
"Leave me nothing in the form of a riddle," said Anne; "I shall
disappoint you."
He raged again. Were all his chances to slip by? There are moments
when we feel as if we rode upon the wave, as if what we wanted was just
within our grasp. This was such a moment, and he was bound--could not
so much as stretch out his hand. His heart, submitting sullenly, would
say something.
"Miss Dalrymple," he began, "is there absolutely no hope for Hugh?"
She paused for a moment.
"What right have you to ask?"
"None, except,"--he would have liked to have shot out, "that I want
relief from a torment of doubt," but controlled himself to say--"except
knowing that he has not given you up."
"You should not use the present tense. I can answer for it that you
have not seen him for ten days. Doesn't that give time enough for a man
to change?"
Wareham looked at her, his face hard.
"Yes," he said shortly. "That is not the question. How long does a
woman take?" She made an impatient gesture.
"For pity's sake! When I came to Norway to escape Hugh Forbes!"
He was silent, suddenly conscious that he dared not probe farther.
Womanlike she glanced at him, to read what she could in his face, but
his eyes were on the ground. When he raised them, he stared before him
at an empty fjord. He dragged out his watch.
"Impossible! It is not half-past one."
"What is the matter?" Anne asked.
"The steamer! Am I dreaming, or has she gone?"
"Certainly she is not there." Anne quickened her steps.
Wareham's face was very grave. He dashed into the inn, and hammered at
old Hansen's door. Anne waited outside, reflecting on the situation.
Wareham came slowly out at last, followed by the burly landlord.
"I am afraid it is too true," he said. "I shall never forgive myself
for implicitly trusting a Norwegian time-table. They left at one
o'clock."
He looked at Hansen, Hansen looked at Anne. It was she who first spoke.
"When is the next boat?"
"To-morrow afternoon."