"OVER THE WATER WI' ANE."
As the fjord widens into open sea, the hills sink into insignificance,
and the steamer makes her way between clustering islands, rocky and
barren; but on nearing Bergen the scenery again gains dignity, and
Bergen itself, lying on a promontory between two harbours, and
overshadowed by fine mountains, is strikingly picturesque. There is an
air of vigorous life about it; oddly-rigged and brightly-painted vessels
scud along before a wind which catches the waves, and tears them into
foam; against the beautiful shadowy hills stands a jumble of red-roofed
houses, pierced, as it were, by a forest of masts.
Mrs Ravenhill, sitting on the upper deck, swept the scene with what
Millie called her air of hungry enjoyment.
"She sees points, effects, and is perfectly happy. What I foresee,"
added the girl, laughing, "is a struggling crowd, from which I shall
have to defend her."
"Norwegians are never rude," announced Mrs Ravenhill.
"Not often. But what of that girl at Stalheim, who demanded money
because you had sketched her cottage?"
"Oh, Stalheim! Stalheim is a spoilt place. I do not count Stalheim."
"You will find points enough and to spare," said Wareham, "and if you
can get on board a steamer, you may have peace also. I suppose Smeby's
will do as well as any other hotel?"
So it was settled, only, as Smeby's was full, Mrs Ravenhill and Millie
went across the street, and had rooms at the house of a kindly, funny
little woman, who told them long Norwegian stories, which she found it
impossible to conceive were not understood. The days were bright, but
chilly, with a spirited wind blowing in from the sea, and ruffling the
harbour. The Ravenhills attempted no demands upon Wareham's hours; he
was free to come and go, join them or leave them alone, whether Mrs
Ravenhill sketched or made regulation purchases of spoons, furs, or
photographs at the shops. This liberty pleased him, it allowed him to
live with Anne in thought, and to be miserable over the combinations he
foresaw. When two and two must drive together, would not Hugh contrive
to be with Anne? No one would prevent it if Anne suffered the
arrangement. And to be near her--to look into her eyes! Now that the
victory was won, he gave himself the luxury of imagining what a defeat
would have brought him: he might have been in Hugh's place, and his
heart leaped with the conviction that he would have been preferred. He
walked hurriedly, urged, goaded, by this thought; over his head clouds
were flying, gulls screamed to each other, flashing white wings against
the grey. He walked long, seeing nothing; when he wheeled round at
last, it was more from instinct than intention, and after supper he went
out again.
Mrs Ravenhill was not quite pleased.
"No one invited Mr Wareham," she said to Millie that night. "If he
chose to come with us, he might take more trouble to be entertaining."
Millie stood at the window, her back to her mother.
"Never mind," she said at last. "You have earned his gratitude."
"Why?"
"He is not very happy, so he likes to be alone."
Mrs Ravenhill laid down the photographs she was examining, and stared.
"Not happy? Millie, you catch up absurd fancies! The man eats, drinks,
talks, as usual. He has not been confiding in you?"--quickly.
The "No" came with a sigh.
Her mother heard the "No," and not the sigh, and took up the photographs
again.
"Then I wouldn't waste my pity. I will tell you what I think. Mr
Wareham has lived in his own interests till he has grown selfish; the
large party and the little rubs did not please him, and he came away.
He is welcome to go where he likes. All that I complain of is that he
seems to think he owes nothing to us. You see what I mean?"
"Yes."
"And don't you think he was glad to break away?"
"Perhaps," said Millie untruthfully.
"Oh, he was." The mother was persuaded that Millie never flung a
thought in the direction of Wareham, yet, mother-like, would not believe
that he could have been attracted by another when her girl was there.
Descent such as that ranks with the incredible. Yet if--if Millie were
not so entirely heart-whole as she believed, she yearned to offer
comfort. She said, with a smile--"Miss Dalrymple has too much of the
bearing of a conqueror to please a man not easily subdued."
The girl's heart was trembling lest the secret it held should escape.
She praised Anne on purpose to be quit of all suspicion of jealousy.
"She is one of the women who has a right to such a bearing. If I were a
man, I should fall in love with her a dozen times over."
Mrs Ravenhill's momentary suspicion fled.
"He could have stayed if he had wished it, I suppose," she said
cheerfully, and slipped into other talk.
A newspaper had given them moderately late news of their country, and
when they met at breakfast, Wareham alluded to it.
"At home, if you miss the _Times_ for a day, you become a hopeless
laggard in the world. It is amazing how soon the feeling wears off."
"By the way, I see the professor mentioned for an appointment," said
Mrs Ravenhill. "Our professor?"
"Mrs Martyn's." They laughed.
"Whatever it may be," said Wareham, "he will not be troubled by the
misgiving that a worthier man might have been found."
Millie remarked that he had a very accurate mind.
"From which he shoots out poor Mrs Martyn's facts as rubbish."
"But in Miss Dalrymple's hands he is a lamb," said Mrs Ravenhill. "I
think she might even venture on a statistic unquestioned." Wareham made
no answer, he turned to ask something of the long landlord. Millie
spoke to a pale-faced girl, who was still shuddering from the crossing
she had just gone through, and unwilling to believe that anything in
Norway could be worth its preliminary horrors. Mrs Ravenhill got up.
"Which is the way to the fish-market?" she asked.
"I will go with you, if you will allow me," Wareham answered.
"Don't let us trouble you."
Millie was conscious of a touch of stiffness in her mother's manner, but
he showed no signs of noticing it.
"You should have gone earlier," he said. "Seven or eight o'clock is a
better time. However, you will gain some idea of its picturesqueness
even now, and from there you can have a look at the Hanseatic House.
There is a general museum, too, and a good one."
The one important street in Bergen runs directly through the town. Here
and there desolate open spaces break away, the safe guards from the
ever-dreaded enemy fire; here and there cellars yawn, heaped with
gaily-painted _tine_; here and there again you catch sight of the
dancing waters of the harbour, and a jumble of shipping. It is at the
end of the harbour that the fish-market is held; the boats are jammed
together, the buyers stand and lean over the railings; women in
thickly-plaited black dresses with close black caps, a rim of white
round the face, and one spot of white behind, are sprinkled among the
more ordinary costumes. More remarkable were the fishermen in the
boats. Old and young, the hardy faces caught and held attention; you
looked at men. As Wareham had said, the great throng was over, but even
yet there were plenty of purchasers, and a penny would gain a plateful
of little fish.
And here, in the heart of old Bergen, is the house of the Hanseatic
League, unchanged since the time of the traders. It is the past,
fossilised, for some; for others it is the means by which to drift back
themselves into the past, and join the ghosts. Away with the crowd of
laughing sight-seers! here sits the merchant in fur cap and gown, his
account-book before him. Check the entries if you will, it lies open.
Here is the eating-room for the apprentices, lads who, taught to sweep
and cook, should make good husbands by and by. But as their dignities
would not put up with bed-making, and woman was not admitted, all the
beds are provided with a sliding panel, whereby that useful but
dangerous appendage, standing outside, could insert her arms and head--
no more!--and arrange for masculine comfort. And here is the great
lantern which, fixed on a pole, the trader carried in the funeral
processions of his guild. From youth to old age it is all here.
"The outer circumstances of life, outliving life," said Wareham, as they
emerged. "Now, will you come to the other museum, and plunge still
farther back into the age of flint implements?"
Mrs Ravenhill shook her head.
"Any stone would do as well for me. My mind refuses to leap those
distances, and I look at them foolishly unimpressed."
"Is it only flint implements?" Millie asked. "I don't object to them,
but I believe it is because I am so ignorant that I can't gauge my own
ignorance."
It appeared that with many other collections, there were old Norwegian
curiosities, and a fine set-out of wooden bowls, which attracted Mrs
Ravenhill, bent on taking home trophies of that description. Passing
the fish-market again, Millie bought a basketful of cherries from a boat
laden with nothing else. The small events of this day came back to her
afterwards with a curious distinctness, and yet there was nothing
especially to mark it to her, nor at the time did it seem blessed.
Certainly not deserving the golden aureole which set it apart. She said
little, but let her thirsty heart drink in what tasted like delicious
draughts, and thrust aside the consciousness that soon thirst would be
on her again. Whatever Wareham had done the day before, to-day he was
all kindness. Mrs Ravenhill, never, indeed, exacting, had no reason to
utter a complaint. Five o'clock saw them in the launch of the _Ceylon_,
red-roofed Bergen curving behind them, and it was not long before they
steamed out of the harbour. The wind was fresh, but for a long time
they were under the lee of the shore, and even through the next day most
of the passengers kept fairly on deck. But by Sunday the vessel was
rolling heavily, and Millie appeared alone. The usual service could not
be held, and only one or two ladies left their cabins. It was natural
that Wareham should be much with the girl. They talked of Norway. From
that they fell to talking of those who had been their companions, of
all, at least, except Anne. But a question was so close to Millie's
lips, that at last it flew out.
"Was it Mr Forbes of whom you once spoke?"
"Did I speak."
"At Stavanger," she said reproachfully. He had forgotten the
confidence. "Before you knew Miss Dalrymple."
"Ah, yes, it was before I knew," he acquiesced, and went off in a dream.
She supposed the "Yes" was intended for an answer to her question, but
it was not clear enough fur her burning longing to be certain.
"They were once engaged?"
"Yes." He forced himself to add with a smile--"The sphinx was a woman."
"To have followed shows that he must love her," said Millie
thoughtfully.
"Why not?"
She hugged her pain.
"Why not, indeed! But if she is as unchanged as he, will he not
suffer?"
"Fortunes of war," returned Wareham briefly, and dropped the
conversation; from which, however, he drew the consolation that Millie's
pity showed what she thought was in store for the young man. For this
he forgave her the questioning which he might otherwise have resented.
He had not a suspicion that she saw any further than her words told him,
the childish dimple in her cheek belying such a thought. What he read
was as much curiosity as belongs to a daughter of Eve, joined to a
kindly sympathy for the young fellow whose perseverance perhaps touched
kindly romance. If adverse fate could have flung these two together!
He talked to her, reaching further into her mind than ever before, and
the more he probed its innocent depths, the more he blamed fate for its
dilatoriness. And Millie, all unconscious of this dream, suffered a
lurking fancy of possible contingencies to brighten her eyes and deepen
the pretty colour in her cheek. The sun shone, but the wind was cold.
Wareham felt that he was responsible for her comfort, and saw that her
deck-chair was placed at a right angle, and moved when necessary; he
helped her when she moved, and sat next her at meals. On his own
account he was glad of the companionship, for to be alone was to think,
not of Anne, but of Anne and Hugh.
By the next morning they were in smooth water, and Mrs Ravenhill came
on deck. She thanked Wareham for his care of her daughter.
"I was helpless myself, and I couldn't condemn her to the cabin. But I
am glad to be up again, if only to see the mouth of the Thames."
"A yawning mud-bank. Our coast doesn't compare well with Norway."
Mrs Ravenhill's patriotism led her to declare that one looked for
something beyond beauty in the Thames, and Wareham owned, in spite of
his speech, to ardent cockneyism.
"Which means that you will soon be out of London."
"In a few days. And you?"
"We shall stay. This has been our holiday. When you come back, I hope
you will find us out."
"I shall come, and ask you to show me your sketches, so as to be carried
back again." He said it warmly, and Millie's heart beat. Afterwards
came landing, train, and a grimy plunge into London. At the station
they parted.
End of Volume One.