The Heritage of the Kurts, Volume 2 (of 2)

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

CHAPTER II

[A GALA DAY IN TOWN AND HARBOUR]

Between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, two unlucky printer's devils trudged off, each on his own beat, with the Spectator. They threw it into the passages, left it on the steps, pushed it under the gates. They must hurry on! The church was full long ago; by this time the marketplace was packed from one end to the other.

When the worthy burghers returned home and found the Spectator, they read the following:--"As we go to press our town presents a most festal appearance. Naval Lieutenant Niels Fürst and Fröken Emilie Engel, members of two of the oldest and most respected families in the town, are to-day to be united at four o'clock, in the Cross Church, by our venerable Dean. From the country, where all the families who have the means are now enjoying their summer holiday, there has been an immense influx of people to witness the ceremony. As well as this, our streets are filled by a considerable number of strangers. It is understood that Consul Engel has received the good wishes of his Majesty, through the High Chamberlain of the Norwegian Court. Consul Engel, on the occasion of this happy event in his family, has presented to the Maternity Hospital the interest of a bequest of ten thousand kroner. The poor of the town will to-day be entertained by the Consul at the poorhouse. Further, we have just received the announcement that, in response to a special appeal, Consul Engel has given two thousand kroner for the thorough restoration of the magnificent organ in the Cross Church. A gala day in town and harbour!"

At midday a refreshing breeze had fanned the glowing streets; now only a capricious puff stirred the flags, and each time they blew out they formed a mass of colour over the town, and the whole length of the harbour; several ships were covered with flags from deck to masthead. A barque, the most gaily decorated of all, is hauled out to fire a salute, to begin the moment that the pair are united, and to continue until the bride's carriage draws up before Engel's house. Another salute is to be fired during the dinner.

The most perfect weather, over mountain and hill and sea and town! How cheerful the town looked in the sunshine! The small blocks of houses with their provincial decorations, surrounded by the pavement of cobble-stones, cleanly swept and warmed by the sunshine.

The shadows were very heavy; when any quiet pedestrian emerged from them into the white glare of the street, he had the same feeling as in old times the wick of a tallow candle must have had when it escaped from the snuffers again. The cats dozed in the sunshine, but with one eye open, for there were a hundred idlers about to-day. The gutters, generally the route for many a toy-boat, were now dry; the newspaper boys jumped backwards and forwards across them, as they went from one empty house to another. Everything was clean and charming and quiet. Only in the streets by the quays the smell of decayed wood, salt herrings, train oil, and "such like," prevailed. There was work going on there too; festival at the masthead, toil on deck and down below. In the rest of the town most work was over by three o'clock.

A train of young people could be seen trudging down from "the mountain" towards the marketplace, succeeded by groups of women, both old and young. They knew a little about the two families which were to be united, those good people on the mountain!

What a glorious day! The land breeze now and again sent "cat's-paws" across the harbour, which lost themselves in the blue grey water out by the islands. The open sea beyond lay wide and peaceful.

And how lovely were the wood-clothed mountains and hillsides, in the full colours of both pines and leafy trees, with the grass below ready for its second mowing. The greens were deeper than those of spring and with less variety. On the road below the churchyard was a long train of pedestrians; those country folk who lived nearest the town, toiled in just at the last to get a glimpse of the show--the men in front, the women following. A fussy little steamer shoots out from among the islands, snorting and puffing--she is behind time; she is bringing people from the nearest town, and has a horn quartet on board.

In the sunshine, the mountain seemed to those approaching it from the sea, to rear itself from the water like an anthill, but the resemblance was spoiled as one came nearer, although its small houses still looked like linen and stockings put out to dry. Close by, it became a curious breeding place for human sea-birds. All the children of the upper classes in the town looked at it with the greatest envy, especially on a day like this, for the flags excited their imagination.

Every now and then, heads were turned towards "The Estate." Every pane of glass in the great red-brick building shone in the sunlight, but no flag was hoisted. As late as half-past three, Consul Engel, smoking a cigar, went up to the top attic to see if the flag were hoisted; Emilie was just coming down the attic stairs; she was fully dressed, except that she still wore her peignoir. She coloured when she met her father.

"What are you doing up here, my child?"

"I was looking----" She slipped past him without saying for what. No flag on the tower! The Consul remained there smoking. If there had been a flag without the "Union" to-day it would have been most suitable.

From the time it was reported that Tora Holm was at "The Estate" with her child, which report was heard early as Monday morning, an avalanche hung on the mountain ready to overwhelm them. This was the cause of all the Consul's generosity; if any one but asked for more, he gave it.

He had had two sleepless nights! Was it true that Rendalen had sent a letter to the old Dean couched in most respectful terms, but in which he said that if this were "peace," it was once more shown that peace belonged to Satan, but that the fight was God's?

"What did they contemplate--a scandal?" the whole town was asking.

Tora's appearance with her child just now was in itself a sentence--she must have an undaunted conscience; something would certainly happen.

There was no answer to this fact: Tora Holm had dared to come here; Rendalen and Fru Rendalen believed in her--all her friends believed in her.

All the incidents of Niel's bachelor life were recalled--that is to say, those which related to that part of the country; as a general thing, people would say what a devil of a fellow Niels Fürst was, and stroll away laughing. The laughter ceased now. In Tora's neighbourhood such stories took a different complexion. Some of them seemed absolutely repulsive.

And the father-in-law! His past also was brought up again. None of the stories dealt with daring seductions, unexpected, astounding conquests; no open scandal--Heaven forbid! but certain quiet intrigues were known of, often one or two at a time.

Expensive presents and small annuities had been heard of as well. They knew of children who passed for his, and who were his living image. It all came up again now; even "indiscretions" of twenty years ago and more, were recalled. Such little provincial towns have pitiless memories.

It had been but a short time previously that every one rejoiced that Fru Engel's gift had been opposed by a similar one, so that the "indecency" up at the school might come to an end. Now, as the women flocked into the town (which they began to do as early as Sunday), and the juniors at once hurried up to "The Estate," or collected in groups in the streets, a remembrance of Fru Engel's beautiful funeral filled the minds of all. What the daughter was about to accomplish was, in reality, disrespectful to her mother's memory.

Emilie herself was the only one who did not know that Tora was there. Fürst had arrived on Saturday morning, and had heard it at once, but he and her father believed that Tora had come to force herself upon Milla; they kept most careful watch that neither Tora herself, nor a letter or message, or indeed any sign from her, could come without being intercepted. The friends of the house had received their instructions, and beside they consisted entirely of members of the two families. The bridesmaids arrived in the town on Sunday--they were relatives, and, with hardly an exception, from a distance.

Milla knew nothing except that the other party had been defeated and ruined, there would be nothing now but peace. Her father had the firm intention of helping the school; it would work well enough if some of the ideas were abandoned. Milla felt especially grateful for this promise of her father. Why should not they all be friends together? "That is what we shall be," Fürst had assured her. The school party had made peace: old Dean Green was a proof of it. "Yes, old Dean Green was a proof of it," repeated Milla to herself, whenever she felt any doubt.

On Sunday she went to church and heard him, it did her so much good; and in the afternoon she went with her father to call on him. How kind he was! He exhorted her to be patient; we cannot alter the world, but we can set a good example; that was what her mother had done. Milla was deeply touched. "Ah! if only every one were good!"

Her father had never been so loving to her as now. His increasing kindness reminded her of the time when her mother was ill, and then the great amount of his charity; he could not have done her honour in a more delicate or beautiful way. Fürst was always amusing, and his way of being so was so very superior. He told stories of the Court, and terribly malicious ones they were; Fürst was so pleasant and clever, Milla felt that she was really fortunate--that is to say, except for a slight sense of want, a tiny sensation of mistrust--just so much as to oblige her, at the last moment, to go up to the top attic, to see if there were a flag on the tower. But there was nothing. Perhaps no one was at home! That would be the best thing for both parties. They could find each other another time.

Now to put on her wedding dress! If Tora could have seen it! Poor Tora! But such things will happen when one is not careful. Emilie asked her maid to take care that the folds hung properly over her tournure. At the same moment Fru Wingaard came in with the bridal wreath.

Every one who came from the adjoining streets into the market-place, observed something red against the open door of the church, the outer one to the left. It was a red shirt, worn by a tall sailor. The church attendants tried to get him away, but in vain; all round were ladies who would willingly have occupied his place, but he answered that he had as good a right to stand there as any one else, which he undoubtedly had. He did not belong to the town, no one knew him, a tattoo mark on his hand showed that he had been at sea--indeed, he said so himself. He was in a timber ship now--she was a large vessel.

With this exception there were nothing but ladies, old and young, on the steps, down below, and in every direction, all who had not found room in the church. Every time the inner door opened, affording a glimpse of the interior, one saw, on both sides, right down to the door, nothing but ladies--nothing but bonnets, with flowers, feathers, and veils. A solitary uncovered masculine head in one of the rows of chairs showed up like a single late gooseberry or black currant on the branch in autumn. If the departed Herr Max could have looked up from the chancel where he lay, it would have been "a goodly sight" for his woman-loving eyes, especially as the younger ones were all in the front places--they had been most eager in securing them.

Almost all the parasols which were to be seen on the market-place were either on the steps, or round about them, a many-coloured moving shield-like roof under which endless stories and laughter went on. Every one thought the donation to the Maternity Charity too felicitous. That Engel, who had so much tact, could---- But to be sure that was because Fru Wingaard was the patroness--she had wheedled it out of him, the minx!

On either side of the steps, each one the centre of a group, stood those two sisters of doubtful character who had kept the club and the hotel until they had been obliged to relinquish them in favour of Engel's housekeeper. They least of all had reason to spare Engel or his guests for the day, the magnates of the coast towns.

Nearest to these stood another knot of women who had not had so much time to find places. There were few parasols here, but bonnets and aprons, and some of the younger ones even bareheaded. There was whispering, tittering, and giggling!

No solemnity, no gravity, no authority, not the least what is usual in a provincial town. Even where the darker groups of men were collected, there was no seriousness or "decorum," as the Town Bailiff would have said, and indeed as he did say when, at a quarter before four, he joined the guests, in full uniform, and with his wife on his arm. The guests indulged in witticisms and laughter, the result of which was not impressive; all the people looked at them with amused glances as though they were comrades. The town was unrecognisable. When two boys contrived to clamber on to the chimney of one of the houses opposite the church, all clapped their hands and snouted. This had just occurred as the Town Bailiff arrived. Amid the guests immediately following him came the organist, very drunk. He was a young Swabian, who three or four years ago came to the town in the course of a musical tour, and there remained. The then organist had recently died--the organ was a marvellous one; beside which there was excellent sea-bathing. He was a soft, fantastic, thoroughly musical man, who as a rule was every one's favourite, and who had more to do than he could manage, but who on a holiday "Wenn Konstantinople erobet warden ischt," as he expressed himself, got drunk. This occurred but seldom, but when it was the case he did anything which took his fancy.

This culminated when one day a home missionary was speaking from the chancel steps on the subject of sin, and the organist, noticing that every one was yawning, began to play the organ till it roared! It was pretended that the missionary made such very long pauses that the organist had been misled by the longest of them.

To-day he had conceived the happy idea of going gaily to Consul Engel, and asking him for some money for the organ, and he received a cheque on the spot. So "Konstantinople" had "erobet warden" again, and champagne corks flew! Who liked might drink with him. He came up, beaming with happiness and swinging his arms about. Every one laughed, and he laughed with them. He arrived just after the Town Bailiff and his wife. They looked as stiff as though the organist had yoked them and was driving them into the church. Great commotion was now caused by an attempt to drive a carriage through the crowd. Up to this time every one had come on foot. There was no room for carriages here, they cried, and turned sullen; the police had to interfere. In the carriage sat a pretty lively lady of uncertain age, by the side of a somewhat stout gentleman with a remarkably shaped head and a supercilious expression. Facing the lady sat an older man with a red face, heavy moustache and imperial, and wearing a number of orders; he talked incessantly, as though they were all three in a closed room where no one could see them. They did not belong to the town; no one knew them until the carriage-door was opened, and the man with the orders led the lady forward. Then the hotelkeeper's wife said that he was a Consul-General from Christiania; the lady was not his wife, but that of the gentleman who was walking beside them--Consul Garman, of the firm of Garman and Worse. Soon after these arrived two other strangers, Consuls Bernick and Riis. The first-named invariably attended funerals with a stick in his hand; the other always wore his order of St. Olaf when he went to a ball. Several important magnates followed; some with their wives, some without--millionaires in the herring, timber, or ice trade. The monotony of the black coats was broken by the full uniform of the Sheriff--he was without his wife, and in company with a gouty old General, a relation of Fürst. Besides these, there were Government officials and merchants mingled together, most of them with their wives, who hung on their husbands' arms like well-filled costly baskets; the husbands were quite eclipsed. Absolute silence gradually spread upwards from the lower end of the market-place, like oil over troubled waters. The bridegroom was alighting from his carriage, accompanied by his brother-in-law, Consul Wingaard. From another carriage descended two naval officers and two civilians, one of whom was Anton Dösen; these four joined the others.

All the special manœuvres which had brought about that Fürst should to-day approach the Cross Church through the crowd, admired or envied, accompanied or shunned, had been carried out by himself, and up to the present time he had earned the honoured reception of a victor. Still he did not advance with a victor's step--a child could see that at the first glance. He walked forward in the deadliest fear. Tora had never shown herself, had sent neither message nor letter. Neither she nor any of her friends had once been near Consul Engel's house. It was evident that she had not come to talk Emilie over, or to frighten her. What had she come for? What did Rendalen's threat mean? There was danger until he was inside the church; then the sanctity of the building, and the respect due to the old clergyman, must protect him. But here----! His eyes wandered up to the wooded slope above "The Estate." It was an involuntary action. It was not there, but here, that she might appear. She or others. She was not the only one.

His half-closed eyes searched about, his bronzed face was without movement--those strings which moved his lips must have broken! There was no smile now. His fair whiskers hung down and seemed to lengthen his face.

The gait of this dandy had an air of painful caution--each step might lead to disaster. If it did not fall on him, it might await her who would soon follow him. There were sparkling eyes all round and many sharp ones, but no one whom he feared. He was taller than the women; he could see for a good distance, and he looked from side to side--nothing!

He had just put his foot on the first step when the tall sailor stepped forward:

"Ane Marja sends you her compliments."

Those who stood nearer heard it; some who were further away saw the movement.

"Did he say something? What's he say?"

Sibilations whistled across; to those who were furthest away it sounded like es-s-s-s-s-s-s-s all round the church.

Fürst stood still: his eyes contracted as though fine dust had been thrown into his face; his gloved hand sought for his handkerchief, from which scent was wafted; he blew his nose and walked on, his friends following him. Within it seemed dark after the bright sunshine outside, but in the darkness were eyes, women's eyes!

Here sat Tora's friends. He knew every one in the town by sight, and picked them out one by one. They sat quite in front, excited, restless, threatening. There must be something after all. The great church bell began to ring at that moment, and the bride's carriage was seen at the end of the market-place. What would happen now?

Nora, Tinka, and Anna Rogne were on Fürst's left as he walked up to the chancel. He glanced involuntarily to the opposite side; the first seat was vacant. Every one in the chancel rose as the bridegroom appeared.

There was a stir outside, not merely because the bride's carriage had arrived followed by those of the bridesmaids and Fru Wingaard, but because the coachman in grey livery wanted to drive up to the church door, which seemed impossible. Those in front pressed back to make room, but those behind declined to be pushed against, and exerted their strength, till several people were forced up against the carriage windows. Shrieks, angry words, and orders ensued, and alarm inside the carriages. Engel put his head out of the window, but no one listened to him, and he got out of the carriage. The police were at hand, and eagerly cleared a way for the wealthy magnate, while the bride alighted, as did the bridesmaids; they arranged themselves and walked forward, not where the others had passed; the crowd made way for them in all directions.

Her red-gold hair crowned with myrtle, the bride resembled the most exquisite work of an English Academician. The lines of her face were regular and of an English type, the colouring soft, the skin very white; the shoulders rather sloping, beautiful--the figure that of a soft delicate young girl.

She walked forward with her head bent, not looking at any one, her hand resting lightly on her father's arm; just below the level of his order of St. Olaf could be seen her diamond ornament, though only by those just before or above them. An old-fashioned brooch, a valuable one, which was recognised as having been a favourite of her mother, secured the flowers in front of her dress. A puff of wind raised her veil just as they came up the steps; it streamed out into the face of the sailor, but did not touch it; a delicate perfume was spread in all directions. How relieved Engel felt as he stood inside the door! That had been the worst journey he had ever made in his life. Still he had not hurried; unobtrusive, quiet, benign, he had walked forward; he kept his eye fixed on one point--was that the needle's eye which must be passed through?

His handsome regular features looked as though they had never been disturbed by any idea inconsistent with honourable habits, or the good counsel of elders and superiors--nay, as though he had never had knowledge of such things. His had always been a God-fearing house; three generations had endowed charities. The very perfume which now hung round them might well have come from Palestine.

And after all there had been no danger. "We are in church now." The organ pealed under the powerful touch of the drunken Swabian; its full accords blended with Engel's thoughts, and seemed to restore him to himself.

No delight can compare with that of an evenly balanced nature, which, having believed itself in danger, discovers that that danger has been a delusion. This feeling of delight does not spring violently into being, it does not throb, but spreads through the whole man with a soft perfect sense of enjoyment. It resembles the delight of recovery of a good digestion, the smiling view, the delightful odour of some coveted object to which he may now draw near. He raised his face, bearing its best expression, towards the pulpit, calmly receiving all the glances which were directed towards him. He suspected that he was envied, and that tickled him.

What a future lay before them! Just then the bride's hand trembled; he withdrew his eyes quickly from the pulpit. Milla was deadly white, and could not, or would not advance. What was it?

Nora, Tinka, Anna Rogne, and several others were sitting quite in front, just where they must pass. Could there be anything terrifying in that? Every face bore an expression of mingled excitement and mischievous delight, all, all of them, in whatever direction he looked; it infected him as well. What was it? Involuntarily his eyes sought the chancel--if they were but there! There they would be in peace. But all in the chancel were on their feet; they stood amazed, staring down into the body of the church, not to his side, but to the opposite one. At the same moment his daughter gave a sharp cry and staggered backwards, dragging him with her.

Into the pew furthest from them on the right, through the vestry, and therefore from across the chancel, came Pastor Vangen; after him, Tora Holm, with something in her arms; then Miss Hall, then Rendalen. In this order they were just seating themselves as the bridal procession entered the door.

Tora had a double black veil over her face and over what she held in her arms, and this had been securely fastened so that it was only when Miss Hall had helped her that she was able to turn with her face uncovered, and with her child in her arms, towards her who was now advancing.

A storm of anger, reprobation, threats seemed to rise to the very roof, the excitement mingling with the roll of the organ. Milla was almost dragged forward. She came into the chancel little more than a white silk dress among all the other dresses.

A rustle, a stir! Heads, hands, eyes, bouquets seemed to whirl before her, so that she could not extricate herself, nor find her own seat, her own bouquet, her own handkerchief. Every one crowded round with offers of help, with eau de Cologne, and general disturbance. The last to come was the big red-faced man with the large moustache and the decorations; he tried to force her own bouquet on her, of which she could not endure the scent. When at last she was free and could draw a breath, she burst into tears. She drew her veil forward. Milla pitied herself so: what a dreadful thing it was that they had done; she felt furious, perfectly furious.

Consul Engel received her first glance. It came on him, following all that he had already gone through, like the last dram which deprives a man of consciousness. He began to wonder with a strange delirious feeling why his trousers felt so thin. Was it really so?

The elegant Fürst sat beside him, holding his hat first in one hand, then in the other, and crossing and uncrossing his legs. It was on account of him that all this had happened, and the budding politician was not yet sufficiently accomplished to be able to sit still while he was flayed, cut up, and put in the pot.

Dösen, who was close behind him, pulled the ends of his fair moustache with his white-gloved hands--now left, now right--harder, and harder, and harder. He was marvellously industrious over it. The people in the body of the church saw this white hand moving about under his nose, and thought that he was playing some trick, or making signs to some one, but, they could not find out to whom. The grand folk felt the embarrassment of the situation to be most distressing, but, all the same, they wanted to get a look at the woman with the child--she was so devilish handsome, so foreign-looking. They strained their necks, they craned forward; Consul Bernick himself made his neck as long and distorted as that of a cockerel when it is learning to crow.

To the rest of these mishaps was added the Dean's non-appearance. The vergers went in and out, in and out, with all the solemnity of intense stupidity.

The organist's playing showed signs of impatience.

It seemed to him that it was rather long before Dean Green came and he would be able to begin the hymn. He had exhausted the pompous style long ago; he now turned to the sentimental, its direct opposite--from the clear notes of the shepherd's pipe to the most impossible chirping of a chicken. His fancy indubitably wandered among all the little ones who were to spring from this marriage; he chased them with his fingers saying hush, hush, to them in the treble.

At last Engel had recovered himself so far that he began to realise the difference between the delicate and the coarse, between well-bred and ill-bred individuals; to the latter he knew that nothing was so delightful as scandal, but this was something altogether unheard of. It needed a Kurt to have thought of this, to have created such a maddening scene. His handkerchief was wet already, his white gloves were almost grey. As he fanned himself and wiped away the perspiration, he glanced anxiously at Milla. She hated him! He prayed to God. Yes, Consul Emil Engel prayed fervently to God that their sins might not be visited upon this poor innocent girl! They had deceived her, truly, but with the best intentions in the world. God knew how true this was. But who could have anticipated that so mad a thing should have been attempted as to dishonour the sacred edifice.

Engel did not swear as a rule, he was too refined a man for that, but almost simultaneously with his heartfelt communion with God, he desired with his whole heart that the devil might take the lot of them.

He had recourse to his wet handkerchief again. At the same time the thought was in Milla's mind, "Shall I go?"

Engel saw it in her eyes, in the way she moved on her chair. Fürst saw it also. Both felt it like a million electric shocks: but they could not give up their last hope that Milla was too well-bred to increase the scandal. Engel felt that, even if she remained, he should be, from this time forward, a broken, discredited man; Fürst felt that if only Milla would go with him before the altar, a career would still be open to him.

But still the Dean did not come! All thoughts centred on this; it became intensely painful. All eyes were fixed on the vestry door. Was he ill, or feigning to be so, so as not to come? Where was the deacon, then? Make him come! Why did not Karl Vangen move? The women in the chancel who had not got over the first fright (there were some who had been obliged to grasp the seats of their chairs to prevent themselves from trembling) were now made really ill by this fresh strain; several began to cry. "Yes," thought Milla; "I am to be pitied, dreadfully to be pitied! Oh, if mother had lived!" And she cried bitterly. Every one had conspired against her, who had done nothing. Would old Green now let her sit there so miserably on the stool of repentance before all these horrid, horrid people!

She thus lost sight of the first and important question, and was so tossed about by the feeling of desolation that, when the Dean did at length appear, she felt it consolation, a reward from Heaven.

But if she had not, even for a moment, got sufficiently away from herself to feel why this had been done, those had, who sat below the chancel. Not only those who were in the secret, who were few in number, not only their sympathisers who were numerous; no, every woman felt that it would be shocking, if, after what had occurred, Milla could or would go on. Even it she had been dragged up there--why did she not rise, why did she not leave them? They expected her to do so from one moment to another, but Milla remained seated. Could such a thing be possible, after such a strong appeal to her conscience? Every good woman, who is unfettered, involuntarily takes the part of the weak, of the one who has been wronged. The minds of those in the church were agitated like the waves of the sea. The stir became greater and greater. Was it credible that she would go to the altar with the wretch? Shame on those around her who could countenance such a thing. Every one stared at the altar. Was not old Green coming? He must have had scruples at the last moment about giving them the blessing of the Church. Karl Vangen would never have done so. He was with her who was betrayed and deceived. He was so simple-minded that he believed that the Church's place was there. The grateful glances which his broad face attracted during these few moments would have gilded the vaulted roofs of several churches, or thousands of hymn-books and Bibles. At length they saw by the stir in the chancel that old Green had come at last. Really and truly!

Very slowly and feebly he came, very feeble indeed he looked. "A thorough ecclesiastical compromise," it was whispered about. Just as he reached the altar, the hymn began. All those in the chancel joined in it. In their zeal, their relief, their gratitude to Providence, they all sang; the bridegroom, Engel, the General and the Consul-General, Bernick, Dösen, Riis, the celebrities, the Sheriff, all sang of the first bride who was brought by God himself to the first bridegroom. Not one of them believed it, but they sang so that it was a sin that the organ overpowered them, for such singing of hymns ought to be heard.

Their wives' trebles chimed in; they were so startled that they could not find the hymn, but they all knew it by heart. The one who was the quickest to join in, and who sang the loudest in praise of marriage, was Fru Garman.

Except these and the clerk, no one in the whole church joined in the singing. The stir became so great and so general that a number could not remain sitting, they stood up; those behind them wanted to see, and stood up also. But Tora rose before anyone of them. What those around her had felt, and were feeling with all its violence, was as nothing to what she experienced, for when deeply moved she showed herself her mother's daughter. The journey here had worked her up to a state of excitement, which her constitution could hardly bear.

If for no other reason, still for her own sake, Milla must be prevented from marrying the wretch. For this it was necessary that Tora should show herself, she and her child; everything else might fail, but this would force Milla to pause--she knew her!

This could only be done if Tora had the will and the courage for it. And she had, for her friends had the will and courage to be with her. It did not merely concern herself, it concerned the school, Milla, a great cause; it concerned thousands!

No one, least of all herself, had had the slightest doubt but that to stand up with her child in her arms before the bride, would be sufficient. From the moment that Milla had burst into tears in the chancel, but still remained in her place, until now, when old Green had come, Tora's excitement had increased to such an extent that those nearest to her were alarmed; it could be observed as well from the seat opposite. They knew now that something must be done, upon which neither they nor she had reckoned, before their object could be attained. Tora was Tora, and would be true to herself.

Fürst was already at the altar, accompanied by Consul Wingaard; Engel had walked carefully across the carpet to lead his daughter forward. She rose and allowed the bridesmaids to arrange her train and veil--when Tora sprang forward from her seat.

Every one in the chancel was looking at the bride, who gave her hand to her father and turned with him towards the altar. They did not see Tora come up the steps. There was a sound behind them like the breaking of a wave, and at the same moment something black passed quickly by. The ladies shrieked, the gentlemen grew rigid with dismay. Those at the altar turned round; Engel staggered backwards; Tora stood between him and his daughter.

"Do you wish me to lay the child down before you, Milla? Will you have it to kneel on?"

"No! No!" cried Milla in horror. She turned, and with her hands before her she flew from the chancel, her veil streaming behind her.

Every one had risen. Tora had hastened at once to the vestry--she felt that now her strength was exhausted--Miss Hall followed her there.

But when Milla had left the chancel, she did not know where to fly to; some one ought to come to her, to be with her--her womanly instinct told her that. She turned and looked round bewildered. The vestry door was opened, a harsh cry was heard from it for just so long as was needed for the opening and shutting of a door; but it was enough. Milla began to cry too. An arm was put round her waist, she was led from the church; it was Nora. From the moment that Milla had yielded, all resentment was over, all anger vanished. Indeed, it was so with most of them. Rendalen was quickly at her side, and then went on before them to make way.

The organist, who had not seen what had gone before, but who, after the first hymn, had expected to hear the words of the service, rose when the movement became general. What was it? He saw the bride out in the aisle, the others still in the chancel, the whole congregation standing up. "Aber das war kurios! Wird's nichts daraus? Ho--ho! Ich hab' meine zwei tausend."

And he began to play the organ. They tried to stop him, but he answered, "What haf they don with the brite? The music shall do her goot."

Hardly had the bellringers heard the organ before they thought, "Now they are married," and began to ring the bells. Hardly had those on board the saluting vessel heard the bells before the guns began to thunder. They were to continue firing until the bride's carriage drew up at the door of the house, and as they could not see this from the ship, a signal was to be made to them. In the general confusion this was forgotten, so on they went--bang, bang, bang! It seemed to them at last that they had fired a great many rounds, but that was other people's affair, so they thundered away as long as they had any powder; for they also had been drinking considerably.

All this caused great amusement. The affair changed from the sublime to the ridiculous. First among the crowd who left the church amid the pealing of the organ, the clash of the bells, the thunder of the cannon; their laughter was taken up in increasing measure by those in the market-place, and from there it spread over the whole town. In the memory of man there had not been so much laughter at one time as now resounded from the river banks to the most remote houses on the mountain, or out on the Point. The country people went laughing home amid the roar of the cannon, and wherever they came there was laughter.

A gala day in town and harbour. Thunder of cannon and flutter of flags, flags and cannon--and laughter!

At first the bridal party looked at each other with horror; by ones and twos they made their way out of the church, but the laughter outside was infectious; when they got home and read the Spectator, they laughed too.

The Town Bailiff himself laughed!

Up the avenue walked Nora and Rendalen. The cannon thundered, and they turned round and looked at the flags flying in the town and in the harbour--and laughed. Karl Vangen hurried past them on his long legs; Tora was at Niels Hansen's. She was terribly exhausted, but calm; he was going to fetch the carriage--and off he went. No less than fifteen girls passed them at once, going up to Fru Rendalen; another large group was following them. They did not walk, they raced, and were quickly past.

A little later Fru Rendalen came out on to the steps to meet her son and Nora: they were just the opposite of every one else; they stopped every moment. Now, just when she wanted them so much. How could they forget her?

All at once she pulled off her spectacles and wiped them. Then put them on slowly.

Rendalen said, as he walked along the avenue, that there had been a great deal which was one-sided and obscure, too much of a fixed idea in his first lecture, and that there was a great deal in his development as well, which was but half accomplished. Still, "life is a school, and first and foremost concerns schoolmasters." He did not say this in so many words, he had not the least need for anything so stiff and cold. To speak the plain truth, while they involuntarily flew the flags down below for the success of his life's aim, he walked along here and paid his court--to her with the "flickering" hair. It seemed to her that she was quite unworthy, and she brushed a swarm of flies from her eyes. But it was so absolutely impossible not to wish, and so----

They agreed about many, many, many things. The first was that if one has confidence in a work, that confidence helps in its development; the second was, that when there are two it goes on twice as quickly, or it may be that the last was the first, and the first the last. They really were not accountable.

But fifteen girls were up on the tower at once; they wanted to hoist one flag to-day which would tell no lie, and also for a reason which was without deception. They called down to ask leave; Rendalen was at the foot of the steps, he laughed up to them. Nora had sprung away from him--up the steps to Fru Rendalen. She pressed closely, oh, so closely, to her--apparently to put her spectacles on better.

"No, no," called Rendalen up to the girls on the tower; "not to-day--for Milla's sake, but we will do so very soon."