CHAPTER II
[IN THE DOVECOTE]
One morning in the gymnasium, when the senior class was practising rather reluctantly because the weather was splendid, and two panes were open in the big window that looked towards the mountain, letting the air pour in, laden with the scent of trees and flowers;--one morning in the gymnasium, just as Miss Hall had joined them, and had, as usual, interrupted the ordinary practice by taking away a few of the pupils for special exercises;--one morning in the gymnasium, when, as the result of all this, some of the girls had gone over to the window for a moment to give a glance at the hundreds of fruit-trees in full blossom, whose dense masses like an amphitheatre covered the opposite hillside with a single thick crown;--one morning in the gymnasium, when these same girls could not utilise the moment as fully as they wished, because a number of impertinent young trees had that year shot up in such a marvellous manner, that it was impossible to see the glory of the hillside, except where these young trees allowed it; nay, worse still, the trees attracted the bees from the hives on the right, and they were more impertinent still, for they buzzed in at the open window, and frightened the girls when they were trying to see out between the trees;--one morning in the gymnasium, just as all those small labourers in the garden, who in lieu of steel spades, hoes, or forks, use their own small legs, who begin their work at sunrise so as to end betimes, working by no forced contract, but also with no supervision or inspection, through the whole summer and autumn, they and their wives and children feeding at Fru Rendalen's expense, friends with all, except the cat;--yes, one morning in the gymnasium, just when all these tiny workers--oh, hundreds of them--gathered from all parts, rising high in the air to settle down again and hide themselves in the bushes in every direction, the girls stood looking on in wonderment.
All at once the trees in the wood bowed their heads, and deeply bowed those to the left, in front of the garden, while sand and seeds whirled up in a menacing cloud; a sudden squall from inland had come over the hill, and without warning drove across from right to left. Almost before it had reached the garden it was no longer the trees, but the wind which possessed the blossom; every single petal of every opening flower was lifted up, strewn far and wide, and carried away lighter, more lively than the snowflakes, for these are attracted by the earth. Millions and millions of flower wings--a flashing, whirling atmosphere, as of white butterflies, through which patches of green appeared like islands in a sea of cloud, like islets in a mirage.
The girls screamed with delight, shouted, and clapped their hands, all exclaiming as this marvel was driven gleaming across the garden.
From the wood came a darker shower in pursuit of it, following the same course; it soon reached the place where the glittering petals had passed; its track was narrower, but its rush heavier and more rapid.
The girls rushed towards the great door, which was half open; they wanted to follow the bright moving mass, the fugitives from the fruit-trees. They forgot that they were in gymnasium dress--besides, at the back of the house it did not matter; they screamed, they jumped. Just then the door was pushed right open from outside; on the steps stood a young man in white trousers and a naval uniform coat and cap. He laughed and bowed, he bowed and laughed. It was Niels Fürst.
Behind him, down in the courtyard stood Kaja Gröndal, who wore a light hat and carried a violet parasol. She looked remarkably smart. She laughed too.
"Is not Elisa here?" asked Fürst. No one in either of the senior classes was called Elisa, no one knew any Elisa in the whole school. "No, not Elisa," he said; "Olava!" There was no Olava in either of the classes. "Olava?" No one knew any Olava in the whole school. He was sure that they all took it for a joke. He looked at them in their gymnasium dress, turning from one to another. He had both hands full of flowers, he had to put the ones he held in his right hand against his breast and press them with his left arm when he wanted to raise his cap. Fru Gröndal was carrying flowers as well; they had evidently just bought them, and having heard that the senior classes were at the gymnasium at that moment, he had wished to see them. "Pardon," he said; "perhaps she was called Petrea, or it may be that she was not here at all." He raised his cap, his light curls seemed to laugh with him, and the girls all laughed till the walls of the gymnasium re-echoed. He sprang down. Fru Gröndal turned and went with him; as they passed round the corner he nodded back at them.
The laughter of the girls sounded round and round the lofty building. They were most of them in a state of excitement, they kept running to each other, asking questions without waiting for an answer; if three of them were standing in a group, others joined them; if some were laughing more than the others, they all rushed in that direction. Two began to dispute, and the dispute increased; one or two more joined in, then several others, all of them at last: the dispute was about the disturber of the dovecote who had been at the door.
Tinka was one of those who was disputing. She was simply shocked at his shamelessness; she looked round for supporters. She thus caught sight of Tora, who was sitting on a bench by the door, as white as a sheet. Miss Hall was attending to her. Tinka sprang across, calling as she did so, "What is the matter?" "What has happened?" Tora had continued her gymnastics by herself, for she had become an enthusiastic gymnast, and pursued a special system. As she was at the height of her practising, she caught sight, through the half-open door, of a pair of little birds which were flitting backwards and forwards about a bush. Was any one under the bush? Had they a nest there? Was it only their usual antics? Then she saw Kaja Gröndal's light dress come between her and the bush, a large bouquet and a parasol instead of the birds; a young man in naval uniform, with his hands full of flowers. She did not know him. Kaja just then caught sight of her, and either Tora imagined it or she really did say, "There she is!" The officer looked at Tora and kept his eyes intently fixed on hers, his eyes both laughed and stabbed. Kaja Gröndal tried to hold him back and then fell behind, but he kept advancing, did not even stop at the steps, but came up them and still on, without removing his eyes a single moment from hers. She could not move. The noise by the window, the squall, which lifted Fru Gröndal's veil and threatened to turn her parasol inside out, the waving of the bushes, the whistling in the trees; she saw, she heard, but as if at a great distance. She could not properly understand it, she could not put it together; a strange weakness came over her, especially in her knees--they would not support her.
Just then the girls screamed out, and the whole group flew by to the door, while he pushed it quite open with his foot. She felt as though she were breathing fresh air, as though some one were supporting her trembling limbs; but so long as he stood there she could not go away, although she longed to do so; she must stay.
It was not until after he had gone that she tried to find the bench, and only when she sat down did she begin to feel ill. She tried to struggle against the feeling; Miss Hall came to her, and now Tinka as well; and when Tinka asked what it was, firmly and decidedly, it helped her--she was able to cry. The others came running up, but they became quiet at the sight of the deadly white face. They did not ask a single question.
"She has been doing her gymnastics too violently," whispered Miss Hall.
"She does everything so energetically," added Nora kindly, sitting down beside Tora, and drawing her head towards her.
The others went away; Miss Hall asked them to do so. One could hear in the little room, where they changed their dress, the sound of their returning merriment--one heard them go away, group after group. Although the dinner-bell was ringing, Tora sat there, with Tinka on one side and Nora on the other, and Miss Hall in front of them. Tora had spoken to them several times, and assured them that she was well again now. They all three believed that she had worked too hard at her gymnastics--she believed so herself; but she said, "Oh, what an ugly, horrid man!"
The others looked at each other: "Do you mean Niels Fürst?"
She did not answer at first: "So that was Niels Fürst?"
A little time afterwards she shivered as if from cold, but she did not give any further explanation. She understood what had happened so far as that the gymnastics had been the cause of it. That, being weakened, he had had a singular influence upon her. She would not say a word about it.
Miss Hall now went away. The two others sat there still: Tora asked them to do so. It was so nice to hold their hands.
CHAPTER III
[SEPARATED FROM THE OTHERS]
By the next day Tora had heard that Niels Fürst said she was "out and away the handsomest girl he had seen in Norway." She would not believe it at first, but she heard it on all sides during the next few days. The next time she met Kaja Gröndal she told her the same thing. Tora knew her through Milla, and always spoke to her. She had so far recovered her usual flippancy that she answered that, "If Lieutenant Fürst had not such bad taste, it would have been embarrassing for the rest of the Norwegian girls."
The summer came in with great heat; every one who could, went into the country, to different places on the coast, or up to the houses on the mountains. As soon as ever the school closed they were off; only a few of the poorer ones remained behind, and Tora among them. Nora went to the Baths with her mother; Tinka's relations were well to do, and had a country house. Anna Rogne was in the town; with Rendalen's help she was preparing herself for the post of history teacher in place of Karen Lote, who was leaving the school. But Anna was not easy of access, more especially for Tora, on account of her friendship with Milla. Even when, for all that, Tora did go to see her, she found her so occupied and anxious (she was to take the junior classes after the holidays) that Tora became tired of her. Tora was now again living down at the Point with her mother (her father was never mentioned), where she shared an attic with two of her sisters. She lived in a hurry-scurry and disorder, and had a feeling of self-reproach and disgust for herself, which she shook off whenever she could cross the ferry and run up into the wood above "The Estate," or along the road to the right from the market-place, to the "Groves." This was a pleasure-ground in the wood near the road, a large open space with a number of small "groves"--that is to say, levelled patches, sometimes with benches and tables; an elaborate network of paths went in and out among them.
One Saturday afternoon she wished to go there to listen to the band, but on the way to the Fröckener Jensens, where she was going to try to get a companion, she met Kaja Gröndal; she had come into the town to meet her husband, but he had not arrived. "Would not Tora come back with her instead? The steamer left in an hour's time."
Tora had a great weakness for invitations. Within the hour she was back again with a large hat-box, in which she had put her night-things and a white dress.
The next morning, Sunday, she was standing on the terrace before the Gröndals' little country house. On her right were all the flowers from the house, which had just been brought out to have the benefit of the rain--as yet it was only wet fog; behind the garden, on the right, it was drifting among the fir-woods; she could see the nearest trees and a little of the bare hillside lower down towards the sea, a faintly gleaming strip of which, was also to be seen. The fog lay very low, there was not a breath of wind. She could hear the steamer, which had just whistled, away to the left where the pier was; now she could see her passing quickly--a vague outline, a thicker, darker, moving cloud--through the white fog. She did not concern herself further about her, but looked towards the path which led up from the landing-place between this garden and the next. Just opposite was a low yellow railing, a very handsome one, of cast-iron; behind it, some old trees in a garden blotted out by the fog; there, she knew, stood several houses which she could not see from here. One of them was the Wingaards', where there was to be a party to-day.
Who would she meet there? She stood and thought about it. Fru Wingaard had been a Fürst; would Niels Fürst be there? She stood thinking. He was in the reserve fleet, which was lying in the Channel.
Why should he not come? It was Sunday; why should he not bring several of the officers with him?
If Tora had known this before she went on board the steamer yesterday, would she have come? She asked herself the question to-day. Directly she had heard it she had felt a trembling sensation, she felt it at times again to-day; but the disagreeable feeling was gone, oddly enough, she thought. Did she really wish to meet him? She did not want to be disturbed by him--no, nor yet to be looked at as she had been before. But to see him, to be seen by him, if it should so chance? Yes, she did wish that--she wished it very much.
When she went along the terrace, to the steps which led up from the left, she could see quite into the sitting-room, and also, in a looking-glass, whether the door of the inner room, where Fru Gröndal slept, was open. No, it was still shut; so she went back to where she had been before.
She could still follow the steamer--that is to say, a dark moving cloud among the fog which hung on every side. The balustrade of the terrace was wet; she dried her hands, forgot, and put them on it again.
She need not have brought the white dress; it was fine rain now. The birds enjoyed the damp, they were singing all round her. Trees, flowers, and grass enjoyed it too.
She noticed their different scents; one of these carried her thoughts far, far away to a country house near Havre, close by the sea; clear blue air, ships, steamers, a long strip of sand, the lazy wash of the waves upon it; close to the sea a country house, low and grey; there they lived. The narrow gate into the garden was open; she stood there on a stone bench, in a short frock and with bare arms; she could see herself in the long striped stockings which she had admired so much the first time she had put them on; she peered over the hedge, and the scent of the flowers was wafted to her again and again, just as it was now. It was nearly evening, her uncle would be coming from the town. The path through the gloomy orchard was gravelled--she heard his step.
Here to the left, in the fine rain, she saw an immense umbrella and white trousers below it. It was not raised enough for her to see who was coming; even now, when the garden-gate had to be opened, it was not lifted, it was only held more forward; but she knew now that the step on the gravel was coming, not towards the country house at Havre, but here; it was not her uncle, but----?
The umbrella was raised, its owner stood inside the garden. A dark coat, a straw hat, and a very puzzled face were seen; she felt something of the uneasiness from which she had thought herself free, but as he looked at her it passed off; just the reverse of what had occurred the last time.
He had evidently not expected to see a dark lady on the terrace, perhaps no one at all, so early in the day. But it was by no means disagreeable to him; he smiled and raised his hat, there was nothing in his eyes to-day which hurt her. He paused at the steps, the umbrella lay on his right shoulder while he laid his left arm on the balustrade and leaned against it. That was a well-formed hand with the signet-ring on it. He was slight and active; his head was noticeable for three things; a nervous sensuous mouth, which was constantly moving, the lips twitching backwards and forwards, in and out, as though moved by a string--the lips themselves being short and full; a pair of large eyes, roguish and gentle, though they stabbed when he put his head a little backward and half shut them: excessively curly hair of a golden colour, and long reddish whiskers. As he leaned over the balustrade, there was a repose about him full of careless enjoyment. But this mood was not to be depended upon, nor would one readily do so, for there was something in the head, body, and hands which, behind the gentle, lazy, pliable manner, reminded one of a cat.
Tora both felt and saw this, but to-day it was with more curiosity than fear.
"What an unexpected pleasure to meet you here; have you been here long?"
"I came here yesterday evening with Fru Gröndal; she was in the town."
"Was she, indeed?"
And the two slipped into a conversation about the journey here, the weather, the place, without having been introduced to each other--a conversation without any other object than to have an excuse for looking at one another. The conversation was in short, disjointed sentences, without colour or calculation, except in so far that the last remark never remained the last.
He stood below and studied her with growing pleasure; the shape of her head, her features, her manners and expression. The eyes really shone under the long thick lashes--what colour were they? They looked black, but---- And her figure! her neck, arms, complexion, her dark hair, her dress; he put himself quite on one side, he was entirely occupied with her. How long this continued, they neither of them knew--it was a considerable time; he did not wish to disturb himself, she did not wish to disturb him. She saw herself in a living mirror, but the pleasure was not an innocent one, for by degrees it made her feel giddy. She collected herself and broke off the conversation; walked across the terrace to some flowers, and occupied herself with their petals, among which she made havoc. He came slowly up, with his umbrella over his shoulder, drawing his left hand along the balustrade.
"Of course you are going to my sister's this afternoon?"
"Fru Gröndal will get an invitation for me," she said.
"Of course; we shall have some dancing--will you give me the first waltz?"
She did not look up. "Will you not dance the first waltz with me?"
She felt through her whole being that she ought not to answer him. "I beg your pardon, I forgot that we had not been introduced; but as you know who my sister is, you must have some idea who I am."
He smiled and came nearer, always with the big umbrella, and with his left hand gliding along the balustrade. She raised herself, but did not answer. "So there is some agreement about the first waltz?" He said it a little carelessly, in rather a patronising way, almost as though he were offended.
He put down the umbrella and turned towards the entrance. "Of course Fru Gröndal is at home." He went in. Tora was about to add, "But she is not up." But that would look rather like asking him to stay here. Besides, Fru Gröndal must be so nearly dressed that she could warn him off herself, when she heard him in the sitting-room.
He went in there, but did not come out again. Had Fru Gröndal gone there? No, there was no talking. She went towards the steps and looked into the mirror; the bedroom door was wide open.
Down the steps she flew, and through the garden, away into the wood, out of it again, for it was too wet; and out on to the mountain towards the sea, under the lee of the wood; there she sat down on a large stone. She was trembling: her breast heaved as though it would burst.
"Fröken Holm!" called Fru Gröndal; "Fröken Holm!" She really was dressed, then. That call must be either from the terrace or the garden. Perhaps Fru Gröndal had been out when he went into the sitting-room, that was why there had been no talking. Tora could not collect herself sufficiently to answer Fru Gröndal, and as she had not answered the first time, it seemed to her that she must disregard the other calls as well. Very soon she heard no more.
What time was it? Could he have come to make a call on a lady at that early hour? And to come straight from the landing-place, not to his sister's, but to Fru Gröndal's. What was the time? But she had not her watch with her, she had forgotten it.
There were the white trousers coming up the hill towards her, and the umbrella as well! She was pursued and discovered. "Dear me, did you not hear Fru Gröndal call you?" Tora did not answer. "And you are so wet--without an umbrella too; pray come under mine. Why did you run away?" No answer. "Fru Gröndal has been making egg-flip for us the whole morning."
"Has she really?"
"Yes, really; her husband was to have been here this morning, and he owes me some egg-flip. But he has not come."
"What time is it?"
"What on earth do you want to know for? It is just eleven."
"Just eleven?"
"Yes, see for yourself." He held out a massive American gold watch towards her, opening the case as he did so. She was silent and walked on. As they approached the garden, she asked him how he had found her so quickly. Why, he had seen her footprint in the sand here, and he had drawn his own conclusion. No one would go into the wood when it was so wet, so she must be on the hill.
They eat egg-flip together very merrily; but an hour later Tora was sitting alone in her room, in the attics--she had fastened the door; and at six o'clock the same evening, as the guests were assembling at the Wingaards', she was on board the steamer, which was returning to the town.
What had happened? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! But like the fog over the landscape, which still hung there, although not so low as in the morning, there lay something over all this, which was vague and puzzling to her. She could not bear to be with Fürst and Fru Gröndal. She could not be natural with them; everything she said or did seemed preposterous.
She did not therefore venture to go to the party; the mere thought of waltzing with Fürst made her tremble.
It would not do. There was nothing for it but to fly. She made herself appear terribly foolish, in trying to find reasons for her flight; such a one as that she had crumpled her white dress in her hat-box, could be answered by a hot iron; that her mother expected her, presupposed a letter by carrier pigeon.
All the same here she was on board the steamer. It was really an achievement. She was delighted. The rest of the passengers were up on the bridge, or in the deck cabin; the windows were open. She went forward where there were two or three work-people. She sat down a long way from them. It thoroughly delighted her when the steamer swept past the islets at the entrance; it seemed as though she were leaving something oppressive.
The evening was fine, notwithstanding the fog; it was mild, and the rain had ceased. The islands among which they steamed stood out clear, their many tinted hills, the green patches of grass, the gardens and houses--for almost all were inhabited--were seen with unusual distinctness, as well as the people who sat or stood about, and watched the steamer as she passed. Tora thought she would like to live in such a place; she made a day-dream that she did so; she sat there and arranged her house according to her taste--this time with great simplicity, that soothed her after what she had left.
All at once the discomfort began again, a feeling of depression, the old sense of insecurity--only a recollection, of course, she thought, and drew a long breath, but she felt impelled to turn round and look behind her.
There he stood on the deck, four or five steps away from her. He bowed and smiled. Deadly white, then crimson, she turned angrily away.
"Come, you must not be angry with me; I would rather go back to the town with you, than dance till five o'clock in the morning. Is that so strange? I am not so contemptible for that, am I?"
He sat down behind her; she knew it, and moved a little way from him.
"Why do you do that now? Of course it is only to talk to you that I have come with you; you can see that."
A feeling of both shame and fear came over her; she was alone now, separate from all the others. She felt as though she could have called to them by name. Whenever Tora felt how solitary she was, she began to cry.
He noticed it, and in quite another tone of voice he said, "Dear Fröken Holm, you must not misunderstand me; I do not want to annoy you, anything rather than that. It would give me great pleasure to talk to you, I confess; may I not be allowed to do so? Why may I not?" She did not answer, but she ceased crying.
He slipped into conversation on indifferent topics, and calmed her, lamenting that they had not become acquainted earlier. "The first time I saw you I said to myself--well, no matter what I said, but I had just a little wish to see you again; it was fulfilled quite unexpectedly to-day; but we did not have any conversation, you were so strange; why was that? Well perhaps you were not strange, but why did you go away? I might imagine that I was to blame for that. You certainly did not want to go before I came--eh? You have made me quite curious, I assure you. If I really did drive you away, I should like to hear what I frightened you with; was it with the big umbrella--by chance? Ah, now you are laughing! But why will you insist in travelling about par tout, Fröken? Just tell me that." He moved a little nearer, and she remained sitting; he chatted and joked without any pause. She once turned half round to look at his roguish face, and then she laughed with him. He was very amusing.
Close by one of the numerous stopping-places was a red house, where a number of young people were gathered round some gymnastic apparatus. A young man and a young woman each held a rope in a "giant's strides." He set off after her with all his strength; a few steps on the ground, and then a long swing in the air; then again a few steps, and another long swing. Would he reach her? Never! She was the lighter, the more active, and she had undoubtedly stronger legs--she ran trip, trip, trip, trip; her legs hardly seemed to be apart, and how she flew swinging through the air! Her hair, her dress streaming after her, a very Iris! Both Fürst and Tora followed this chase, silent but eager. Tora felt his presence at her back, like fire; he had come nearer; and, turning abruptly, she went into the cabin and sat down among the others. He was standing on the landing-place when she went on shore at the Point; he offered her his hand, but she turned away; he wanted to carry her box, but she ran off. He went on board again to go up into the harbour.
CHAPTER IV
[THE HUNT]
Tora reached home about the same time as her father, who had been out sailing with some friends. He was helped on shore, and his reception at home was warm. The children fled, Tora locked herself into the attic, and dare not even go down to supper, although she was hungry. She had to open the door at last for her sisters; she soon began to quarrel with them, they had been wearing her best shoes and had almost spoiled them. It ended in one of them flinging the shoes at her, and they came to blows over it. Complaints followed, which brought the angry mother upstairs. Tora cried herself to sleep like a child.
The next day she tried to help her mother in the house, not without some hard words and sarcasms about such fine elegant ladies only being in the way. Still she set her will to the task of being a help to her mother, especially in mending the clothes. She gave what she could from her little annuity, so that they were on fairly friendly terms; but it seemed to Tora that she had a right to have some time to herself. A little while before supper, she would take the ferry across to the other side and go up either into the wood above "The Estate" or into the "Groves." There was no peace at home. Whether she went to the wood or "The Estate," she always landed at Bommen, and went up that way, though it was not exactly the most direct one; but she did not know a prettier place in the town than the house in the large garden there, so she gave herself the pleasure of looking at it every day.
Both house and garden had belonged to the Wingaard family, but they had exchanged them for the Fürsts' house in the market-place, where the Wingaards carried on the Fürst business. The brother-in-law, Niels Fürst, therefore now owned the house in the large garden at Bommen.
Tora passed it with a little apprehension, although the man she dreaded was certainly not there, but on board his ship. This became a change and occupation, and formed, as it were, an incident in her walk.
Every time it was over, she went more carelessly up to the wood, or out to the "Groves." In a little Norwegian town like this, all the girls go about as they like. She met others and joined them, or went on by herself; generally she wished to be alone for an hour or two; she went, as a rule, to some particular spot, and when there took out her book, if she had one, or else she wove day-dreams without the aid of books. Or else, and this was now almost always the case, she wrote long letters, one every day, about any curious experience. She had her portfolio with her and an ink-bottle in her pocket; she lay on the grass with the portfolio on a stone, or she sat on a stone with the portfolio spread out on her lap and the ink-bottle by her side. That did splendidly: true open-air letters, where the words seemed to fly before the wind, and every varying thought found ready utterance. And how delightful it was in the thicket, just dappled by the sunbeams, enlivened by the twittering of the birds, a little startled by the rustle of a squirrel in the boughs! The distant sounds from the harbour, from the works by the river-bank, the voices in the "Groves" and on the road, with every now and then a strain of music, only made the silence of the place where she was sitting the deeper. This was her one bit of summer poetry. As soon as she opened her eyes in the morning, she began to long for it; the noise and quarrelling in the house passed by her as though they did not concern her--it was here that she lived. Her great expedition to Fru Gröndal, and her remarkable return home in the steamer, were of course recorded up here in letters to Milla, Nora, and Tinka; on the fourth day, she read over the work of the three previous ones; she was very pleased, she knew she had successfully varied the theme. She became, however, somewhat thoughtful as she read the first letter, for she remembered the others, and the difference had become by degrees too great. If the girls were by chance to compare them, one of those tiresome scenes might easily result when she would have to pay the reckoning. No, she would have no more of that. In the first letter she had treated the matter seriously, described her confusion, her blunders, her fright; no one who read it could doubt that she had been with a person of whom she had been frightened. In the second letter she made fun of herself, of him, and the whole affair. In the third, she described how a maiden with dark hair was wandering on a foreign strand, when a merman rose from the sea who had fair whiskers and curly hair. In her terror, the dark maiden fled on board a ship, to return to her own country. But the merman swam after the ship the whole way, with his hand on his heart; when she got to land he gave a wail of sorrow, she heard it still in her dreams at night.
She tore up all the letters, and did not write any others.
Still she continued her walks. She had not the slightest idea that Niels Fürst had returned to the town, that a friend had taken his duty for him, and that he was quietly studying languages to prepare himself for a new career, more brilliant than his earlier one, and that he was living in his own house. Still less did she know that on the first day of his return to the town he had seen her, in the looking-glass fixed outside his window, look shyly across at the house as she passed, and that he saw the same thing happen the next day. He knew that this was not the shortest way up to the wood, which was where she went the first day, or out to the "Groves," where she had gone on the second; on both occasions he had put on his hat and gone out, the third day he sat ready to follow her; now he thought he understood. He knew something about girls who will and will not; they acted exactly in this way.
To-day she came as usual, glanced apprehensively across, and strolled on with her portfolio under her arm. Some one stopped her, and she thus chanced to look round and so detected him. He was already advancing quickly; he was in pursuit, he had struck the trail.
She said good-bye, and as soon as she could do so unobserved, she quickened her ordinary pace to the quickest of which she was capable. She was frightened, unaccountably frightened. Perhaps it would have been wiser to have turned back, but to-day she could not endure his gaze, and there was no one else about. So she walked on, and on, and on, but suspected that he was gaining on her--she almost knew it. She dare not run on the high-road, but she trusted to the fact that she was more at home in the "Groves" than he was, and that she could slip away. She therefore left the road and made her way through the wood; she saw to her terror that he plunged into it as well, so she ventured to run up the hill, but in the direction from which he came; then she stooped down behind a large stone. She was quite successful, for almost directly afterwards she saw him pass by a little below the place where she crouched, her heart beating as though it would burst her dress. Here, where no one could see him, he ran, he climbed, he jumped--nothing checked his straight upward course. She waited till he was out of sight, and then ran off through the wood in the opposite direction from that in which he had gone; she did not stop till she found herself far above "The Estate" on a rock under a fir-tree, with leafy trees all round, and, while hot and panting she looked round her, thinking how wonderful the view was which she took in in a rapid glance, he rose before her mind's eye as he had looked when he hurried past the stone. He was horrible! That man could do anything!
After that, she could never get rid of him. It was always he, nothing but he; or rather every moment of the day she fled from him, but he always reappeared.
Her sisters reported to her that he hung about the house and looked in; walked past and looked in, talked to them, asked them to remember him to her. This immensely excited them, they were proud of it; his remark that Tora was "the handsomest girl" had reached them too. But Tora's terror increased; she was pursued. She knew that he would not give up.
Where could she go to? None of the Rendalens were at home. She could go to them after the holidays, but nearly three weeks still remained. She could not speak to any one else, she was too much ashamed. She did not think once of shoemaker Hansen, but Fru Hansen was severe, she would not exactly understand. Her mother she never once thought of. But after all it was a thing which entirely concerned herself; she need be in no man's power if she did not choose.
No, but when she could not by any means get him out of her thoughts?
On Saturday evening she had flung herself upon her bed, as weary as though she had passed the day in the hardest manual labour. She lay there and looked at the yards of a ship which was being towed past. She watched the folds in the loosely hanging sails which were swaying in the wind. The vessel was so near that she could almost have touched her. Outside there was a heavy sea, the storm driving the swell up into the harbour: she, too, longed to find a haven! It was Saturday evening, to-morrow she would have to go to church. Karl Vangen's face smiled to her as she remembered this, and she felt happy before she fell asleep. If he had been a girl she would have gone to him--just to him--with the trouble which oppressed her.
The next day she occupied a seat at the furthest end of the church. Karl Vangen had met her, and said how nice it was that she was coming up to them again to help Fru Rendalen. On account of this remark she had chosen the most remote seat; she did not feel sure that she might not begin to cry.
She did not, however; there was something soothing in the church and the stillness and the people, which was unlike the summer day outside. But when Karl Vangen went into the pulpit, and his prayer was the one which he had used on her first school-day--that on meeting, almost word for word the same--it disturbed her: that even Karl Vangen's prayer should be a lesson from earlier days. This little coincidence occupied her, and she did not follow him. She gathered that the sermon dealt with conversion, and that Karl Vangen, as was his custom, illustrated what he was saying by examples from real life. But she had heard these examples at school, every one of them.
She was roused by the name of John Wesley. His conversion, Vangen considered, was the most thorough, the fullest in every particular, that he knew of. He related it, and then passed on to give examples of sudden conversions, especially some by Wesley himself; other natures with different pasts, with different kinds of knowledge, influenced by other fears. He wished to speak of these sudden conversions separately to-day. He had known a young girl who had a burning desire for grace for her sins, which she could by no means obtain, until one day she saw Rubens' picture of the Crucifixion, and Mary Magdalene standing with long flowing hair at the foot of the cross. She would be Mary Magdalene. And all at once it was a joy to her to imagine herself at the foot of the cross in the place of Mary Magdalene; her thoughts dwelt on this so powerfully that it seemed as though she, and no one else, stood there. At once she received the knowledge that it was for her that Jesus was crucified, her sins were forgiven. She was seized with a great, great joy. The preacher knew several such examples especially among women. They had clung so persistently to some single incident in the life of Jesus, some single word of His, something special in the mystery of grace, and had gazed upon it until it had the effect of a strong light, a special knowledge. From that time all became clear to them, their sins were taken from them; their will became stronger from that day and hour.
Tora did not hear more, least of all that it was against this that Vangen wished to speak. Then and there her mind was occupied with an attempt to follow these examples. His too familiar voice murmured on; everything round her seemed to fade away. She saw Jesus on the cross in a strange country, with driving black clouds above Him, each height, each valley, each tree veiled and mourning. She saw His eyes close, His chest rise and fall, and it all became night. She felt her own small sorrows hidden in that awful moment. How long she remained in this condition she did not know. The sermon was not over, she could not therefore go; but she could not listen, she did not desire to do so.
When at length she left the church she had only one wish--to be able to renew that vision as soon as she could.
Through all these days she had not been outside the door, she must go this afternoon. From fear of Fürst she went over towards the mountain, and from there up into the wood along by the churchyard, and then on to the big fir-tree on the right, and sat down on the stone under it--it was smooth and flat. She had not come to dream or to enjoy herself, but for real help to consecrate her life. These weary days had enlightened her; she knew now that her character combined a little of everything; that she wished for a little of everything, even of what was wrong, so that she would be an easy prey for a rogue. She had not been sufficiently guarded from the first; she had been completely unprepared--nay, the danger had had something attractive in it.
This must now be changed; she would do any kind of work, if only it would be a restraint on her. She had no more ambition now, nothing but dread.
She fell upon her knees, and with her blood coursing the faster from her hurried ascent, she offered her prayer in her abasement. It was the most humble, piteous pleading. Her distress was extreme. Power to resist the will which conquered hers! She did not doubt for a moment that her petition would be instantly and literally granted.
Mentally she saw herself endowed with strength, she saw herself without fear--even with a mission; no matter what it was, so that it continued. And that should regulate her life. Willingly! Always! She could not picture to herself greater joy, honour, or riches than to give herself to some hard task; it was her nature to wish for extremes.
And now she began to contemplate herself--no, she came to a stand, her mind was disturbed when she thought of her friends. Milla's greatest anxiety in her last letter had been lest the weather should not continue fine, and Nora had feared that they might forget to send her some new music. Why should she alone, who was hiding here, have such dreadful trouble? Her desolate position ought to have made people pity her, but it only encouraged them.
She sat, turned away from the view, leaning against the big fir-tree. Before her she saw alder woods, nothing but young luxuriant alder woods, and fronds of bracken in a thick mass. Ah! how impotent all that was, that they had discussed together at the Society's meetings, and at other places. Only a few weeks ago, and now she must hide herself here. If this became known, she would no doubt lose the small status she had gained for herself. She would hardly go again to the Engels, she would not be allowed to be Milla's friend, perhaps not be able even to go up to Fru Rendalen's again; she began to cry, but she tried to collect herself. The image of the sly, excited, accursed face that she had seen from behind the stone down below, seemed to stab her--to thrill through her; she understood that the dread with which she terrified herself was greater danger to her than the actual man.
She ought to have gone home again, but it was a shame not to test her strength, and so she stayed there.
As Tora, a short time before, was climbing the hill, Niels Fürst was sauntering up and down the deck of a vessel, the captain of which he knew, and just as she reached the flat stone under the fir-tree he had taken up the new ship's telescope to try it; he focussed it and turned it towards the river-bank, and from there gradually upwards across the wooden slopes. Tora had just seated herself on the stone as the telescope was turned to that point, and he recognised her.
He took a short cut across the market-place, and turned up to the right of "The Estate" gardens.
Latterly he had thought of nothing but her, he could not occupy himself, and he slept badly. He had never been in pursuit of so beautiful a girl before.
Although day after day she passed his house, she constantly eluded his pursuit, and all his efforts were still fruitless. All that was needed was to find her in her hiding-place; one could not do her a greater service. Nay, the oftener she hid herself, the greater would be the refinement of her pleasure in being discovered. Now he understood why she had left Fru Gröndal's that day--now he saw why she had cried on board the steamer. Ah, these little girls! But the pursuit would become wearisome if it continued much longer. His own credit was at stake as well; no one must suppose that they could befool him. His character, too, would be safer when this was all settled; she would be silent then. If only she did not see him too soon, if he could only get near enough to hold her with his eyes!
Notwithstanding his intense excitement, he advanced skilfully, not by the path, but straight up through the wood under cover of the leaves. He scrambled where he could not walk, he climbed where he could not scramble. She sat there, searching for some definite idea which might be extended until it entirely occupied and engrossed her mind; but she was not successful--there was something which always distracted her. Just then a branch snapped down below. She had constantly felt tempted to turn round. Was there really anything behind her? She looked down below her. At first she saw nothing; yes, the branches moved and she heard the leaves rustle. That might be a horse or cow from "The Estate"; they came up here for pasture. All the same, she felt very hot; she wanted to get up and go away; but her eyes continued fixed on the branches below, there was something dark beneath them. A head pushed its way through, a man--he! How in the world----? Did he know that she----? How did he come to----? She bewildered herself with useless, frightened questions. He looked up. With all her power she raised herself, though her feet felt as heavy as lead; but she did not turn from him, or attempt to go away, and by degrees she lost the desire to do so. Now there was only the stone between them, a wave of terror swept over her and roused her; she turned her head now, staggered a few steps--and met him. She leaned forward, he took her hand, his arm slipped under hers--she felt as though a burning band were round her. She fell so unexpectedly and so heavily that he nearly fell with her.