While Ole, in deep distress, pressed his face down in the grass in the little wood where he lay, he could see in his mind's eye Josephine at a ball, her brother dancing first with this one, then with the other--sometimes even several dances with the same partner, but with her only one little "turn," out of compassion.
But now?
Now she had become a precious sister to Edward, and she and Ole were to be separated.
Why should Edward break in upon and spoil their intercourse, he who knew so little about it?--taking to himself all manner of rights which he did not in the least deserve? Just after being together for a few days, was he to decide who was suitable for her to be with, and who was not?
Why, before them all, had he thus attacked him, casting scorn and derision on his calling in life?--not only mocking him, but mocking God himself.
As this thought passed through Ole Tuft's mind, a strange and strong light seemed to rise up and spread over all the mountains far away on the other side of the bay. He felt it in the back of his neck as he lay there with his face buried in the grass. Then there seemed to come a whisper from over there, filling all the air around him, "What hast thou done with me?"
Oh! how crushed he felt, he seemed forced down into the ground. Now he knew that his suffering was like a sharp razor cutting away all that was diseased out of his flesh. He had lost his cause to-day simply because he stood there as a liar. "Thou shalt have no other gods but me!" No, no, forgive me, spare me! "Thou with thy vain, sensual dreams! Let the night serve thee as it did Jacob, to wrestle with me, writhing worm that thou art!"
The air around him seemed full of the sound of a thousand wings.
It was not the first time that the solemnity of the Old Testament had come upon him from the heights and taken root in him. These questions of great or small; as to whether he should hazard "the greatest"--or be contented, like everyone else, with mediocrity--this was nothing new to him.
But were he to meet Josephine in good humor again, those questions would cease to exist, with one stroke of her hand she made them vanish. And such was the case now. Without any warning, it was as if a fresh protest from her came and overwhelmed him. Josephine would never have turned from him to-day because her brother wished it, never! And if she had understood it in that way, she would have done just the opposite. No, she turned from him because he was such a poor creature--for nothing else. Perhaps, too, because she did not wish to be forced into a discussion, she was so very shy. Neither had she turned to her brother. She sat in the middle of the group in the garden, and later on, when they dined, she and a couple of girl friends had been at a separate table. And when the party broke up she had made no effort to be where her brother collected so many round him--why, in the world, had he not thought of that before? She was true to him; upon my word, she was true and faithful! He rose up; why, in the name of fortune, had he not seen that sooner?