In God's Way: A Novel

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

"Do you not wish that?"

"Yes, yes!" And she said that more kindly, as if wishing to make up for the first. Then he told her the end of Jeanne d'Arc's story, as it was told in a newly published book which he had borrowed from her father in the holidays. This was a subject that suited him; his west country accent, with the sing-song rise and fall in the voice, his carefully studied use of words, peculiar to one who had once been a peasant, heightened by the country dialect, though it no longer was so noticeable, impressed one with the idea that it was the words of some old writer; his soft and gentle Melancthon-face was dreamy; she looked up at him, and each time seemed to see deep down into his pure heart.

And in this manner they reached the town. The story had taken a hold on her too, and they both became so eager that they were not aware that they might possibly meet someone, and that they now had houses on each side of them; he just lowered his voice a little, but went on telling his story.

But when they came near the street where his aunt lived, and up which he ought to turn, he stopped, without having finished his story. Would he be allowed to take her home? The head-master's house was a little further on; if not, then he ought to leave her here. Now, this was not a question of this evening only.

Just on this account she thought of it too; she had never approved of that sort of nonsense, of being taken to one's own door when the other person's way lay quite in an opposite direction. From their childhood she had always had the same feeling, because she had been teased about him. But she knew that for him it was a great treat.

They both walked along the short bit of road that remained, and worked themselves up to a state of excitement. Shall we say good-by here, or--? What had originally been so childish had now grown, by dint of repetition, to something of great importance. She could not account for it, but as they stood at the cross-roads, she quietly took her gloveless hand from his arm and offered it to him in farewell greeting. She saw his disappointment. And to make up for it her large eyes beamed on him, her hand grasped his heartily, and, "Thanks for a pleasant evening!" said she, in quite a different tone of voice from what she had used for the last few years. The words seemed to fly from heart to heart like a life-long promise, and such was their meaning. She thanked him now and always for his faithful love. He stood there, quite pale. She saw it, and seemed to meditate something--took her hand away, and went. On the hill, she turned again to look at him, thankful that neither by word nor deed had he tried to do anything but what she wished. She nodded to him, he raised his hat.

A few minutes later she stood in her own room, much too warm and too wide-awake to think of going to bed. She did not wish to sleep; at all events, she wanted first to see the sun on the roofs, or at least daylight. Her room looked out on the courtyard, the playground and gymnasium at the end, some gymnastic apparatus stood outside too. Looked at from the street side, her bed-room was in the second story, but seen from the court it was on the first floor; hundreds of times, as a child, she had jumped out of the window instead of going out through the door. She opened the window, and even thought of jumping out now and walking up and down the court. She would, in reality, have preferred walking about the whole night with Ole; but he could not understand that. Perhaps it was because he had not proposed it that she had dismissed him up the street.

But as she thought more about it, she did not dare to venture out into the yard. It happened sometimes that young men coming home from a country walk or a boating expedition, or jaunt of some kind, would take it into their heads, as they passed the old school-yard, to turn into the playground of their boyish days and have a swing on the ropes; she would not like to meet those half-tipsy young men. She took off her hat, and remained standing in the window, leaning forward, gazing out after what had just happened, and which seemed to draw her outward in spite of herself.

She heard steps on the stairs outside, and then in the sand, the way in to her. Could it be Ole? Was he sentimental enough to wish to look up at her window? He must not come! God help him if he did come! She listened eagerly; no--those steps were too rapid; it was--she knew it as he stood there, it was her brother.

Yes, it was Edward who came. He was not astonished at seeing her, but came straight up to her. And when he had come up to the open window he stretched up his right hand to her, and she took it. His eyes squinted a little, a sure sign that he was excited. "I am glad you are still up; otherwise I should have been obliged to knock." His eyes looked searchingly into hers, and he did not loose her hand. "Have you just got back?"