The feast was to be held in the laboratory--that is to say, the Knights' Hall; it had of course cost some trouble to prepare it for a funeral feast, but as the first ladies arrived it was finished--only Emilie's portrait was still to come.
The carriage with the two Danish horses and the man in grey livery on the box, came slowly up the avenue. Fru Rendalen and Tomas met it at the foot of the steps. Tomas opened the door for a young lady in deep mourning, who flung herself on to Fru Rendalen's neck; she was Fru Engel's only daughter, she was called Emilie also. She was to remain at school a year longer.
She was an unusually pretty girl, set off as her slender figure and delicate complexion now were by her mourning. Over her hair, the hereditary Engel hair, neither red nor yellow, she had a black veil, and nothing else. She mounted the steps on Fru Rendalen's arm, crying; Tomas followed with the portrait, which was covered with a cloth, for it was raining.
All rose as they came in, the girl herself wept still more piteously and sought a corner, where she hid her face behind her veil and pocket-handkerchief. The portrait was put up on to the chimney-piece of the laboratory, which was covered with black; Norwegian flags were arranged on each side of it, and garlands were now hung round it.
The ceremony began with a duet, a funeral march, played by Tomas Rendalen, and the girl who had sung a short contralto solo up at the churchyard that day; Augusta Hansen's sister, who had hidden under the sail on the day of the lecture.
After this followed some speeches, then the chorus; all went off excellently; there was much feeling, at times agitation. At the close there was a hymn as an introduction to a few words from Karl Vangen. He had lately read that life is not a closed road, but an open one; he spoke on this.
In the meantime, simple refreshments, such as were usually served at the school parties, with the addition of dessert and wine, had been spread in Fru Rendalen's sitting-room; for Tomas wished, in conclusion, to take the opportunity of proposing the healths of the senior classes and to thank them, and with them all those who had helped that day to celebrate a beautiful memory. All who had sung to-day at the churchyard, with the town below them, and a large number of its inhabitants before them, must have felt something which resembled a covenant with the school.
The pure memory of the dead had smiled upon it. "That covenant shall be kept," he concluded. "Shall it not?"
"Yes, yes," came from the whole group; they all pressed towards him with their glasses, the young eyes sparkled; but the first was Emilie's daughter, the others made way for her; she coloured with agitation and gratitude as she touched his glass with hers.
By ten o'clock they were alone. Tomas said to his mother as he was going to his room, "It was not so mad after all to give that lecture in the gymnasium--what do you say?"