A tall, freckled peasant lad came up and asked his name, others equally inquisitive put their questions without giving him time to reply to the first. Was he from the steamer just come in? Where had he come from? From Copenhagen? What had he been doing there? Was he going on with the steamer again? If so, he would have to hurry; the second whistle had already gone.
And the whole crowd followed him down to the harbour, two of the smaller boys taking each a hand. When he gave them some small coin, they decided that he must be the new Governor at the very least, and felt some tremors at the disrespectful manner in which they had treated such a personage.
As the boat rowed off to the steamer, they stood on the pier waving their caps, and stayed there, waving and shouting as the vessel moved off.
Ormarr felt unspeakably grateful for this welcome from his country—a welcome of smiles, and snow, and youth; the glowing warmth that was in its element amid the biting cold. He felt himself akin to these lads, with their hands and faces warm and wet from perspiration and melting snow; who rolled about in the snowdrifts despite their clothing, braved the cold and the roughness of the elements, enjoying themselves in the depth of an arctic winter as well as in any tropical summer heat. They had no idea of modern precautions against climate.
There they stood, waving to him, acknowledging him as one of their own, never dreaming that he had been about to drift away into an artificial life that nursed the frailties of the body regardless of health, until the body became a thing to loathe, unless the soul itself were cynically hardened.
This was the moment for action, the time to pull oneself together and decide; here was the way to follow—follow it!
But first of all, to find the right way.
Ormarr felt now that he could go back to his father. Could tell him all, confess that he had chosen a wrong path, a way whereby his body might have passed unscathed, but his soul never—it was never meant that the two should be divided. He must rest and think for a while and find a new road.
Once more Ormarr had climbed to the bridge, and remained there till the steamer touched at the next port. It would be a couple of days before he could reach home.
The day wore away, and night came down, but it was still quite light. The moon was high, right over the land, its white glow hovering over the landscape and giving it an air of unreality, like a spell that held all things in the bonds of sleep. The ship itself, chained to a silver beam, was the captive of this enchanted country, for all that it kept on its course; sooner or later, it seemed, the time would come when it must crash on a rocky coast.