CHAPTER XIII
In the afternoon the mail from the Point arrived, bringing a letter for Magnhild. She was alarmed, and handed the letter to Rönnaug, who soon returned it to her, with the information that she need not be afraid to read it herself.
"You will see by this what your journey has already brought about," Rönnaug added.
The letter was from tall Louise.
Dear Magnhild, – I was obliged to go up to your house to-day to ask for the pattern you had promised to explain to us. But I found only Skarlie at home, and he was not exactly – ah! what shall I call it? for I have never before seen so unhappy a person. He said you had gone on a journey.
I heard later that you were traveling with Mrs. Randon, and thinking it most likely that you are at the parsonage in the mountains I address you there. For you must not leave us, Magnhild, or if you do go away, you must come back to us again!
We have all of us plainly seen that you were unhappy; but as you said nothing, we did not like to say anything either. But can you not stay with us?
How shall we make progress with the new work which has just been introduced? We cannot understand it without some one to explain it to us. And there is the singing, too! Dear Magnhild, so many people thank me and Marie; she and I take the lead now, it is true, but we all know to whom we owe our excellent means of support, the good times we have together, and our opportunities for helping one another. Now that you have left us it seems very dreadful to think that we never did anything to give you pleasure, and that you do not really know us.
I can assure you we could do much for you in return for your kindness to us if you would only let us. Do not leave us! Or if you must, come back to us when your journey is over!
Your devoted, heartily gratefulLouise.
There was added to the letter an extremely neat postscript from Marie.
I was so grieved when Louise told me you had gone. She has more energy than I, poor hunchback. She has written and said what we all, yes, all of us, think of the matter.
But I have the greatest cause to write to you. What in the world would have become of me if you had not come to the school and made me skillful in work that is just suited to me. Without you I should have been a burden to others, or at least I should never have learned to take pleasure in work. Now I feel that I am engaged in something which is continually growing. Yes, now I am happy.
I have told you this at last. How often have I wished to open my heart to you, yet did not quite dare, because you were so reserved!
What delightful times we might have had together! But can we not have them yet?
YourMarie.
Postscript. – You may think I mean that you took no interest in us. No: I did not mean that. You were too patient with us for me to have any such thought. But it seemed as if you were indifferent to everything about you, people as well as all else; that is what I had in mind.
Cannot you, as Louise says, come to us? We will gather about you, as bees about their queen, dear Magnhild.
There is no better way to express what now happened to Magnhild, than to say that a new life-spring welled up within her. This help from what she had never thought of as anything but a pastime and a monotonous routine worked wonders. She felt that she must endeavor to deserve this devotion; she knew now what it was her duty to do.
She was walking and talking with Rönnaug in the court-yard. Evening was drawing nigh; the fowls had already sought shelter and were settling themselves cackling on the roost; the cows were being driven home from the pasture, and slowly passed by. The perfume of hay was wafted toward the ladies, ever and anon, for loads were being hauled into the barn.
Rönnaug was so sure of what she was doing that she did not hesitate to tell Magnhild what the same mail had brought her: it was a newspaper containing a telegram from Munich announcing the death of Tande. These tidings produced no further effect upon Magnhild than to make both her and Rönnaug pause for an instant and then walk on in silence. Tande had always been thought of as one very far away, and now he seemed nearer. What he had recently sent her for her guidance became more profoundly true than ever.
The first words she uttered were not about Tande but about Skarlie. Perhaps it would be best to send for him that they might have an explanation before she started on her journey. Rönnaug was not disinclined to agree to this; but she thought that she, not Magnhild, should attend to the explanation. In fact, there was nothing to say except to announce what Magnhild had resolved upon doing.
The conversation was spasmodic like their walk. All the people of the house were out making hay. Miss Roland and the child had also gone to the field. Magnhild and Rönnaug were about going there themselves when a boy came walking into the yard whistling, with his hands in his pockets. Seeing the ladies he stood still and stopped whistling. Then he took a stand on his right foot; the left heel he planted in the ground, and moved his leg in such a way that the sole of the foot stood erect and fanned the air.
Presently he drew nearer.
"Is it you they call Magnhild?" he asked, in the ringing dialect of the parish.
He addressed the question to the right one, who replied in the affirmative.
"I was sent to ask you to come down to our place, Synstevold; for there is a fellow there waiting to see you."
"What is his name?" asked Rönnaug.
"I was told not to tell," said the boy, as he planted his left heel in the ground again, fanned the air with his foot, and stared at the barn.
Rönnaug broke into the dialect as she asked whether the "fellow" was not lame.
"That is very possible," answered the boy, with a grin, and an oath.
Here Rönnaug ran to meet old Andreas who was just coming out of the barn with an empty hay wagon to go after another load; the rumbling of the wheels prevented him from hearing her call; but she overtook him.
"Was it you who took one of the fore-wheels from my carriage?" asked she.
"Fore-wheel of the carriage," repeated old Andreas. "Is it off? Stand still, you fool there?" he cried, giving the reins such a jerk that one of the horses started to move backward instead of forward, for it was a young horse.
But in the mean time Rönnaug had gained light on the question, and left Andreas. In slow English she told Magnhild what she believed she had discovered; she did not want the boy who was standing by to understand. Andreas drove on.
Magnhild laughed: "Yes, Skarlie has come. It is undoubtedly he!" and turning to the boy she said that she would accompany him at once.
Rönnaug tried to persuade Magnhild to remain where she was and let her go. No, Magnhild preferred to go herself. She was already on her way when Rönnaug called after her that she would soon follow herself to see how things were going. Magnhild looked back with a smile, and said, —
"You may if you like!"
So after a time Rönnaug set forth for Synstevold. She knew very well that Skarlie could offer nothing that would tempt Magnhild, but he might be annoying, perhaps rough. The fore-wheel was a warning.
There was perhaps no one to whom Skarlie was so repulsive as to Rönnaug. She knew him well. No one besides Rönnaug could surmise how he had striven, dastard as he was, to taint the purity of Magnhild's imagination, to deaden her high sense of honor. Magnhild's frequent blushes had their history.
What was it that so bound him to her? At the outset, of course, the hope that failed. But since then? The evening before, when the conversation had turned on the Catholic cloisters, the priest had remarked that Skarlie – who was a man that had traveled and thought considerably – had said that in the cloisters the monks prayed night and day to make amends for the neglected prayers of the rest of the people. That was the reason why people were willing to give their money so freely to the cloisters: it was like making a cash payment on the debt of sin.
Rönnaug had sat and pondered. Had not Skarlie hereby explained his own relations with Magnhild? It was his way of making payments on his debt of sin.
And so, of course, he grudged giving her up.
Had he but been harsh and impatient, Magnhild would immediately have left him. That was just the misfortune; he was a coward, and he could not bear to renounce her. He was very humble whenever he failed in his attempts to win her, and when he had been especially malicious he forthwith made amends by being as friendly and interesting as possible. And this was what had kept the ball rolling.
Amid these and similar reflections, Rönnaug took the way across the fields in order not to be seen from the place. The grass where she walked had not been mown; she trampled it mercilessly under foot, but she paused before a patch of flowers whose varied hues and leaves she could not help contemplating. Suddenly she heard voices. In front of her there were several willow copses through whose branches she espied the pair she was seeking.
There sat Skarlie and Magnhild in the grass, he in his shirt-sleeves and without a hat.
Half-frightened for Magnhild and utterly without respect for him, Rönnaug immediately stood guard. Concealing herself from view she took her post between two copses. Skarlie and Magnhild could be seen quite distinctly, for the space behind them was open.
"Then I shall certainly close up down at the Point, and I will follow you."
"You may if you choose. But spare me further threats. For the last time: I have resolved to go. I wish to travel in order to see and to learn. Some day I hope to return and teach others."
"Do you intend to come back to me?"
"That I do not know."
"Oh, you do know very well."
"Perhaps I do, for if you should lead a better life I presume I would come back to you; but I do not believe you capable of changing, and so I might just as well say at once that I shall not return to you."
"You do not know all I mean to do for you."
"What, your last will and testament again? Suppose we drop this subject now."
She sat twirling a flower, upon which she was intently gazing. Skarlie had placed his shorter leg under him; his face was all puckered up and his eyes stung.
"You have never appreciated me."
"No – that is true. I have much to thank you for which I have taken without thanks. Please God, I shall one day show my gratitude."
"Cannot we make it right now? What is it you want? To travel? We can travel; we have means enough."
"As I said before, let us drop this subject now."
He sighed, and taking up his cutty, he laid his forefinger over it. It was already filled; he produced a match-box.
"If you can smoke there is hope for you," said Magnhild.
"Oh! I am not smoking; it is nothing but habit," – he drew a long sigh. "No, Magnhild, it is impossible for things to go well with me if you leave me. For that is about equal to closing up my house and driving me out into the world. The gossip of the people would be more than I could bear."
He looked now positively unhappy. Magnhild plucked several flowers; but if he expected an answer from her it was in vain.
"It is hard for those who have strong natures," said he; "the devil gains the upper-hand over them in many ways. I thought you would have helped me. One thing I must say: if we two could have had a right cozy home together, and a child" —
But here she sprang up quickly, and the flowers fell from her lap.
"Let us have no more of this! He who means to do right does not begin as you did. But in spite of the beginning you might perhaps still have – Yet how did you act? I say: let us have no more of this!"
She moved away a few paces and came back again with: "No, I was not to blame when I gave myself to you, for you promised that I should do and live precisely as I pleased. And I was such an inexperienced child that I did not in the least understand how you were outwitting me. But I did wrong when I heard how matters really were and did not at once leave you. Also when I failed to do so later. However, this is connected with many things about which we will not talk at present. All we can do now is to make amends, as far as we can, for the past. Give me up, and try to do your duty toward others."
"What do you mean by that?" His eyes blinked and his face grew sharp.
"I mean that you have outwitted others, so I have heard, for your own selfish ends. Try to make amends for your evil deeds, if you really desire improvement."
"That is not true. If it was, it is nothing to you."
"Alas! alas! There is little hope of improvement, I fear, in this as in other things. Aye, then, farewell! It shall be as I have said."
He looked up and distorted his face to a grin, making the eyes almost wholly disappear beneath the bushy brows.
"You cannot leave here without my consent."
"Oh!"
"Moreover, have you considered what you are doing? Are you right in the eyes of God?"
"You know very well what I think upon this subject."
"Pshaw! If you mean that talk about unholy marriages, it is sheer nonsense. There is not a word in the Bible about it. I have looked."
She stroked the hair from her brow. "Then it is written here," said she, and turned to go.
Skarlie began to get up. He was very angry.
Rönnaug felt the necessity of making haste, for now she was in danger of being seen.
Suddenly the three stood face to face.
Rönnaug went right up to Skarlie, in the sweetest, most amiable manner, heartily shook his hand, and said in English that she was delighted to see him, he had often been so extremely kind to her. Then she began to jest; she was at once insinuating and daring. Skarlie could not help laughing and offering some remarks, also in English; then Rönnaug said something witty to which Skarlie could retaliate; soon they were both laughing heartily. The impression made on him by this handsome, finely developed woman, transported him, as it were, before he was aware, to other scenes and spread a new train of thoughts over his spirit. The jesting became livelier. English alone was spoken, which particularly pleased Skarlie; and it put him in a good humor, too, to have a chance of displaying his ready wit, of which he possessed an abundance. Finally, Rönnaug held him completely bound by the spell of her witchery, and thus made no unalloyed good impression on Magnhild, who was alarmed at this display of the powers Rönnaug had at her command. She wound her spell about him, with her look, her words, her challenging figure; but her eyes flashed fire, while she was laughing: she would have liked, above all things, to give him a good box on the ear! Women become wonderfully united when they have occasion to defend or avenge one another.
Amid the stream of conversation she gradually led the limping Skarlie round the willow copse, and when they stood on the other side she turned toward the copse which had concealed her while she was eavesdropping. Thrusting aside some of the branches, she asked Skarlie, with a laugh, if he would not be "gallant enough" to aid them in rolling home the wheel that lay concealed here. He could not possibly allow the ladies to do it alone, she said.
Skarlie heartily joined in her laughter, but showed no readiness to give her any assistance. He was in his shirt sleeves, he said; he must go after his coat if he was to accompany them to the parsonage.
Rönnaug assured him that his coat could be sent after him, and that he would find it far easier to roll the wheel without it. She went to work to raise the wheel unaided, shouting "Ahoy!" No sooner had she, with great effort, succeeded in getting it up, than it fell over again.
"It requires two to do this!" said she.
She once more stooped to take hold of the wheel, and while bending over it flashed her roguish eyes on Skarlie. His were irresistibly attracted to her face and superb form. The wheel was raised. Rönnaug and Skarlie rolled it forward between them, she skipping along on one side, he limping on the other, amid merry words and much laughter. Magnhild slowly followed. Rönnaug cast back a look at her, over the top of Skarlie's bald head; it sparkled with mirth and victory. But ere it was withdrawn, its fire was scorching enough to have left two deeply seared brown stripes on his neck and shoulders.
The distance was not very short. Skarlie groaned. Soon Rönnaug felt great drops of sweat rolling down from his face upon her hands. All the more swiftly did she roll. His sentences became words, his words syllables; he made a vigorous effort to conceal his exhaustion with a laugh. At last he could neither roll himself nor the wheel; he dropped down on the grass, red as a cluster of rowan berries, his eyes fixed in their sockets, his mouth wide open. He gasped to recover his breath and his senses.
Rönnaug called to old Andreas, who at this moment appeared on the road with a load of hay, to come and take the wheel. Then she drew her arm through Magnhild's, bowed and thanked Skarlie – still in English – "many thousand times for his admirable assistance." Now they could start the next morning early – and so, "farewell!"
From the road they looked back. The attitude of Andreas indicated that he was asking Skarlie how the wheel had come there. Skarlie made a wrathful movement of the hand, as though he would like to sweep away both the wheel and Andreas; or perhaps he was consigning them to a place where the inhabitants of Norway are very apt to consign their least highly-prized friends. The ladies now saw him turn his face toward them; Rönnaug promptly waved her handkerchief and cried back to him, "Farewell!" The word was echoed through the evening air.
The two friends had not proceeded many steps before Rönnaug paused to give vent to the residue of her wrath. She poured out a stream of words, in a half whisper. Magnhild could only distinguish a few of these words, but those she did make out were from the vocabulary of the old days of service on the road; they compared with Rönnaug's present vocabulary as the hippopotamus compares with the fly.
Magnhild recoiled from her. Rönnaug stared wildly at Magnhild, then composed herself and said in English, "You are right!" but immediately gave way to a new outburst of wrath and horror; for she was so forcibly reminded of the time when she herself crept along as best she could down among the slimy dwellers of the human abyss where darkness reigns, and where such as he down on yonder hill sat on the brink and fished. She thrust her hand into her pocket to draw forth Charles Randon's last letter, which she always carried about her until the next one came; she pressed it to her lips and burst into tears. Her emotion was so violent that she was forced to sit down.
It was the first time Magnhild had ever seen Rönnaug weep. Even upon the deck of the vessel on which she had set sail for America she had not wept. Oh, no, quite the contrary!
CHAPTER XIV
They remained at the parsonage several days, for when it was announced that Magnhild was going with Rönnaug to America the good people were so startled that it was thought best to grant them time to become accustomed to the idea. Magnhild wished for her own sake, too, to pass a little time with them.
One day the ladies were all taking a walk along the road. Rönnaug and Miss Roland had little Harry between them, so they made but slow progress. From sheer solicitude for the child they all went quite out of the way of a large carriage which was overtaking them.
"Magnhild!" was called from the carriage, at the moment those walking had fully turned their faces toward it.
Magnhild looked up; a lady in black was smiling at her. Magnhild sprang directly toward her; the coachman stopped his horses. It was Fru Bang.
The lady drew Magnhild up to her and kissed her. A stout military man by the lady's side bowed.
The lady was thin. She wore a mourning suit of the latest style. Jet beads, strewed all over the costume, sparkled with every movement; from the jaunty hat, with waving plume, flowed a black veil which was wound about the neck. As from out the depths of night she gazed, with her glowing eyes, which acquired, in this setting, an especially fascinating radiance. Melancholy resignation seemed to command, as it were, the countenance, to hold sway over every nerve, to control the smile about the mouth, to languish in these eyes.
"Yes, I am changed," said she, languidly.
Magnhild turned from the lady to the stout officer. The lady's eyes followed.
"Do you not recognize Bang? Or did you not see him?"
His size had increased tenfold, the flesh resembling heavy layers of padding; he occupied at least two thirds of the carriage, crowding his wife, for one shoulder and arm covered hers. He looked good-natured and quite contented. But when one looked from his plump, heavy face and body back to the lady, she appeared spiritualized – aye, to the very finger-tips of the hand from which she was now drawing the glove.
Steadfastly following Magnhild's eyes, she stroked back from Magnhild's brow a lock of hair which had crept forward, and then let her hand pass slowly, softly over her cheek.
"You are in mourning?" asked Magnhild.
"The whole land should be in mourning, my child!" And after a pause, came a whispered, "He is dead!"
"You must remember that there is no time to lose if we would reach the steamer," said Bang.
The lady did not look up at her husband's words; she was busy with the lock she had just stroked back. Bang gave the coachman a sign, the carriage was set in motion.
"I am going to America," whispered Magnhild, as she descended from the carriage step.
The lady gazed after her a moment, then she seemed to grasp in its full extent what it implied that Skarlie's wife was going far, far away – what suppositions might be therewith connected and what consequences. For her face resumed somewhat of its old brightness, her frame regained its elasticity: at once she was on her feet, had turned completely round, and was waving her handkerchief. With what charming grace she did it!
Her husband would not permit the carriage to halt again. He contented himself with following his wife's example by waving one hand. The movement must have been accompanied by an admonition to sit down, for the lady disappeared forthwith.
The plume in her hat waved over his shoulder. More could not be seen; she must have let herself glide back into her place.