Part 10

But just as she shut the door behind her, a faint ray of light fell on her, it came from the little recess that led into the aunt's room; at that very moment the door opened and her aunt stood before her--looking to Ragni's fevered imagination like a huge whale on two legs. Of course, the aunt had heard Ragni crying in her lodger's room, and had seen at a glance how to account for Ragni's strange manner the last few days. So she had kept guard outside her own door, and just as Ragni was leaving Kallem's room, she gave a push to her door, thereby causing the light to fall full on her. Her aunt put out her hand; that was as much as to say: "This way, my lady!" And Ragni obeyed, and her aunt let her pass in before her. She was not alone. There stood a sofa against the wall nearest to the room she had just quitted; a tall, fair man with a mild and gentle face rose up from the sofa-corner; it was Ole Tuft. It was he who had first heard her cry and had been outside their door. Ragni sank down onto a chair between the sofa and the door.

The next day she was in bed. But before Kallem went out he got a note from her in which she told him that her aunt had heard her crying in his room, and so had Tuft; he had also been at their door. There was nothing more in the note; but low down at the bottom of the page the almost illegible words: "Never more."

In the midst of all the fright which now came over him, too, Kallem thought those poor little words "never more" so eloquent, that they caused his eyes to fill with tears, but his heart to take fresh courage. Something must be done now! Her aunt and Ole Tuft had evidently been cross-questioning her. He had heard nothing of it, so it must either have been done very quietly or else not in that room at all. Poor, poor Ragni!

He was full of the greatest compassion, of furious indignation, of fear, revenge, boundless love, disappointment, rage!

He dressed himself and hurried out into the street. Where to? He would go to Ole Tuft; the confounded croaker meddling in his affairs! He was both spy and detective! What the devil did he want? What was his object? Was that walking in "the ways of God," that too? Peeping through key-holes and listening at doors? It was all in "the ways of God" that this fellow had stolen his handsome sister from him; was he now to rob him of his love? Why had he not gone direct to him? Why first tell the aunt?

He felt the greatest desire to go and maltreat him, to nearly half kill him. By heavens, he deserved it! He turned round really intending to go there; but then he seemed to see his sister's great eyes gazing steadfastly at him. It was no fancy; turn about as he would, on every side he was met by those clear eyes. He seemed even to feel her cheek resting against his like that last evening they were together. The end of it was that he walked past. But that brought him in the neighbourhood of his old lodgings, and he thought of Rendalen. He would go to him! He would not keep one item of the truth from him; it would be such happiness to unburden one's self. At a little distance from the door he saw someone coming out. Was it----? Ole Tuft! The scoundrel himself! ... Kallem's blood boiled; but Tuft went the other way and never saw his brother-in-law.

Kallem did not know Tuft at all as he was now. Had he done so, he would have understood that for him it was a question of saving two souls from perdition. He lived in a state of feverish sleeplessness for the sake of these two precious souls, and sought help; and allowed himself no peace or rest till he had accomplished his aim. He might have gone himself to Kallem, but it might have been dangerous, and certainly was useless. Other steps must be taken in this matter. If Kallem had had any inkling of this, instead of going to Rendalen, he would have followed Tuft home and have beaten him till he could not stand.

Fortunately, however, he suspected nothing and rang at Rendalen's door, full of all he was going to tell him. Rendalen opened the door himself at once; he was almost ready dressed to go out; he stood there with his hat on and his overcoat in his hand, well brushed and carefully got up. As soon as he saw Kallem, he lifted his head like a war-horse confronting the enemy. "You here?" he exclaimed. Kallem walked in quickly, highly astonished. Rendalen shut the door, locked it as well, and flung his hat and coat from him. "I was just getting ready to go to you!" he hissed out the words; he was quite pale through all his freckles, his thin lips tightly pressed together, his small gray eyes flashing. And now he clenched his broad, short hands, the hands of a giant, till they got quite white. His red hair stood on end and seemed to rival the eyes in flashing fire; the enormous bodily strength of the man made Kallem uneasy and alarmed. "What the devil is the matter?" The other answered in the greatest rage, though subdued: "Tuft has been here and told me everything. Ah, I see you turn pale." He came still closer to him: "She was the most innocent creature on earth--you villain!" His voice trembled.

"Oh, come now!" said Kallem, but he turned cold as ice. But the other had no longer any control over himself and interrupted: "You think I know nothing about such things? Why, it is common to every single individual! And do you know why I moved away from there? Do you imagine that I have less power and influence over anyone than you? You damned, cowardly villain!" He poured forth these words like wild shrieks out of his troubled spirit, and yet he spoke more quietly than he had previously done. Anger and scorn in such a degree is always infectious.

"Oh, don't you be jealous, man!" shouted Kallem. If a bucket full of blood had been poured over Rendalen, he could not have turned redder, and as suddenly turned white again. In vain he strove to speak, but not being able, he went straight at Kallem, piercing him with his eyes, so that they almost burnt him. He just managed to say: "I have the--the--the greatest wish to fight you!"

"Come on!" said Kallem, and put himself into position. Hardly had he thus mockingly challenged him, before Rendalen's right hand swung round in the air. Kallem stooped down and then rose unhurt, but kept on provoking him. Rendalen rushed at him again. Kallem nimbly jumped on one side. "Are you out of your senses?" shouted he, loudly.

Rendalen stood there just as if someone had seized him from behind and were holding him, and by degrees he seemed to lose all power. He stared in front of him stiff and pale, until at last, summoning all his strength of will to his aid, he succeeded in turning away and walked slowly to the window, placed himself in front of it, and stared vacantly out in the air. His breathing was so rapid that Kallem thought he would have had a fit. Kallem himself stood quite motionless; he was too angry to go near him. To him Rendalen was a mystery; a moment ago a prey to the most violent passion, and now half paralysed. Nothing was heard but the sound of his breathing; his face was unhappy--so utterly, miserably unhappy! What in the world was the meaning of it all? He looked at his companion, till all his old kindly feeling for him woke up again; and without further ado he went up to the window too and stood beside him. "You must not take it so much to heart," he said; "it is not so bad as you perhaps think." The other did not answer; perhaps he never heard it, he kept on looking out of the window as before. Or, perhaps he did not believe him, and thought he was scoffing. Then Kallem smiled, and his smile was unmistakable, it was good and genuine. Life and color seemed to come into Rendalen's face again; he turned his head. In joyful haste Kallem said: "Upon my soul, I have done her no harm, old fellow." Rendalen did not at once take in what he said; he could not turn it about in his mind so quickly; but when Kallem put his head closer to him and said: "Upon my honor I have not!" then Rendalen's heart rejoiced and he put his arms round him.

Overcome as they both were, there followed an exchange of confidences which was boundless. Rendalen heard how it had all come about, and how it was they came to love each other. It made a great impression on Rendalen, which he neither could nor would try to conceal. So Kallem asked him openly whether he too loved her? Again Rendalen turned pale and ill at ease, and Kallem felt unhappy at his own thoughtlessness; but it could not be rectified. The conversation came to a dead stop, and Rendalen's eyes avoided his. When, at last, he succeeded in shaping his answer, he said: "I am not at liberty to love anyone. That is why I moved."

Kallem felt this to the very marrow of his bones. Rendalen sat with his arms on the table, and a book in his hands which he kept turning over and looking at both outside and in. "There is madness in our family--widely spread. My father was mad. I--well, you know how ungovernable I am--I am on the borders of it. My father was exactly the same. So that when you said that there--about being out of my senses, you hit the mark. The very words of my mother. I dare not give in. Not in love either. All the same I could not always resist. However, I have no wish to confess. Music helps me to forget; but here it betrayed me, and has done so before, too." He put the book from him, took another one, and laid it on the first one, spinning them round on the table. Then he heard Kallem say, half laughingly: "And so you chose me for your substitute?"

"What the deuce could I do? I thought you were an honorable man."

In the evening Kallem struggled to write a letter to the apothecary, he wanted him to help them. The more he wrote, the more impossible he found it to explain to the old bachelor and crusty naturalist, what love was, and in what sore distress was she for whom he now wrote to ask for help; he tore up his letter. Quickly he determined to try his father. The latter had done all he could to help Ole Tuft; perhaps he now would help someone else? His father was very peculiar, but he was a warm-hearted man and hated injustice. Edward Kallem had never heard of anything more unjust than Ragni's self-imposed lot; he was almost certain that his father would feel the same. So he told him about their love--quite without reserve; he promised that if his father would help her, this treaty should be like a consecration. He would apply himself more earnestly than ever to his studies; he would strive to obtain the highest of everything. And though it might be long before they could marry, both on account of his as well as her further education--he would wait for her as faithfully as she for him; that was his solemn promise. And he hoped his father had no reason to think he would break that promise; but rather take him at his word and help her.

He was not mistaken in this. Three days afterward he had an answer by telegram, that everything was arranged according to his wish; the necessary should be sent by the first post. With this victorious telegram in hand, he began to work his and Rendalen's mutual plan; to have her sent over to Kallem's cousin at Madison. He wrote to him at once and asked him to cable "yes" or "no."

He obtained a first meeting with her through the servant, who showed herself to be thoroughly faithful to Ragni; it was in a street outside the town and did not last long; the servant was with her. He told her at once what were his plans and how it could be arranged, and who was to have a hand in the matter. She was so frightened that he thought it would be impossible to proceed; on no consideration would she leave the children. He was in despair after this meeting, and went to Rendalen to complain. He at once suggested that the children could be sent to his mother; he would write to her about it. When Kallem, at their next "rendezvous," told her this, Ragni seemed to hesitate; she acknowledged humbly that she could never educate them so well herself. But what she partially agreed to the one day, she drew back from the next; every time she had been with the children it again all seemed so impossible to her. And as she each time worked herself up to such a pitch of excitement that all the passers-by stared at them, they could no longer keep their appointments in the street. There could be no question of their meeting anywhere but at his or Rendalen's rooms; but Ragni had again become so shy that he doubted whether she would consent. He prepared her for it by letters, and got Marie also to try and persuade her to it, and to accompany her. At last this succeeded too. After this they met a few times at his rooms, once too, at Rendalen's; but always there was the same undecided wavering and hesitation as to what she would do, and always there was great despair. She was afraid, too, of the actual journey; fancy going all the way to America, alone! And alone from New York to Madison; that was the worst of all! It was impossible, quite impossible! Marie would like to go with her; Kallem promised her a ticket; but on no account could they both forsake the children; no, it was most wrong even to think of such a thing. Then Marie would wait until the children were properly provided for.

If she really were to start, she would have to go on board without anyone knowing anything of it; therefore the necessary things for the voyage would have to be bought; but as a matter of course, all would have to be most carefully arranged. He expected to meet with opposition in this; but she was still such a child, that before it was really settled about the voyage, he had persuaded her to buy all her travelling outfit; it amused her immensely. If only he could manage to have a good long talk with her, or see her every day just for a little--but she was cautious to an extreme. Then he wrote letters yards long; she dare not answer, she fancied she was watched by her aunt and the north-country kitchen-maid; but as the letters told her of all the strength of his love, and as they, with all the cunning of love, were written to charm her imagination, they effected a great deal more than the meetings had done. It was thanks to the cunning Marie that these letters reached their destination; she was too clever both for the aunt and for the north-country girl. As long as these arrangements were going on and keeping his strength up to the mark, Kallem lived for nothing else. Perseverance increases our courage; and when at last the cable came with "yes," he ventured to form a bold plan. It consisted in getting everything ready by the time the next big English steamer was to start, and not to say a word to her about it, but to make sure that she that day should have an excuse for going out early and remaining out a long time, and also arrange for Marie to be at liberty. He made an appointment for Ragni to meet him at his rooms two hours before the steamer was to sail; both ticket and luggage were all ready.

On the appointed day and at the given hour, she and Marie appeared. Ragni's luggage had been sent on board early in the morning and the carriage ordered and paid for. Nothing was to be seen in the rooms that called to mind a departure; but the way he received her made her afraid that something was brewing. Formerly he had been so self-contained--partly, too, because Marie was always present--now he embraced Ragni with all the tenderness he was capable of, and seemed as though he could not let her go. His grief had no regard for others; neither did he seek to hide anything, but, with both her hands in his, and gazing into her eyes, he told her hurriedly that her luggage had been sent on board; the steamer would sail in two hours; and here was the ticket.

She understood directly that this was the choice between him and everything else--there was no time to reflect. And that was how he gained the day. At first she stood there in speechless helplessness; then she crept close up to him and stayed there. He kissed her "welcome;" they held each other in a close embrace and wept. The servant saw someone coming outside the windows and drew down the blinds, so there was only a dim light in the room; and they, too, heard Marie crying in the next room. Their embrace gradually became a whispered conversation, at first interrupted, but then accompanied by subdued sobbing, which was checked and began again, like music with sourdine. There were whispers of the day when he would journey after her, never again to part from her; and whispers of how true a friend he would be to her; that their future was worthy of sacrifice now; that both his and her letters should be like diaries--short, hurried words of endless love, all from him; hers was the weeping, sourdine-like.

Although this was the hour of departure, this hour they spent together now, it was the first time that they had so completely and undisturbedly shown their devotion for each other. The novelty of it shone in upon their grief till there seemed to be a sunny haze around them. Soon her hushed sobbing became a whisper; the first time she spoke he wanted to look at her, but she would not allow it. If he would sit quite still and not look at her, then she would tell him something. He was the white pasha! She would not tell him what she meant by it, it would take too long; but she had been waiting for the white pasha from the time she was a child; that is to say, since her father died; she was then twelve years old. She had suffered much, most of all when she came home from Berlin and had not sufficient courage to play in public; but neither would she tell him about that; it would take too long. Always she had dreamt of this white pasha; ah, if he would but come! She was quite confident that he would come. Even when she went down to the "whales," she knew he would follow her; he would find the way. Once she had thought that Rendalen was the white pasha; but, as it turned out, he was not; he had moved away to make room for the real one to come. The first evening they two had met in the silent falling snow. Why should they have met there? She had looked at him then and thought, wonderingly: Is he the white pasha? The next time they met he had carried little Juanita, and then she felt almost certain that none other would have thought of that. But then everything seemed to have come so rapidly, and it was all so different from what she had imagined. He asked in a whisper if she would tell him what had made her go down to the "whales" a year ago; she shuddered when he asked her. And even after her marriage, did she still expect the white pasha to come? More eagerly than ever. Had she not known then what marriage was? She pressed closer to him and was silent.

Although he was just on the verge of learning what he most wished to know, he stopped.

He told her that it was arranged so that Rendalen was to meet Ragni on board; the former was going home for a few days and would take care of her. Then they got up.

Would Kallem not take her to the steamer? He put his arms round her, hid his face on her shoulder and said, he dare not. This was the hardest blow of all. For a while she was quite overcome; then they sat down again and took leave of each other, a long, harrowing farewell. Marie was on thorns. He would have taken her down to the carriage; but Marie forbade it most decidedly; they must not be seen together by anyone.

He heard the carriage drive away, but did not see it, and in all the succeeding years he looked back upon that moment as the most terrible he had ever experienced.

He did not go out to see the steamer sail away in the distance; but in the afternoon he went down to the place where she had lain.

From there he went for a long walk--and timed it so that her aunt should see him. It was part of his plan.

For a time this kept all suspicion away from him. No one could suppose that the person who had arranged Ragni's flight and who was the cause of it, would come to the front so soon.

Everyone who remembers this event, will remember, too, how severely she was condemned. A stranger, shy, and without relations, she had left no remembrance of herself--unless it were of her poetical playing so full of song; and that could not plead for her now. A year ago she had undertaken to live for her dead sister's children; and now she had forsaken them. The blind man whom she had married was her own choice; she had had no difficulties with him.

If she regretted it, why not say so openly? Why behave in that sly, underhand way?

It was hard for Kallem to listen to all this; had he ruined her reputation? Already everyone took it for granted that she had had a "liaison" with someone; and the hour was not far distant when it would be asserted that _he_ was the guilty one.

He met the children with Marie outside the university one day, and they both rushed straight at him. What would he not have given had it been Ragni who came smiling after them? Of course he took the children into a confectioner's and heard them tell how "mamma had gone away in a large ship," "mamma was coming back for Christmas with new dresses and new dolls."

There was an illustrated paper lying on the table; Juanita took it into her head that all the ladies in the pictures were "mamma;" when her sister said no, she just moved her little finger on to another, "that's mamma!"

That same day Kallem had been present at an unsuccessful operation; a mishap occurred and the patient nearly bled to death. His nerves were so upset at this time that it made a great impression on him. But when he left the children and went to his dinner, it seemed to him as though he were the unsuccessful operator. He had wished to set Ragni free, but he had done it badly, and now her good name was bleeding to death. Social life altogether was a network of muscles, sinews, and veins....

He was sitting in the university library a few days later, reading and studying some plates in front of him, when he looked up to see Ole Tuft, fresh and smiling, before him. He did not know where Kallem was living now, and so had gone to find him here. Kallem got up and went out with him.

None of Kallem's fierce courage remained to threaten his brother-in-law; he no longer desired to half kill him, not even to look reproachfully at him; and he would be more than satisfied if Ole did not cast reproachful glances at him. Probably Ole knew, as all must know who were in any way connected with the event, that Edward Kallem was the sinner. He must have heard it from Josephine, who would hear it from her father--or, was he mistaken? Was there not a mixture of doubt in Ole's friendliness? A suspicion as to his thorough honorableness? A warning that such a beginning could never lead to victory? Or, was all this hearty friendliness sincere, genuine "brotherly love"--fostered by a young theologian's obedience to the command: "Love one another?"

Ole came to announce that he had finished his studies and was going home; his joy was great. He asked if he should take any message; he said he hoped soon to begin his "work;" he hinted at what then would happen; the way was clear before him and the goal was not a small one. All who passed in and out of the library stopped to look at the good-looking young fellow.

Edward stood bare-headed up on the library steps, as Ole Tuft, in his heavy sort of way, went slouching across the square. This much was true: there went a man who was sure in himself; his beginning was thorough and complete, as was his nature.

MANHOOD

I.

"----Justification has its origin in the mercy of God. It cannot have it in the sinner or his moral struggles with self; for he is unjust. And as such he neither deserves it nor can he lay claim to it. God's sublime will alone can justify him."