Part 19

How was it that none of those whom it concerned never heard anything? That none of the usual anonymous letters ever reached them? The first can only be explained by the fact that they scarcely ever associated with anyone, and the second, that people probably thought that Kallem would not take the least notice of them; free-thinkers generally have rather loose ideas about morality. Toward the beginning of spring, Kallem was seen accompanying his wife and Karl Meek to the steamer; they were to cross to the other coast; he was seen to fetch them again on the pier, Monday forenoon. They knew that he was out all day, and that the other two were together in house and garden all day long.

Karl's examination went off satisfactorily, but of course with much anxiety; the day was near at hand when he was to leave them. On the whole, it had been pleasant to Ragni to have him there, but his unstability gave her much trouble, and his passionate nature grew with his bodily strength. His great devotion to her kept this in subjection; but the way it often showed itself was a great trial to her; she loved stability and peace. She prophesied that the day would come when things would not go well with him; he carried too much canvas.

She longed to be able to be alone again; she said so to Kallem, who teased her by saying that in three weeks she would have to do without Karl. He was first to be at home for the summer holidays, but from there travel down to Germany to study music. Although he had accustomed himself to live and think under Ragni's eye, in strife with her, in subjection to her, in constant adoration; still he liked the idea of being independent. The separation would not be difficult.

But it so happened that, on one of the last days, he was at a friend's house--the only one he now and then saw since he came to the Kallems--and in speaking of his departure his friend said:

"How do you stand with regard to Kallem's wife?"

Karl did not grasp his meaning, and began singing her praises ecstatically. The other interrupted:

"Yes, I know all about that; but to make a clean breast of it, are you her lover? People say so."

Karl asked how he dared to say such a thing? He should be answerable for his words! But it was his friend's intention seriously to warn Karl; he had only just heard the report himself, it had not got about much yet. He bore Karl's raging patiently, and told him that he could scarcely expect otherwise than that people would think there was something in it, as they had been so very imprudent.

They could not at all understand at the Kallems what was the matter with Karl, all of a sudden. He had hardly been in to them the last few days, was seldom at home, and had become every bit as silent, shy, and gloomy as when he first came. The probability was that he was in despair at the prospect of parting from them, and especially from Ragni; but it was strange that this despair should have begun exactly between three and five o'clock on Wednesday afternoon. At three o'clock they had played duets together and had been in the best of spirits; at five o'clock she had fixed to go through some of the last remaining work for his examination with him, but he came home so hopelessly absent and inattentive, that they were obliged to give it up. From that day he had been always like that. Kallem teased Ragni, and told her the youth was in love; it had come over him suddenly, just before the "bitter hour of parting." Kallem sang: "Two thrushes sat on a beech-twig," and prophesied that she would very shortly receive a declaration, probably in verse; he himself had done the very same in his day. May-be he would shoot himself. She need not imagine that anyone at his age could escape the charms of her crooked nose without a little heart-chill.

When the youth sat staring down on her in alarming silence, neither eating nor uttering a word; when he played in the most melancholy style, and always left them to seek solitude; then Kallem said: "How black is life!" He imitated the youth's languishing eyes at her, went sighing upstairs, passing his hands through his hair and crying. But to Karl himself he was excessively kind.

When the hour of parting came, there was an end to all joking, for Karl was in such a state of despairing grief that no one could speak to him; they only tried to hurry him away. Ragni would not go with them to the station, his exaggerated manner quite alarmed her. But when Karl saw that she was still standing on the steps, he jumped down from the carriage and rushed up to her again. She retreated, but he followed her, looked at her, and cried so bitterly, that the servant who stood a little behind them felt so sorry for him, that she began to cry too. Ragni remained cold and silent; she could have no idea that Karl was then doing the noblest deed he had done--feeling more deeply than ever before in his life.

There were people at the station who noticed his great despair, as well as Kallem's serious face. Especially did they notice that Ragni was not of the party. Had Kallem heard anything?

This conclusion to their intercourse with Karl Meek left an uncomfortable feeling. They did not willingly speak about him; in fact, they both felt a doubt as to whether they had done right in having him in the house; they ought to have foreseen that it would end like that. But nothing was said about this either by one or the other of them. Their own life together drew them closer and closer to each other; never before had Kallem been so much at home, or taken such an interest in all her doings.

The whole summer was devoted to the "fever pavilion;" they were never tired of watching the building, or of seeing it all arranged and put in complete order. And now that all the summer tents stood there, the good arrangement and order of the hospital was quite the talk of the place.

But whilst they were thus alone, dividing their time between the hospital, their studies, the garden, and the piano; indeed, just because they were alone, something seemed to affect all their moods, something they had both thought of for long, and that grew and grew for that very reason that they never mentioned it. Soon they could hardly be together without fancying they read something about it in the other's eyes.

Why could they have no children? Was the fault Ragni's? Would she do nothing in the matter?

By degrees he had found out that she was too shy to allow of his being the one to mention it. Would she not venture to speak about it herself? Not even show a wish to say something, so that he could help her out with it? What was the reason? Was it terror of an examination--an operation? He seldom saw her now without feeling that she was thinking about it. And she for her part thought: he misses a child.

The end of August, Ragni got a great big letter with the Berlin postmark on, from Karl Meek! It was most welcome to both of them, more than they would at first allow.

Karl had been to the festival at Bayreuth, he depicted his impressions in glowing colours and enthusiastic language. The whole letter was taken up by that, and four or five lines of thanks and greetings--and at the end a question: "May I be allowed to write to you again?" They both felt at once that the real letter consisted of these four or five lines, all the rest was just an intellectual envelope. Kallem quite approved, and was anxious that she should begin a correspondence with him; it might in more ways than one benefit him while he was abroad.

Without feeling particularly inclined--as had often been the case when she and Karl studied together--but more in a spirit of obedience and good nature, she sat herself down and wrote humorously, as she got over it best in that way, and had an answer from him--first one, then another, long, long letters, whole diaries.

Ragni was in the garden one day, early in October, gathering fruit and things for the kitchen. She went across to the railing by the church road as a carriage came driving slowly upwards. A very stout man sat on the seat, swaying about with the jolting of the carriage, like milk in a pail. Ragni's pigeons were winging their homeward flight from the church roof and flew just over the carriage; the peculiar flapping of the wings made him turn his head in the direction they were flying. "Are those pigeons?" asked he, and the coachman answered.

Ragni was just going to climb up on a ladder to gather some apples, but she had to hold fast; that heavy voice, that drawling dialect, and that north country monotony, all that belonged to Sören Kule! His blind eyes were partly turned to where the pigeons were, and partly to where the answer had come from, as he was driven slowly rumbling away.

Sören Kule here? Surely a blind, half-paralyzed man does not go travelling about? The inheritance which twice had fallen to his share, could it be that, that had brought him here?

Shortly after, Kallem arrived. She saw directly that he too had met Kule, and he saw at once that she had retreated into the big room to hide herself; they met there, she laid her head on his shoulder; it seemed to her there were evil spirits in the air.

Kallem said to himself: If Sören Kule has come to take possession of one of the places bequeathed to the family, and is going to move up here, then Josephine must have had a hand in it; her "spirit of justice" has been on the alert.

The only person in the whole world whom he thought he had not treated well, and to whom he had not tried to make amends, was this blind man.

I will go and seek him out, he thought; I will speak openly with him. I can at the same time make it clear to him, that for Ragni's sake he must not remain here.

He soon heard where Kule lived: in the house just behind theirs; in the park, next to the hospital!

So this share of the inheritance had fallen to him; and were they to have him here every day?

He walked about a long time trying to gain some control over himself; but when he stood in front of the house, he was still so indignant that he had difficulty in keeping calm. It was a little stone house two stories high and with a garden in front; in the passage he could hear sounds of washing up from the kitchen, and looked in there first. There stood the Norland giant kitchen-maid with tucked-up sleeves, as unchanged as if they had parted yesterday. As the door opened, she looked over her shoulder and recognised directly the tall man with the spectacles, with hooked nose and bushy brows; she smiled and turned round to him. "Surely that is Kal-lem?" she sang out.

"Yes."

"I was told yesterday that you lived here," she smiled still more.

Oh, you sly fish, thought he, you have known it a long time.

"When did you come here?"

"We came yesterday."

"From Kristiania?"

"From Kristiania; Kule has inherited this house, and folks say living is cheap here." A door opened at Kallem's back, he turned round; a squarely built man with small, clever, but suspicious looking eyes, put his head cautiously out at the door. Kallem shut the kitchen door, the other then came quite forward and shut the room door; so they stood opposite to each other. But the kitchen door was opened again, and the Norland servant girl looked out and smiled to the man. Kallem guessed there was some sweet secret.

"Is that your husband?"

"Yes, since last sum-mer." The man looked like a sailor.

"Can I see Kule to speak to?"

The square man put on a very solemn expression; he would go in and ask. He stayed away a long time, Kallem heard them arguing, now Kule's monotonous drawl, now the other's short, dry Trondhjem dialect, both voices lowered. Meanwhile Oline told him all about her husband, that he had been pupil at a seminary, had passed a mate's examination, spoke Spanish, and was now Kule's secretary and right hand. Then she told him about the "children," that they were at Fru Rendalen's school in the west country; though for that matter, said she, the school belongs no longer to Fru Rendalen, but to the son, "who used to live with us."

And then all at once: "And your wife? How is your wife? So you made her your little wife, eh? Oh, how delightful it will be."

The door was opened, the square man stood aside and let Kallem pass in to Kule. He sat in the very same big roller-chair, with the same board before his legs, with the same Spanish pictures round him, the same furniture, only it had another and very faded covering. The piano and the children's toys were missing.

The man himself was very gray and had grown much stouter. The "swimmers" lay as usual on the arms of the chair; a long pipe stood beside him, quite empty.

Kallem gave his name; Kule did not answer, but a slight movement of the healthy hand and some deep groans showed that he was agitated. Kallem too had difficulty in keeping quiet. To cut short the agony, he remarked at once, that Kule was perhaps not aware that they were neighbours?

Yes, he was.

"I should not have thought so," replied Kallem, clearly showing by his tone of voice what he thought. Kule was silent.

"Shall you remain living here?"

"Yes."

Kallem looked at the blind countenance; it was cold and impenetrable. Kallem felt it would be useless to expect him to have a shadow of regard for Ragni; he was seized with a terrible loathing. "Then I have nothing more to say," said he, and got up.

The kitchen door stood ajar. "Be so good as to give my respects to your wife!"

It was only when he found himself outside that Kallem remembered the original object of his visit; but Kule's increased brutality freed him from any obligation. Consequently, in future he was to be their neighbour. They must therefore try and bear their own past, as others did. He hurried on, away from the town; he dared not at once go home. She could not bear anything bad or wicked in any shape whatever; he must think over the best way of taking this.

When he at last reached home again, Ragni was in the office and had lit the lamps there. At once she read her doom in his face--ay, had even heard it in his footstep. She sank down in her chair and felt as though there never more could be any happiness in life.

He tried to make it clear to her that, as she was not to blame, she ought not to be afraid; she shook her head, for it was not that. No, it was the cruelty of it, that was what she could not stand; the cold chillingness. She reminded him of what he himself had said by Kristen Larssen's grave.

But surely they could not compare themselves to Kristen Larssen? They had so much of all that gave warmth. Yes, certainly--but a good name! "In depriving me of that, they shut out all warmth." And again, in a little while: "This is the cold chill." She did not weep, as she usually did.

"Then we will go away from here!" exclaimed Kallem.

As though she had long since been considering the matter, she answered: "What doctor is rich enough to buy up all that you have sunk in this place? And your work? Work that you live for and that gives you so much happiness? No, Edward!"

"But I can do nothing, if you are going to be unhappy," and he kissed her. She did not answer.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Yes, I believe you can."

"What is it that I can?"

"Work and be happy without me," answered she, and burst into tears. He folded her in his arms and waited quietly; she must feel that she had wounded him. "In reality I am not suited to you."

"But, Ragni dear!"

"Oh, yes, as your good friend and comrade, the best you have in the world; would that I might be it for long!"

She pressed closer in to him, as though wishing to put a seal on his silence.

X.

The next day was foggy. Although Ragni had slept well and dreamlessly, her head felt heavy and she went about in the same cheerless way as yesterday; there was no longer any gloss on anything. At first she would not even go to the kitchen; she imagined that from the window there she could see the house where Kule lived. However, she had doubts about it and ventured out; she could not see it. Then she dared not go for her morning round in the garden; he might come driving past. At last she sat down to the piano, but got up again without playing. Then she wrote a letter to Karl; she owed him an answer to two of his, and she must occupy herself with something. She wrote according to the mood she was in, that all kinds of wickedness, lying, treachery, double dealing, arbitrary persecution, cunning, deceit, were like a death-chill. It was that we had to fight against; for life is warmth. Some people were more susceptible to cold than others; just as some could suffer from tubercular disease, and others not, and she was surely one of those unfortunate ones. From the time she was a child she had been exposed to many a cold chill, and at last this rush of cold air was stronger than were her powers of resistance; this was the whole question.

It was not a long letter; for in thinking of her childhood and of all she had gone through later on, until her marriage with Kule, she felt a desire to write it all down, and, when the occasion offered, to give it into Kallem's faithful keeping. She could not tell it him by word of mouth; but could she write it? Yes, now she could. A vague fear urged her on, and she began that same day.

She summoned up all her strength to enable her to be calm and collected when Kallem came home. He looked searchingly at her, but was himself in a great state of excitement about something fresh and quite different. He was about to perform an operation that both the other doctors, and a third who had been called in from some distance, thought doubtful.

One of the most highly thought of men in those parts, a Colonel Baier, had suffered for more than a month from inflammation of the coat of the stomach with symptoms of septicæmia. The military surgeon, Dr. Arentz, was his family doctor, and treated him in the usual way, with water compresses and opium. But the illness was a serious one, and Arentz wished that Kallem should join in the consultation. The wife was opposed to this--not exactly because she was a zealous Christian, but because she had an uncomfortable feeling when with Kallem. She was a good, warm-hearted creature, but hysterical, and such people are generally either violently for, or violently against, one. Tuft, the minister, had once saved her; she was ill from sheer weakness, nothing did her any good, until he came and roused her will by faith--a fact none could dispute; since then she raved about him.

The doctor from the neighbouring district, together with Dr. Kent, were both sent for; but both were honest enough to say that nothing could be done, the colonel was rapidly dying, and an operation would be impossible.

But now her love for her husband proved stronger than her antipathy for Kallem; she had the horses put to the carriage and drove herself to fetch him; he was willing to perform the operation and at once. Without allowing himself to be over-ruled by the others' objections, he opened the abdominal cavity, discovering therein pus, and also opened the large intestine.

This incident called for all his strength of character, especially as the others had been so opposed to it. The colonel was looked up to and respected by all; all were interested, both in town and country, and his wife's state was such that, should the husband die, she would go out of her mind. From having disliked Kallem, she grew to have the most unbounded confidence in him; his presence seemed to magnetize her. Kallem was, of course, very anxious.

Ragni found other things to think of besides herself when she saw in what a state of anxiety and responsibility he was in before the operation, and it was even worse the first few days after. In such like emergencies she would always keep all petty trifles from him with rare tact, encouraging and pleasing him, living solely and entirely for him. To be allowed to be something for such a man as that, that in itself spread "warmth" enough!

The colonel recovered, Kallem went about in the best of humours, Ragni took up her playing again, and all her usual work, even ventured out into the garden and allowed her eyes to wander to the house up yonder! She heard the carriage rumbling past without trembling more than the least little wee atom; she was accosted by the Norland servant going to market with her basket, and although she felt it was like being stung by a snake, yet she survived it. One day she even managed to talk to her--and accustomed herself to expect her coming every morning without making her escape. This was not because she was courageous, far from it; but she did it, and felt more at her ease.

The weather changed to severe cold; the leaves blew about in the north wind, the fields were frozen and covered with hoar-frost every morning, the stoves burnt with a roaring noise rivalling the rumbling of carts and carriages outside on the hollow-sounding frosty ground. Each day there was a suggestion as to putting in double windows and shutting up the balcony doors; each day it was put off. There might possibly still be some fine days.

One day she had had letters from America, from Norland, from Berlin--the latter was from Karl; she had opened them all, but had not read any of them; there was too much to do getting the house ready for the winter. Still she found time to read her sister's letter in the afternoon, and it troubled her; her sister was not well; Ragni thought about getting her down to stay with her. The last two or three letters from Karl had been decidedly home-sick ones, he felt so melancholy; so she had no particular wish to peruse this last letter. She was just then reading an American novel, one of Howell's best, an impressive and exciting soul-picture; so she sat down to that first when she went into the office toward evening. But something in the story reminded her of Karl, so she laid the book aside and took out his letter. As usual, page upon page, very interesting, but so thoroughly heart-sick. When she came to the last sheet, there was written on it in red ink: "Read this when you are alone!"

He wrote: "From the moment I received your letter about the 'chill cold of wickedness,' I have been uncertain whether or no I would tell you that I understood it at once. For long I have known what was said about us. Such a cruel slander! It was this that nearly drove me mad last summer, when I heard of it just before we parted. Is it not terrible? I thought that there could not possibly be anything that would wound me deeper than this; but now it has come: You have heard of it too--that must be the meaning of your letter.

"For weeks I have thought about it. But it is better, for my own sake and for yours, that we should speak about it! Do not let Kallem hear of it! I am so dreadfully ashamed, I am so unhappy--ah, if you knew how unhappy I am! but let us spare him!

"Therefore I write this on a separate sheet, and will always do so in future.

"Also on account of something else which I am now coming to, my dear, my darling!

"From the very beginning when you were so good to me, you were most dear to me; I could not think that you or anyone could be more dear. But now we are as it were linked together by this shame and grief, we two must bear it alone, and now, God knows, I only live, suffer, and work in thought of you. You are ever with me, from morn till eve, and in my dreams at night.

"I love you, love you, love you! I write this weeping. I love you, love you, love you!

"Perchance this word shocks you, shocks you more than what has gone before and has called it forth. But if you knew what joy it is just to write it down and know that you will read it! You are so good, and you know that I have the most unbounded respect for you."