Part 6

The two ladies kept together during the sail. And they also sat beside each other when dessert was served out of doors at Marielyst and speeches were made. The success of the entertainment went to Joergen Thiis's head. One after another came round to him and drank his health; he became sentimental, and made a speech. His toast was "the ideal, the eternal ideal." Fortunate the man to whom it was revealed in his youth! He bore it in his breast as his inextinguishable guiding lamp on the path of life! Pale and excited, Joergen emptied his glass and flung it away.

This sudden earnestness came so unexpectedly upon the merry company that they laughed--one and all.

Miss Roey said to Mary: "You met Lieutenant Thiis abroad?"

"Both this winter and last," answered Mary carelessly; she was eating ice.

A young girl was standing beside them. "He is a curious man, Joergen Thiis," said she. "He is so amiable with us; but he is said to be a perfect tyrant with the soldiers."

Mary turned towards her in surprise. "A tyrant--in what way?"

"They say that he irritates them dreadfully--is exacting and ill-tempered, and punishes for nothing."

Mary turned her largest eyes upon Margrete Roey.

"Yes, it is true," said the latter indifferently; she, too, was eating ice.

When, late in the evening, after the dance, they were all trooping down to the steamer, Mary and Joergen arm in arm, she said to him: "Is it true that the soldiers under your command complain of you?"

"It is quite likely that they do, Miss Krog." He laughed.

"Is there anything to laugh about in that?"

"There is certainly nothing to cry about."

He was in a very jovial mood, and would fain have put his arm round her and danced down to the pier, as many of the others were doing. But Mary warded him off.

"I was very sorry to hear it," she said.

Then he understood that she was in earnest.

"The fact is, Miss Krog, that Norwegians, generally speaking, don't know what obedience and discipline are. During the short time we have them under command, we must teach them."

"Teach them in what way?"

"In small things, of course."

"By plaguing them about small things?"

"Exactly."

"Giving orders for which they see no necessity?"

"Precisely. They must learn to give up reasoning. They must obey. And what they do, they must do properly; exactly as it should be done."

Mary did not answer. She addressed another couple who now made up to them, and continued doing so till they all reached the pier.

On board the steamer she noticed that Joergen Thiis was out of humour. When they landed, he was not standing at the gangway. Without any previous arrangement, the whole party accompanied her home to the house on the market-place. They sang and shouted under the windows until she came out on the balcony and threw flowers down on them--those she had brought home with her and any more she could find. Then they dispersed, laughing and joking.

As they were going off, she looked for Joergen; he was not there. This vexed her; she felt that she had rewarded him ill for one of the most delightful days in her life.

Entertainments, large and small, followed one on the other. But Joergen Thiis was absent from them all. He had first gone home to see his parents, then to Christiania. Mary had never devoted much thought to Joergen Thiis, but now that he kept away, she could not help remembering that she had chiefly him to thank for the happy meeting with the young people of her own age. And that remarkable toast of his--"fidelity to the ideal"--at the time he proposed it she had merely thought: How sentimental Joergen Thiis can be! Now she thought: Perhaps it was an allusion to me? She was accustomed to such exaggerations; and she did not care in the least for Joergen Thiis. But when she remembered how deeply in love he had fallen at their first meeting, and how all these years he had been exactly the same whenever and wherever they met, the matter assumed a more serious aspect. The gloating, greedy eyes acquired something almost touching. The fact that he could not bear to be with her when she was the least displeased with him was another proof of the strength of his attachment. His saying nothing, but simply staying away, appealed to her.

One day Mille Falke, the consumptive head-schoolmaster's pretty, gentle wife, came out to see Mary. She had had a letter from Joergen Thiis. A party of ten Christiania people had arranged a trip to the North Cape. They had taken their berths two months ago; now circumstances prevented their going. Joergen Thiis had been asked if he could not take the tickets and find nine people to accompany him on the glorious excursion. In the small towns there was more neighbourliness; it was easier there to make up such a party. Joergen Thiis declared himself willing if Mary Krog would agree to go; he knew that in this case he would have no trouble in finding others.

Mrs. Falke laid the matter before Mary with the soft, feline persuasiveness which few could resist. Mary had, however, not the slightest desire either to sit on the deck of a steamer in the midsummer heat, or to interrupt all that was going on at home--it was much too pleasant. At the same time she was unwilling to offend Joergen Thiis again. She consulted with her father and Mrs. Dawes; she listened once again to Mrs. Falke--and consented.

Early in July the party assembled at night on board the coasting-steamer which was to take them to Bergen, the starting-point of the excursion proper. They were six ladies and four gentlemen. The eldest lady was the respected principal of the chief girls' school in the town--mother of one of the gentlemen and former instructress of three of the other ladies. She was the moral support of the party. Two of its members were on their honeymoon, and they were teased by the others the whole time. It was worth doing, for they were quick-witted, both of them, and gave as good as they got. Then there was a young merchant, who paid attention to two of the ladies, unable--so it was averred--to make up his mind which he liked best. The whole party, including the ladies in question, did their best to assist him in coming to a decision. The very first night on the coasting-steamer, a schoolmaster was christened "the forsaken one." All the others, with the exception of the old lady kept up a constant racket; no one slept. He alone could neither dance nor sing, and he was incapable of flirting; he could not even be flirted with, it put him out so terribly. The consequence was that all the ladies, even Mary, made love to "the forsaken one," simply to enjoy his misery.

The originator of most of the mischief that went on was Joergen Thiis; teasing was his passion. His inventiveness in this domain was not always free from malice.

At first he himself was unmolested. But in course of time even "the forsaken one" ventured to attack him. His appetite, his inclination to tyrannise, and especially his role as Mary's humble servant, were made subjects of jest. Mary had the Krogs' keen eye for exaggeration in every shape, so she laughed along with the rest, even when it was at his submissiveness to her they were laughing. Joergen was not in the least disturbed. He ate as much as ever, was as strict as ever in his capacity of leader, and continued, unmoved, to play the part of Mary's inventive, ever-ready squire.

The ship had its full complement of passengers, amongst them a number of foreigners; but Joergen Thiis's merry party was the centre of attraction. Nature made such perpetual calls on the passengers' admiration that they were not in too close and constant contact with each other. It was as if they were attending some grand performance. One marvel followed the other. The length of the days, too, had its influence. Each night was shorter than the last, until there was none at all. They sailed on into unquenchable, inextinguishable light, and this produced a kind of intoxication. They drank, they danced, they sang; they were all equally highly strung. They proposed things which under other circumstances would have seemed impossible; here they were in keeping with the wildness of the landscape, the intoxication of the light. One day in a strong wind Mary lost her hat; two cavaliers jumped overboard after it. One of them was, of course, Joergen Thiis. The minds of all were working at higher pressure than that of every day. Some of them became exhausted and slept whole days and nights. But most of them held out--at least as long as they were northward bound--Mary amongst the number.

Joergen Thiis, with his persistent deference, in the end obliged all of them to treat Mary more or less as he did himself. Nor did anything occur the whole time to disturb this position of hers--thanks principally to her own carefully cultivated reserve of manner.

When they returned to the coasting-steamer, genuine gratitude prompted her to invite Joergen Thiis to go home with her to Krogskogen. "I can't stand such a sudden break-up," she said.

He stayed for some days, delighted with the beauty and comfort of everything. Such art taste as he possessed lay chiefly in the direction of knick-knacks; he was devoted to foreign curios, and of these there was abundance. The rooms and their furniture and decorations were exactly to his taste. To Mrs. Dawes, who encouraged him to speak freely, he confided that the comfort and quiet disposed him amorously. He sat often and long at the piano extemporising; and it was always in an erotic strain.

He treated Mary with the same deference when they were alone as when they were in company with others. All the time she had known him he had not let fall a single word which could be interpreted as a preface to love-making, no, not even as the preface to a preface. And this she appreciated.

They wandered together through the woods and the fields. They rowed together to relations' houses to pay calls. Joergen had the key to the bathing-house, where he went before any one else was up, and often again after their excursions.

Mary herself had become more sociable. Joergen told her so.

"Yes," answered she. "The Norwegian young people associate with each other more like brothers and sisters than those of other countries, and are consequently different--freer, franker. They have infected me."

One morning Joergen had to go to town, and Mary accompanied him. She wished to call on Uncle Klaus, his foster-father, whom she had not seen since she came home.

Klaus was sitting behind a cloud of smoke, like a spider behind its grey web. He jumped up when he saw Mary enter, declared he was ashamed of himself, and led her into the big drawing-room. Joergen had warned her that he was not likely to be in a good humour; he had been losing money again. And they had not sat long in the empty, stiff drawing-room before he began to complain of the times. As was his habit, he rounded his back and sprawled out his legs, supporting his elbows on them and pressing the points of his long fingers together.

"Yes, you two are well off, who do nothing but amuse yourselves!"

He possibly thought that this remark demanded some reparation, for his next was: "I have never seen a handsomer pair!"

Joergen laughed, but coloured to the roots of his hair. Mary sat unmoved.

Joergen accompanied her to the house on the market-place; it was quite near. He did not say a word on the way, and took leave immediately. Afterwards he sent to let her know that he would be obliged to stay in town till the evening; then he would cycle out. Mary herself left at the previously appointed hour.

On her way home in the steamer she revolved the idea: Joergen Thiis and herself a pair. No! This she had never contemplated. He was a handsome, well-bred man, a courteous, pleasant companion, a really gifted musician. His ability, his tact, were unanimously acknowledged. Even that which at one time had repelled her so strongly, the sensuality, which would suddenly leap into his eyes and produce that insufferable gloating expression--perhaps it was of this underlying quality that all the rest were cultivated developments? Might it not account for his appreciation of the perfect in art, in discipline, in language? Still there remained something unexplained. But it was a matter of indifference to her what it was. She cast all these reflections aside; it was no concern of hers.

As she came on board she had noticed a peasant-woman who had once been their servant; now she went and sat down beside her. The woman was gratified.

"And how is your father, Miss? I am old now, and I have known many people in my day, but never a kinder man than Mr. Krog. There's no one like him."

The affectionate warmth of these words touched Mary. The woman mentioned one instance after the other of her father's considerateness and generosity; she was still talking of it when they arrived. At first Mary felt as if nothing so pleasant as this had happened to her for a long time. Then she felt afraid. She had actually forgotten how dearly she herself loved her father, and had left off giving expression to her affection. Why? Why did she give her time and thoughts to so much else and not to him, the best and dearest of all?

She hurried up to the house. Although her father was very much of an invalid now, she had latterly spent hardly any of her time with him.

As she approached she saw Joergen's bicycle propped against the steps; she heard him playing. But she hurried past the drawing-room, and went straight to her father, who was sitting in the office at his desk, writing. She put her arms round him and kissed him, looked into his kind eyes and kissed him again. His bewilderment was so comic that she could not help laughing.

"Yes, you may well look at me, for it is certainly not often I do this. But all the same you are dearer to me than I can tell." And she kissed him again.

"My dear child!" he said, and smiled at her assault. He was happy, that she saw. Into his eyes there gradually crept that curious brightness which none ever forgot. She thought to herself: I'll do this every day now, every day!

Joergen and she had planned a cycling excursion back into the country. They set off next day. The relation at whose house they stopped that evening, a military man, was delighted to have a visit from them. They were persuaded to stay for several days. The young people of the neighbourhood were summoned; an excursion to a saeter was arranged--again something quite new to Mary. "I know every country except my own," said she. She was determined to travel the next year in Norway; there not much chaperonage would be necessary. With this prospect in view Joergen and she rode home, enjoying themselves royally.

As they were propping their bicycles against the house, little Nanna came rushing out at the door and down the steps. She was crying and did not see them, as she was looking in the other direction. When Mary called: "What is the matter?" she stopped and burst out: "Oh, come, come! I was to go and call people." Up she rushed again to tell that they were coming, Joergen after her, Mary behind him--across the hall, up the stairs, along the passage to the last door on the right. Within, on the floor, lay Anders Krog, Mrs. Dawes on her knees beside him, weeping loudly. He was in an apoplectic fit. Joergen lifted him up, carried him to his bed, and laid him carefully down. Mary had rushed to telephone for the doctor.

The doctor was not at home; she tried place after place to find him, a voice within her all the time crying despairingly: Why had she not been beside her father when this happened? Immediately after vowing to herself that she would show him every day how much she loved him, she had left him! And this very day she had looked forward with pleasure to being able to travel without him! How had she come to be like this? What was the matter with her?

As soon as she had found the doctor, she hurried back to her father. He was now undressed and Joergen had gone. But Mrs. Dawes sat on a chair beside the pillow, with a letter in her hand, in the deepest distress. The moment she saw Mary, she handed her the letter without taking her eyes from the sick man's face.

It was from a correspondent in America of whom Mary had never heard. It told that her uncle Hans had lost their money and his own. His mind was deranged, and probably had been so for a long time. Mary knew that on the male side of the Krog family it was not uncommon for the old people to become weak-minded. But she was horrified that her father should not have exercised any control over affairs. This, too, was a suspicious sign.

He must have been on his way to Mrs. Dawes with this letter when the seizure occurred, for the door had been opened and he lay close to it.

Mary read the letter twice, then turned towards Mrs. Dawes, who sat crying.

"Well, well, Aunt Eva--it has to be borne."

"Borne? borne? What do you mean? The money loss? Who cares for that? But your father! That man of men--my best friend!"

She watched his closed eyes, weeping all the time, and heaping the best of names and the highest of praise on him--in English. The words in the foreign language seemed to belong to an earlier time; Mary knelt by her father, taking them all in. They told of the days which the two old people had spent together. Each a lament, each an expression of gratitude, they recalled his friendly words, his kind looks, his gifts, his forbearance. They flowed abundant and warm, uttered with the fearlessness of a good conscience; for Mrs. Dawes had tried, as far as it lay in her power, to be to him what he was to her. The more precious the words poured forth in her father's honour over Mary's head, the poorer did they make her feel. For she had been so little to him. Oh, how she repented! oh, how she despaired!

Joergen Thiis appeared outside the door just as she was rising to her feet. She stooped again, picked up the letter, and was about to give it to him, when Mrs. Dawes, who had also seen him, asked him to help her to her room; she must go to bed. "God only knows if I shall ever get up again! If this is the end with him, it is the end with me too."

Joergen at once raised the heavy body from the chair and staggered slowly off, supporting it. In Mrs. Dawes's room he rang for a maid; then he went back to Mary. She was standing motionless, holding the letter, which she now handed to him.

He read it carefully and turned pale; for a time he was quite overcome; Mary went a few steps towards him, but this he did not see.

"This has been the cause of the shock," she said.

"Of course," whispered Joergen, without looking at her. Presently he left the room.

Mary remained alone with her father. His sweet, gentle face called to her; she threw herself down beside him again and sobbed. For him whom she loved best she had done least. Perhaps only because he never drew attention to himself?

She did not leave him until the doctor came, and with him the nurse. Then she went to Mrs. Dawes.

Mrs. Dawes was ill and in despair. Mary tried to comfort her, but she interrupted passionately: "I have been too well off. I have felt too secure. Now misfortune is at hand."

Mary started, for the thought had been in her own heart all the time.

"You are losing us both, poor child! And the money too!"

Mary did not like her mentioning the money. Mrs. Dawes felt this and said:

"You don't understand me, my poor child! It is not your fault, it is ours. We gave in to you too much. But you behaved so badly if we did not."

Mary looked up, startled: "I behaved badly?"

"I spoke to your father, child; I spoke to him on the subject often. But he was so tender-hearted; he always found some excuse."

Joergen entered with the doctor.

"If any complication arises, Miss Krog, the worst may happen."

"Will he be paralysed?" asked Mrs. Dawes.

The doctor evaded the question; he merely said: "Quiet is all important."

Silence followed this utterance.

"Miss Krog, I cannot allow you to nurse your father. There ought to be two trained nurses."

Mary said nothing. Mrs. Dawes began to cry again. "This is a sad change of days."

The doctor took leave, and was escorted downstairs by Joergen Thiis. When Joergen returned, he asked softly: "Shall I go too--or can I be of any use?"

"Oh, do not leave us!" wailed Mrs. Dawes.

Joergen looked at Mary, who said nothing; nor did she look up. She was weeping silently.

"You know, Miss Krog," said he respectfully, "that there is no one to whom I would so willingly be of service."

"We know that, we know that!" sobbed Mrs. Dawes.

Mary had raised her head, but, Mrs. Dawes having spoken, she said nothing.

When she left the room soon afterwards, Joergen was just opening his door, which was next to Mary's. He stood for a moment with the door wide open, so that she saw the packed portmanteau behind him. She stopped.

"You are going?" she said.

"Yes," answered he.

"It will be very quiet here now."

Joergen expected more, but no more came. Then he said:

"The shooting season begins immediately. I had intended to ask your father's permission to shoot in his woods."

"If you consider mine sufficient, you have it."

"Thank you, Miss Krog! You will allow me, too, to look in upon you sometimes, I hope?" He took her hand and bowed deeply over it.

Then he went in to take leave of Mrs. Dawes. With her he stayed ten minutes at least, coming out just as Mary was crossing the passage to her father's room.

As she stood by the bed Anders began to move, and opened his eyes. She knelt down. "Father!"

He seemed to be collecting his thoughts; then he tried to speak, but could not. She said quickly: "We know, Father; we know everything. Don't trouble about it! We'll get on beautifully all the same."

Her father's eyes showed that he took in what she said, though slowly. He tried to lift his hand, and, finding that he could not, looked at her with an expression of painful surprise; she lay down close to him, kissed him and wept.

Anders improved, however, with astonishing rapidity. Was it Mary's presence and untiring attention which helped him? The nurse said that it was.

Then came a time when, though still indefatigable in her attention to the two invalids, she learned to manage both house and farm. She took the accounts and the superintendence into her own hands. It was a task she enjoyed, for she had the gift of order and management. Mrs. Dawes was astonished.

No anxiety for the future did Mary display, no regret for the pleasures of the past. To those who pitied her she said that it was indeed sad that her father and Mrs. Dawes were ill, but that except for this she was perfectly contented.

* * * * *

One unusually warm day in the middle of August she had been very busy since early morning, looking forward all the time to a plunge in the sea as soon as her work was done.

Between five and six they ran down, Mary and little Nanna. They both went into the bathing-house, for it was one of Nanna's greatest pleasures to attend to Mary's beautiful hair; to-day it was to hang loose. After taking it down, Nanna ran up to the big stone on the ridge, to keep a look-out on both sides. Mary meant to go into the water with nothing on, that she might enjoy her bath thoroughly.

She swam out at once to the island. From there she could herself see the inlet on both sides and the roads. No one anywhere, no danger--therefore back again!

The sea caressed and upheld her; upon the arms that clove it the sun played; the land in front lay in the repleteness of a rich aftermath; sea-birds rocked on the waves, others screamed in the air above Mary's head. "Imagine that I was afraid of being alone--!" thought she.