Part 6

Then he went up to the Vicarage gate, and tore down Mack’s notice, setting up his own instead. There it was in black and white, setting forth that he, Rolandsen, and no other, was the culprit. And to-morrow would be Sunday; many church-goers would pass by the spot.

X

Rolandsen seemed to be picking up again to a marked degree. After all the village had read his declaration, he kept to himself, and avoided people. This made a good impression; evidently the scapegrace had taken thought, and turned aside from his evil ways. But the fact was that Rolandsen had no time for sauntering idly about the roads now; he was restlessly at work in his room at nights. There were numbers of bottles, large and small, containing samples, that he had to pack up and send away by post east and west. Also, he was at the instrument early and late; it was essential to make the best of his time before he was dismissed.

His scandalous story had also reached the Vicarage, and everyone looked with commiseration upon Jomfru van Loos, whose former lover had turned out so badly. The priest himself called her into his study and talked to her gently for a long time.

Jomfru van Loos was certainly not now disposed to hold Rolandsen to his word; she would go and see him once more, and make an end of it.

She found him looking abject and miserable, but this did not soften her. “Nice things you’ve been doing,” said she.

“I hoped you would come, so I could ask pardon,” he answered.

“Pardon! Well, I never did! Look you here, Ove! I simply don’t know what to make of you. And I’ll have no more to do with you on this earth, so there. I’m not known to folk as a thief nor a rascal, but go my own honest way. And haven’t I warned you faithfully from my heart, and you’ve only gone on as bad as ever? A man already promised and betrothed, going about as a costly jewel to other womenfolk? And then to go stealing people’s money and have to stick up a confession on a gatepost in broad daylight. I’m that shamed I don’t know what to do with myself. Don’t say a word; I know all about you. You’ve nothing to say at all but only harden your heart and shout, Hurray, my boys! And it’s all been true affection on my part, but you’ve been as a very leper towards me, and soiled my life with a disgraceful burglary. You needn’t try to say a word, and only make it worse. Praise be the Lord, there’s not a soul but says the same--how you’ve shamefully deceived me. And the priest himself says I’d better give you up and go away at once, though he’d be sorry to lose me. And it’s no good you standing there trying to hide, Ove, seeing you’re a sinner in the sight of God and man, and only worthy to be cast aside. And if I do call you Ove, after all that’s passed, I don’t mean it a bit, and you needn’t think I’m going to make it up with you, because I’m not, for I won’t have anything to do with you here or hereafter, and never be a friend of yours in all the world. For there’s nobody could have done more for you than I’ve done this long time back, but you’ve only been overflowing with recklessness and never a thought of me, and taking advantage of me early and late. Though I’m sure it’s partly my own fault, and more’s the pity, by reason of being too lenient and overlooking this and that all the time.”

There stood Rolandsen, a wretched creature, with never a word to say for himself. He had never heard Marie van Loos so incoherent as to-day; it showed how his dire misdeed had shaken her. When she stopped speaking, she seemed thoroughly exhausted.

“I’ll turn over a new leaf,” he said.

“You? A new leaf?” Jomfru van Loos laughed bitterly. “What’s done is done, and will be for all your turning. And seeing I’m come of decent folk myself, I’ll not have you smirching my good name. When I say a thing, I mean it. And I tell you now, I’m going away by the post-packet the day after to-morrow; but I’m not going to have you coming down to the quay saying good-bye, and the priest he says the same. I’ll say good-bye to you to-day and once and for all. And thanks for the happy hours we’ve had together--the rest I’ll try to forget.”

She swung round determinedly and walked away. Then she said, “But you can be up in the woods just above, if you like, and wave good-bye from there--not that I care if you do or don’t.”

“You might shake hands,” he said.

“No, I won’t. You know only too well what your right hand doeth.”

Rolandsen stood bowed and downcast. “But aren’t we to write?” he said. “Only just a word or so?”

“I won’t write. Never on earth. You’ve said often enough it was all over between us, and made a joke of it; but now I’m good enough, it seems. But I know better! It’s good-bye for ever, and I wish you joy. I’m going to Bergen, to stay with father, and you know the address if you write. But I won’t ask you to.”

Rolandsen went up the steps to his room with a very clear sensation of being betrothed no longer. “Curious thing,” he thought to himself, “I was standing down there outside a moment ago.”

It was a busy day; he had to pack up the last of his samples ready to go by the post-packet the day after to-morrow; then he had to collect his own belongings and prepare for the moving. The all-powerful Inspector of the Telegraphs was on the way.

Of course he would be summarily dismissed. There was nothing to be said against him in respect of his duties, and Trader Mack, a man of great influence, would doubtless do nothing to harm him, but for all that, justice must be done.

There was grass in the meadows now, and the woods were in leaf; the nights were mild and calm. The bay was deserted, all the fishing-boats were gone, and Mack’s own vessels had sailed away to the southward with their cargoes of herring. It was summer.

The fine days gave good attendance at the church on Sundays; crowds of people came by land and water, and among them a few skippers from Bergen and Haugesund, who had their craft out along the coast, drying split fish on the rocks. They came again year after year, and grew old in the place. They turned up at church in full dress, with bright calico shirts and chains of hair down over their chests; some of them even wore gold earrings, and brightened up the assembly. But the dry weather brought news of a regrettable forest fire farther up the fjords; summer weather was not all for the good.

Enok had entered upon his office, and was lay-helper now in earnestness and all humility, with a kerchief over his ears. The youth of the village found great amusement in the sight, but their elders were inclined to be scandalised at having the choir disgraced by monkey figures of the sort, and sent in a complaint to the priest about it. Could not Enok manage with stuffing wadding in his ears? But Enok explained to the priest that he could not put away the kerchief by reason of the aches and pains that raged tumultuously within. Then it was that ex-Lay-helper Levion set up a malicious laughter at his supplanter Enok, and opined that it was hot enough for most these days without tying kerchiefs round their ears.

Levion, unworthy soul, had, since his downfall, never ceased from persecuting Enok with jealousy and ill-will. Never a night he was out spearing flounder but he must choose his place off Enok’s shore and beach, and spear such flounder as had been nearest Enok’s hand. And if he chanced to need a thole-pin or a bit of wood for a baling scoop, it was always in Enok’s fir-copse close to the water that he sought it. He kept a constant eye on Enok himself.

It was soon noised abroad that Jomfru van Loos had broken off her engagement, and in the depth of that disgrace was leaving the Vicarage at once. Trader Mack felt that Rolandsen, poor fellow, was having trouble enough over the affair, and endeavoured now himself to heal the breach. He took down Rolandsen’s announcement with his own hands from the gatepost, and declared that it was by no wish of his it had been set there at all. Then he went down to the Vicarage. Mack could afford to be tolerant now; he had already marked what a profound impression his generous behaviour in the burglary affair had produced. People greeted him now as respectfully as ever,--even, it seemed, with greater esteem than before. Surely there was but one Mack on all the coast!

But his visit to the Vicarage proved of no avail. Jomfru van Loos was moved even to tears at the thought of Mack’s coming in person, but no one on earth should persuade her now to make it up with Rolandsen, never! Mack gathered that it was the priest who had brought her to such a pitch of determination.

When Jomfru van Loos went down to the boat, her master and mistress saw her off. Both wished her a pleasant journey, and watched her get into the boat.

“Oh, Heaven,” said Jomfru van Loos, “I know he’s up there in the woods this minute and bitterly repenting.” And she took out her handkerchief.

The boat pushed off and glided away under long strokes.

“There he is!” cried Jomfru van Loos, half rising. She looked for a moment as if about to wade ashore. Then she fell to waving with all her might up towards the woods. And the boat disappeared round the point.

Rolandsen went home through the woods as he had taken to doing of late; but coming opposite the Vicarage fence, he moved down on to the road and followed it. Well, now all his samples were sent off, he had nothing to do but await the result. It would not take long. And Rolandsen snapped his fingers from sheer lightness of heart as he walked.

A little farther on sat Olga, the parish clerk’s daughter, on a stone by the roadside. What was she doing there? Rolandsen thought to himself: She must be coming from the store, and waiting for somebody here. A little later came Elise Mack. Oho! were they inseparables now? She too sat down, and seemed to be waiting. Now was the time to delight the ladies by appearing crushed and humbled, a very worm, thought Rolandsen to himself. He turned off hurriedly into the wood. But the dried twigs crackled underfoot; they could hear him. It would be a fruitless attempt, and he gave it up. Might go down the road again, he thought; no need to delight them overmuch. And he walked down along the road.

But it was not so easy after all to face Elise Mack. His heart began to beat heavily, a sudden warmth flowed through him, and he stopped. He had gained nothing that last time, and since then a great misdeed had been added against him. He drew off backward into the wood again. If only he were past this clearing, the dry twigs would come to an end and the heather begin. He took it in a few long strides, and was saved. Suddenly he stopped; what the devil was he hopping about like this for? He, Ove Rolandsen! He turned, and strode defiantly back across the clearing, tramping over dry twigs as loudly as he pleased.

Coming down on to the road again, he saw the ladies still seated in the same place. They were talking, and Elise was digging at the ground with the point of her parasol. Rolandsen halted again. Your dare-devil sort are ever the most cautious. “But I’m a thief,” he said to himself. “How can I have the face to show myself? If I give a greeting, it will be forcing them to recognise me.” And once more he drew back among the trees. What a fool he was, to go about with such feelings--as if he had not other things to think about! A couple of months hence he would be rich, a man of wealth and position. In love? The devil take all such fancies. And he turned his steps towards home.

Were they sitting there still, he wondered. He turned and stole a glance. Frederik had joined them, and here they were all three coming towards him. He hurried back, with his heart in his mouth. If only they had not seen him! They stopped, and he heard Frederik Mack say, “Sh! There’s someone in the wood.”--“Oh, it’s nothing,” answered Elise.

Like as not she said so because she had seen him, thought Rolandsen. And the thought made him cold and bitter all at once. No, of course, he was nothing--nothing as yet. But wait, only two months.... And anyhow, what was she herself? A Virgin Mary cold as iron, daughter of the Lutheran celebrity Mack of Rosengaard. _Bliv i Freden!_

There was a weathercock on the roof of the telegraph station, perched on an iron rod. Rolandsen came home, climbed up to the roof, and bent that iron rod with his own hands, till the cock leaned backward, as if in the act of crowing. Let it stand so; it was only right the cock should crow.

XI

And now sets in a time of easy days for all, no fishing beyond the little for home needs; fishing on warm, sunny nights--a pleasant task, a pastime. Corn and potatoes growing, and meadows waving; herring stored in every shed, and cows and goats milking full pails, and rolling in fat themselves.

Mack and his daughter Elise have gone back home again; Frederik reigns alone over the factory and the store. And Frederik’s rule is none of the best; he is full of his own thoughts of the sea, and hates this life on shore. Captain Henriksen of the coasting steamer has half promised to get him a berth as mate on board his vessel, but it never seems to come to anything. Then comes the question whether old Mack will buy a steamer himself for his son to run. He talks of it, and seems willing enough, but Frederik guesses it is more than he can do. Frederik knows the position pretty well. He is strangely little of a seaman by nature, a cautious and reliable youth, doing just as much of this thing and that as is needed in his daily life. He takes after his mother, and is not altogether the true Mack type. But that is well for one who would get on in the world and succeed; never do too much, but rather a little too little of everything, so it could be reckoned as just enough. Look at Rolandsen, for instance, that extravagant madcap with his wild fancies. A common thief among his fellows, that was what he had come to, and lost his position into the bargain. And there he was, going about with a burdened conscience, wearing his clothes down thinner and thinner, and never so much as a room of his own to live in, saving a bit of a bedroom at Børre the organ-blower’s, and that was humble enough. That was the end of Ove Rolandsen. Børre might be an excellent man in his way, but he was the poorest in the place, and had least herring in his store. And seeing his daughter Pernille was a poor, weakly creature, the organ-blower’s house was never reckoned for much. It was not the place a man of any decent position could choose to live in.

It was said that Rolandsen might have avoided dismissal if only he had behaved with proper contrition towards the visiting Inspector. But Rolandsen had simply taken it for granted that he was to be dismissed, and had given the Inspector no opportunity of pardoning him. And old Mack, the mediator, was not there.

But the priest was not altogether displeased with Rolandsen. “I’ve heard he drinks less than he used to,” he said. “And I should not regard him as altogether lost. He himself admits that it was a letter from me that led him to confess about the burglary. It is encouraging to see one’s work bear fruit now and again.”

Midsummer’s eve came round, and fires were lit on high places, young men and girls from the fisher-huts gathered about the fires, fiddles and concertinas were heard about the village. The best way was to make only the least little fire, but heaps of smoke; damp moss and juniper twigs were flung on the fires to make the smoke properly thick and scented.

Rolandsen was still unabashed enough to take part in the popular festivity; he sat on a big rock thrumming at his guitar, and singing till the valley echoed again. When he came down and joined those about the fire, he was seen to be as drunk as an owl, and overflowing with magnificent speech. The same as ever; an incorrigible.

But then came Olga walking down the road. She had never a thought of stopping here; she was but walking that way and would have passed by. Oh, she might well have gone another way; but Olga was young, and the music of the concertina drew her; her nostrils quivered, a fountain of happiness was in her--she was in love. She had been to the store earlier in the day, and Frederik Mack had said words enough for her to understand, for all he spoke with caution. And now, perhaps he too might be out for a walk this evening!

Fruen came down from the Vicarage; the two walked on together, talking of no other than Frederik Mack. He was the lord of the village, and even Fruen’s heart had bowed to him in secret; he was so nice and careful, and kept to earth at every step. Fruen noticed at last that Olga was overcome with shyness about something, and asked, “But, child, what makes you so quiet? Surely you haven’t fallen in love with this young Mack?”

“Yes,” whispered Olga, bursting into tears.

Fruen stopped, “Olga, Olga! And does he care for you?”

“I think he does.”

And at that Fruen’s eyes grew quiet and stupid-looking again, and gazed emptily into air. “Well, well,” she said, with a smile. “Heaven bless you, child; it will come all right, you see.” And she was kinder than ever to Olga after that.

When they reached the Vicarage, the priest was walking up and down in great excitement. “The woods are on fire,” he cried. “I could see it from the window.” And he got a supply of axes and picks and men, and manned his boat down at the waterside. It was Enok’s copse that was burning.

But ahead of the priest and his party went ex-Lay-helper Levion. Levion had been out seeing to his lines; he had set them as usual just off Enok’s ground, and caught a decent batch. Then on the way back he saw a tiny flame break out in the wood, and grow bigger and bigger. Levion nodded a little to himself, as if he understood what a little flame like that might mean. And then, seeing folk moving busily about round the priest’s boathouse, he understands they have come down to help; he heads his boat round and puts in at once, to be first on the spot. It was beautiful to see him laying aside all enmity at once and hurrying to his rival’s aid.

Levion puts in to shore and moves up at once to the wood; he can hear the roar of the fire already. He takes his time, looking round carefully at every step; presently he spies Enok coming along in the greatest haste. Levion is seized with great excitement; he slips behind an overhanging rock and peers out from cover. Enok comes nearer, moving with a purpose, looking neither right nor left, but coming straight on. Had he discovered his enemy, and was coming to seek him? When he was quite close up, Levion gave a hail. Enok started, and came to a halt. And in his confusion he smiled, and said:

“Here’s a fire, worse luck. There’s trouble abroad.”

The other took courage, and answered, “’Twill be the finger of God, no doubt.”

Enok frowned. “What are you standing about here for?” he asked.

All Levion’s hatred flares up now, and he says, “Ho-ho! ’Twill be over-hot for kerchiefs round the ears now.”

“Get away with you!” says Enok. “Like as not it was you that started the fire.”

But Levion was blind and deaf. Enok seemed to be making towards just that corner of the rock where Levion stood.

“Keep off!” cries Levion. “I’ve torn off one of your ears already--do you want me to take the other?”

“Get away with you, d’you hear?” says Enok, coming closer.

Levion was choking and swallowing with anger. He cried out loud, “Remember that day in the fjord, when I caught you pulling up my lines? I twisted one ear off then....”

And that was why Enok went about with a kerchief round his head; he had but one ear. And both he and Levion had very good reasons for keeping quiet about the matter.

“You’re no better than a murderer, to speak of,” said Enok.

The priest’s boat was heard rushing in to land, and from the other side came the roar of the fire, ever nearer. Enok writhed, and tried again to make Levion retreat; he drew his knife--that excellent knife for cutting things.

Levion rolled his eyes and screamed out, “As sure as you dare come waving knives at me, there’s folk at hand already, and here they come!”

Enok put up his knife again. “What d’you want standing there anyway?” he said. “Get away with you!”

“What are you doing here yourself, anyway?”

“What’s that to you? I’ve an errand here; some things I’ve hidden here. And there’s the fire all close up.”

But Levion stayed defiantly, and would not move an inch. Here was the priest coming up, and he, no doubt, could hear the two in dispute--but what did Levion care for him now?

The boat lay to, and those on board rushed up with axe and pick. The priest gave a brief greeting and a hasty word. “These midsummer bonfires are dangerous, Enok; the sparks fly about all over the place. Where had we better begin?”

Enok was at a loss for the moment; the priest had put him out, and drew him away now, so that he could not deal with Levion further.

“Which way’s the wind?” asked the priest. “Come and show us where to start digging.”

But Enok was desperately ill at ease; he looked round anxiously for Levion, and answered at random.

“Do not give way so,” said the priest. “Pull yourself together, and be a man. We must get the fire under.” And he took Enok by the arm.

Some of the men had already moved forward towards the fire, and were digging across its path. Levion was still in his old place, breathing hard; he kicked at a flat stone that lay in under the rock. “He won’t have hidden anything here,” thought Levion to himself. “It was just a lie.” But he looked down again, and, kicking away some of the earth, he came upon a kerchief. One of Enok’s kerchiefs it was--a quondam bandage for the earache. Levion picked it up; there was something wrapped in it. He unfastened it, and there was money--paper money--notes, and many of them. Furthermore, there was a document, a big white sheet. Levion was full of curiosity. He thought at once, “Stolen money!” And he unfolded the document and began to spell it through.

Then it was that Enok caught sight of him, and gave a hoarse cry; breaking away from the priest, he rushed back towards Levion, knife in hand.

“Enok, Enok!” cried the priest, making after him.

“Here is the thief!” cried Levion, as they came up.

The priest fancied Enok must have gone suddenly demented at sight of the fire. “Put up your knife!” he called out.

Levion went on, “Here’s the burglar that stole Mack’s money.”

“What’s that you say?” asked the priest uncomprehendingly.

Enok makes a dash at his opponent, and tries to snatch the packet away.

“Get out! I’m going to hand it over to the priest,” cries Levion. “And he can see for himself the sort of helper he’s got now.”

Enok staggered to a tree; his face was grey. The priest looks blankly at the paper, the kerchief, and the notes; he can make nothing of it all.

“I found it there,” says Levion, shaking all over. “He’d hidden it under a stone. There’s Mack’s name on the paper, you can see.”

The priest examined it, growing more and more astounded as he read. “This must be the insurance policy Mack said he had lost, surely?”

“And the money he lost as well,” said Levion.

Enok pulled himself together. “Then you must have put it there,” he said.

The roar of the forest fire came nearer, the air was growing hotter and hotter about them, but the three men stood still.

“I know nothing about it,” said Enok again. “It’s just a trick of Levion’s, to do me harm.”

Said Levion, “Here’s two hundred _Daler_. Have I ever had two hundred _Daler_ in my life? And isn’t this your kerchief? Isn’t it one you’ve worn over your ears?”

“Yes, isn’t that so?” seconded the priest.

Enok was silent.

The priest was counting over the notes. “There are not two hundred _Daler_ here,” he said.

“He’s spent some of it, of course,” said Levion.

But Enok stood breathing heavily. “I know nothing about it,” he said. “But as for you, Levion, you see if I don’t remember you for this!”