CHAPTER IV

WAR

The day before Fru Rendalen's letter and Nora's telegram reached "The Estate," Anton Dösen had received a letter from Fürst. It had been well considered before it was written, and evidently was intended to be read aloud or sent the round of the town. In his narration about Tora he laid great stress upon their meeting at Fru Gröndal's. He had only seen her once before, and only in passing; he had not the slightest idea that he should meet her there. She had been entertaining and pleasant, Fru Gröndal had said, until he came, when she became unnatural at once; she could not bear him to speak to Fru Gröndal, she hid herself, and let herself be sought for, and then took it into her head to go away. Of course he followed her, just to see what it was all about. As soon as he came near her on board the boat, she began to cry. She would not let him help her on shore; but all the same, she walked past his house every day, and peeped in to see if he were at home, and then went on to the wood or up to the "Groves"--alone. He recalled certain readings and lectures up at the school; it seemed to him that a girl who had come from an atmosphere so exciting to the senses, would be sure to conduct herself somewhat in that way. He thought that this was "magnetic influence" enough, no more was needed.

He would not deny that at last he had allowed himself to be tempted to follow her into the wood, where she amused herself by playing hide-and-seek with him. Little girls always begin in that way. But he asked if any man, with a regard for himself would marry a girl who went past his windows every day to tempt him out into the woods. Fru Rendalen thought otherwise. She had come after him to Stockholm to arrange the marriage on the spot. It might have proved like her own.

For his part, he had far too high a conception of marriage to attempt to profane it in such a way. He had offered to support the girl, at all events as long as the child remained a burden, and he would acknowledge it as his. Honour and duty compelled him to go thus far, but further---- That would be to patch a bad business with a still worse one.

To this every one to whom Dösen read the letter agreed. He read it in the shop, in the streets, at the club. Some people borrowed the letter from him, and although the paper had been carefully chosen, it was passed about so much that it became an illegible rag. Two copies had been made of it, one for Rendalen, at his request, and one--yes, Dösen hesitated a moment about this one, but after repeated requests he could not refuse--for Tora Holm's mother. He obtained some enjoyment from this copy. Tora's mother was a violent, powerful woman, embittered in the struggle of life. She looked with doubt and scorn upon most circumstances. When angry she was regardless of consequences. One morning, in the middle of school time, she came up to "The Estate" in a heavy, shabby duffel cloak, a bonnet with bright-coloured feathers, and her bare hands in an old muff, with which she gesticulated while she cried and screamed. In the broadest Bergen accent she demanded her daughter--they must give her back her daughter; they had ruined her and stolen her. She was a good girl when she went there, but "up here, in the cursed old Kurt house, she had been ruined. Now, God forgive them for it, she was brought to shame, and made the talk of the town. She, her mother, had been stuffed with lies." But they should pay for it; they should be locked up. She would send the police after them. Her passion was uncontrollable, but her grief was real.

All fled far and wide, so she burst into one of the classes, which at once broke up, the teacher deserting her post. She contrived to break up three classes in this fashion: she made a tremendous turmoil. Some of the girls were so frightened that they rushed right up to the top attic, and stood there shivering, straining their ears and wondering if they dare go down. Some of the elder pupils, who remembered from stories that on such occasions you must show determination, remained behind, and tried to talk her into reason. But at this she became beside herself. This was evidently an example of the way in which they learned to be indecorous up here. It shocked her that "the children of worthy men" should justify such a thing. They had to run away as well, with their fingers in their ears.

But the little ones got the greatest amusement out of her. They surrounded her, and followed her about in triumph. The whole procession swept into the kitchen, where she began the same story. The occupants felt sorry for her, but they did not venture to say a word. So the whole train went off again along the hall, to Rendalen's door, which was fastened, then to Karl Vangen's, which was also fastened, back to Fru Rendalen's, which was open. In they went, she wanted to see if she could not find Rendalen.

Rendalen was in the town, and would not return for an hour. But Karl Vangen came in. He very gravely commanded silence, sent away the children, and took the poor mother into his own room. There she sat for at least an hour, and poured out her heart to him. It was a bewildered tirade, about Tora, about her husband who drank, about their poverty. At last she went away down the avenue, with a hundred kroner in her pocket, weeping quietly.

The school had all the appearance of a hen-house when some one has broken in upon its denizens. Has not every one seen such a sight? At first the hens fly with terrified cries against windows, walls, steps, and roosting-places, till they become tired and confused, and can fly no more. Then they run about the floor with wilder cries than ever, knocking against dishes, troughs, one another. And when the danger is past, the commotion is not--they chatter, lament, scream all at once, in continual commotion. This goes on and increases, for whenever one of them is inclined to stop, some others are more persevering and will not. They recall all the remembrance of their affright, and the whole bevy starts off again worse than before.

Finally, they begin to plume themselves, to flap their wings, and set themselves straight, till at last things return to their original condition. But at the school things did not settle down during the whole day--some effects remained even longer, and threatened to become dangerous.

What spiteful pleasure was shown in the town, what victorious laughter was heard! Nothing else was talked of in the offices, on the quays, in the streets!

When a day or two later Fru Rendalen returned, the landing-place was crowded with people, mostly young men, who had come to meet her. It became known at the school on Saturday that she would arrive by the steamer on Sunday afternoon. No one could find a better use for his leisure time than to see how a great person returns from a defeat.

The scandal, which she had sought to cover by the journey, had now become as great as the journey had been long. When Rendalen came down with the carriage, he could not push his way through, but had to get some one to take charge of it while he tried to get past himself. Nora, Tinka, Anna, and several other friends, who had talked of going down together, stopped when they saw the crowd; thus following the example of St. Peter of old, naturally with the difference demanded by modern days. Little Miss Hall alone defied these dangerous warlike preparations. She slipped along till she reached Rendalen's side, just as he was preparing to go on board. He was very nervous.

Fru Rendalen looked much worn, the glances which she hastily exchanged with Tomas and Miss Hall proved that she understood why the crowd was here, and that she did not feel safe among them. She held her son's arm very fast.

But respect for her--perhaps, now that they were face to face with her, a feeling of compassion also--prevented them from attempting anything. Way was made for them. Of course they could see by words and manner that this was no guard of honour, even some of their older acquaintances were there, such as the Town Bailiff and his wife. They hardly bowed; with the sternness of high morality they watched these evil-doers go by.

Those who had been standing nearest to the quay now made their way towards the carriage, followed by degrees by those whom the three had already passed. The carriage was quite surrounded when they got into it. In consequence of this they had to go slowly, step by step, once more through the crowd, which became more tiresome. They were hardly through before Rendalen whipped up. He was much incensed. At this moment he saw Anton Dösen, with a number of others, hurrying across towards them; they were flushed and had evidently just come from dinner. They all bowed with immense deference; either Dösen's bow was impolite, or it appeared so to Rendalen in his irritation. In an instant he pulled up the horses, threw back the reins to Miss Hall, was out of the carriage and up with Dösen, giving him a box on the ear which made him reel. He was back at the carriage, up and off again so quickly, that no one grasped what had happened before the carriage was rumbling over the cobble stones.

In the hall up at the house stood the three deserters, Tinka, Anna, and Nora. Miss Hall was the first up the steps, and with beaming eyes told them all that had happened; but Fru Rendalen found no pleasure in it. Rendalen, too, disappeared as soon as he had brought his mother up; it was long before he returned, and he was then in low spirits.

The conversation turned exclusively on the dark point in Tora's story, upon which she herself had laid but little stress, hardly ever mentioning it--the meeting at Fru Gröndal's. It had frustrated any attempt made in the town to lay the blame on Niels Fürst. Fru Gröndal had supported Fürst's assertions in the most minute particulars.

Tora Holm had been furiously in love with him, she returned to the town merely to get Fürst to accompany her.

Fru Rendalen could assure them that the only thing which Tora had been "furious" about was the confidential terms which Fru Gröndal and Fürst were upon. This had put her out all the more perhaps, because she was beginning to feel an interest in him. She understood this later. They all agreed to let Tora herself relate the circumstances. Tinka wrote to her the same evening.

Rendalen had joined them during this discussion, and now the events of the journey were related and all about Tora. Fru Rendalen was giving them her reading of Tora as she now knew her, and the others were deeply engrossed in it, when Karl Vangen interrupted them; he came in from church. The meeting between him and his adoptive mother was more than usually warm, she went into his room with him. She did not return.

The one whom Tora's misfortune had struck the hardest was Karl Vangen, but no one knew this except Fru Rendalen.

He had gone quietly on from day to day, the happiest man in the world. Whenever he met Tora she was evidently pleased, though he never never ventured to construe this into a sign that she loved him--far from it; but _he_ loved her, and thought that if Fru Rendalen would ever help him, the pliable Tora might be brought to share in some of his interests. If she came to do that, perhaps she might perceive his great affection for her; perhaps she might then feel that he would be able to do something to make her happy too. Fru Rendalen had often enough heard him talk to Tora and about Tora, but had suspected nothing till the morning when she told him what had happened. She saw him change colour and remain silent instead of expressing sorrow or offering help; but even then she was not certain, beside which she was much absorbed in her new relations with Tomas. Still she had a dim suspicion of the truth. But when the money which she had reckoned on for the journey could not be obtained, and Karl took her into his own room and offered her his savings and a small sum which he had inherited--then, as he looked into her eyes, she understood it all. He could not keep silence any longer, he held out his arms---- "Yes, that is how it is, mother."

"My Dear Nora,

"I do not know what you can think of me for not writing, but your last letter so upset me on account of our dear Tora that I really did not know what to write. How at a loss, how helpless, one feels at such a time, dear Nora! And, let me add at once, how ashamed. To think that such a thing could happen to any one with whom we have associated! I shall never forget what my father said the first time he saw her. I was very angry at it then, we thought so highly of one another. Are you quite certain, dear Nora, that everything was exactly as Tora has said? You know she was never very exact, and, especially in such a case, it seems to me that a person is almost obliged afterwards to put a different colour on it. Do you not think the same? I will not repeat what I have heard, it may be a mistake too; but you know yourself, dear Nora, that she never was particular. Do you remember that once or twice you had to check her when she was telling us stories. You see, she had been in France; she knew a great deal more than we others. When I recall what she has told me at different times, I feel that it amounted to a great deal. May not some of this have affected her disposition? Of course, I do not say this as a reproach, least of all could I do so now when she is unhappy, but perhaps this may explain a few things. I am terribly sorry for her, and you would do me a service if you could tell me any way in which I could be of use to her without offending or embarrassing her. I will not answer dear Tinka this time, give her my best love, and say that the expression in her last letter, 'Tora's greatest friend,' is not a true one, at least from my side. It might have appeared so at one time, I do not deny it; but that was quite and entirely Tora's fault. Not that she forced herself upon me, it would be wrong to say so, but it was impossible, when in her society, not to go too far. I was obliged to make more of it than I wished, and this to the last hour of the last day.

"Do you know, I had not been three days alone before I began to have a feeling of dislike for her. Perhaps that was bad of me.

"Her influence over me lasted beyond the time when we parted. I did not understand that at once, but I have a proof lying before me--the letter you kindly returned to me; that one in which hurriedly scribbled down something about my impressions of Sofiero. I shall keep it, that shall be my punishment. I have just read it through again. You unfortunately have read it also (a thing I shall never forgive myself for): could you conceive any letter of mine more unlike me?

"I don't know why, but I see Tora through the whole thing. I can't explain it. I have never been able to write to her since. Here, where everything is more formal, and where there is no room for sentimental confidence, it offends the taste even to be reminded of such a thing. It would almost be like going out before one was _coiffée_ and without one's dress. Perhaps I am too severe, the blame for being so must fall on the tone of conversation at home. I am so often reminded of that unfortunate girl by some Germans here; they are very like her, though she was the worst I have ever met.

"Yet how clever she was! I never have a new dress, or study a pattern, or indeed see any new fashion which interests me, without remembering her. Could she not become a milliner? If I could do anything to help her in that direction, it would be a pleasure to me, otherwise what is she to do? I really am dreadfully sorry for her.

"I have lots to tell you, I see something fresh nearly every day; but this affair of Tora has put me in such a _triste_ state of mind that I do not feel inclined to begin anything more cheerful. Poor Tora! You must give her my love, but don't say anything about what I have written to you in confidence, it would wound her without doing good to any of us. Fate has raised a dividing wall between us, so there is no need. Give my love to Tinka, Fru Rendalen, and all who ask after your affectionate, and, in other respects, very happy,

"Milla Engel."

VII

THE FIGHT ITSELF