CHAPTER IVTHEday before the inquiry, Norby was in his office all day, arranging his papers, making notes, and preparing his answers to the questions he would probably be asked the next day. He no longer felt that it was he who accused Wangen, but on the contrary he thought it was he who had to make the defence.The grey light of a snowy day fell upon the table and his papers, and upon the old man as he stood with his spectacles far down upon his nose, and passed his defences in review. He was tired of going about collecting counter-evidence and taking declarations; but now he was well armed, and was only impatient to begin.A slight smile came over the old man’s face as he looked at a paper that he held carefully as if it were something precious. It was precious too. It was a declaration from Jörgen Haarstad’s bed-ridden widow; and it would completely confound the evidence that Sören Kvikne was going to give. This was amusing, because Herlufsen would be disappointed. The old man was looking forward withintense pleasure to the moment when he should read the declaration aloud in court, perhaps with Herlufsen sitting there and listening to it. There was no doubt that poor Sören had simply been bribed to give evidence as to his having heard this remark of Jörgen Haarstad’s. That was the kind of means these people used; it was really beyond a joke.The old man began to pace the floor, sighing now and again. He was pale; of late he had been unable to think of anything but of how he could be even with his enemies. He had as it were passed by the actual heart of the matter in a railway train; and it now lay so far behind in mist, that there were far more important things to be thought of. It was clear, too, that it was not justice that his enemies were so anxious for. No; what they were striving to do was to injure him and knock him down.At one time that scene at the hotel had stood very distinctly before him; but Wangen’s assertion that it took place in the Grand Café had taken the sting out of the recollection. “Oh,” thought Norby. “So it was at the Grand? Very well! Perhaps he’s right. But then it’s all the more certain that it’s a lie. I’ve never in my life signed any document at the Grand. If any paper was signed there with my name, then it’s a forgery!” Although these thoughts did not always bring satisfaction, it was nevertheless a relief to let them out. And there was so much besides to indicate that Wangen’s hands were not clean; there were thousands ofother things to think about and be incensed over, and the old man had now so often expressed himself regarding the affair, that to remember his assertions was the same as remembering the reality.He was still standing rummaging among his papers, when the door opened and Marit entered.“Didn’t I hear you talking at the telephone?” asked the old man, looking over his spectacles.“Einar’s coming home to-day,” she said. “He has asked to be met at the station with a sledge.”The old man put his hands behind his back and his legs astride, and looked at her over his spectacles.“What do you say?” he exclaimed. “Einar coming home now? He must have plenty of time, that gentleman. He must be thinking of becoming a perpetual student!”“You are so hot-tempered,” said Marit. “You’re generally glad to have the boy come home.”He did not answer, but again began to rummage among his papers. Was the boy going to interfere in earnest in this affair? He felt as if an enemy had suddenly stabbed him in the back. Einar? He’d better try, that’s all.“If only he doesn’t first go and talk to his mother about it,” thought the old man. “But that wouldn’t be like him.”He hung about, however, on the watch to be the first to meet his son at the house.When Einar alighted at the station, he found Ingeborg waiting with horse and sledge.The mocking voice had at last forced Einar’s courage up; and when he finally determined to go home, he felt as if he had burnt his ships behind him. He would put this matter right, and first of all he would try to bring his father to reason; but all the time he felt as if he were going up for an examination.When he saw the old brown horse, the familiar double sledge and fur rug, a warm feeling seemed to come to him from home; and as he sat beside his sister, driving homewards amid the jingle of the sledge-bells, he was imperceptibly filled with the childlike happiness of going home. But these were the feelings that Einar had had to overcome before he came to his determination; and he was therefore on guard against them, for on this occasion they were a danger.Ingeborg had met him at Christmas with the same horse, and this brought a host of bright, pleasant recollections into his mind. He thought of the ball they had given, remembered the doctor’s daughter, who looked so pretty that evening, saw her eyes. His father and mother had done everything to make them enjoy themselves. And now? Now he had a feeling that he was coming home as a traitor in disguise.“Why have you come so suddenly?” asked Ingeborg.“To be here at the inquiry,” he answered. “I want to see how it will turn out.”“Oh, you can be quite sure that father’s all right,” she said with warm conviction. Einar found himself wishing it might be so, and had to say hastily to himself: “Take care that your good feelings don’t weaken your purpose.”“Poor father,” said Ingeborg. “You can’t think what stories people are telling about him now. That Wangen must be a dreadful man!”Her eyes shone with confidence in her father, and Einar felt the infection.“How are they all at home?” he asked, in order to change the subject.“Little Knut has not been very well,” answered Ingeborg, “but he is better now.” At these words, Einar seemed to see the little fatherless boy looking at him and asking: “Are you really going to be unkind to grandfather?”A little later Ingeborg told him that a young horse had been found dead in its stable the morning before. Einar felt for his father’s loss, and seemed to be standing at his side and looking at the stable where the horses were stamping. And he thought how the beautiful creatures would turn their heads in their stalls and whinny their recognition of him, as if they too would say: “Are you really going to!” For he kept in mind all the time that he would have to go through it all.As they turned up the avenue and approached the house, he asked himself again: “Am I really going to?” It began to seem dreadful.When they turned into the yard, their father and mother stood upon the steps, as they always did when he came home.“How do you do, father? How do you do, mother?” he cried; but the words sounded like treachery to-day.“Come into my office; I want to tell you something,” said his father, when Einar had taken off his coat in the passage.“But you must come in soon and have something to eat,” said his mother. “It’s all ready.”When they entered the office, Norby turned round at the writing-table, and said, with his hands behind his back and his legs astride:“I only want to tell you that your mother knows nothing about your letter.”Einar inclined his head, and the old man continued:“And if that’s what you’ve come home about, you’ll have to keep to me.”“Very well, father.”“So that is what you’ve come for?”“Yes, father,” said Einar in a low voice.The old man compressed his lips, but he moved towards the door, saying: “Well, let’s first go in and have dinner.” Einar followed in a shamefaced way, as if he were a naughty boy. He was old enough to see his father’s faults, but he had a very great respect for him.“Then mother knows nothing,” he thought.“And if father is so afraid of its coming to her ears——” He dared not think it out.The old man was quiet, almost cheerful, during dinner; but Einar noticed how pale he was. His mother seemed to have grown greyer lately, and he felt an involuntary desire to spare her; she had such complete faith in their cause.He felt more and more drawn into the home atmosphere. He asked for news from the district, and had to tell his news from town. He had his old place at table, and was the son just returned home, to whom every one showed the most friendly face. Little Knut came creeping under the table several times, and up between his knees. Everything combined to draw him into something beautiful and soft, where he felt he must surrender; but all the time a good instinct seemed to be shaking him. “Take care!” it said, “take care! Don’t let your good feelings play you a trick!”“Now, little Knut,” said the little boy’s mother, “you mustn’t worry uncle.”It sometimes happens that we suddenly receive a new impression of a person, as if he had in a moment changed his identity. Up to the present Einar had looked upon his father as the man who was unjustly accusing Wangen, and whom he was ready to oppose; but before he was aware of it, this same father was he who had been laid up last winter with typhoid fever, and was perhaps not quite recovered from it yet.On the way home, Ingeborg had told him of all the false accusations that Wangen was spreading about their father; and now Einar too felt his anger rising, and at the same time a desire to take his father’s part. As the atmosphere of home gradually brought out the feeling of being son of the house, he felt an increasing shame of his intention to betray his father, his own family. Here they were all sitting round him without a suspicion of the true object of his journey. He felt like a tyrant who was going to make use of his power of bringing, with a single word, misfortune upon them all.After dinner he felt inclined to sit down and chat with his mother and little Knut; but his father, calling to him to come, went towards the door.“God help me!” thought Einar. “Now it’s coming.” His purpose was already so weakened, that he heartily wished himself back in town. Little Knut wanted to go with him, but Einar loosened the clasp of his hands about his knees, saying: “I’ll soon be back, Knut.”In the office the old man sat down in his customary place at the writing-table; and Einar could not help admiring the tranquillity with which his father slowly and deliberately filled his pipe.“Won’t you sit down?” said the old man, carefully lighting his long pipe, and then calmly lying down upon the leather sofa. Einar sat down a little way off.“Are you in want of money?” asked the old man,raising his eyelids just far enough to be able to look at his son.Einar felt slightly irritated at this question being put just now, and answered quickly: “No, thank you!”The old man himself was a little embarrassed; for he had a secret respect for this son, who knew so much, and in a way was of a finer metal than himself. He would treat him as well as he possibly could.“What was that nonsense you wrote in your last letter?” he said at last, once more raising his eyes.Einar rose involuntarily. A voice within him seemed to say: “Be brave!” He began a little hesitatingly:“I didn’t mean any harm, father; and I still seem to remember that day you came up to my room and told me about the guarantee.”The old man laughed a little, and pressed down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe with his fore-finger. “My dear boy,” he said at last, putting on a merry look, “you’ve dreamt that.”“No, father,” said Einar, in rather an injured tone: “I’m not a child. It’s my firm conviction that you’re mistaken in this matter. It’s quite possible you’ve forgotten it. And I want to ask you to take back your accusation, for I suppose there’s still time, and of course I know that you wouldn’t do anything that was wrong.”“Are you taking leave of your senses, man?”exclaimed the old man, taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking at his son in astonishment, although he laughed again.Einar bowed slightly, and said, “I mean no harm, father.”“Yes, you mean no harm,” said the old man, trying again to laugh, “but do you quite know what it is that you’re accusing me of?” And the astonishment with which he now looked at his son was more serious.Einar put his hands behind his back, and leant against the wall. He had become more courageous, and all the time he heard the good voice saying: “Take care!”“Can’t you remember that day, father, when you came up to my room and——”His father interrupted him with another laugh.“No, Einar; you can’t expect me to remember what you dream.”For a moment Einar felt perplexed. He had expected to be loaded with abuse; but this kindness and this cool assurance began to disarm him. He passed his hand across his forehead, and looked before him a little helplessly. Had he dreamt it? Was it really nonsense he was talking?And though for his part the old man laughed, he thought to himself: “I wonder whether some one or other has been taking the boy in! It would be just like them!”But now Einar raised his head.“No, father,” he said, “I’m not making a mistake; for you haven’t put your name to any other papers for Wangen, have you?”“Ha! ha! ha! No indeed, thank goodness!”“Well, father, then you must take back your accusation, for Wangen is innocent!”There was a pause.“Take back my accusation?” The old man sat up, and passed his hand over the crown of his head, looking straight in front of him, and putting bits of his beard into his mouth. At length he said, with stony gaiety: “Oh no, Einar! It’s you who are talking nonsense. So I propose that you go back to town again, and set to work upon things that you understand better than you do this matter.” Saying which he rose, and took a step towards the table. Einar had noticed an alteration in his father’s voice, which indicated storm.“Well?” said the old man, turning round. “You stand there like a parson in the pulpit!”“Once more, father, take back your accusation! Do, father!”“You’re quite sure your father’s a scoundrel?”“It’s only that you don’t remember, father!”“Now seriously, Einar, what have you come home for?” His father looked actually curious, and Einar felt angry at not being taken seriously. So he said as forcibly as he could:“I’ve come home, father, to prevent you doing something you will repent of.”“Don’t you think, Einar,” his voice sounded a little pained, “that I’ve got enough with half the parish down upon me? There are numbers of them only trying to get me locked up. And now you come too! Aren’t you ashamed?”Einar’s head sank. “Father—but—.” His knees began to give away under him; but unwittingly his father came to his aid?“Who has persuaded you to do this, Einar?”“Who?” Einar looked up suddenly, bit his lip and took a step forward. His voice trembled with anger as he said: “What do you mean by that, father?”The old man could not help laughing at the lad’s imperiousness. “I believe you mean to go to the inquiry and give evidence against your father!” he said, and laughed again.“If you take back your accusation, father, I shan’t have to.” Would his father take him seriously now?A deep flush overspread the old man’s face. He attempted to laugh, to gnaw his beard, to pass his hand over the crown of his head, to sit down; but he did none of these things. He rushed at Einar, took him by the collar, and said laughing, but at the same time grinding his teeth: “Go! Go! And you shall go back to town this very day, or else—heaven help you!”He drew back a couple of steps, as if afraid of being tempted to strike him. “Ha, ha! Indeed!”And he suddenly began to measure him from top to toe. He had only just become aware that the young man who stood there was no boy whom he could laugh at or thrash. It was his own son, who had suddenly grown up, and now stood up as his opponent—he too!“Willyou go?”“Take back your accusation, father.”This was too much. The old man seized a chair, lifted it up and cried: “Be off with you! Go, do you hear? Will you leave the room at once? Be off, do you hear? Go, Einar!”“Yes, I’m going!” said Einar, raising his head. He was so angry that he would have liked to take the chair away from his father and show him that he was too old now to let himself be struck. “But let me tell you,” he continued, “that you’ll have to leave off treating me in that way. Good-bye!” And so saying, he slowly left the room.As evening fell, Norby drove out. After supper, Einar felt a longing to confide everything to his mother, but he did not dare. What should he do in the morning? Should he flee from the affair? It seemed doubly hard now that he had staked so much upon it. He went early to bed, for he was afraid of the influences that hovered about the rooms downstairs and the people there; they all seemed to tempt him to surrender.In his little room, the birch-wood crackled in the stove, and diffused the familiar odour of which hewas so fond. A metal candlestick shone in the light from the stove, and in it stood a candle of his mother’s own moulding. He had fled from the good impressions in the downstairs rooms, and had run straight into the new ones here, that quite folded him in their embrace. The sheets on the bed, the clean curtains at the window, the recollections of all the nights he had spent here in his holidays—everything asked: “Are you really going to?”“I shall never be able to do it,” he thought, as he lay in his comfortable bed, wrapped up in his mother’s sheets and blankets. It was very different from what he was accustomed to in the boarding-house in town. “But suppose sentence is passed on Wangen, and I might have saved him! God help me! I should never have another happy day.”During the night Ingeborg was awakened by Einar’s coming into her room with a candle in his hand.“What’s the matter?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.“Hush!” he said, for there was only a thin match-boarding between her room and the one in which her parents slept.“There’s something I must tell you, Ingeborg.” And he seated himself upon the edge of her bed with the light in his hand. At first it dazzled her, but she soon grew accustomed to it. These two had always been one another’s confidants, for Ingeborg was the nearest to her brother in age.He spoke almost in a whisper, and she listened to him with wide-open, frightened eyes, and her breath coming quicker and quicker. She made excuses, she seized his hand convulsively, and said: “Don’t say any more, Einar! You must be mad!” But she took his hand again. She wanted to hear all his reasons, and he told her them, because he needed to have some one on his side. At length she closed her eyes as if she did not dare to look up; she breathed still more heavily; something seemed to have given way within her.When at last he left her, she lay still with her eyes closed. She began to be afraid because it was so dismally dark, and it was such a long time to morning.She tossed about in her bed and could not sleep, owing to an indefinable terror. A criminal had found his way into the house, he was sleeping under the same roof; and this criminal was—he was her——No, no, it was not true! It could not be true!“O God, help me! Help me!” she sobbed out in passionate ecstasy. “Help me! Give me a sign that it is not true!” But she suddenly noticed that it seemed as if God were gone. It was the first time this had happened since her conversion. What was it! Why did she not go on praying, instead of lying, her eyes gazing terror-stricken into the darkness. Was there no God? Had it all been a delusion? She had prayed that this affair mightturn out well for her father. She had thanked God for his innocence, and felt a comfort in thanking Him. She had also prayed for Wangen; she had won this victory over herself and had felt a pleasure in it. And was it all a delusion? Had God made fun of her? Or did He not exist? Was that a delusion too? Was this comfort to her soul in being in fellowship with Him, this pleasure in doing good, also delusion, delusion, delusion?She tossed about in her bed, weeping convulsively. If her father were guilty, then there was no God. It was all a delusion, a delusion!“O God, give me a sign that Thou art! Give me peace! Is my father a bad man, who will give false evidence to-morrow? My father? O God, give me a sign! Help me if there be a God! For Christ’s sake, give me a sign!”At last she knelt in her bed, stretching out her clasped hands.Towards morning Einar was greatly astonished to see Ingeborg come creeping into his room. She took his face between her hands, and said in a voice that trembled with joy:“I must tell you at once. You’ve made a mistake, and thank God for it!” She involuntarily laid her hand upon her breast.He lighted the candle and looked questioningly at her. Her eyes were positively shining with joy.“Yes, Einar, God has given me a sign. You’ve made a mistake, and I was sure you had. And nowyou must go and ask father’s pardon.” She stroked his forehead with her hand, and disappeared noiselessly.“Poor Ingeborg!” thought Einar. This young girl, whose hair sorrow had turned grey—this nun, who lived always with her thoughts on the other side of the grave—would it not crush her, too, if to-morrow he——?“Remember, Einar, whatever you do, don’t take any family considerations!”
THEday before the inquiry, Norby was in his office all day, arranging his papers, making notes, and preparing his answers to the questions he would probably be asked the next day. He no longer felt that it was he who accused Wangen, but on the contrary he thought it was he who had to make the defence.
The grey light of a snowy day fell upon the table and his papers, and upon the old man as he stood with his spectacles far down upon his nose, and passed his defences in review. He was tired of going about collecting counter-evidence and taking declarations; but now he was well armed, and was only impatient to begin.
A slight smile came over the old man’s face as he looked at a paper that he held carefully as if it were something precious. It was precious too. It was a declaration from Jörgen Haarstad’s bed-ridden widow; and it would completely confound the evidence that Sören Kvikne was going to give. This was amusing, because Herlufsen would be disappointed. The old man was looking forward withintense pleasure to the moment when he should read the declaration aloud in court, perhaps with Herlufsen sitting there and listening to it. There was no doubt that poor Sören had simply been bribed to give evidence as to his having heard this remark of Jörgen Haarstad’s. That was the kind of means these people used; it was really beyond a joke.
The old man began to pace the floor, sighing now and again. He was pale; of late he had been unable to think of anything but of how he could be even with his enemies. He had as it were passed by the actual heart of the matter in a railway train; and it now lay so far behind in mist, that there were far more important things to be thought of. It was clear, too, that it was not justice that his enemies were so anxious for. No; what they were striving to do was to injure him and knock him down.
At one time that scene at the hotel had stood very distinctly before him; but Wangen’s assertion that it took place in the Grand Café had taken the sting out of the recollection. “Oh,” thought Norby. “So it was at the Grand? Very well! Perhaps he’s right. But then it’s all the more certain that it’s a lie. I’ve never in my life signed any document at the Grand. If any paper was signed there with my name, then it’s a forgery!” Although these thoughts did not always bring satisfaction, it was nevertheless a relief to let them out. And there was so much besides to indicate that Wangen’s hands were not clean; there were thousands ofother things to think about and be incensed over, and the old man had now so often expressed himself regarding the affair, that to remember his assertions was the same as remembering the reality.
He was still standing rummaging among his papers, when the door opened and Marit entered.
“Didn’t I hear you talking at the telephone?” asked the old man, looking over his spectacles.
“Einar’s coming home to-day,” she said. “He has asked to be met at the station with a sledge.”
The old man put his hands behind his back and his legs astride, and looked at her over his spectacles.
“What do you say?” he exclaimed. “Einar coming home now? He must have plenty of time, that gentleman. He must be thinking of becoming a perpetual student!”
“You are so hot-tempered,” said Marit. “You’re generally glad to have the boy come home.”
He did not answer, but again began to rummage among his papers. Was the boy going to interfere in earnest in this affair? He felt as if an enemy had suddenly stabbed him in the back. Einar? He’d better try, that’s all.
“If only he doesn’t first go and talk to his mother about it,” thought the old man. “But that wouldn’t be like him.”
He hung about, however, on the watch to be the first to meet his son at the house.
When Einar alighted at the station, he found Ingeborg waiting with horse and sledge.
The mocking voice had at last forced Einar’s courage up; and when he finally determined to go home, he felt as if he had burnt his ships behind him. He would put this matter right, and first of all he would try to bring his father to reason; but all the time he felt as if he were going up for an examination.
When he saw the old brown horse, the familiar double sledge and fur rug, a warm feeling seemed to come to him from home; and as he sat beside his sister, driving homewards amid the jingle of the sledge-bells, he was imperceptibly filled with the childlike happiness of going home. But these were the feelings that Einar had had to overcome before he came to his determination; and he was therefore on guard against them, for on this occasion they were a danger.
Ingeborg had met him at Christmas with the same horse, and this brought a host of bright, pleasant recollections into his mind. He thought of the ball they had given, remembered the doctor’s daughter, who looked so pretty that evening, saw her eyes. His father and mother had done everything to make them enjoy themselves. And now? Now he had a feeling that he was coming home as a traitor in disguise.
“Why have you come so suddenly?” asked Ingeborg.
“To be here at the inquiry,” he answered. “I want to see how it will turn out.”
“Oh, you can be quite sure that father’s all right,” she said with warm conviction. Einar found himself wishing it might be so, and had to say hastily to himself: “Take care that your good feelings don’t weaken your purpose.”
“Poor father,” said Ingeborg. “You can’t think what stories people are telling about him now. That Wangen must be a dreadful man!”
Her eyes shone with confidence in her father, and Einar felt the infection.
“How are they all at home?” he asked, in order to change the subject.
“Little Knut has not been very well,” answered Ingeborg, “but he is better now.” At these words, Einar seemed to see the little fatherless boy looking at him and asking: “Are you really going to be unkind to grandfather?”
A little later Ingeborg told him that a young horse had been found dead in its stable the morning before. Einar felt for his father’s loss, and seemed to be standing at his side and looking at the stable where the horses were stamping. And he thought how the beautiful creatures would turn their heads in their stalls and whinny their recognition of him, as if they too would say: “Are you really going to!” For he kept in mind all the time that he would have to go through it all.
As they turned up the avenue and approached the house, he asked himself again: “Am I really going to?” It began to seem dreadful.
When they turned into the yard, their father and mother stood upon the steps, as they always did when he came home.
“How do you do, father? How do you do, mother?” he cried; but the words sounded like treachery to-day.
“Come into my office; I want to tell you something,” said his father, when Einar had taken off his coat in the passage.
“But you must come in soon and have something to eat,” said his mother. “It’s all ready.”
When they entered the office, Norby turned round at the writing-table, and said, with his hands behind his back and his legs astride:
“I only want to tell you that your mother knows nothing about your letter.”
Einar inclined his head, and the old man continued:
“And if that’s what you’ve come home about, you’ll have to keep to me.”
“Very well, father.”
“So that is what you’ve come for?”
“Yes, father,” said Einar in a low voice.
The old man compressed his lips, but he moved towards the door, saying: “Well, let’s first go in and have dinner.” Einar followed in a shamefaced way, as if he were a naughty boy. He was old enough to see his father’s faults, but he had a very great respect for him.
“Then mother knows nothing,” he thought.“And if father is so afraid of its coming to her ears——” He dared not think it out.
The old man was quiet, almost cheerful, during dinner; but Einar noticed how pale he was. His mother seemed to have grown greyer lately, and he felt an involuntary desire to spare her; she had such complete faith in their cause.
He felt more and more drawn into the home atmosphere. He asked for news from the district, and had to tell his news from town. He had his old place at table, and was the son just returned home, to whom every one showed the most friendly face. Little Knut came creeping under the table several times, and up between his knees. Everything combined to draw him into something beautiful and soft, where he felt he must surrender; but all the time a good instinct seemed to be shaking him. “Take care!” it said, “take care! Don’t let your good feelings play you a trick!”
“Now, little Knut,” said the little boy’s mother, “you mustn’t worry uncle.”
It sometimes happens that we suddenly receive a new impression of a person, as if he had in a moment changed his identity. Up to the present Einar had looked upon his father as the man who was unjustly accusing Wangen, and whom he was ready to oppose; but before he was aware of it, this same father was he who had been laid up last winter with typhoid fever, and was perhaps not quite recovered from it yet.
On the way home, Ingeborg had told him of all the false accusations that Wangen was spreading about their father; and now Einar too felt his anger rising, and at the same time a desire to take his father’s part. As the atmosphere of home gradually brought out the feeling of being son of the house, he felt an increasing shame of his intention to betray his father, his own family. Here they were all sitting round him without a suspicion of the true object of his journey. He felt like a tyrant who was going to make use of his power of bringing, with a single word, misfortune upon them all.
After dinner he felt inclined to sit down and chat with his mother and little Knut; but his father, calling to him to come, went towards the door.
“God help me!” thought Einar. “Now it’s coming.” His purpose was already so weakened, that he heartily wished himself back in town. Little Knut wanted to go with him, but Einar loosened the clasp of his hands about his knees, saying: “I’ll soon be back, Knut.”
In the office the old man sat down in his customary place at the writing-table; and Einar could not help admiring the tranquillity with which his father slowly and deliberately filled his pipe.
“Won’t you sit down?” said the old man, carefully lighting his long pipe, and then calmly lying down upon the leather sofa. Einar sat down a little way off.
“Are you in want of money?” asked the old man,raising his eyelids just far enough to be able to look at his son.
Einar felt slightly irritated at this question being put just now, and answered quickly: “No, thank you!”
The old man himself was a little embarrassed; for he had a secret respect for this son, who knew so much, and in a way was of a finer metal than himself. He would treat him as well as he possibly could.
“What was that nonsense you wrote in your last letter?” he said at last, once more raising his eyes.
Einar rose involuntarily. A voice within him seemed to say: “Be brave!” He began a little hesitatingly:
“I didn’t mean any harm, father; and I still seem to remember that day you came up to my room and told me about the guarantee.”
The old man laughed a little, and pressed down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe with his fore-finger. “My dear boy,” he said at last, putting on a merry look, “you’ve dreamt that.”
“No, father,” said Einar, in rather an injured tone: “I’m not a child. It’s my firm conviction that you’re mistaken in this matter. It’s quite possible you’ve forgotten it. And I want to ask you to take back your accusation, for I suppose there’s still time, and of course I know that you wouldn’t do anything that was wrong.”
“Are you taking leave of your senses, man?”exclaimed the old man, taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking at his son in astonishment, although he laughed again.
Einar bowed slightly, and said, “I mean no harm, father.”
“Yes, you mean no harm,” said the old man, trying again to laugh, “but do you quite know what it is that you’re accusing me of?” And the astonishment with which he now looked at his son was more serious.
Einar put his hands behind his back, and leant against the wall. He had become more courageous, and all the time he heard the good voice saying: “Take care!”
“Can’t you remember that day, father, when you came up to my room and——”
His father interrupted him with another laugh.
“No, Einar; you can’t expect me to remember what you dream.”
For a moment Einar felt perplexed. He had expected to be loaded with abuse; but this kindness and this cool assurance began to disarm him. He passed his hand across his forehead, and looked before him a little helplessly. Had he dreamt it? Was it really nonsense he was talking?
And though for his part the old man laughed, he thought to himself: “I wonder whether some one or other has been taking the boy in! It would be just like them!”
But now Einar raised his head.
“No, father,” he said, “I’m not making a mistake; for you haven’t put your name to any other papers for Wangen, have you?”
“Ha! ha! ha! No indeed, thank goodness!”
“Well, father, then you must take back your accusation, for Wangen is innocent!”
There was a pause.
“Take back my accusation?” The old man sat up, and passed his hand over the crown of his head, looking straight in front of him, and putting bits of his beard into his mouth. At length he said, with stony gaiety: “Oh no, Einar! It’s you who are talking nonsense. So I propose that you go back to town again, and set to work upon things that you understand better than you do this matter.” Saying which he rose, and took a step towards the table. Einar had noticed an alteration in his father’s voice, which indicated storm.
“Well?” said the old man, turning round. “You stand there like a parson in the pulpit!”
“Once more, father, take back your accusation! Do, father!”
“You’re quite sure your father’s a scoundrel?”
“It’s only that you don’t remember, father!”
“Now seriously, Einar, what have you come home for?” His father looked actually curious, and Einar felt angry at not being taken seriously. So he said as forcibly as he could:
“I’ve come home, father, to prevent you doing something you will repent of.”
“Don’t you think, Einar,” his voice sounded a little pained, “that I’ve got enough with half the parish down upon me? There are numbers of them only trying to get me locked up. And now you come too! Aren’t you ashamed?”
Einar’s head sank. “Father—but—.” His knees began to give away under him; but unwittingly his father came to his aid?
“Who has persuaded you to do this, Einar?”
“Who?” Einar looked up suddenly, bit his lip and took a step forward. His voice trembled with anger as he said: “What do you mean by that, father?”
The old man could not help laughing at the lad’s imperiousness. “I believe you mean to go to the inquiry and give evidence against your father!” he said, and laughed again.
“If you take back your accusation, father, I shan’t have to.” Would his father take him seriously now?
A deep flush overspread the old man’s face. He attempted to laugh, to gnaw his beard, to pass his hand over the crown of his head, to sit down; but he did none of these things. He rushed at Einar, took him by the collar, and said laughing, but at the same time grinding his teeth: “Go! Go! And you shall go back to town this very day, or else—heaven help you!”
He drew back a couple of steps, as if afraid of being tempted to strike him. “Ha, ha! Indeed!”And he suddenly began to measure him from top to toe. He had only just become aware that the young man who stood there was no boy whom he could laugh at or thrash. It was his own son, who had suddenly grown up, and now stood up as his opponent—he too!
“Willyou go?”
“Take back your accusation, father.”
This was too much. The old man seized a chair, lifted it up and cried: “Be off with you! Go, do you hear? Will you leave the room at once? Be off, do you hear? Go, Einar!”
“Yes, I’m going!” said Einar, raising his head. He was so angry that he would have liked to take the chair away from his father and show him that he was too old now to let himself be struck. “But let me tell you,” he continued, “that you’ll have to leave off treating me in that way. Good-bye!” And so saying, he slowly left the room.
As evening fell, Norby drove out. After supper, Einar felt a longing to confide everything to his mother, but he did not dare. What should he do in the morning? Should he flee from the affair? It seemed doubly hard now that he had staked so much upon it. He went early to bed, for he was afraid of the influences that hovered about the rooms downstairs and the people there; they all seemed to tempt him to surrender.
In his little room, the birch-wood crackled in the stove, and diffused the familiar odour of which hewas so fond. A metal candlestick shone in the light from the stove, and in it stood a candle of his mother’s own moulding. He had fled from the good impressions in the downstairs rooms, and had run straight into the new ones here, that quite folded him in their embrace. The sheets on the bed, the clean curtains at the window, the recollections of all the nights he had spent here in his holidays—everything asked: “Are you really going to?”
“I shall never be able to do it,” he thought, as he lay in his comfortable bed, wrapped up in his mother’s sheets and blankets. It was very different from what he was accustomed to in the boarding-house in town. “But suppose sentence is passed on Wangen, and I might have saved him! God help me! I should never have another happy day.”
During the night Ingeborg was awakened by Einar’s coming into her room with a candle in his hand.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Hush!” he said, for there was only a thin match-boarding between her room and the one in which her parents slept.
“There’s something I must tell you, Ingeborg.” And he seated himself upon the edge of her bed with the light in his hand. At first it dazzled her, but she soon grew accustomed to it. These two had always been one another’s confidants, for Ingeborg was the nearest to her brother in age.
He spoke almost in a whisper, and she listened to him with wide-open, frightened eyes, and her breath coming quicker and quicker. She made excuses, she seized his hand convulsively, and said: “Don’t say any more, Einar! You must be mad!” But she took his hand again. She wanted to hear all his reasons, and he told her them, because he needed to have some one on his side. At length she closed her eyes as if she did not dare to look up; she breathed still more heavily; something seemed to have given way within her.
When at last he left her, she lay still with her eyes closed. She began to be afraid because it was so dismally dark, and it was such a long time to morning.
She tossed about in her bed and could not sleep, owing to an indefinable terror. A criminal had found his way into the house, he was sleeping under the same roof; and this criminal was—he was her——No, no, it was not true! It could not be true!
“O God, help me! Help me!” she sobbed out in passionate ecstasy. “Help me! Give me a sign that it is not true!” But she suddenly noticed that it seemed as if God were gone. It was the first time this had happened since her conversion. What was it! Why did she not go on praying, instead of lying, her eyes gazing terror-stricken into the darkness. Was there no God? Had it all been a delusion? She had prayed that this affair mightturn out well for her father. She had thanked God for his innocence, and felt a comfort in thanking Him. She had also prayed for Wangen; she had won this victory over herself and had felt a pleasure in it. And was it all a delusion? Had God made fun of her? Or did He not exist? Was that a delusion too? Was this comfort to her soul in being in fellowship with Him, this pleasure in doing good, also delusion, delusion, delusion?
She tossed about in her bed, weeping convulsively. If her father were guilty, then there was no God. It was all a delusion, a delusion!
“O God, give me a sign that Thou art! Give me peace! Is my father a bad man, who will give false evidence to-morrow? My father? O God, give me a sign! Help me if there be a God! For Christ’s sake, give me a sign!”
At last she knelt in her bed, stretching out her clasped hands.
Towards morning Einar was greatly astonished to see Ingeborg come creeping into his room. She took his face between her hands, and said in a voice that trembled with joy:
“I must tell you at once. You’ve made a mistake, and thank God for it!” She involuntarily laid her hand upon her breast.
He lighted the candle and looked questioningly at her. Her eyes were positively shining with joy.
“Yes, Einar, God has given me a sign. You’ve made a mistake, and I was sure you had. And nowyou must go and ask father’s pardon.” She stroked his forehead with her hand, and disappeared noiselessly.
“Poor Ingeborg!” thought Einar. This young girl, whose hair sorrow had turned grey—this nun, who lived always with her thoughts on the other side of the grave—would it not crush her, too, if to-morrow he——?
“Remember, Einar, whatever you do, don’t take any family considerations!”