CHAPTER VIWHENNorby left Einar, he did not know where he went. He met some acquaintances, and had to stop and shake hands with them and chat, although he felt inclined to throw himself upon the ground and weep.“There’s no lack of snow this winter,” he said, laughing almost convulsively at the group gathered about him, and at the same time thinking: “Now he is in there giving evidence.”Every one without exception spoke to him with the usual deference, and gave him sympathetic glances; and this gave him fresh courage. “He’s welcome to give evidence,” he thought. “But we shall see!”At last he was alone, and stood at the window in a little general store. Above him on the hill stood the court-house, and he could see at the window the profile of a head with a hand raised to the chin. “Now they’re enjoying the scandal,” he thought. “They think they’ve caught me when they’ve caught my boy; but wait a bit.”It seemed to freeze something within him. Thisson, upon whom he had spent so many thousand krones, but who suddenly attacked his father in this way, was not Norby’s son any longer. There was only a smart, as if something had been cut away, and it made him set his teeth hard.“They are mistaken. If I’m not man enough to overthrow his assertions, I’m not what I thought I was; for now it’s a matter of life and death in any case.” He could not help laughing, but it was a cold, hard laugh; for the thought that he was going to disgrace himself and his son by having to refute his evidence in court, made him quite fierce. “As sure as I live, they shall regret that they took the boy from me.”When Einar entered the court, he saw at a glance that the witness-box was empty. The clerk was dictating something to be entered in the minutes. The witness’s place was waiting for him who should tell the truth. It seemed to beckon to him.When he shut the door behind him, the little noise made him start. The door was shut now between him and his father for ever. “I can never go home again,” he thought; and at the same moment he caught sight of his mother among the audience. She smiled at him. She was flushed and perspiring with the heat. “If you only knew that I can never come home again!” thought Einar, as she made room for him beside her; and the fact that she sat there and made room for him, without suspecting why he had come, agitated him greatly.“When she hears my evidence,” he thought, “she’ll faint.”It must be done now, however, now or never. He felt that if he did not go straight at it, his courage would ebb, and he would collapse. It had cost him so much to make up his mind; to turn round now would be an insult to himself. He looked across once more at his mother, as if to say: “You cannot want me to tell anything but the truth. I tried to save father while there was time, but it was impossible.”He was about to address himself to the clerk, when Thora of Lidarende and the pastor’s wife gave him a friendly nod, and he had to nod back again; and his mother beckoned to him, while the two other ladies helped to make room for him. Should he go there for a moment? He very much wanted to sit down. He had been wandering about for hours out in the cold, and the court was hot and badly ventilated, and he felt giddy and the blood rushed to his head. His mother beckoned again and smiled; and before he quite knew what he was about, he was sitting beside her. The two ladies with her gave his hand a warm pressure as they shook hands with him.The next moment his mother was called as a witness. The clerk looked at her and said: “I thought you were sitting among the audience?”“Yes, I was,” said Fru Norby.“But that is not allowed,” said the clerk. “You must be good enough to remain outside when you are a witness.”Einar had a strange feeling on seeing his mother in the witness-box. It seemed to him that standing there she was in some danger or other; and when the clerk administered this rebuke, he felt an involuntary agitation. All his filial instincts were aroused and took up their stand beside her. He was no longer capable of thought; he only felt. After strenuously working himself up to a high pitch of clearness of judgment and truthful endeavour, he now suddenly lost his balance and fell into a strange world of indistinct but warm impulses. Far off a star beckoned to him; it was for him to go up and give evidence. But it seemed to go farther and farther away. There stood his mother, looking all at once so thin and helpless. The clerk had offended her. And was Einar now going up to contradict her before all these people? He might just as well go up and knock her down. He grew more and more afraid that something would happen to her out there. Nothing must happen to her!When his mother had finished, she went out: and Einar had to follow her to see if anything was the matter, and in doing so forgot his overcoat, which he had taken off and placed beside him on the bench.When he caught her up near the baker’s, a sudden resolution came to him to leave her, for he could not bear this any longer. He was not equal to the task of concocting any explanation; he only said good-bye and hurried away.Sharp hail-showers had taken the place of thesnow-storm, and deluged him with rolling ice-pearls. The road meandered along the fjord and on to the station; there was an hour before the train went and he had plenty of time, but he hurried like a man who is running away.At last he began to walk more slowly. There was a voice that whispered to him: “But this inquiry is only an investigation of the matter. It will be time enough if you give evidence before the jury.” But he stood still, as if the thought were something that he could knock down. “Confound it!” he thought. “This is just as cowardly,Iimagine I can go to the trial by jury? I? The coward!”He had wandered backwards and forwards in this way before to-day, now determined to go away, now to go straight to the inquiry and give evidence; and when he finally approached the court-house with firm steps, he had felt glad and proud that what was truest and bravest in him had conquered.And now? He could not go home any more. Even if his father could forgive him, he would despise this sorry hero; and as son at Norby Farm, he had betrayed the house and all his family just as much as if he had not been too cowardly to put his resolve into action.He stopped and looked back. There, on the white snowy surface by the sound, stood the court-house, enveloped in driving showers. In Einar’s eyes, that building was now only a den of injustice, in which false accusations were made and false evidence given,and where an innocent man was condemned, and had his life ruined. And he who could save him? He fled! He was the greatest coward of them all.Einar suddenly felt it was quite impossible for him to go back to town and be the old Einar Norby. He could never look his friends in the face. He would have to live with shame in his heart, and always bow his head and keep silence when mention was made of honesty and truth in the world. Could he ever have another happy day if Wangen were condemned?No, he could not walk any farther towards the station; his feet refused to carry him. At last he sat down upon a stone by the wayside. He had not yet noticed that he had forgotten his overcoat.An hour later he was still sitting there, with his head in his hands. He was roused by the sound of sledge-bells. Two men drove past in a double sledge, laughing and talking about the inquiry. Something must have happened. But Einar sat on. Should he turn back? he thought; perhaps there was still time. And then he suddenly burst into a laugh. That this desire to do something great could still raise its head made him laugh scornfully and bitterly; and as he laughed he coughed.When Sören Kvikne at last came into the witness-box, he put himself into an important attitude, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets; for he knew now that the whole thing depended upon him. He declared that while he worked at Haarstad’s, Haarstadhad once told him that he had seen Norby put his name to a paper for Wangen, and that he himself had signed as witness.There was a great sensation in the court. This was an acquittal for Wangen.“Are you sure of that?” asked the clerk, and looked at the farm-labourer.“I remember it as if it had been yesterday,” said Sören. “We were painting a cariole, what’s more, when he told me.”The clerk now recollected that Norby wished to give evidence after this man, and as he scented something interesting, he determined to confront the two witnesses.Norby had freshened up since Marit had told him of Einar’s departure; and now his great moment had come at last.When he stood in the witness-box with Sören Kvikne, he first looked round. Yes, Herlufsen was in court. He then took out his document, and asked the clerk if he might read it aloud.“Certainly,” said the clerk, a little uncertainly, involuntarily extending his hand for the paper.Norby read: “I, Jörgen Haarstad’s widow, hereby declare upon my honour that Sören Kvikne left our service six months before the date of the signature of Wangen’s document. As he then went into service for some time in another parish, it is impossible that my husband can have spoken to him about this matter before he died.”The clerk now took the document and ran his eye over it. The audience had risen in their excitement, and the accused had also risen and had to lean against the wall for support.“What have you to say to that?” asked the clerk, fixing his eyes upon Sören Kvikne. Norby had turned to look at Mads Herlufsen. “That’s one for you!” he thought, thinking too that Herlufsen looked as if he had got the toothache.“What have you to say to that?” repeated the clerk, as Sören Kvikne stood staring at his boots. “You said you were painting a cariole when he told you about it; but it appears that your memory is at fault. How do you explain this?”But Sören was by no means equal to a new explanation, so he was allowed to go.When Norby and Marit were sitting in the sledge in the twilight ready to drive home, a number of people crowded about them, and gave them quite an ovation. Norby had had his case in such first-rate order that all Wangen’s witnesses had only provoked laughter.As the old man took up the reins, Wangen chanced to pass. He looked broken down; and as he caught sight of his adversary, he suddenly came nearer and shook his fist at him. “You wait!” he cried, his features distorted with anger. “You scoundrel! You think you’ve won to-day, but wait a little! You shall go to prison, both you and the woman sitting beside you!” He made a suddendash forward in the snow as if to attack them; but two men caught him by the collar and drew him away, although he resisted strenuously.“Ah, that brandy!” said an old man, shaking his head after him. “I saw that there consul had him into the hotel and stood treat.”“The best thing would be for the bailiff to take him in charge at once,” said another, looking sympathetically at Norby.Norby laughed, cracked his whip and drove off, while they all took off their hats to him. He was tired. There had been so much excitement to-day. But he seemed to be sitting all the time reading aloud that declaration and seeing Herlufsen’s face. He should never forget it as long as he lived.As they turned into the yard at Norby, Ingeborg came out on to the steps, and said in a frightened voice: “Einar!”“Einar?” said Marit, who was the first to get out of the sledge. “He’s gone back to town, hasn’t he?”“They brought him here in a sledge,” said Ingeborg. “I’ve telephoned for the doctor.”
WHENNorby left Einar, he did not know where he went. He met some acquaintances, and had to stop and shake hands with them and chat, although he felt inclined to throw himself upon the ground and weep.
“There’s no lack of snow this winter,” he said, laughing almost convulsively at the group gathered about him, and at the same time thinking: “Now he is in there giving evidence.”
Every one without exception spoke to him with the usual deference, and gave him sympathetic glances; and this gave him fresh courage. “He’s welcome to give evidence,” he thought. “But we shall see!”
At last he was alone, and stood at the window in a little general store. Above him on the hill stood the court-house, and he could see at the window the profile of a head with a hand raised to the chin. “Now they’re enjoying the scandal,” he thought. “They think they’ve caught me when they’ve caught my boy; but wait a bit.”
It seemed to freeze something within him. Thisson, upon whom he had spent so many thousand krones, but who suddenly attacked his father in this way, was not Norby’s son any longer. There was only a smart, as if something had been cut away, and it made him set his teeth hard.
“They are mistaken. If I’m not man enough to overthrow his assertions, I’m not what I thought I was; for now it’s a matter of life and death in any case.” He could not help laughing, but it was a cold, hard laugh; for the thought that he was going to disgrace himself and his son by having to refute his evidence in court, made him quite fierce. “As sure as I live, they shall regret that they took the boy from me.”
When Einar entered the court, he saw at a glance that the witness-box was empty. The clerk was dictating something to be entered in the minutes. The witness’s place was waiting for him who should tell the truth. It seemed to beckon to him.
When he shut the door behind him, the little noise made him start. The door was shut now between him and his father for ever. “I can never go home again,” he thought; and at the same moment he caught sight of his mother among the audience. She smiled at him. She was flushed and perspiring with the heat. “If you only knew that I can never come home again!” thought Einar, as she made room for him beside her; and the fact that she sat there and made room for him, without suspecting why he had come, agitated him greatly.“When she hears my evidence,” he thought, “she’ll faint.”
It must be done now, however, now or never. He felt that if he did not go straight at it, his courage would ebb, and he would collapse. It had cost him so much to make up his mind; to turn round now would be an insult to himself. He looked across once more at his mother, as if to say: “You cannot want me to tell anything but the truth. I tried to save father while there was time, but it was impossible.”
He was about to address himself to the clerk, when Thora of Lidarende and the pastor’s wife gave him a friendly nod, and he had to nod back again; and his mother beckoned to him, while the two other ladies helped to make room for him. Should he go there for a moment? He very much wanted to sit down. He had been wandering about for hours out in the cold, and the court was hot and badly ventilated, and he felt giddy and the blood rushed to his head. His mother beckoned again and smiled; and before he quite knew what he was about, he was sitting beside her. The two ladies with her gave his hand a warm pressure as they shook hands with him.
The next moment his mother was called as a witness. The clerk looked at her and said: “I thought you were sitting among the audience?”
“Yes, I was,” said Fru Norby.
“But that is not allowed,” said the clerk. “You must be good enough to remain outside when you are a witness.”
Einar had a strange feeling on seeing his mother in the witness-box. It seemed to him that standing there she was in some danger or other; and when the clerk administered this rebuke, he felt an involuntary agitation. All his filial instincts were aroused and took up their stand beside her. He was no longer capable of thought; he only felt. After strenuously working himself up to a high pitch of clearness of judgment and truthful endeavour, he now suddenly lost his balance and fell into a strange world of indistinct but warm impulses. Far off a star beckoned to him; it was for him to go up and give evidence. But it seemed to go farther and farther away. There stood his mother, looking all at once so thin and helpless. The clerk had offended her. And was Einar now going up to contradict her before all these people? He might just as well go up and knock her down. He grew more and more afraid that something would happen to her out there. Nothing must happen to her!
When his mother had finished, she went out: and Einar had to follow her to see if anything was the matter, and in doing so forgot his overcoat, which he had taken off and placed beside him on the bench.
When he caught her up near the baker’s, a sudden resolution came to him to leave her, for he could not bear this any longer. He was not equal to the task of concocting any explanation; he only said good-bye and hurried away.
Sharp hail-showers had taken the place of thesnow-storm, and deluged him with rolling ice-pearls. The road meandered along the fjord and on to the station; there was an hour before the train went and he had plenty of time, but he hurried like a man who is running away.
At last he began to walk more slowly. There was a voice that whispered to him: “But this inquiry is only an investigation of the matter. It will be time enough if you give evidence before the jury.” But he stood still, as if the thought were something that he could knock down. “Confound it!” he thought. “This is just as cowardly,Iimagine I can go to the trial by jury? I? The coward!”
He had wandered backwards and forwards in this way before to-day, now determined to go away, now to go straight to the inquiry and give evidence; and when he finally approached the court-house with firm steps, he had felt glad and proud that what was truest and bravest in him had conquered.
And now? He could not go home any more. Even if his father could forgive him, he would despise this sorry hero; and as son at Norby Farm, he had betrayed the house and all his family just as much as if he had not been too cowardly to put his resolve into action.
He stopped and looked back. There, on the white snowy surface by the sound, stood the court-house, enveloped in driving showers. In Einar’s eyes, that building was now only a den of injustice, in which false accusations were made and false evidence given,and where an innocent man was condemned, and had his life ruined. And he who could save him? He fled! He was the greatest coward of them all.
Einar suddenly felt it was quite impossible for him to go back to town and be the old Einar Norby. He could never look his friends in the face. He would have to live with shame in his heart, and always bow his head and keep silence when mention was made of honesty and truth in the world. Could he ever have another happy day if Wangen were condemned?
No, he could not walk any farther towards the station; his feet refused to carry him. At last he sat down upon a stone by the wayside. He had not yet noticed that he had forgotten his overcoat.
An hour later he was still sitting there, with his head in his hands. He was roused by the sound of sledge-bells. Two men drove past in a double sledge, laughing and talking about the inquiry. Something must have happened. But Einar sat on. Should he turn back? he thought; perhaps there was still time. And then he suddenly burst into a laugh. That this desire to do something great could still raise its head made him laugh scornfully and bitterly; and as he laughed he coughed.
When Sören Kvikne at last came into the witness-box, he put himself into an important attitude, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets; for he knew now that the whole thing depended upon him. He declared that while he worked at Haarstad’s, Haarstadhad once told him that he had seen Norby put his name to a paper for Wangen, and that he himself had signed as witness.
There was a great sensation in the court. This was an acquittal for Wangen.
“Are you sure of that?” asked the clerk, and looked at the farm-labourer.
“I remember it as if it had been yesterday,” said Sören. “We were painting a cariole, what’s more, when he told me.”
The clerk now recollected that Norby wished to give evidence after this man, and as he scented something interesting, he determined to confront the two witnesses.
Norby had freshened up since Marit had told him of Einar’s departure; and now his great moment had come at last.
When he stood in the witness-box with Sören Kvikne, he first looked round. Yes, Herlufsen was in court. He then took out his document, and asked the clerk if he might read it aloud.
“Certainly,” said the clerk, a little uncertainly, involuntarily extending his hand for the paper.
Norby read: “I, Jörgen Haarstad’s widow, hereby declare upon my honour that Sören Kvikne left our service six months before the date of the signature of Wangen’s document. As he then went into service for some time in another parish, it is impossible that my husband can have spoken to him about this matter before he died.”
The clerk now took the document and ran his eye over it. The audience had risen in their excitement, and the accused had also risen and had to lean against the wall for support.
“What have you to say to that?” asked the clerk, fixing his eyes upon Sören Kvikne. Norby had turned to look at Mads Herlufsen. “That’s one for you!” he thought, thinking too that Herlufsen looked as if he had got the toothache.
“What have you to say to that?” repeated the clerk, as Sören Kvikne stood staring at his boots. “You said you were painting a cariole when he told you about it; but it appears that your memory is at fault. How do you explain this?”
But Sören was by no means equal to a new explanation, so he was allowed to go.
When Norby and Marit were sitting in the sledge in the twilight ready to drive home, a number of people crowded about them, and gave them quite an ovation. Norby had had his case in such first-rate order that all Wangen’s witnesses had only provoked laughter.
As the old man took up the reins, Wangen chanced to pass. He looked broken down; and as he caught sight of his adversary, he suddenly came nearer and shook his fist at him. “You wait!” he cried, his features distorted with anger. “You scoundrel! You think you’ve won to-day, but wait a little! You shall go to prison, both you and the woman sitting beside you!” He made a suddendash forward in the snow as if to attack them; but two men caught him by the collar and drew him away, although he resisted strenuously.
“Ah, that brandy!” said an old man, shaking his head after him. “I saw that there consul had him into the hotel and stood treat.”
“The best thing would be for the bailiff to take him in charge at once,” said another, looking sympathetically at Norby.
Norby laughed, cracked his whip and drove off, while they all took off their hats to him. He was tired. There had been so much excitement to-day. But he seemed to be sitting all the time reading aloud that declaration and seeing Herlufsen’s face. He should never forget it as long as he lived.
As they turned into the yard at Norby, Ingeborg came out on to the steps, and said in a frightened voice: “Einar!”
“Einar?” said Marit, who was the first to get out of the sledge. “He’s gone back to town, hasn’t he?”
“They brought him here in a sledge,” said Ingeborg. “I’ve telephoned for the doctor.”