Part 29 (1/2)

They sat down to table, and began their meal. She could read the expression of his face, his voice, his calm air--she knew they meant bad news.

But she would not question him. She would only try to show him that all things else could be endured, if only they two loved each other.

But the time had pa.s.sed when an unexpected caress from her was enough to send him wild with joy. She sat there now trembling inwardly with suspense, wondering if he would notice her--if he could find any comfort in having her with him, still young and with something of her beauty left.

He looked over to her with a far-away smile. ”Merle,” he asked, ”what do you think your father is worth altogether?” The words came like a quiet order from a captain standing on the bridge, while his s.h.i.+p goes down.

”Oh, Peer, don't think about all that to-night. Welcome home!” And she smiled and took his hand.

”Thanks,” he said, and pressed her fingers; but his thoughts were still far off. And he went on eating without knowing what he ate.

”And what do you think? Louise has begun the violin. You've no idea how the little thing takes to it.”

”Oh?”

”And Asta's got another tooth--she had a wretched time, poor thing, while it was coming through.”

It was as if she were drawing the children up to him, to show him that at least he still had them.

He looked at her for a moment. ”Merle, you ought never to have married me. It would have been better for you and for your people too.”

”Oh, nonsense, Peer--you know you'll be able to make it all right again.”

They went up to bed, and undressed slowly. ”He hasn't noticed me yet,”

thought Merle.

And she laughed a little, and said, ”I was sitting thinking this evening of the first day we met. I suppose you never think of it now?”

He turned round, half undressed, and looked at her. Her lively tone fell strangely on his ears. ”She does not ask how I have got on, or how things are going,” he thought. But as he went on looking at her he began at last to see through her smile to the anxious heart beneath.

Ah, yes; he remembered well that far-off summer when life had been a holiday in the hills, and a girl making coffee over a fire had smiled at him for the first time. And he remembered the first sun-red night of his love on the s.h.i.+ning lake-mirror, when his heart was filled with the rush of a great anthem to heaven and earth.

She stood there still. He had her yet. But for the first time in their lives she came to him now humbly, begging him to make the best of her as she was.

An unspeakable warmth began to flow through his heavy heart. But he did not rush to embrace her and whirl her off in a storm of pa.s.sionate delight. He stood still, staring before him, and, drawing himself up, swore to himself with fast-closed lips that he would, he WOULD trample a way through, and save things for them both, even yet.

The lights were put out, and soon they lay in their separate beds, breathing heavily in the dark. Peer stretched himself out, with his face up, thinking, with closed eyes. He was hunting in the dark for some way to save his dear ones. And Merle lay so long waiting for one caress from him that at last she had to draw out her handkerchief and press it over her eyes, while her body shook with a noiseless sobbing.

Chapter XII

Old Lorentz D. Uthoug rarely visited his rich sister at Bruseth, but to-day he had taken his weary way up there, and the two masterful old folks sat now facing each other.

”So you've managed to find your way up here?” said Aunt Marit, throwing out her ample bosom and rubbing her knees like a man.

”Why, yes--I thought I'd like to see how you were getting on,” said Uthoug, squaring his broad shoulders.

”Quite well, thanks. Having no son-in-law, I'm not likely to go bankrupt, I daresay.”

”I'm not bankrupt, either,” said old Uthoug, fixing his red eyes on her face.