Part 16 (1/2)

”After all, Aunt Eva dear,” she said one day when she sat chatting beside Mrs. Dawes's bed; ”I think you may write to Jorgen.”

Mary herself was standing on the pier when the steamer came in. It was Sat.u.r.day afternoon; all that could do so were leaving town to enjoy the last days of autumn in the country. The weather was beautiful; in the south of Norway it can be so till far on in September. Mary was dressed in blue and carried a blue parasol, which she waved to Jorgen and some of her girl friends who were standing beside him. All on board moved towards the gangway to watch the meeting.

Jorgen felt, as soon as he reached her side, that he must be cautious.

He divined that she had come to meet him here in order that their meeting might not be private.

On the way up to the house they talked of the swallows, which were now a.s.sembling for their departure--of the farm-overseer, who had just shot a huge eagle--of the writing-board which Mrs. Dawes had had constructed--of the good aftermath, of the price of fruit and turnips.

In the hall she left him with a short ”Excuse me!” and hurried upstairs. The boy who was carrying Jorgen's portmanteau had followed them in; Jorgen and he stood still, not knowing where to go. Then Mary called from above: ”This way, please!” Opening the door of the visitors'

room next her own, she told the boy to take the portmanteau in there. To Jorgen she said: ”Shall we go and see Father?” She led the way. The nurse was not in the room. Probably it was to send her away that Mary had run up first.

A light kindled in the sick man's eyes as he saw Jorgen enter. As soon as the door was closed, Mary went up to her father, bent over him, and said: ”Jorgen and I are engaged now, Father.”

All the affection and happiness that a human face can express beamed from Anders Krog's. Smiling, Mary turned towards Jorgen, who, pale and agitated, was prepared to rush forward and embrace her. But he felt that though his astonishment, his grat.i.tude, and his adoration were quite acceptable to her, she desired no such manifestation of them. This did not detract from his happiness. He met her smiling eyes with an expression of intense, perfect delight. He pressed the hand which Anders Krog could move; he looked into his tearful eyes, his own filling. But no word was spoken until Mary said: ”Now we must go to Aunt Eva.”

With a feeling of triumph she led the way. He followed, admiring. His heart was full of many feelings, not least among them admiration of the magnanimity with which she had forgiven. He thought: Out in the pa.s.sage she will turn round, and then ... But she went straight to Mrs. Dawes's door and knocked.

When Mrs. Dawes saw Jorgen, she clapped her fat hands, tugged at her cap, and tried to sit up, but could not for excitement. She fell back again, wept, blessed them, and stretched out her arms. Jorgen allowed himself to be embraced, but would not kiss her.

As soon as sensible conversation became possible, Mary said: ”Don't you think too, Aunt Eva, that we ought to go and call on Uncle Klaus to-morrow?”

”Most certainly I do, my child! most certainly! Why should there be any delay?”

Jorgen was radiant. Mary retired, that the two might have a confidential talk.

When Jorgen and she met again, he understood that the watchword was: ”Look, but do not touch!” This was hard; but he acknowledged it to be only just that one who had presumed as he had should be compelled to control himself. Mary intended to be her own mistress.

In her triumphant mood she was more beautiful than ever. It seemed to Jorgen an act of grace when she addressed him as ”thou.” And she condescended no further. He went on hoping, but she gave no more--not the whole of that day. He betook himself to the piano and there poured forth his lament. Mary opened the doors, so that Mrs. Dawes might hear the music. ”Poor boy!” said Mrs. Dawes.

Next day Mary did not come downstairs until it was time to set off on their expedition to Uncle Klaus's.

”You are _la grande dame_ to-day, and no mistake!” said Jorgen, inspecting her admiringly. She was in her most elegant Parisian walking costume. ”Is it to make an impression on Uncle Klaus?”

”Partly. But it is Sunday, you know.--Tell me,” and she suddenly became serious; ”does Uncle Klaus know about father's misfortune?”

”He knows about his illness, if you mean that.”

”No; I mean the cause of it?”

”That I can't say. I came straight from home. I have told nothing--even at home.”

Of this Mary approved. Consequently they were on the pleasantest, most confidential terms, both during the walk down to the steamer and on board. There they sat talking in whispers of their wedding, of furlough for the first month after it, of life in Stockholm, of her visits to him there, of his visit to Krogskogen at Christmas, of a trip to Christiania now--in short, there was not a cloud in their sky.

They found Uncle Klaus in his smoke-filled den, where they rather imagined than saw him. He himself was quite startled when Mary in all her glory appeared before him. He led them hurriedly into the large, stiff drawing-room. Even before they were seated, Jorgen said: ”We have come, Uncle, to tell you--”

He got no farther, for Uncle Klaus saw in their radiant faces the news which they brought.

”My heartiest congratulations!” The tall man bowed, offering a hand to each. ”Yes--every one says that you are the handsomest couple ever seen in this town. For,” he added, ”we engaged you to each other long ago.”