Mary by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (little red riding hood ebook TXT) 📖

times are so bad just now, we shall be obliged to wait. And this is really the case."

Mary agreed, the more willingly because she thought it considerate of Joergen to wish to spare the old people. For this he received her best thanks--and her hand again. He kept hold of it until they reached the house, and even whilst they mounted the steps. He thought to himself: "This is the pledge of a kiss in the hall. But I'll take ten!"

He opened the door and let Mary pass in first. Nodding brightly to him as she passed, she made quickly for the stairs and disappeared up them. He heard her go into her own room.

Carefully as Joergen chose his words in communicating the result of their expedition, it was a sad disappointment to the old people. It was inexplicable to them both, but especially to Mrs. Dawes, who thought the decision arrived at cruel. Mary was to spend the long winter alone here, and Joergen in Stockholm. They might possibly see each other for a few days at Christmas, but that would be all. Curiously enough, the old people's disappointment reacted upon Joergen. He sat moping like a sick bird, had nothing to say, hardly answered Mrs. Dawes when she spoke to him, and presently went off to prepare for his departure next morning. His leave had expired, and he was going direct to Stockholm.

Mary alone was in good spirits. One would have supposed that she had no concern whatever in the matter. To her the day had, to all appearance, brought no disappointment. The triumphant mood in which she had been ever since she graciously proclaimed their engagement in her father's room, far from having abated, was more pronounced than ever. She went humming about the rooms and passages, and seemed to have no end of arrangements to make, as if it were she who was about to take an important and long journey. At supper she joked and teased until Joergen began to have an uncomfortable suspicion that she was making fun of him. At last he said plainly that he could not understand her. He thought she ought rather to be sorry for him. She was to remain here in her own comfortable home, working for those whom she loved, whilst he----. Now he _hated_ what he was going back to, because it took him away from her! He repented his exchange into the diplomatic service. He loathed Stockholm. He knew what an inferior position a young man occupied there who had no good introductions, and who, in addition to this, was Norwegian. He was, in short, unhappy, and grumbled freely.

"You who distinguished yourself in the confirmation class, Joergen, don't you know that Jacob had to work seven whole years for Rachel?"

"And how many have I not worked for you, Mary?"

"Ah! the reason of that is that you began far too early. It's a bad habit you have acquired--that of beginning too early."

"Was it possible to see you without...? You are unjust to yourself."

"You had other aims, Joergen, besides winning me."

"So had that business-man, Jacob. And he had the advantage over me, that whilst working and waiting he could see Rachel as often as he liked."

"Well, well--he who has waited so many years, Joergen, can surely wait half a year longer."

"It is easy for you to talk, you who have never waited--never for anything!"

Mary was silent.

"But that you should tease me into the bargain, Mary--I who, even when I am beside you, must exist on such meagre fare!"

"You think you have cause of complaint, Joergen?"

"Yes, I do."

"You began far too early, remember!" And Mary laughed.

This put Joergen out, but presently he repeated: "You don't understand what it means to wait."

"So much I do understand, that it comes easier to those who live on meagre fare." And she laughed again.

Joergen was both offended and perplexed. A woman who really cared for him would hardly have behaved thus on the eve of parting from him for several months, and with such poor prospects as they had of being able to marry.

They sat for a short time beside her father, and longer beside Mrs. Dawes. Joergen was quiet--hardly spoke. But Mary was gay. Mrs. Dawes watched them in surprise. Turning to Joergen, she said: "Poor boy, you must come here at Christmas!" Mary answered for him: "Aunt Eva, it is just at Christmas that Stockholm is pleasantest."

Suddenly Mary rose and very unexpectedly said good-night, first to Joergen, then to Mrs. Dawes.

"I am tired after the walk, and I must be up early to-morrow to see Joergen off."

Joergen felt that this sudden departure was a piece of deliberate mischief. She wished to escape saying good-night to him in the passage. He vowed to revenge himself. He was skilled in the art.

Mrs. Dawes asked if there were any misunderstanding between them. He said there was none. She did not believe it; he had to assure her again solemnly that he knew of none. But he could not conceal that he was out of temper; he could not even bear to sit there any longer. When he left he found the passage, contrary to custom, dark, and had to grope his way to his own door. Not till he had lit his lamp and listened involuntarily for any sound from Mary's room, did it occur to him that the door-handle had been made noiseless. In the morning it had creaked--very little; but it certainly had creaked. Never had he been in such a well-ordered house as this, where the very slightest thing amiss was instantly put right--even on a Sunday. He could not imagine greater happiness than to return here when everything should be satisfactorily arranged, to rest, and to live as long as he chose in the manner which his ardent desire for the pleasures of the senses pictured.

Therefore patience! He would submit to Mary's caprices now, as he had submitted to his uncle's before--until his time came!

He was undressing, when the door opened noiselessly, and Mary entered, in her night-dress--dazzlingly beautiful. She closed the door behind her and went forward to the lamp. "You shall not wait, Joergen," said she, as she extinguished the light.



ALONE

Next morning she slept too long. She was awakened by singing and playing. First as in a dream and then consciously, through a rushing stream of memories, she heard Joergen Thiis. He was at the piano, singing in the freshness of the early morning, the windows flung open, his clear, jubilant tenor wafting festal tones up to her.

In a moment she was up and dressing, afraid lest she might be too late to go down with him to the steamer. The wider awake she became with the rapid motion, the more impetuously did her thoughts rush towards him and his joyful agitation. That heartfelt, soul and sense pervading gratitude and praise--she would fain enjoy it in his immediate neighbourhood. She longed to be uplifted and borne in triumph as his life's queen! Of her sovereign grace she had bestowed on him life's highest prize. He was rewarded now for his long sufferings!--without bargaining, without regard for established prejudices. She knew him now; she knew exactly how he would look, exactly in what manner he would make her the partaker of his happiness. Therefore her breast heaved high in expectation of the meeting--expectation of his gratitude and homage.

In her blue morning dress she passed through the little Dutch ante-room and stretched out her hand to open the door of the big drawing-room with the windows to the sea; but so excited was she that she had to pause to take breath--enjoying Joergen's triumph the while. He was so carried away with his own music that she was quite close to him before he noticed her. He looked up, radiant--rose slowly, silently, as to a festal rite. This impression he would do nothing to destroy. He opened his arms, drew her into his embrace, kissed her hair gently, stroked the cheek that lay bare--slowly, protectingly. He was trying to shield, to hide, to help her with manly tenderness to overcome the feeling of shame from which she must be suffering. His whole attitude was tender and reassuring.

"But we must hurry in to breakfast now," he whispered affectionately, kissing her beautiful hair again, and inhaling its fragrance. Then he passed his arm gently, yet in a controlling manner, round her waist. Near the door he said in a low tone: "You have slept well, since you come so late?" He opened the door with his disengaged hand, and, receiving no answer, looked sympathisingly at her. She was pale and confused. "My sweet one!" he whispered soothingly.

At breakfast there was no end to his consideration for her, especially when it became evident that she could not eat. But time was short; he had to attend to himself; so he could not talk much. Mary did not say a word. But it struck her that Joergen handled his knife and fork in a new, masterful manner, of a piece with that in which he now spoke to her and looked at her. He evidently desired to inspire her with courage--after what had happened last night. She could have taken her plate with what was on it and flung it in his face!

His triumphal song had been in his own honour! He had been hymning his own worthiness!

A decanter with wine stood on the table. Joergen poured out a large glass, drank it slowly, and rose with a dignified: "Excuse me!" adding in the doorway: "I must look if the boy has taken my portmanteau."

In a moment he was back again. "Time is almost up." He closed the door, and hurried across the room to Mary, who was now standing at the window. This time he drew her quickly into his arms and began to kiss.

"No more of that, please!" she said with all her old queenliness, and turned away from him. She walked proudly into the hall, put on her coat with the assistance of the maid who hastened to help, chose a hat, looked out to see the state of the weather, and then took her parasol. The maid opened the front door. Mary passed out quickly, Joergen following, mortally offended. He was unconscious of any transgression.

They walked on for a time silent. But Mary was in such a state of suppressed rage that when she at last remembered to put up her parasol, she almost broke it. Joergen saw this.

"Remember," she said--and it sounded as if she had suddenly acquired a new voice--"I don't care about letters. And I can't write letters."

"You don't wish me to write to you?" He had also a new voice.

She did not answer, nor did she look at him.

"But if anything should happen--?" said he.

"Well, of course then--! But you forget that you have Mrs. Dawes."

And as if this were not enough, she added: "I don't imagine that you, either, are a good letter-writer, Joergen. So there will be nothing lost."

He could have struck her.

As ill luck would have it, the surly old Lapland dog was at the landing-place with his master. No sooner did he catch sight of Joergen than he began to bark. All his master's attempts to silence him were in vain.

Every one turned to look at the new-comers. Joergen had at once picked up a small stone, and Mary had asked him in a