Mary - Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (bookstand for reading TXT) 📗

struggled against both. "If your sister has any affection for me at all, or if you have, leave me alone!" He walked on. "Let me go, I say! This is shameful!" She struggled so vigorously that he was obliged to change his hold; but where she was she had to remain. With tears in her voice she said: "I allow no one to decide for me." Then he answered: "You may struggle your hardest, but I will carry you home. And if you do not obey me, I shall have you placed under restraint."

The words acted like a fetter of iron. She became motionless.

"You will place me under restraint?"

"I shall, for you have lost control over yourself."

Never since she could hear at all had she heard anything so silly as this. But she would not discuss the matter with him. She merely said: "And do you imagine this will be of any use?"

"I think so. When you see that we are doing everything in our power for you, you will give in to us, because you are good."

After a short silence she said: "I cannot accept help from any one who has not entire respect for me--" and she began to cry.

Then Frans Roey stood still and peered under her hood. "You don't imagine that _I_ have not entire respect for you? Do you suppose that I would be carrying you now if I had not? To me you are all that is noblest and most beautiful. That is why I am carrying you. You may have done Heaven knows what wrong deed--_I_ know that if you did it, it was from the noblest of motives. You can't act otherwise! If you have been deceived, if you have made a terrible mistake--why, I love you all the better!--for then you are unhappy--that I know. And perhaps now it may be possible for me, too, to help you. No greater happiness could befall me. I will leave you, if you insist upon it. I will marry you, if you can trust yourself to me. I will kill the fellow, if _that_ is your wish. I will do anything whatever for you, if you will only be happy--for that is my chief desire."

He stopped short, but began again.

"When I set off after you this evening, I was in greater misery than I had ever imagined possible. She is going to throw herself into the sea, I thought. Of course I shall go after her. In this storm it means death to us both; but there is no help for that. Nor was that what distressed me. No, it was your unhappiness, your despair--the idea that you could believe yourself unworthy to live--you who could not act unworthily to gain life's highest prize! Never, never have I known a human being for whom I could answer as confidently. And I could not tell you this; I could not help you. I knew you; I dared not come near you. But I have been able to save you after all. For you cannot possibly wish to die now, after you have heard me?"

He had heard her sob; her arms were round his neck now, almost stifling his words. He let her slip slowly down. But she still held fast with the arm which was round his neck; and when she reached the ground she flung the other round it too, and laid her head upon his breast, sobbing--but with happiness now. He could feel the quick beat of her heart; it was the speed of joy.

The housekeeper in town had telephoned to Krogskogen that Miss Krog was walking home, in a worse storm than any one remembered, and had inquired again and again if she had arrived.

Nanna and the dog had been out on the steps several times, but the dog had never barked. Now he not only barked, but scampered off down the road.

The servants had been in the greatest anxiety. It did not seem to them at all remarkable that Mary's unhappiness and distress should have driven her out into the storm. Some such action as this hazarding of a life which she no longer valued had been an imperative necessity to her. Therefore now, when little Nanna rushed in calling: "Here she comes! here she comes!" they wept for joy. They had long had the rooms warm and hot food in readiness. Now they laid another cover, for Nanna had rushed in again to tell them that Miss Krog was not alone; she had heard a man speaking. The maids at once said to each other that Joergen Thiis had come at last. "No," said Nanna; "it was not his voice; it was a strong man's!"

But the dog's joy at seeing Mary again was boundless. He barked, he yelped, he jumped right up to her face; there was no end to his demonstrations. When Frans Roey spoke to him, he went up to him at once, as to an old friend, but immediately returned to Mary. The little shaggy creature's ardent delight represented to her the joy of her home at seeing her again, saved. His was the greeting of both the dead and the living. This was what Mary felt. And she also felt that his happiness possibly preluded a re-awakening of her own, when she had succeeded in shaking off the impression of the horrors she had undergone.

When she entered the house, heralded by the dog, who was as wild with joy as ever, the three maids were all in the hall to welcome her, Nanna with them. They stopped short in their exclamations when they saw the enormous figure looming behind her; for in his waterproof cloak and hood Franz Roey seemed supernaturally tall. But it was only for a moment; then they broke out: "Oh, Miss, to think that you should have been out in such a storm! We have been terribly anxious. The housekeeper in town let us know. But we had no one to send to meet you, for there is a fire in the neighbourhood and all the men have gone off there. Thank God that we have you again, safe!"

Mary concealed her emotion by hastening upstairs. Her room was warm, her lamp was lighted.

"Is all this affection and care new? Or is it just that I have never noticed it before?"

The dog whined outside until she was obliged to let him in. He was so obtrusive in his gratitude that it was with difficulty she managed to change her clothes.

When she was doing her hair she remembered the locket with her mother's portrait. She took it from her pocket, and before fastening it on her neck again, looked at the portrait--for the first time for many years--and caressed and kissed it. Presently she lit a candle, and with it in her hand crossed the passage to her father's room. There she set it down, and going forward to his bed, bent over it and kissed the pillow. On coming out, she stopped at the door of the visitors' room. "In this room he shall sleep; then it can be opened again to-morrow; its hateful associations will be gone." A maid to whom she gave orders to light a fire told her that this had already been done, and taking Mary's candle, went in to light the lamp. Mary stood looking after her. "Have they really been like this all the time?"

The maid remained in the room, arranging it. Mary moved on towards the stairs. There she once more stopped. The dog, who had run down, came rushing up; he was determined not to lose her again. She stroked him gratefully; it was like a first little instalment of that gratitude with which her heart was full to overflowing.

"To-morrow--this evening I am too tired--to-morrow I will tell Frans Roey everything! Every single thing that has happened! Perhaps this will help me to understand it all myself."

With this brave resolve she walked downstairs, but stopped once more before she reached the foot. "Strange it is--most strange--but I feel as if I could tell the whole world!"

The dog was standing at the door of the Dutch room. He smelt Frans Roey there.

Mary followed him and opened the door. As she entered Frans exclaimed, as if he had had difficulty in keeping silence so long: "What a beautiful home!" Noticing the dog's continued attentions, he added: "And how much you are thought of in it!" His face lighted up.

"You are in uniform!" she exclaimed.

"Yes. I was at a wedding when I was sent for." He laughed.

The uniform had suggested a thought to Mary. With the dog tugging at her dress, she said, looking brightly up into Frans Roey's face: "It will not be the first time that a general of engineers has lived at Krogskogen."
Imprint

Publication Date: 09-01-2010

All Rights Reserved