Ticket No. 9672 - Jules Verne (i can read book club .txt) 📗

propelled the boat swiftly through the rapids, and then leaped upon the little pier beside his sister.

“Has Ole returned?” he asked, hastily.

It was of Ole that he thought first of all; but his question remained unanswered.

“Have you received no letter from him?”

“Not one.”

And Hulda burst into tears.

“Don’t cry, little sister,” exclaimed Joel, “don’t cry. You make me wretched. I cannot bear to see you weep. Let me see! You say you have received no letter. The matter is beginning to look a little serious, I must admit, though there is no reason to despair as yet. If you desire it, I will go to Bergen, and make inquiries there. I will call on Help Bros. Possibly they may have some news from Newfoundland. It is quite possible that the Viking may have put into some port for repairs, or on account of bad weather. The wind has been blowing a hurricane for more than a week, and not unfrequently ships from Newfoundland take refuge in Iceland, or at the Faroe Islands. This very thing happened to Ole two years ago, when he was on board the Strenna, you remember. I am only saying what I really think, little sister. Dry your eyes. If you make me lose heart what will become of us?”

“But I can’t help it, Joel.”

“Hulda! Hulda! do not lose courage. I assure you that I do not despair, not by any means.”

“Can I really believe you, Joel?”

“Yes, you can. Now, to reassure you, shall I start for Bergen tomorrow morning, or this very evening?”

“No, no, you must not leave me! No, you must not!” sobbed Hulda, clinging to her brother as if he was the only friend she had left in the world.

They started toward the inn. Joel sheltered his sister from the rain as well as he could, but the wind soon became so violent that they were obliged to take refuge in the hut of the ferryman, which stood a few hundred yards from the bank of the Maan.

There they were obliged to remain until the wind abated a little, and Joel was glad of an opportunity to have a longer conversation with his sister.

“How does mother seem?” he inquired.

“Even more depressed in spirits than usual,” replied Hulda.

“Has anyone been here during my absence?”

“Yes, one traveler, but he has gone away.”

“So there is no tourist at the inn now, and no one has asked for a guide?”

“No, Joel.”

“So much the better, for I would much rather not leave you. Besides, if this unpleasant weather continues, it is not likely that many tourists will visit the Telemark this season. But tell me, was it yesterday that your guest left Dal?”

“Yes, yesterday morning.”

“Who was he?”

“A man who resides in Drammen, and whose name is Sandgoist.”

“Sandgoist?”

“Do you know him?”

“No.”

Hulda had asked herself more than once if she should tell her brother all that had occurred in his absence. When Joel heard how coolly their guest had conducted himself, and how he seemed to have come merely to appraise the house and its contents, what would he think? Would not he, too, fear that his mother must have had grave reasons for acting as she had? What were these reasons? What could there be in common between her and Sandgoist? Joel would certainly desire to know, and would be sure to question his mother, and as Dame Hansen, who was always so uncommunicative, would doubtless persist in the silence she had maintained hitherto, the relations between her and her children, which were so unnatural and constrained now, would become still more unpleasant.

But would Hulda be able to keep anything from Joel? A secret from him! Would it not be a violation of the close friendship that united them? No, this friendship must never be broken! So Hulda suddenly resolved to tell him all.

“Have you ever heard anyone speak of this Sandgoist when you were in Drammen?” she asked.

“Never.”

“But our mother knew him, Joel; at least by name.”

“She knew Sandgoist?”

“Yes.”

“I certainly never heard the name before.”

“But she has, though she had never seen the man until day before yesterday.”

Then Hulda related all the incidents that had marked Sandgoist’s sojourn at the inn, not neglecting to mention Dame Hansen’s singular conduct at the moment of his departure. Then she hastened to add:

“I think, Joel, it would be best not to say anything to mother about it at present. You know her disposition, and it would only make her still more unhappy. The future will probably reveal what has been concealed from us in the past. Heaven grant that Ole may be restored to us, and then if any misfortune should befall the family there will at least be three of us to share it.”

Joel had listened to his sister with profound attention. Yes, it was evident that Dame Hansen must be at this man’s mercy, and it was impossible to doubt that he had come to take an inventory of the property. And the destruction of the bill at the time of his departure⁠—a destruction that seemed only right and proper to him⁠—what could be the meaning of that?

“You are right, Hulda,” said Joel. “I had better not say anything to mother about it. Perhaps she will feel sorry by and by that she has not confided in us. Heaven grant that it may not be too late! She must be wretched, poor woman! How strange it is that she cannot understand that her children were born to sympathize with her.”

“She will find it out some day, Joel.”

“Yes; so let us wait patiently, little sister. Still, there is no reason why I should not try to find out who the man is. Perhaps Farmer Helmboe knows him. I will ask him the first time I go to Bamble, and if need be I will push on to Drammen. There it will not be difficult for me to at least learn what the man does, and what people think of him.”

“They do not think well of him, I am