Magnhild Dust Part 12

In the forenoon he took a long walk, but not to the spots they had all visited together. During this walk what had occurred began to a.s.sume a shape which made him feel less guilty than he had felt at first. The next day he scarcely felt that he was in the least to blame. Toward evening of the third day his conscience began again to trouble him; but on the following morning he rose from his couch ready to smile over the whole affair.

The first day he had twice commenced a letter to Magnhild but had torn up each effort. On the fourth day he found, instead of the attempted letter, a musical theme. This was capable of being developed into a complex, richly harmonized composition, full of magnificent unrest.

Several bars of the simple, refined melody which had conjured up for Magnhild dreams of her childhood might be sprinkled through it. Could not the two motives be brought into conflict?

But as he failed to succeed to his satisfaction, Tande concluded that neither at this place nor it this time could it be accomplished. He remained at the Point one week longer, and then packing up his things he departed. The piano he left behind him, and the key with it. He set forth for Germany.

CHAPTER IX

About five years had elapsed when one Sunday evening in spring, a party of young girls pa.s.sed up the one large street of the coast town. They were walking arm in arm, and their numbers were continually increased; for the girls were singing a three part song as they went along.

In front of the saddler's house (which, by the way, was now without either sign-board or shop) they slackened their speed, as though they especially desired their singing to be heard here. Perhaps they also expected to see a face at one of the low windows; but they saw none and soon moved onward.

When the last of the party had disappeared, a woman rose from the large chair in the corner. She was scarcely more than half dressed, had down-trodden slippers and disheveled hair. As she knew that no one lived opposite and saw no one in the street, she ventured to approach the window, and resting her arm on the sash she bowed her head in her hand and became absorbed in thought. And as she stood thus she dreamily listened to the harmonies which ever and anon floated back to her.

This chorus was a reminder that Magnhild had once loved song and had believed that in it she had found her vocation. It was she who stood there, and who although, it was Sunday, or perhaps just because it was Sunday, had not thought it worth while to dress herself; it was six o'clock in the afternoon.

She was roused by the rattling of carriage-wheels from another direction. The steamer must have arrived. So accustomed was she to this one break in the desert-stillness of the town, that she forgot she was not dressed, and looked out to see who was coming. It proved to be two ladies; one with a child in her arms and a sunshade; the other with a fluttering veil, bright, eager eyes and a full face. She wore a Scotch plaid traveling suit, and as the carriage drove rapidly past she nodded to Magnhild, the travel-bronzed face all beaming; later she turned and waved her gloved hand.

Who in all the world could this be? In her surprise, which with her always gave place to embarra.s.sment, Magnhild had drawn back into the room. Who could it be?

There was something familiar that was struggling in vain for the supremacy when the lady came running back toward the house. She moved on briskly in her light traveling costume, and now springing up the steps she soon stood in the door that was thrown open to receive her. She and Magnhild looked at each other for a moment.

"Do you not know me?" asked the elegant lady, in the broadest dialect of the parish.

"Ronnaug?"

"Yes, of course!"

And then they embraced.

"My dear! I am here solely on your account. I want to tell you that all these years I have been looking forward to this moment. My dear Magnhild!"

She spoke an intermixture of three languages: English, the dialect of the parish, and a little of the common book language of Norway.

"I have been trying to speak Norse only a couple of months, and do not succeed very well yet."

Her countenance had developed: the eyes glowed with more warmth than of yore; the full lips had acquired facility in expressing every varied shade of humor, friendliness, and will. Her form was even more voluptuous than it had formerly been, but her rapid movements and the elegant traveling suit she wore softened the effect. Her broad hands, which bore the impress of her working days, closed warmly about Magnhild's hand, and soon they were sitting side by side while Ronnaug told her strange experiences of the past four or five years. She had not wanted to write about them, for no one would have believed her story if she had. The reason why she had not kept her promise to write immediately upon reaching her journey's end was simply because even during the voyage she had risen from the steerage to the first cabin, and what had caused this promotion would have been misinterpreted.

When she sailed from Liverpool she was sitting forward on the gunwale of the large s.h.i.+p. A gentleman came up to her and in broken Norwegian claimed acquaintance with her, for just as she was sitting now, he said, she had sat a month before on the back of his cariole. Ronnaug, too, remembered him, and they talked together that day and many other days.

After a while he brought a lady with him. The next day he and the lady came again and invited Ronnaug to go with them to the first cabin. Here the lady and she, with the aid of the gentleman, entered into an English conversation, which created much amus.e.m.e.nt. Others soon gathered about the group and the upshot of it all was that Ronnaug was compelled to remain in the first cabin, she really did not know at whose expense. She took a bath, was provided with new clothes from top to toe, several ladies contributing, and remained as a guest among the pa.s.sengers. All were kind to her.

She left the s.h.i.+p with the lady, who proved to be an aunt of the gentleman who had first spoken to Ronnaug and at whose expense, as she soon learned, she had traveled. He afterwards had her provided with instruction and the handsomest support, and it was at his expense they all three took frequent long journeys together. For the past two years she had been his wife, and they had a child about a year old whom she had with her. And this child Magnhild must see--not "to-morrow," nor "by and by," but "now," "right away!"

Magnhild was not dressed. Well, then she must speedily make her toilet.

Ronnaug would help her--and in spite of all resistance they were both soon standing in Magnhild's chamber.

As soon as Magnhild had begun to dress Ronnaug wandered about in the rooms. As she did so she asked one single question, and this was: why Magnhild was not dressed so late in the day. A long protracted "oh!"

was the only answer she received. Ronnaug hummed softly to herself as she went out into the front room. By and by some words were uttered by her; they were English words, and one of them Magnhild heard distinctly: it was "disappointed." Magnhild understood English; during the past three winters Skarlie had read the language with her, and she could already read aloud to him from the American weekly paper, which, since his sojourn in America, it had been a necessity for him to take. She knew, therefore, that "disappointed" was the same as "_skuffet_."

There are times when a change occurs in our mood, inasmuch as the sun which filled the whole room suddenly disappears, leaving the atmosphere gray, cold, within and without. In like manner Magnhild was involuntarily seized with an indescribable dread; and sure enough, the next time Ronnaug came humming past the open door (she was looking at the pictures on the wall), she cast a brief side glance in at Magnhild; it was by no means unfriendly; but it was felt, nevertheless, by Magnhild, as though she had received a shock. What in all the world had happened? or rather, what was discovered? It was impossible for her to conceive. She cast her eyes searchingly around the room, when she came in after dressing. But she sought in vain for anything which could have betrayed what she herself would have concealed, or indicated what could have caused displeasure. What was it? Ronnaug's face was now quite changed--ah! what was it?

They set forth; both had grown silent. Even on the street, where there must be so much that was familiar, she who had but now spoken in three languages could hold her peace in them all. They met a man in a cariole, who was talking pa.s.sionately with a younger man he had stopped; both bowed to Magnhild, the elder one with an air of indifference, the younger one with triumph in his pimpled face and flas.h.i.+ng eyes. For the first time Ronnaug roused to interest. Although nearly five years had elapsed since she had served as "skyds" girl to the unknown man who had talked about Magnhild's destiny, and who had seen her herself in circ.u.mstances of which she was now ashamed, she recognized him at once.

Hurriedly grasping Magnhild's hand, she cried:--

"Do you know him? What is his name? Does he live here?"

In her eagerness she quite forgot to use her mother-tongue.

Magnhild replied only to the last question:--

"Yes, since last winter."

"What is his name?"

"Grong."

"Have you had any conversation with him?"

"More with his son; that was he who was standing by the cariole."

Ronnaug looked after Grong, who at this moment drove briskly, it might almost be said angrily, past them.

They soon came to the second hotel on the right hand side; a maid servant was asked if a lady had stopped there with a child. They were shown up-stairs. There stood the lady who had accompanied Ronnaug. The latter asked her in English where the child was, at the same time presenting Miss Roland to Mrs. Skarlie, after which all three went into the adjoining room.

"Ah, we have a cradle!" exclaimed Ronnaug in English, and threw herself on her knees beside the cradle.

Magnhild remained standing, at a little distance. The child was very pretty, so far as Magnhild could see. Ronnaug bent over it and for some time she neither looked up nor spoke. But Magnhild saw that great tears trickled down on the fine coverlet that was spread over the cradle.

There arose a painful silence.

Ronnaug rose to her feet at last, and with a side glance at Magnhild she went past her into the front room. Magnhild finally felt constrained to follow her. She found Ronnaug standing by the window. A carriage stopped at that moment in front of the hotel. Magnhild saw that it was drawn by three men. It was a new, handsome traveling carriage, the handsomest she had ever seen.

"Whose carriage is that?" asked she.

"It is mine," replied Ronnaug.

Betsy Roland came in and asked some question. Ronnaug went out with her, and when, directly afterward, she returned to the room, she went straight up to Magnhild, who still sat looking at the carriage. Ronnaug laid one arm about her neck.

"Will you go with me in this carriage through the country, Magnhild?"

she asked, in English.

At the first contact Magnhild had become startled; she was conscious of Ronnaug's eyes, of her breath; and Ronnaug's arm encircled her like an iron bar, although there certainly was no pressure.

"Will you go with me through the country in this--in this carriage, Magnhild?" she heard once more, this time in a blending of the dialect of the parish and English, and the voice trembled.

"Yes," whispered Magnhild.