The Swing Of The Pendulum | 9+ Hours | Complete, Part 1

"The Swing of The Pendulum" is a novel from English author Frances Mary Peard, published in 1893. It follows the adventures of a group of English travellers to Norway and explores what life was really like for young women in Victorian Britain. Set against the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution, this book offers a fascinating insight into the massive societal shifts that were at play back then!

Transcript

Hello there.

Thank you so much for joining me for this reading of The Swing of the Pendulum,

Which is a novel from 1893 by the English author Frances Mary Peard.

It's a fascinating novel exploring what life was like for young women in the Victorian era in Britain.

It was,

Of course,

A time of great change with the Industrial Revolution and there were many societal shifts that young women especially were experiencing.

So before we get into exploring this fascinating book,

Let's take a moment here to have a nice deep exhale,

Letting go of the day,

Letting go of any baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For right now,

There's nowhere else we have to go,

Nothing else that we have to be doing.

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the fascinating tale of The Swing of the Pendulum.

Chapter One.

Dislike.

The shallow North Sea had been fretted by a northerly gale,

And the voyage from Hull even more than usually unpleasant,

When the passengers on board the Eldorado struggled up to see the low-lying land which forms the entrance to Stavanger.

The vessel was crowded,

But hardly anyone had appeared at meals,

And the groups on deck had been too much occupied with their own discomforts to do more than take a languid interest in each other.

Now that the worst was over,

This interest quickened.

Two ladies,

A mother and daughter,

Were standing a little apart when a gentleman strolled up to them.

They greeted him with a smile.

I have not seen you since the night you came on board.

Where have you been all the time?

He began.

Don't ask,

Said the elder lady with a shudder.

For the first time in my life,

I have suffered the pangs of actual remorse,

Because I persuaded Millie to come.

However,

We are never going home again.

That is quite decided.

Unless we walk,

Said Millie firmly.

Do you mean to land at Stavanger?

How can you ask?

I would land anywhere,

Even on a desert island.

Besides,

We have been reading somebody's best tour,

And according to that,

It is the right way of going into Norway.

Once adopt a guidebook,

You become its slave.

Then we shall be likely to jog along together,

Unless you object,

Said Wareham with a smile.

Millie looked at him with frank delight.

Her mother gave a quick glance,

In which more mingled feelings might have been read.

She made haste,

However,

To express her pleasure.

I am not likely to object to an unexpected piece of good fortune,

But I give you fair warning that although I can get on by myself,

As well as most women,

If there is a man at hand,

I am pretty sure to turn over exacting carry-all drivers,

Or anybody making himself disagreeable,

To him.

I am not alarmed.

There are no exacting carry-all drivers in Norway,

And you are more likely to overpay than be overcharged.

You will like the country.

I am going to enjoy it immensely,

Said Millie,

When once I am there,

This doesn't count,

Does it?

Because though I believe we are staring at lovely mountains,

And there are rose-red sheds standing up against them,

I feel too much humiliated to be enthusiastic,

And my one longing is for tea.

Besides,

I am dreadfully cold.

Come to the other side of the ship,

Said her mother briskly.

We shall see the town better,

And be nearer our luggage.

Wareham followed.

He hardly knew why.

He liked the Raven Hills very well,

But he had not intended to attach himself to any fellow travellers,

And when he spoke of jogging along together,

It was rather an allusion to the inevitable gravitation of Norwegian travel than to that deliberate companionship,

Which their words seemed to accept.

He told himself,

However,

That this was a natural mistake,

Born of inexperience.

It would be easy enough to break away when he found it desirable.

He would not worry his holiday with excess of caution.

Mrs Raven Hill was charming,

And Millie might turn out to possess the same delicate quality.

As she stood before him with her mother,

He was struck with the prettiness of her hazel eyes and her dimples,

And with that swift rush of thought into the imaginary future in which we have all experienced,

And from which we often return with a flush of shame,

He saw himself falling in love with Millie,

And coming back to England an engaged man.

The thought was so vivid that when at this moment she turned to speak to him,

He had scarcely time to call himself back to the actual condition of things,

And something of his mental picture was perhaps betrayed in his face,

For she glanced quickly at him a second time,

And coloured slightly.

"'Norway may be as delightful as you all declare,

' she said,

"'but when I set up a delightful land,

It shall have no custom house.

Here we shall have to wait,

I suppose,

While great big men amuse themselves with rummaging among all my most nicely packed corners.

It's absurd!

It's barbarous!

And mother wouldn't bring a maid!

' Mrs Ravenhill had moved a little forward to speak to one of the stewards who were carrying up the cabin packages.

When next Wareham looked at her,

She had apparently relinquished her intention and was talking to a gentleman who up to this moment had stood aloof,

And who even now showed no great conversational alacrity,

As Wareham remarked with a little amusement.

"'Who is that?

' he asked Miss Ravenhill.

"'That—' Millie's eyes began to smile.

"'Oh,

Poor Colonel Martin.

It is really wicked of mother,

For she knows how frightened he gets when he hasn't Mrs Martin to protect him.

But here she comes—' and Millie stopped suddenly.

Wareham did not notice the break,

For his eyes had passed Mrs Martin and fallen,

With a start of annoyed surprise,

Upon the face of a girl who followed her.

The girl was young and unusually tall,

Though owing to an extraordinary grace and ease of movement,

This only became evident when you compared her with the other women who stood round.

She looked neither to the right nor left,

And with the sun shining brightly behind her,

It was difficult to see her face distinctly,

But Millie,

Who was watching Wareham,

Perceived that he recognised her,

And that the recognition was,

For some reason or other,

Unwelcome.

"'You know Miss Dalrymple?

' she asked curiously.

Wareham's expression had stiffened.

"'No,

' he said briefly.

"'No,

But you have seen her.

You must have seen her this season.

' "'Yes,

I have seen her.

' Millie's mouth opened as if she were going to put another question,

But if it were so,

Her intention changed.

She said with enthusiasm,

"'She is very beautiful.

' Wareham did not answer.

He had turned his back upon the group,

And was looking over the water,

Past some brilliantly red-roofed barns,

To a broken line of tender,

Amethyst-coloured hills.

"'Are those people going to get out here?

' "'What people?

Miss Dalrymple and her friends?

' "'No.

They told us at Hull,

We all dined together at the station hotel,

You know,

That they should go on to Bergen.

' "'Oh,

Good,

' said Wareham with unmistakable relief.

Millie began to laugh.

"'You don't know her,

Yet you have a dislike to her?

' "'Yes,

I dislike her.

' "'Something in Wareham's tone checked further questioning.

It was grave,

Outspoken,

And the least little bit in the world,

Haughty.

Millie flew away from the subject,

Though her thoughts crept back to it again and again,

With,

It must be owned,

A secret glee.

Slowly the vessel steamed into the harbour.

The sun had broken out brilliantly after the gale.

Clouds,

Blown into strange shapes,

Struck across the sky,

And glittered whitely behind a cleft in distant mountains.

The indigo-blue water was full of dancing movement and gave everything an air of gay exhilaration,

Which it was difficult to resist.

Into Millie's pale face colour returned,

And her eyes brightened as she looked about her at the vividly painted boats,

The white houses,

And the cream-coloured ponies standing on the quay.

Thanks to Wareham,

They were among the first to leave the vessel,

And to make their way through a gently interested crowd towards the inn.

Mrs Ravenhill was more enthusiastic than her daughter.

She sketched,

And all she saw resolved itself into a possible effect on a square of white paper,

And breathed the joy of creation.

She was possessed,

Besides,

With the fancy that her coming to Norway,

In a spirit of warm goodwill,

Should be warmly reciprocated,

So that she looked at the people,

Smiling,

Ready to shake hands with them all,

Since she had heard that was the form of greeting they liked.

Millie,

Who had not her mother's buoyancy,

Found it more difficult to forget the impressions of the voyage.

She began to pity those remaining on board.

Unfortunate people who go on to Bergen.

Weren't the Martins very sorry for themselves,

Mother?

Oh,

Didn't you hear?

They have given up the idea,

Changed their plans,

And are landing here.

Mrs Martin vowed she couldn't stand another hour.

Millie shot a quick glance at Wareham,

And told herself that his face spoke annoyance.

But at this moment,

Mrs Ravenhill's alert attention to the unusual was caught by a pony standing in a little cart,

Hobbled by reins twisted round its forefeet,

And she broke into exclamation.

Then they left the harbour,

By a short street,

And presently found themselves at the entrance of the comfortable inn which calls itself The Grand,

Where the two ladies vanished upstairs,

While Wareham,

Who had a telegram to send,

Went up the hill to the post office.

Already he repented of the rashness which had allowed Mrs Ravenhill to suppose that he was ready to join her.

He had known them long,

But not well.

And to a male used to self-disposal,

There was horror in the bare thought that they might make undue claims upon his attentions.

That was bad enough,

But the Martins lay behind.

Worse,

And that they should be worse,

Was annoying.

The best friend in the world cannot adopt the misfortunes of his friend as though they were his own.

Least of all,

As Wareham reflected with a half-laugh,

When they are the misfortunes of love.

As Dick Wareham,

With Hugh Forbes opposite to him,

Seen through a cloud of smoke and the mist of years,

Sympathy bound him to denunciation of the woman who had ruined Hugh's happiness.

But as Richard Wareham in a holiday land,

Old surroundings behind,

Only folly would allow disturbance because this same woman was under the same roof.

What was she to him?

He reflected impatiently that he had been a fool to tell Miss Ravenhill that he disliked her.

Wareham was hot-headed.

And hot-headed yet fair-minded men must often wade through deep waters of repentance.

He owned that he had behaved ill.

And as his opinion of himself was of more importance to him than that of the world,

The judgment annoyed him.

And Miss Dalrymple,

The cause of annoyance,

Became more obnoxious.

He sent his telegram,

And it was to Hugh Forbes.

If he had indulged in a hope that the Martins might have betaken themselves to another inn,

That hope was promptly dispelled.

For after making his way back,

Followed by children shyly inviting him to buy paper screws containing each four or five strawberries,

He found their names largely scrawled across the blackboard in the entrance hall,

Where the good-humoured Burley Porter was still arranging rooms for white-faced arrivals.

Then he jumped at another chance of escape.

Had the sand-steamer gone?

It had.

The Eldorado was some hours late,

And the steamer left at two.

No other was due for twenty-four hours.

Wareham went to his room,

Ashamed of the impulse of retreat.

A bath and increasing hunger braced him,

And he came down to the meal,

Which in Norway does duty for late dinner,

Caring nothing as to whom he might encounter.

He was not surprised to hear that Mrs Ravenhill had already made intimate acquaintance with Stavanger,

Its streets,

Harbours and boats,

But he was appreciatively grateful for the tact which had led her to abstain from asking him to accompany her.

Evidently,

She intended him to understand that travelling with them was not going to interfere with his liberty.

Millie,

Like the rest of the world,

Had been sleeping.

Now she was quite herself again,

And announced that she meant to go out immediately after supper.

Meanwhile,

I intend to try everything that is on the table.

Isn't that the properly unprejudiced spirit in which to dine in a strange country?

Oh,

Praiseworthy,

Said Wareham.

Do you mind how they come,

Or will you follow hackneyed routine and start with salmon?

Please,

I don't wish to go in too strongly for emancipation.

I shall begin with salmon,

And be much disappointed if you don't provide me with reindeer collubs.

Isn't that the proper word?

And cloudberries and cream.

You are born to disappointment,

Wareham announced.

Cloudberries are not ripe much before September,

And we are in July.

Millie looked at him,

Laughing and frowning.

He admired her dimple.

Spare my delusions,

She said.

I shall not listen to you.

I know what to expect.

Cloudberries and cream I shall feast upon.

If not today,

Another day.

Pirates will be in the fjords,

At a safe distance.

There will be islands,

And if we look long enough,

We shall see a man swimming and flinging up his hands.

While up by the siters,

We shall come upon a little lap,

Carrying away a cheese as big as himself.

That is my Norway,

Millie continued triumphantly.

Not the miserably complicated country of Ibsen and Bjertsen.

She lowered her voice to an ah,

And said no more,

As the Martins and Miss Dalrymple appeared.

Three empty seats opposite the Raven Hills had been reserved for the newcomers.

Colonel Martin gave a nod to Wareham,

Expressive of the sympathy of a fellow sufferer,

And dropped into the chair corresponding with his.

Mrs.

Martin came next,

A large fair woman with hardness in her face and bruskness in her manner.

Wareham passed them and looked at Miss Dalrymple,

Hostility in his heart,

And admitted,

As well as a curiosity which he would not have so readily acknowledged.

She faced the level light of many windows,

A position against which Millie had rebelled,

And she had just gone through a trying sea voyage,

But her beauty defied what would have affected others.

Her skin was warmly tinted,

Her hair a lovely brown,

Growing low on the temples,

And lighter than is usual with brown beauties,

Some shades lighter than the beautiful eyes.

Wareham,

Looking at her,

Pelted her with all the detracting epithets he could light upon.

He called the poise of the small head on the slender throat arrogant,

Yet to most people it would have seemed as natural as the growth of a flower,

And as perfect.

As for the line of her lips,

It was hard,

Hard,

Hard.

Sitting down,

She swept the table with a swift glance,

Half closing her eyes as she did so,

To her judge,

A sign of sinful vanity,

Though really due to nearsightedness.

This done,

She turned and talked almost exclusively to her neighbour,

A small old lady,

Shy,

And a little prim who had also crossed in the Eldorado.

She was often,

However,

Silent.

Once Wareham encountered her half-shut glance resting upon him.

She showed no confusion at meeting his gaze,

And he had to own,

With a little mortification,

That her look was as impersonal as that which she turned upon others of the unknown company.

Millie had grown silent,

Perhaps because her neighbour spoke less,

And the link between the two sets was Mrs Ravenhill.

She knew many people and could talk easily.

At one moment in her conversation with Mrs Martin,

Who had not yet stepped back into her usual assertive mood,

She leaned across her daughter and introduced Wareham.

It was only an act of courtesy.

After the interchange of a few words,

His talk drifted again to Millie.

The motley meal ended.

It broke up abruptly.

"'Mother and I are going out,

' said Millie,

With careful avoidance of pressure.

"'I will come,

If I may?

' he added heedfully.

"'That is,

If you are to be alone?

' "'Alone?

Of course.

' The girl's eyes danced.

Triumph had not often come to her.

And to find a man,

A man of distinction,

Who preferred her society to that of the beautiful Miss Dalrymple,

Was intoxicating.

She swept her mother to her room and implored her to make haste.

"'Why?

Why?

' "'Because it is pleasanter to be alone.

' "'Shall we be alone?

' Pinning on her veil,

Millie admitted that she believed Mr Wareham would come.

"'Oh!

' Presently Mrs Ravenhill added,

With a little intention,

"'Millie,

Don't spoil Mr Wareham.

' The girl laughed frankly.

"'The bare idea makes you fierce,

Mother,

Doesn't it?

But I do think it is nicer to have a man with us than to trail along by ourselves,

And if he comes,

He will expect things to,

To,

Well,

To go as he likes.

' Mrs Ravenhill emitted another,

"'Oh!

' She added,

"'In my day,

A man would have thought himself honoured.

So he would in mine,

If I had the arrangement of things,

' Millie retorted.

"'But I haven't.

And all that can be done is to make the best of them.

Perhaps you haven't found out that Mr Wareham detests Miss Dalrymple and evidently wishes to avoid her.

We needn't force them upon each other.

' I thought he did not know her,

Nor does he.

' "'Well,

' said her mother with impatience,

"'have it as you like,

Millie.

Only for pity's sake,

Don't let us plunge into a cloud of mystifications and prejudices.

We didn't come to Norway for that.

And Mr Wareham isn't worth it.

' To this the girl made no answer and the subject dropped.

So they went out,

All three,

In the cool,

Clear daylight,

Which had no suggestion of evening about it,

Except that the shop doors were locked and people strolled about with leisure,

Which seemed unnatural.

The streets were not beautiful,

But all the boarded houses had clean white faces,

Red roofs and cheerful windows crowded with flowers.

Presently they came upon the old cathedral with its two low spires.

On one side,

An ancient avenue of storm-stunted sycamores dignified a grave little cluster of houses at its end.

Millie wanted to go into the church and professed herself injured at finding it closed.

"'Maint they ever shut up?

' said Wareham,

Holding out his watch with a smile.

"'It is a quarter to ten!

' she exclaimed,

But refused to return.

A lake glimmered through the trees.

They went there,

And afterwards,

Along stony ways round the harbour,

Something,

Was it the pure,

Light air,

The kindly,

Sensible-faced people,

Set the girl's heart throbbing.

She had suddenly caught her mother's simple power of enjoyment,

And Wareham owned that her quick intuition gave originality to the commonplace.

By the time the harbour was reached,

Lights were golden,

Colour ran riot in the sky.

There was too much ripple on the water for reflections,

But the green boats bobbed gaily up and down,

While far away the mountains lay faintly blue against the eastern sky,

Out of which light paled.

Beyond the streets are public gardens,

The houses are left behind,

And the wide water-mouth stretches broadly.

Now there was nothing but the lap of waves,

Distant islands,

More distant mountains,

And the sunset sky above.

They lingered,

And silently watched the pomp fade,

Found a boat,

And rowed across the harbour in the last afterglow.

Chapter Two A Man's Judgment Strange,

Indeed,

That Wareham should have been thus shot into the society of Anne Dalrymple.

Never personally acquainted with her,

He had heard more about her than of any other living woman.

Could have described her positively,

And believed he knew her mind.

Heart,

He denied her.

Had he been in England during the past year or two,

They must have met,

But he had first been ordered abroad after a narrow escape of breakdown from overwork.

Then,

Bitten by the charm of the south,

Let himself drift lazily from Italy to Greece,

From Greece to Egypt,

From Egypt to India,

All lands of enchantment.

During the latter part of this stay,

Letters had been showered upon him from his chief friend,

Hugh Forbes.

Letters crammed with enthusiasm,

With hope,

With despair,

A thundering chord,

With the beautiful Miss Dalrymple for its root.

Wareham pished and pooed,

And sometimes pitched away as much as half a letter,

Unread,

With a word.

But he was a man with an unsuspected strength of sympathy.

Probably it belonged to his success as an author that,

Once interested,

He could project himself into another mind and feel its sensations.

Especially where his affections were concerned,

Was this the case?

And it may have been fortunate for him that his affections were not easily moved,

Perhaps because he feared what he counted a weakness,

And was reluctant to let himself go.

Once,

He had loved a woman,

But this happened before he was famous,

And she married a richer man.

Since that time,

His heart had apparently remained untouched.

Although he never avoided women's society,

The dark time of disappointment drew him nearer to his friend.

Hugh was three years his junior,

But they had been at school together,

And the habit of befriending the younger boy had stuck to Dick.

When this happens,

The strength of the tie is scarcely calculable,

At least on the side of the elder.

Hugh knew and acted upon it,

Almost unconsciously.

He would as soon have expected the funds to collapse,

As Dick to fail him in case of need.

After a time,

His letters announced the unexpected to Wareham.

The affair was serious,

And Miss Dalrymple had accepted him.

Rapture filled sheets of paper.

Then,

Letters ceased.

And Wareham,

Who was in India,

Smiled,

Recognising the inevitable,

And waited,

Without misgiving,

Until a cooler time should bring back the outer manifestations of a friendship which he could not doubt.

They came in the form of a cry of misery.

Within six weeks of the wedding,

Miss Dalrymple had broken off the engagement.

He read the letter in amazement,

And rushed back to England,

Snapping the small ties with which he was lazily suffering himself to be entangled,

And knowing that in the blackness of a lover's despair,

His was the only hand to bring the touch of comfort.

Under his own misfortunes,

He had been dumb,

But this reticence did not affect his sympathy with a more expansive nature.

Hugh liked to enlarge upon his sorrows.

Unfailing interest lurked for him in the question how they might have been avoided,

And the answer was never so convincing as to suffice.

Wareham gave a patient ear to the lengthy catalogue of Miss Dalrymple's charms,

Until he could have repeated them without prompting,

And offered one suggestion after another as to the causes which had induced her to break off her engagement,

For there had been no quarrel no explanation.

Hugh had merely received a letter saying that she had discovered it to have been a mistake,

And could not marry him.

She accepted the whole blame,

And asked him not to attempt to see her.

It was a preposterous request,

And he battled against it with all his might,

Only to find that the fates were on her side.

For although he wrote stormy,

Heart-breaking letters,

Although he battered at her doors,

His letters remained unanswered,

And all that he could hear was that Miss Dalrymple was ill,

And would see no one.

This made him worse.

Her father was dead.

Brothers she had none.

Lady Dalrymple,

Her step-mother,

An inconsequent,

Careless woman of the world,

Who had shrugged her shoulders when Anne announced her intention of marrying Hugh Forbes,

Admitted him to her boudoir,

And told him with another shrug that she could neither interfere nor offer an explanation.

Anne had acted throughout on her own responsibility.

As she had not opposed when she disapproved,

He could not expect her to take part against her judgment.

How was I to fight such an argument?

Hugh asked Wareham,

Not once,

But twenty times.

The first time,

He was answered by a question whether he had never met the girl anywhere.

Was I going to insult her in public?

Groaned Hugh.

And his friend liked him the better.

For manly self-restraint,

When he had reason for being distraught,

He had avoided society,

And nursed his misery.

Exaggerating it,

Perhaps,

But acting gallantly.

Wareham could not but reach the conclusion that he had been abominably treated.

Yet,

Where lay the remedy?

Patience had to be offered in draughts,

And was turned from with loathing.

This went on until even Wareham grew weary of repetition,

And was not sorry when Hugh's sister came up to town and appeared eager for confidences.

With the belief that his friend would be the better for a change of consolers,

Wareham resolved to carry out a vague plan and go to Norway for three or four weeks.

And there,

As has been seen,

He at once found himself confronted with Miss Dalrymple.

Naturally,

She now occupied his thoughts.

He had sent a telegram to Hugh on arrival,

In compliance with a promise he had made to let him know if he at any time became acquainted with Miss Dalrymple's movements.

A promise made idly,

And already regretted.

Tonight,

He pieced together his impressions.

They were as unfavourable as might have been expected.

The signs in her face he had already read against her,

And her composure almost shocked him.

He was certain,

From the exuberance of Hugh's friendship,

That his own name must be familiar to Miss Dalrymple,

And considering her tacit acknowledgement to Hugh that she had treated him very ill,

A woman whose heart was what a woman's should be,

Must have felt and betrayed uneasiness at finding herself face to face with the dearest friend of the man she had jilted.

Miss Dalrymple,

However,

Had shown no symptom of feeling.

She had treated him as if he had never so much as touched her thoughts.

And to do Wareham justice,

It was friendship,

Not vanity,

Which resented the indifference.

He thought it horrible that a woman should be so cold.

Pride,

Also,

He read,

Accusingly.

In his own mind,

He believed Hugh to have been flung over because she had grown discontented with his position.

That she had yielded primarily,

Wareham interpreted as due to the young fellow's strong personal charm,

Perhaps to weariness of other men.

It was an impulse,

Not love,

And it was not powerful enough for a strain.

He depreciated her beauty.

Who cares for half-shut eyes?

He was not sure that Millie Ravenhill was not prettier.

At any rate,

He was certain that she was more attractive.

When conclusions stand up before us in such mighty good order,

The chances are that we have always kept them ready-made.

This did not strike Wareham,

Sifter of causes though he might be.

He set them down to acuteness of observation and credited them with impartiality.

It vexed him the more to be thrust by circumstances into a sort of companionship with Miss Dalrymple,

Whom of all women he would have avoided.

He would take the first opportunity to break away.

But when?

For in Western Norway,

Where there is but one short railway,

It often happens that you must leave when you can,

Not when you will.

And at Stavanger,

This means once in the twenty-four hours.

Imagine the sensation!

Nineteenth-century Englishman!

What annoyance!

What repose!

Whether he would or no,

He must make up his mind to journey as far as Sand,

Perhaps Ossen,

Perhaps even Nice,

With all the others who had landed from the Eldorado.

After,

He might go on by himself.

And this consolation sent him off to bed.

When he met the Ravenhills in the morning,

He found that Mrs Ravenhills,

Inexhaustible energy,

Had carried her out sketching,

And brought her back hungry.

She vowed that the place was charming.

And after they had breakfasted,

Waited upon by a girl in hardanger dress,

Cut-away scarlet bodice,

Beaded stomacher and belt,

With white chemisette,

Sleeves and apron,

And fair hair hanging in a long plait,

Insisted upon bearing them off to prove her words.

And,

Indeed,

Though there is nothing striking in the town itself,

It was impossible not to feel its bright pleasantness.

The sun shone gaily,

The sweet pure air made every breath delight.

Even in July,

There was a fragrant freshness abroad,

Such as only comes to lands where spring and summer flutter down as fleeting visitors,

And we cannot do enough to welcome them.

All the houses are painted,

Whitened,

And decked with flowers.

They have not the lazy sunburnt picturesque charm of the South,

But under the delicate northern sky,

There is a quiet yet vigorous cheerfulness about them.

Wareham,

Who had seen eastern splendours,

Was conscious of this gentle quality,

And liked it.

They wandered round the busy harbour,

Into the cathedral with its Norman pillars and great,

Impressive,

Barbaric pulpit.

The minister came out as they went in,

A long black figure with a tall hat,

A Puritan rough,

And a kind face who looked as if he had stepped out of a storybook.

Afterwards,

They strolled on,

Not much caring where,

Between hedges of sweetbriar,

Past boggy places waving with cotton rush,

And climbed a hill to see the interlacing fjords and the distant mountains veiled with advancing mist,

And the women making their hay in the fields.

Millie,

Who had not cared very much for Norway before she came,

Having something of a girl's indifference to the unknown,

Was discovering delightful things around and before her.

Were they not rather blossoming in her heart?

As for Wareham,

He too became sanguine.

So far,

The Martins were avoided,

And with good luck,

The annoyance of their presence might be reduced to a was here,

And what mischief lurked behind.

The three,

Equally unconscious of their luck and their danger,

Looked at all they could see,

Went back to the inn for more salmon,

And steamed away down the fjords towards Sand.

An hour afterwards,

They were on the upper deck of the little steamer.

Grey mists had gathered in their scouts,

And swept up,

Chilling the air,

And battling with the sunshine.

Now one,

Now the other,

Gained the day.

Miss Dalrymple walked about with Colonel Martin.

Wareham believed she shared his own disinclination to meet,

And under the circumstances,

Disinclination was more creditable than indifference.

His hard thoughts of her softened slightly,

Very slightly.

Mutual avoidance would prevent difficulties which might otherwise prove awkward in the coming days.

Meanwhile,

As yet nothing had been said or done which foreboded trouble,

It pleased Millie to treat Wareham as if he were responsible for anything lacking in the beauty of the country.

And as the wide entrance to the Sand Fjord is uninteresting,

And a cold wind nipping in from a bleak sea chilled the landscape,

He became the butt of many mock reproaches.

Wrapped in a fur cloak,

And barricaded behind an umbrella,

She vowed there was nothing to see.

Perhaps there was not much,

But Wareham found a never-failing attraction in the small scattered villages at which the steamer stopped.

A dozen or more white houses,

A little stone pier,

Against which,

Under the crystal clear water,

Seaweed of a wonderful green clung and floated,

And a stir of human interest among the people who came down to the water's edge to meet the steamer.

At one of these landing places,

The crowd was more than usual.

A pink,

Green and blue crowd,

And there was concentrating of eyes upon one young girl to whom the vessel had brought a bouquet.

A white bridal bouquet,

The pride with which she received it,

The eagerness with which she read the note accompanying it,

And allowed the children to admire and smell it,

The interest of the other gazing girls,

And the dignified air she assumed after the first few moments,

Made up an idyll which Wareham watched,

Smiling.

He was sorry when the steamer backed away from the busy pier,

And left the girl with her hopes,

Her triumphs,

And her awe-smitten companions.

Going back to tell the idle Millie that she had missed something,

His eye fell upon a tall,

Slight figure in a long cloak,

Standing near the spot where he had stood,

And talking to a shorter man with a grey beard.

It was Miss Dalrymple,

And she had apparently been occupied in the same way as himself.

Her face was turned towards him,

But she made no sign of recognition.

Well,

Demanded Millie gaily,

Well,

You would have found it interesting.

How do you know?

Listen to what were the accessories.

A note and a nose-gay.

Go on.

No more?

A young woman.

Beyond question.

A wedding near at hand.

And I have remarked that all women are interested in weddings.

Distantly viewed,

They are tolerable,

But looked at closely,

One's pity becomes painful,

And I am too old to cry comfortably.

You must be super-sensitive.

I saw no promise of tears.

The actors conceal their feelings.

Only the spectators may suffer theirs to be seen.

Look how grave Miss Dalrymple is.

Wareham glanced.

Anne stood where he had last noticed her,

Apparently listening to her companion,

And it was true that she appeared to be grave and preoccupied.

Hers was a face in which beauty played capriciously,

And at this moment the lines justified his charge of hardness.

Millie bored,

I should say,

And not troubling herself to hide it.

Millie put a sudden question.

Wasn't there some story,

Some engagement,

In which Miss Dalrymple was mixed up?

I'm sure there was something one ought to remember.

Wareham did not feel himself called upon to assist in this mental examination.

With her beauty,

She is likely enough to be talked over,

Was all he said,

But Millie persisted.

I'm certain there was a sort of sensation.

I must ask mother,

For I am suddenly seized with curiosity.

What was it?

Wasn't there… She broke off,

And in a moment looked up triumphantly.

Of course!

How stupid of me.

Now it comes back.

She was engaged to a son of Sir Michael Forbes.

Didn't you hear of it?

Oh,

I'm sure you did.

The wedding day was actually fixed,

And everything arranged,

And the next thing one heard was that it was at an end.

How could I have forgotten?

Wareham was silent.

She looked at him in surprise.

It is impossible.

It should not have come to your ears.

His face changed a little.

If she had known it,

She was irritating him by her persistence.

Although he acquitted her of intention.

One may as well leave the idle talk of the season behind one,

He said gravely.

One can't,

With the chief subject before one,

Retorted Millie.

Confess!

Haven't you thought about it since you saw her?

He hesitated.

Then,

Allowing the fact,

Adding that thoughts might remain one's own,

Ah,

You think me a chatterbox,

She said,

Good-humouredly.

How tiresome!

Here is another shower sweeping across.

Shall I get a cloak?

No,

I really want to hear more.

I am sure you can tell me,

She added with eagerness,

Which was to blame.

What a question!

Why?

Is it strange?

Somebody was,

I suppose.

I have very little doubt myself that Mr Forbes was the sinner.

Wareham was startled from his impassive attitude.

What has given you that impression?

What?

How can I tell you?

If I were to say it was a woman's intuition,

You would laugh.

So that,

I imagine,

It is owing to vague recollection of what I may have heard.

If that is all,

I think you should disabuse yourself of the idea.

Whoever was to blame,

It was certainly not Mr Forbes.

She looked at him mischievously,

And remarked that he spoke so gravely of an indifferent matter that one might suppose he had an interest in it.

I have not said that it was indifferent.

Oh,

Millie coloured and said hastily,

I beg your pardon.

I am very sorry.

If I had dreamed that there was anything to make you care,

I should not have tried to find out your opinion.

Do you know,

I should be really glad of a Macintosh.

Wareham went to get it.

But when he came back,

He reverted to the subject.

Let me explain why I care.

The man to whom Miss Dalrymple was engaged is my friend.

And knowing as I do the circumstances of the case,

I can't stand hearing him reproached.

I can't explain the facts,

Simply because they are inexplicable.

But I will ask you to take my word that no blame rests with him.

Oh,

No,

I understand.

I quite understand.

Millie stammered,

Wishing herself anywhere else.

She was frightened,

And could not find a jest with which to swing herself out of the difficulty.

Her embarrassment made him think more kindly of her again.

Presently,

Mrs Ravenhill,

Who had been talking to Mrs Martin,

Came to carry Millie to a more sheltered corner.

Wareham,

Seeing that they were approaching another fjord village,

Went to the side.

This time there was a contrast.

No crowd,

No happy throng of girls.

A few children,

A few older people gathered on the pier.

The baker came to receive his sack of flour,

The postmaster his letters.

Next,

Out of the steamer,

Another burden was lifted.

An empty,

Black coffin,

Studded with silver nails.

The children,

And the children only,

Stared curiously at the label.

Then they too ran off.

And so long as the steamer was in sight,

There lay the strange,

Black,

Deserted thing,

A blot on the green,

Unclaimed,

And to all appearance,

Uncared for.

Some prick of the universal humanity kept Wareham's eyes fixed upon it.

He felt as if the dead man,

Whose home it was to be,

Was wronged by this callous desertation,

As if he had been bound to all of them by a tie they were ignoring.

And while conscious of the unreasonableness of his blame,

He could not shake off the feeling that he shared in the common cruelty.

Suddenly,

By his side,

A voice exclaimed,

It is horrible.

He turned abruptly and saw Miss Dalrymple.

Her eyes were fixed where he had been looking.

And she went on.

One has no right to resent a mere accident.

They may have to come from a distance,

And it can't be known exactly when the steamer will call.

Still,

It offends one,

Said Wareham.

It is heartless.

He kept his eyes on her face.

Happily,

The dead are not hurt by heartlessness.

Happily,

She returned after a moment's pause.

She glanced at him,

Half closing her eyes in the manner he disliked.

Already the conversation had taken an edge,

Of which,

Even had it been unintentional,

Neither could have been unconscious.

But Wareham wished to wound.

He asked whether she had noticed the group at the landing place before this last.

She made a sign of assent.

What did you think of it?

I?

Was it more creditable to human nature?

Was heart there?

Or was the girl merely pleased with her power?

A smile made him more angry.

What makes you or me her judge?

Dismal experience as to motives?

Wareham replied.

One lives and learns,

Not so surely.

Anne returned coolly.

Half the time our pretense of reading motives is sheer affectation.

What we are really after is the making our conclusions fit our theories.

She suddenly shot away from the subject.

Are you travelling with the Raven Hills?

Yes.

No,

Said Wareham,

Surprised.

It was a chance meeting,

And we have all to go the same way.

All?

She frowned.

Do you mean that we are irrevocably bound together?

Practically.

Naturally,

There may be small deviations.

Oh.

Hateful,

She said frankly,

And apparently mused over the information.

Having bestowed it,

Wareham was silent,

Until she put another question.

May I inquire where you are all going tonight?

I can only help you so far as the Raven Hills are concerned.

They will push on to Osen.

And you?

Oh,

I,

Of course.

You were mistaken then,

Said Anne triumphantly,

In supposing that we follow the same route.

We stop at Sand,

He laughed.

Pardon me,

Sand and Osen are practically the same thing.

We meet on the same steamer tomorrow morning.

Oh,

She reflected again.

There is no help for it then.

Except… Wareham waited.

I trust to you not to take advantage,

She said,

In a hurried tone,

And with a movement of the head which he interpreted as his dismissal.

Instead of rejoining the Raven Hills,

He stood solitary and thought over the conversation.

What ground had been won or lost between two antagonists?

He had made it plain to Miss Dalrymple that he was on his friend's side,

And she had let him know that the meeting was disagreeable to her.

So far,

There was equality.

But though he had not disguised his feelings,

He could not flatter himself that he had caused Anne the slightest embarrassment.

And there was vexation in the thought that their first movement had been towards sympathy.

So that he remembered a throb of satisfaction on hearing her exclamation by his side.

He remembered too,

And dwelt upon,

The expression of her look,

Which said more than words.

The brow slightly contracted,

The eyes fixed,

The strong,

Pitiful curve of her lips.

In spite of his prejudice,

She was beautiful.

Hugh's raptures had inspired him with contradictory views,

But he told himself now that there was no reason to be unfair,

And that a lover might very well lose his head over fewer charms.

Disapproval,

Contempt,

Perhaps,

Were as strong as ever,

And proof against a woman's face.

Yet something in his own thoughts irritated him.

And he turned from them to talk to a tall German,

Whose wife and children were ensconced in the warmest corner of the deck.

Chapter three.

We start ourselves and cry out that fate pushes.

All the skid skirts,

And all the owners of vehicles for miles round sand,

Stormed the steamer on its arrival.

And out of the struggling crowd,

Wareham,

With difficulty,

Extricated Mrs Ravenhill and Millie,

And started them in a Stolkjaere,

While he himself followed in a second with a young Grey,

Who had,

Of course,

Crossed in the Eldorado.

In all,

There was a string of nine or ten little carriages,

Each drawn by a cream-coloured or light dun pony,

Its two occupants in front,

And its skid skirt perched on the luggage behind.

Now that they had left the open fjord,

Windswept by a north-westerly gale,

It had grown calm and warm,

And,

Driving up to the mountains by the side of a hurrying river,

The charm of the country began to reveal itself.

Mrs Ravenhill would have liked to have broken away from the procession and enjoyed it alone,

But this was impossible.

The ponies trotted in regular file,

Walked up the slightest incline and raced wildly downhill.

Nothing would have induced ponies or drivers to part company.

And,

Indeed,

After all,

Something in the small cavalcade was refreshingly different from ordinary modes of travelling.

Colours glowed and softened in the clear air.

Crimson sorrel turned the long grass into ruddy fields,

Waving and shimmering in the breeze.

The river,

Narrowing,

Dashed itself into milky whiteness.

In parts,

Trees growing singly out of the green made the country park-like.

Elsewhere,

A wilder character prevailed,

With a background of grey hills on which grey clouds brooded.

It was ten o'clock before they reached Osun,

But so lingering was the day that,

Even by that time,

The surrounding outlines were scarcely touched with uncertainty.

Throughout the drive,

Importunate skidskirts had petitioned on behalf of a new inn.

But Werum had decided to stop at the sultal,

Known to him of old.

Of all the procession,

Only the two stolkjäris halted there,

The rest whisking by to the other and more pretentiously illuminated building.

It seemed to Millie that the very landlord met them with surprise.

The whole house was at their disposal.

No one,

He explained,

Was there because the other house was very liberal to the skidskirts and they persuaded their employers in its favour.

There was something pathetic in the sad resignation with which he made this statement.

And Mrs Ravenhill,

Whose face had fallen at realisation of the solitude,

Which appeared to point to something obnoxious,

Became enthusiastic.

The quaint,

Box-like little bedrooms,

All pitch pine,

Unbroken by paper,

Plaster or carpet,

Delighted her.

And as every sound was audible throughout the house,

She and Millie in their separate rooms could talk as easily as if they had been together.

Presently,

However,

Other voices mingled themselves and it became evident that some of their fellow travellers had retraced their steps.

When they came down to the meal,

Which had been energetically prepared,

They found half a dozen others.

If it was not a very elaborate repast,

There was plenty and goodwill and a homely hospitality,

Which was pleasant.

Besides,

They were all hungry and all sleepy,

And neither the careful warnings against fire,

With directions how to get out of the little passages and where to find the safety ropes,

Nor the rather loud confidences of two travellers on the upper floor,

Could keep Mrs Ravenhill or Millie long awake.

Wareham,

On the contrary,

Was not drawn to sleep.

A paper in hand,

Which he wanted to think out by the help of a cigar,

Gave an excuse for strolling along the quiet road,

Where all was still,

Except the unresting swirl of the river.

His will forced concentration upon the matter which was in his mind,

But it was like driving unruly horses,

And the moment he relaxed his hold,

His thoughts bolted to the words Anne Dalrymple and he had exchanged.

It was difficult to explain why,

Except that her talk,

Her manner,

And above all,

Her face,

Had interested him.

They possessed a certain quality,

Distinct from the words and faces of others.

That he thought of her with an ever-increasing disapproval,

Did not interfere with the interest,

But served for an excuse for returning to its contemplation,

Since nothing is more absurd.

A problem,

It was doubtless,

This attraction which led him to fill out their conversation with imaginary words and incidents,

Such as might have led to an altogether different result.

But,

Jilt or flirt,

Anne Dalrymple was no mere brainless woman,

And he found himself on the verge of a wish that he had not been Hugh's friend,

So that he might have talked to her without prejudice.

A man's anger against a woman leaves him uncomfortable,

With a sense of his own unfairness,

Whether deserved or not.

He began to resent his position.

He had dropped into it,

Unknowingly,

But the bare idea that it might suggest to Hugh a thought of his friend's disloyalty,

Cut like a lash.

Kicking at pebbles in the road,

Or staring up at the dominating height rising blackly on the other side of the river,

Would not help him.

And for the moment there seemed nothing else.

He must make the best of it.

Why on earth trouble himself with what could not be helped?

Was he,

By ill luck,

Becoming morbid?

Morbid?

He walked back to the inn,

Disgusted with himself,

Pitched away his cigar before entering the inflammable barks,

And slept,

Resolved to accept ordinary intercourse as if he and Miss Dalrymple were strangers.

It is difficult to adopt any course of action which does not involve others in unexpected ways.

His last intention would have been to make marked advances to Millie Ravenhill.

Yet,

Treating her as a haven of refuge meant being much by her side on the following day.

The morning was all summer,

Full of light and freshness,

And as the little carriages began to arrive from Sand,

Wareham was very willing to get out of the way by joining half a dozen of their fellow travellers in a stroll over the grassy hill behind the inn.

Then Millie and he drifted away together,

And she wanted a flower plucked out of a marshy bit of land,

And when that was gathered,

A daring stone chat enticed them,

And the frank,

Innocent beauty around beguiled Wareham,

So that when the steamer sent up a warning shriek,

They were forced to run and reached the vessel breathless.

Mrs Ravenhill flung a look of reproach at Wareham while she scolded Millie.

How could you be so imprudent?

I have been waiting in terror,

Not knowing where to send.

Osen is all very well,

But to be forced to spend another 24 hours here.

I am really very angry.

Blame me,

Said Wareham penitentially.

It was all my fault.

He pleased himself by observing that the Martins and Miss Dalrymple were in possession of seats,

And as there had been a certain intention on his part of delay,

It is doubtful if he were really sorry.

Millie was radiant.

I should not have minded staying,

She remarked when breath had come back.

It is a dear little place,

And it would have been a real crow for the landlord.

He loved us so dearly for driving straight to his inn instead of being forced there by want of room in the other.

But what an odd state of society must exist in this place when,

Out of half a dozen houses,

Two are rival inns.

Do they speak?

Do they fight?

Human nature could not allow them to be friendly.

Oh,

I am not so sure,

Said Mrs Ravenhill.

You forget the strength of nature here,

And that the human part of them would have to combine against snow and darkness and solitude.

Once we are gone,

I dare say they are good friends together.

As they were carried along over the green waters of the Suldal Lake,

It seemed to who were looking as though they were entering a solemn and enchanted region.

The sun,

Which blazed upon the great granite hills,

Could not rob them of their supreme gravity.

They were mighty titans,

Resting after labour and conflict.

Earth forces up,

Heaved and left to lie and bleach,

Exposed to the more subtle forces of air and water.

For the lake crept in and out between them,

Always softly pushing through,

Although often the tremendous cliffs closed so menacingly round that the boat appeared to be making for a wall of sheer rock,

Against which she must be ground.

At such moments,

Those on board watched almost breathlessly for the passage to declare itself,

Sometimes splitting a sharp angle,

Sometimes stealing through a sinuous curve,

Once urged between two colossal barriers which bear the name of The Portal.

It is the gateway into a shadowy,

Mysterious,

Yet radiant world which lies as God's hand has left it,

Untouched by man.

On either side,

The mountains rise precipitously,

Or melt away into ethereal distances.

Out of their soft purples and greens,

An occasional raw patch marks where the frost giant has split off a vast fragment from the rock and tumbled it into the green waters below.

Birch and oak clamber up and down the cliffs.

A sharp white line shows a slender waterfall leaping from the heights and reappearing here and there,

But too far off for movement to be perceptible.

It looks a mere scratch on the shadows.

More rarely,

Where there is the suspicion of a valley,

Or at any rate a flatness,

The steamer screams to some half-dozen or fewer scattered houses,

Tying in a scarcely endurable solitude.

A little amphitheatre of silence,

Each with its tiny patch of emerald green rye,

Its square of half-cut grass,

Its small potato ground,

Its boat lying on the shore.

Some rough track may exist,

But of visible roads there are none.

Nor any cattle,

Except possibly a few goats away browsing on the hills.

Such forlorn habitations only deepen the brooding solitude,

By forcing on the imagination dreams of these alone,

Self-dependent lives,

But for the call of the steamer,

As alone as though they were a knot of sailors shipwrecked on a distant shore.

Wareham,

For whom they had a strange attraction,

Watched them from the forepart of the vessel.

While he was there,

Colonel Martin joined him.

He was a tall,

Sad-looking man,

With a mountainous nose,

Devoted to sport and hating society.

He grumbled a disconsolate question.

How much longer does this sort of thing go on?

The lake?

Three hours from end to end.

Doesn't it please you?

It would please me well enough if I were pulling up in a boat,

But,

Cooped up with a lot of other fools,

It makes me sick.

Do you mean to tell me you find any pleasure in the business?

Wareham laughed.

Evidently I haven't your energy.

He went on to ask whether,

With these sentiments,

His own free will had brought Colonel Martin abroad.

The other turned a melancholy eye upon him.

Good heavens,

That you should put such a question.

My wife insists upon going through an annual period of discomfort.

I don't much care where it is.

This year she and Anne Dalrymple took a craze for Norway.

And here we are.

It was as if his last words meant poor devils.

Wareham had no thought of letting fly his next words.

They escaped him.

Has Miss Dalrymple travelled with you before?

Colonel Martin again looked at him.

Never mind me,

Said his companion,

Seating himself on the bulwark and swinging one long leg.

Women are frauds,

Most of them.

Well,

For you,

That your wife is not within earshot?

She would vow that it showed I was enjoying myself.

That's a delusion she holds on to.

Oh,

Keep your liberty.

There,

You have my advice.

As for Anne Dalrymple,

I've an idea.

There was something on with her this season.

But I don't listen to society crams and I've heard no particulars.

The red rag was irritating Wareham.

This was not a society cram.

We'll leave it alone,

However.

Miss Dalrymple is your wife's friend.

For the first time,

A smile flitted across Colonel Martin's lantern visage.

My dear fellow,

He said,

Say as much or as little as you like,

So long as you don't hold me responsible for the freaks of my wife's friends.

I'm indifferent.

Profoundly indifferent as to what is thought of them.

Only wish they'd carry out this sort of amusement without me.

I'm no use.

Can't speak a word of the lingo.

Miss Dalrymple's handsome,

That I'll own.

There,

She has the pull over most of Blanche's cronies,

But I don't doubt she behaved badly.

Mrs.

Martin wants the key of her bag,

Said a voice at his elbow.

He swung round guiltily to face Anne Dalrymple.

Er,

What?

The key of her bag?

Oh,

Of course,

Yes.

Shall I take it,

Or will you?

His embarrassment was pitiable,

While she stood cool.

You,

I think?

He bolted.

Wareham,

Annoyed with his position,

Stood confronting her.

Her height nearly reached his own.

Her eyes,

Dark with anger,

Swept him scornfully.

She drew a deep breath.

Honourable,

To set my friends against me?

He remained silent.

Her tone grew more scathing.

Do not imagine that I take exception at your opinions,

Your attitude,

A stress on the your.

To them,

I am absolutely indifferent.

Think what you please.

Judge me as harshly as you like.

Influence your own friends,

If it amuses you to do so.

When,

Not satisfied with this,

You attempt to prejudice the people under whose care I am travelling.

Then,

Mr.

Wareham,

You are taking advantage of my being a woman to offer me an unpardonable insult.

Wareham stood like a statue,

While she scourged him with her words.

His indignation gave such beauty to her face and gestures that his own anger grew soft.

You are right,

He said.

I am not conscious of having said anything to which you could take exception,

But it is true that Colonel Martin gathered that my thoughts of you were not friendly,

And I acknowledge that I was to blame in permitting myself to mention your name.

Her look had been full on his.

Now,

She dropped it,

Reflectively.

Anger still burned in her eyes,

But she was not so composed as she had been.

Her breath came and went quickly.

And when she spoke,

Her voice was slightly shaken,

Yet abrupt.

Be more careful in future.

You may trust me,

Said Wareham,

Bowing gravely.

He was not surprised at her turning to leave him.

What astonished him was that she came back.

I don't know whether it is because I am a woman and have no means of defending myself except by words,

She said coldly,

That I think you owe it to me to tell me what you said to Colonel Martin.

Anything is owing to you that lies in my power,

But this is exceedingly difficult.

Do you take refuge in an imaginary failure of memory,

She asked,

Scornfully again.

On the contrary,

I can trust my memory,

Then.

It is just because the words were so trifling that I shall find it difficult to convince you that I am keeping back nothing,

She hesitated,

But her eyes met his,

Frankly.

I imagine that you will endeavour to give me a true impression.

Thank you.

What happened,

Then,

Was that on Colonel Martin's mentioning your name,

I asked whether you had travelled with them before.

And what was that to you?

Nothing.

I have already expressed my regret at having put the question.

Go on.

Colonel Martin,

On his side,

Inquired whether I knew you,

And from my answer jumped hastily at a conclusion which I imagine you will not require me to excuse,

She made an imperious gesture.

I have told you that your own opinions do not concern me in the least.

Come to something more definite.

But there was nothing more definite,

Said Wareham,

Lifting his eyebrows.

He let memory travel slowly over the conversation,

Picking up threads.

Colonel Martin,

In a discursive view of his dislike to travel,

Made an allusion to a matter in which you were concerned,

And I replied that,

As you were his wife's friend,

We had better drop the subject.

Evidently,

He likes to emphasise the idea that he and his wife are two,

And I imagine this led him to make the unfortunate remark you caught.

Pray,

Assure yourself that you have heard all there was to hear.

And permit me to repeat how deeply I regret it.

She did not at once answer.

The vessel was passing through a marvellous cleft.

Precipitous rocks arose out of the clear water on either side.

Wareham saw Mrs Martin approaching,

Curiosity in her face.

He waited for Anne to speak.

I suppose I ought to thank you,

She said at last,

Slowly.

I suppose you tried to be fair.

If you did not succeed,

Perhaps it was beyond your powers.

Mrs Martin arrived.

Anne,

Did you ever see anything so remarkable?

I hope you noticed how sharply the steamer turned.

Did it?

Did it?

You are as bad as Tom.

What have you been doing?

Talking?

I suppose so.

Was it interesting?

Asked Mrs Martin,

Glancing from one to the other.

Hardly,

Said Anne,

Before Wareham could speak.

We only took up a legacy of conversation left by your husband.

She walked away.

Poor Tom,

Mrs Martin uttered,

A laugh.

It must have been a legacy of grumbles.

He is miserable because he has to sit still and submit to be carried from point to point without the possibility of using violent exercise to accomplish his purpose.

If he could only pull up the lake and tug the steamer behind,

He would be happy again.

Can you take life with less play of muscle,

Mr Wareham?

As lazily as you like,

All the better.

It is enough to endure growls from one's husband without hearing them echoed by others.

Please do your best to induce him to enjoy himself.

I,

Said Wareham with surprise.

He added that it was unlikely that he would find an opportunity.

In the short time they would be together.

I thought you travelled with the Raven Hills.

Accidentally?

Have you fallen out?

No,

No,

He protested.

Half amused,

Half provoked.

But chance,

Having thrown us together,

Does not bind us.

It might.

Chance might have much to answer for.

She went on rapidly.

While it keeps you near us,

Do be good to my unlucky Tom.

I thought he and Anne would have amused each other,

But they do not.

I hope she reached the point to which he had divined she was tending and adopted a careless air.

I hope that Tom did not try to run down Anne.

He has a deceptive way of saying more than he means and saying it in his melancholy way produces a stronger effect than if it came from an ordinary person.

As I always tell him,

I don't think he is in the least aware of the impression he makes.

Anne is the dearest girl in the world.

Wareham felt as if fate were determined to force his opinion about Miss Dalrymple.

He answered cautiously,

I understood from Colonel Martin that you were friends.

She looked at him.

I don't believe that either he or you stopped there.

He gathered that her husband had confided the unfortunate remark which had caused his flight and thought it hard that she should come to him instead of applying to her friend for particulars.

He was resolved not to be drawn a second time,

Experience having already proved sufficiently embarrassing.

I am not aware of having gone beyond it,

He said indifferently.

How should I?

Until five minutes ago I had scarcely exchanged twenty words with Miss Dalrymple.

She persisted.

But of course you had heard of her.

Everyone who is anything is heard about nowadays.

He agreed to the general remark and she tapped her foot impatiently.

How cautious you are.

Now,

I always speak my mind.

Even if it offends people,

Life would be unendurable if one had to weigh one's words like so many groceries.

It is difficult to answer the people who present you with themselves as an example.

Wareham laughed and assured her that she had only to choose an impersonal topic.

A hint for a hit.

Well,

I don't think you're acting fairly towards Anne because you won't say what has prejudiced you against her.

So far Wareham had kept his temper.

But at this point annoyance made a sudden leap to the front and with the smile still on his lips he felt savage.

It seemed to him that they wouldn't leave him alone.

That they wanted to force his hand and oblige him to say something that was either offensive or false.

If you mean that I object to discussing Miss Dalrymple with her friends,

He said coldly,

You are right.

Ah,

You would prefer doing it with her enemies,

She returned with a shrewdness perhaps unexpected.

I should prefer changing the subject altogether,

Said Wareham.

Do you know that we are nearly at the end of our voyage?

Behind those grey elephantine rocks lies Nice and there it is ordained that we dine.

Dine?

At two?

Poor Tom.

But how good for his health.

Wareham did not feel himself called upon to express an opinion on this point.

He went back to Mrs Ravenhill and Millie,

Landed and walked with them up to the little inn from which a red flag was gaily flying.

It is between Nice and Hare that the Bratlandsdal lies,

One of the most beautiful secrets of Norway.

Secret indeed only by comparison,

Since the road has been carved out,

But as yet not so freely tourist-ridden as other parts,

A hard-worked clergyman and his wife,

Flinging the energy of work into their holiday,

At once set off on the long tramp.

The other travellers,

More respectful to comfort,

Waited to engage stolkeiders and carrioles and to go through the routine of salmon and stringiest mutton,

So that it was three o'clock before the Ravenhills,

Wareham and young Grey,

Wrenched from remote homage of Miss Dalrymple,

Set off leisurely to walk to the head of the gorge,

Stolkeiders and luggage at their heels.

Grey was an enthusiastic fisherman.

And his talk of flies,

Many of which festooned his hat,

His companions were careless as to their merits,

But Millie had a charm of simple sympathy,

Which all along Wareham had recognised and liked,

And she let him expatiate upon them without giving a hint that she was bored.

Almost at once they were in the shadow of the great gorge,

The road mounted.

Down,

Far down,

Cleaving its way between a thousand feet rocks,

Dashed a wild river,

Barrel-coloured when not churned into whiteness,

Leaping,

Laughing,

Flying from rock to rock,

Curving into green pools,

Flinging foam at the growing things which bent to kiss it,

An impetuous,

Untameable,

Living force.

To think of it in storm,

With a hundred angry voices crying out,

And mountain echoes hurling back their rage,

Was to shudder.

But now,

Under a brilliant sun,

There was a lovely splendour abroad.

Feathery beds of moss and fern hid away the menacing crevices of the grey rocks.

Streams tinkled,

Drop by drop,

From the overhanging heights.

Shadows were soft,

Tender and wavering.

Radiant sunlight changed harshness into beauty.

And we have it to ourselves,

Sighed Mrs Ravenhill thankfully.

The others are ahead,

And are welcome to the better rooms.

But what of the Martins?

Young Grey was eager in his knowledge.

They were tired,

And waited another hour.

I promised to arrange about their rooms.

It was Miss Dalrymple who said she was tired.

He spoke with an unmistakable touch of reverence.

Mrs Ravenhill thought it a pity they should risk losing the lights.

The days are long enough,

Millie put in,

And how delightful to have this delicious place to ourselves.

Let us enjoy it.

Let us,

Said Wareham.

How do you begin?

Oh,

Cried the girl indignantly,

There is no beginning.

You must do it.

Ah,

That is feminine impracticability.

You issue a command,

And we are anxious to obey,

But every act has a beginning and an end.

She broke into a smile.

Well then,

Put away the wish to be anywhere else.

Done,

Said Wareham,

After a moment's consideration.

But don't you see Mr Grey eyeing the river?

The young man excused himself.

He was only wondering how a particular fly which the landlord had bestowed upon him would work in the pools.

Precisely,

Said Wareham,

Smiling at Millie.

In our advanced civilisation,

Enjoyment has ceased to be spontaneous and has become an art.

It can't be treated so unceremoniously as you suggest.

Stalk it as you would a deer,

And even then ten to one,

Your prey escapes you.

She cried out I should think so.

You had better pretend that an epicure who has made up his mind what to have for dinner is the only person who knows what enjoyment is.

I suppose so.

Yes.

I dare say you have hit on the best definition,

Returned Wareham reflectively.

What is very certain is that he should not come to Norway.

I think you are hateful.

Do you mean to tell me you are never pleased?

Oh,

Pleased.

Yes,

Certainly.

Enjoyment is something more important,

More all round.

Well,

That is what we feel now.

She swept in her mother with a comprehensive look.

We like the beauty,

The air,

The solitude and our companions,

She added with a smile.

Isn't that all round enjoyment?

I really believe it is,

Said Wareham glancing at her kindly and that you know more about it than I do.

Long may it be so.

He thought he had never seen her look prettier.

Her eyes danced.

The dimples in her cheeks gave her face a sweet childlikeness.

She was as fresh as the young summer which ran riot all about them.

The idea took him that Miss Dalrymple's beauty would have faded in this world of laughing colour,

Of flashing waters.

Too much of the other world belonged to it.

Millie's was heightened and it pleased him to dwell on the discovery.

Her merriment was contagious.

When the Stolkiarders overtook them,

She fed the good ponies with barley sugar and aired her attempts in Norwegian upon the men,

Who answered in excellent English.

Afterwards,

When they had climbed again into the little carriages,

The sceathsgood perched behind upon portmanteau as the clever ponies trotted cheerfully along,

Requiring no touch from the whip,

But quickening their pace under an encouraging chirrup and stopping at a long-drawn from the driver.

They overtook the clergyman and his wife,

Tramping unweariedly along.

And here Millie had her triumph,

For in their hands they carried a bunch of red and yellow berries and held them inquiringly to a sceathsgood who answered,

Now,

Multer,

As Millie had taken care to ascertain,

Is Norwegian for cloudberry.

And here was what she had determined to see and taste and been told she was too early for.

Two or three were at once made over to her,

But she would not eat them there,

Preferring to taste them with the dignity of cream at Hare,

And it may as well be added that these were the first and last cloudberries she saw in Norway.

Watches told them that it was early evening when they made their last climb to Hare.

For some time past the grandeur of the gorge had been smoothed into tenderer lines.

The river broadened,

Driving young Grey into distraction when he looked at it,

And presently a lake opened,

Lying quiet and shadowy under sheltering mountains.

They passed a waterfall and mounted slowly to the inn.

Perched obtrusively on the hillside,

Red flag flying,

Stolkeres and carrioles crowded about.

Supper ended,

They strolled out.

Golden lights lingered in the sky,

And the mountains rose against it in royal purple.

The roar of the foss reached them brokenly,

And as they crossed the zigzagged road by grassy cuts,

To this sound was joined that of advancing wheels and voices.

Two stolkeres passed along the road below.

Two people walked.

A word,

A light laugh came up.

The Martins,

Said Mrs Ravenhill.

No one answered.

They stood and watched the little cavalcade slowly mounting.

Shadows deepened.

The clear air was fragrant with newly mown grass.

A star trembled into sight.

It was very solemn and peaceful.

Chapter Four At Six in the Morning By fits and starts Wareham was an early riser,

And the next morning he was out between five and six.

By that time the sun was high in the heavens.

Dews were dried.

Life,

Insect and plant life,

Was in eager movement.

A cottage with a wonderful roof lying not far from the foot of the foss had attracted him the day before.

He crossed the zigzags,

Made out a narrow path over short grass,

And reached it.

It was a tiny cottage,

Built partly of stones heaped roughly one on the other,

Partly of boards of many shapes and sizes.

A hut full of odd cranks and changes.

Deep eaves on one side,

A perched up window on another.

But what had attracted Wareham to closer inspection was the roof.

Lovely,

With waving grass,

Sorrel,

Star-like daisies,

And a mass of lilac pansies.

It was the subject Mrs Ravenhill would pounce upon to sketch,

And he felt a gentle gratitude towards the Ravenhills for the small demands they made upon him.

An extraordinarily stony little path flung itself headlong towards the lake,

Through tall emerald green rye.

He stumbled down a few yards to look back at the hut,

Standing out against a violet mountain,

All the colours sharply insistent in the clear morning air.

To his extreme astonishment he saw Miss Dalrymple appear on the crest of the hill,

And make her way down towards him.

She came lightly and firmly,

Stepping from stone to stone without hesitation.

She wore a white dress,

And the impression she gave was of someone younger than he had fancied her.

As she drew nearer,

The impression strengthened by her calling out,

Gaily,

I have just discovered what it is all like.

Sunday morning,

The freshness,

And the enchanting air.

Do you know?

No,

He added,

In spite of himself.

Tell me.

The opening to the last act of Parsifal.

I dare say,

But I am no musician,

Nor I,

But I suppose one need not be a painter to be reminded of a picture.

However,

I did not come after you to talk about Parsifal.

She stood in the narrow pathway,

Looking down upon him,

And spoke with extreme directness.

I saw you from the window,

And as I wished to say something,

I followed.

He bowed.

She looked beyond him.

I have known you two days,

But of course have heard of you enough,

And though you may not believe it,

No one wanted you home from India more than I.

I fancied from what I gathered that you might understand.

He steeled himself against the flattering softness of her voice.

Because I was Hugh Forbes's friend?

Yes,

She returned quickly.

For that reason,

You might have saved him suffering,

For I am afraid he has suffered.

You are afraid.

Do you doubt?

Not now.

Compassion has awakened tardily,

He said with a laugh which brought her eyes upon him.

Wait a moment,

She said suddenly.

The grass on this bank is dry,

Let us sit down.

Now go on.

Seated she was still above,

And her dark eyes rested on his face.

He found it difficult to say what a moment before had seemed easy.

He will feel his hurt all his life.

This time her eyebrows went up.

Oh,

No,

I know him,

Persisted Wareham.

So I thought,

But you are mistaken.

His feelings cry out,

And I'll quickly consult.

In a year he will have forgotten them.

Your doctrines are convenient.

She breathed quickly,

But appeared to wait for more.

To break off your engagement without so much as a word as to the why?

To refuse even to see him?

Caprice could hardly show itself more cruelly.

Anger leapt into her eyes.

You allow yourself strong expressions,

Mr Wareham.

If you do not like them,

It appears to me that I am the last person to whom you should speak.

You may not know what Hugh is to me.

If I did not I should not be talking to you at this moment,

She retorted,

Flinging back her head.

Should I discuss the subject with an indifferent person?

It had been good to him to feel the impetus of his own anger.

He courted,

Encouraged it.

A secret fear made him dread a softer mood.

He kept his eyes upon a butterfly,

Balancing itself on an ear of rye.

As he did not answer,

She went on.

Taking it from your point of view only,

For I suppose you would be incapable of a broader outlook,

Do you consider a lingering end more merciful than one which is short and sharp?

I have never for a moment regretted the manner of the doing.

You have regretted something,

Said Wareham quickly,

Recognising that she laid a scarcely perceptible stress on one word and beginning to think that she intended him to undertake the mission of reconciliation,

A drag of reluctance he believed to belong to disapproval.

Perhaps,

She said with hesitation,

Isn't it a little late?

It struck him that his question had an offensive air,

But she appeared not to have heard it.

She was looking beyond him at the glowing lake and the mountains which bordered the green waters.

I am ready to own that I was to blame,

She went on,

Still slowly,

But I shall always think that he ought to have understood what what can't be put into words,

Why I did not care to marry him.

You are enigmatical,

She made an impatient movement.

At any rate,

It should be enough for you that I did not like him well enough and that is your explanation?

What?

Else?

It had occurred to me that the match might not have been considered sufficiently brilliant for the beautiful Miss Dalrymple.

She did not reject the supposition with anger,

As he perhaps expected,

Merely shook her head.

You are like the rest of the world,

She said resignedly,

So that he immediately felt shame for his own stupidity,

But had nothing to say against it.

He took refuge in pointing out that they had placed themselves in the line of a procession of caterpillars,

All apparently on their way to the lake,

And that several were,

At that moment,

On her dress.

She brushed them off with indifference.

Why should you have fastened on that motive,

She asked.

Was it so unlikely?

Your friend rejects it?

Yes.

He believes,

Still believes,

Nothing of you but what is good.

Dear Hugh,

She breathed softly.

Wareham started with amazement.

You like him still.

I have never ceased to like him.

For the first time in their talk he had turned his eyes on her face and met her look full.

Sitting there,

The lovely lines of her figure curved against the waving rye,

The warm brown tints of her hair caught by the sunshine,

Eyes in which the fire was veiled by long lashes,

A mouth slightly drooped and softened.

All this close to him and seen in the divine freshness of the young day,

Sent an intoxicating throb of delight into his heart.

Clinging to a bending purpose he stammered,

Then then I shall not marry him.

Make him understand this.

He looked away.

Closed his eyes reckless whether she saw the movement or not only conscious that the momentary madness had passed.

It sharpened his voice as he said,

Do not expect me to succeed.

I told you that you were enigmatical and I repeat my words.

Nothing that you have said alters the cruelty of dismissing poor Hugh in the sudden and unexpected manner you adopted.

She rose without at first speaking,

But stood in the same place until she said slowly perhaps but it was difficult to act.

The words that were on his lips seemed glued there.

By an effort he succeeded at last in bringing them out.

May I tell Hugh to hope?

Oh no,

She said composedly certainly not.

My mind is absolutely made up.

Urge him to think no more of me.

Above all not to try to see me.

It is quite useless.

Wareham smiled.

He will thank me if he does not I shall,

She said softly and again he was conscious of the strange throb which had surprised him before.

This time it was slighter and he did not look or speak while in another moment she turned and began to climb the stony path.

Wareham followed slowly more perturbed than he would have cared to own he had failed in discomforting her as he had never doubted his power of doing once they met and though no blame had been cast on Hugh he had an angry and unwilling feeling that if it was want of love which had broken off the marriage the lover himself should have been the first to realise it.

Hugh had never suffered him to suppose this could be the cause he thrust away the feeling irritably was he to blame Hugh for the act of a heartless girl at the top of the path a very poor old woman stood outside the hut holding a goat by a cord.

Anne perhaps glad of the interruption began to talk to her Wareham stood a few feet off and she presently came back to him.

She is not as old as she looks I thought her a hundred but that was her husband who went down the path just now I would ask her about the caterpillars only I haven't an idea what is Norwegian for caterpillar.

Have you?

He was as ignorant.

She is not begging Anne continued though I am sure she is dreadfully poor and in spite of all the laws of political economy I shall give her a kroner.

He neither objected nor encouraged and his self respect was partly restored by standing aloof in a position of indifference Anne smiling glanced at him between half shut eyelids and went off again.

He followed the old woman almost beside herself with delight seized her hand and shook it with rapturous gratitude.

Blessings of every kind were invoked and showered also undeservedly upon Wareham then she made vigorous signs that Anne was to stay where she was while she herself hobbled into the hut What is to follow?

Asked Wareham Anne shook her head.

I shall certainly wait and see.

What can come out of that poor little place?

Not she turned upon him a horrified face Oh no.

What?

I believe I am sure she is bringing me a tumbler of goat's milk of all things that I loathe Her face was tragic Wareham was prepared to see her decline the gift but had to own to injustice.

She took the tumbler drank to the end and thanked the old woman with a sweet curtsy If after it she moved quickly away she told Wareham that it was to rescue him from a similar fate he owned that he could not have been so heroic and that she had surprised him.

What else was there to do?

She asked simply.

Her mood had changed.

All the way back to the inn she talked gaily and lightly about the country,

Their fellow travellers and the children they met he found his conception of her lost.

Not to be called back and between this and that grew bewildered.

There was nothing for it but to follow her lead and to set Hugh's wrongs on one side They went there easily and left the ground more pleasantly open so that he reached the door in eager talk and what was worse with desire for more he kept silence to the Ravenhills as to his mourning.

Never even telling Mrs Ravenhill of the little cottage with pansied roof which he had ostensibly sought for her.

Something in him.

Something which he did not choose to admit but which secretly controlled him made him averse from admitting anyone to the place where this morning he had met Anne.

He told himself that he wished to put away the recollection of a painful incident painful it should have been and must be It was Sunday.

A little service was held in the salon.

Afterwards,

Except at meals Wareham saw no more of Miss Dalrymple He went out and walked far over the hills with the clergyman,

Whose wife was at last tired but whose own energy was unfailing He carried it into botany and though Wareham knew nothing of the subject,

The triumph with which a rare discovery was hailed gave relish to the walk.

Would Millie have liked something different?

She made no complaint,

But at supper chatted cheerfully of the cottages into which she had penetrated,

The children's shake of the hand for takk when she gave them sweets.

The strings of fresh,

Kindly-faced women coming back from their walk of miles to the nearest church Millie had won the children's hearts And the next morning,

When under a sky of tender northern blue,

They started on their walk up the pass they came smiling round,

No longer in Sunday scarlet skirts and green aprons,

But in worker-day clothes to wish her good morning and farewell The air was pure and sweet soft,

Yet exhilarating The Stolkieres were to carry only luggage to the head of the pass,

Mrs Ravenhill declaring herself ready for the five miles walk The clergyman and his wife were ahead of them They went up gradually towards the heights The mountains fall away on either side,

And it is a wide,

Desolate-looking expanse,

Through which the road to Odde curves and zigzags Patches of snow lie in sun-forgotten gullies,

Or crown the higher summits All along the road,

Tall posts are set at intervals to mark the track on those gloomy days of winter,

When the light of stars shines on one vast sheet of snow Filling the broad valley cup and smoothing every rough outline Something of this melancholy solitude remains throughout the year Not a tree breaks the sweep,

Not a building asserts itself.

Walk for hours and it is unlikely that you meet a human being The only trace of his activity is the white road,

Which twists upwards But on a July morning the world under your feet is astir with gladness.

The springy turf is starred with myriads of tiny flowers Shrubs of the dwarf cornel peep at you with white brown-eyed blossoms and the boggy land,

Through which melting snows are making their way feed the bright green succulent winter chickweed,

Or the delicate bells of the false lily of the valley.

And it was across this beautiful upland world making shortcuts from zigzag to zigzag,

That Millie,

As young as the summer and as happy,

Went her way.

Young Gray had,

Without deliberate arrangement become a sort of hanger-on of the party and he was here.

From such small adventures as sticking in a bog or being forced to wade a stream,

Merriment flowed joyously.

Now and then they sat down rather from wishing to linger than from need of rest and it was in one of these halts that,

Their own carriages having reached a higher level,

They beheld two others crawling up the road and presently a shout reached them from a long spindle-legged figure striding towards the group and waving a stick to arrest attention.

Young Gray sprang to his feet and waved energetically in return.

It's Colonel Martin and there's Miss Dalrymple in the carry-hole,

He exclaimed what a shame that she isn't up here.

He was darting off when reflection brought him back with you don't mind my trying to persuade her to come with us Mrs Ravenhill,

How should I by all means persuade her he was off like an arrow from a bow and Mrs Ravenhill praised his good nature,

Wareham chimed in,

Millie sat silent.

Miss Dalrymple did not leave the little carriage and Young Gray did not return Colonel Martin was a melancholy substitute.

Naturally it fell to Mrs Ravenhill to cheer him and Wareham and Millie wandered on together she avoided touching Anne's name.

He repeated it more than once to himself that he might impress on his mind a stronger sense of his relief in not having her there all Millie's little prettinesses he made an inward note of and extracted admiration telling himself that here was a sweeter charm if such a thing had been possible it might have seemed that he fashioned them into a shield but why and against what it gave Millie great pleasure to reach the snow beds though their edges were little more than crusts under which trickled out the melting water and when a sudden shade came between them and the sun and looking up they realised for the first time what a bank of cloud was sweeping down from the north she professed a strong desire to see a storm in these desolate regions at the top of the pass where lies a sullen lake slatey grey now with menacing shadow the Stolkiahiders were waiting their own and the Martins and as they opened before them a vast far away whiteness of snow unbroken and eternal a driver pointing said the word which they had long expected where is Tom?

Mrs Martin demanded hastily Mrs Ravenhill reported that he had left her to make his way up a hill from which he foretold a view he said he would overtake us and I am in mortal terror already cried his wife the skis good says we go down a tremendously steep descent and that a dreadful storm is coming thunder frightens me to death consolation was offered but failed to soothe a livid shadow which touched the snow set her trembling she desired Miss Dalrymple to take Colonel Martin's place by her side then looked imploringly at Wareham I am ashamed it is wretched to be such a coward but Mr Grey is with Mrs Ravenhill would you mind coming close behind in Anne's carriol Mr Wareham the comfort that it would be Wareham perceived that his attendance was resolved upon he made a slight demur of course if I can be of any use the greatest you would not condemn me to stay on this dreary spot until Colonel Martin has finished his survey ought we to leave him behind ought he to have deserted us pray let us start Anne beg Mr Wareham not to delay there I'm sure I heard thunder one moment Wareham made a quick step to where Millie stood a little aloof you bear he said in a low voice are you alarmed if there was effort Millie did not show it she said cheerily not in the least the woman is absurd but I suppose one must humour her of course besides as she says we have Mr Grey why couldn't she appeal to him his reluctance contented her and pacified himself waterproofs were hastily pulled on for the storm advanced rapidly clouds black as ink brooded on the mountains blotted out the sky and before they had gone far poured down torrents of rain the turmoil was magnificent and Wareham could not but excuse Mrs Martin's fears when he noted the acute angles of the steep descent and heard the thunder crashing overhead he could see her grasping her companion's arm and looking round in terrified appeal but in the hurly burly voice was mute yet so swift was the rush of the storm that by the time they reached more level ground it was fairly over and drawing up Mrs Martin was able to bewail herself under an outbreak of sunshine Wareham sprang out of his carry-on and went to theirs safely through it he said smiling but it was awful awful moaned Mrs Martin I have just told Anne that my one comfort was in knowing that you were close behind a lightning conductor Anne said mockingly I believe I should have preferred you at a greater distance for if we had come to grief you would certainly have been on the top of us I am afraid you are very wet he eyed her anxiously nothing to mind but the others ought they not to be in sight he felt a twinge of shame I think they ought I will go back and see Mrs Martin called after him that she was sure they would be here in a moment and that it was only because their ponies were not so good that they were behind but he was already running back she shrugged her shoulders discontentedly manners she exclaimed tell the man to go on Anne I don't mean to wait in the road for Mr Wareham's pleasure Anne said coolly why should you besides he belongs to them belongs nonsense do you suppose he thinks of marrying that child she took off her felt hat and shook the wet from it why not absurd an insignificant little creature with no attraction except a dimple which she doesn't know how to show off you have only to lift your little finger Anne and he would be at your feet Anne showed no surprise and made no disclaimer and it would be better than that last foolish affair from which you were only just saved she repeated the word slowly saved and what saved me oh don't be vexed nothing my dear but your own worldly wisdom which came to the rescue in the nick of time as I always knew it would Mrs Martin laughed the girl had pulled the hood of her coat over her head to protect it from the rain she let it slip back and it showed her face grave why must you all talk of my worldly wisdom she exclaimed am I so hateful that you can't give me credit for a good impulse oh I think you have impulses it was no doubt an impulse which landed you in the entanglement to which I was referring but then happily you retract in time recollect you can't do this all your life I wish you were safely married Anne drew a deep breath then laughed when I am the somebody whoever he is will have to sweep me away like a whirlwind why what do you mean I can't stand the hesitation the thinking about it I invariably begin to repent and if he hesitates he is lost Mrs Martin opened her eyes roundly so that is your theory I hardly thought you owned one Anne went on as if she had not spoken I mean to marry and it appears that I have not the power of falling in love if I take the leap I must do it at a gallop now do you understand a little this last man did he represent a whirlwind my dear you let it go too far with him and he could not be expected poor fellow to see the absurdity as we all saw it Anne's eyes darkened there was no absurdity if I had cared a little more I would have married him if he had happened to have twenty thousand a year instead of one you mean no Anne no nothing short of a brilliant marriage will satisfy you Anne looked as if she were going to reply but checked herself and turned her head in another direction Mrs.

Martin yawned chapter five the skittishness of fate before Wareham reached the companions he had deserted it was evident that something was amiss for both Mrs.

Ravenhill and Millie were on foot and their skeet skirt led the pony Millie however called out to him that no harm had happened and he then saw that Colonel Martin was with them what has gone wrong he asked as he came up there's a very disorganised look about you we were nearly disorganised altogether said Mrs.

Ravenhill gravely for she was not well pleased at Wareham's leaving them we might have been if Colonel Martin had not come to the rescue Wareham asked what had happened I suppose the man drove too fast and that fierce clap of thunder startled the pony for he went over the edge good heavens Colonel Martin interposed to explain that fortunately the descent was not sheer and the ground was soft moreover the skeet skirt jumped off and held on like death Mr.

Grey too and cut his hand Millie broke in with a grateful glance at the young man he turned red oh that's nothing well as nobody will accept the honours of the situation I shall take them myself said the girl laughing know then Mr.

Wareham that mother and I showed immense presence of mind in refusing to be shot out or when the jerk came and in scrambling over the back when we realised that we were still there then then the pony was unharnessed the stalker dragged back and here we are she spoke lightly but she was white and trembling Colonel Martin inquired where his people were I left them in the road below said Wareham briefly then we'll sort ourselves again and I'll go on as he strode away Mrs.

Ravenhill called after him thank you for your help he enjoyed it said Millie it was the nearest approach he could have had to a steeplechase and has quite raised his spirits Wareham felt so unconscionably guilty that it might be supposed something else was really scourging him and using his small neglect for a lash he murmured I am thankful he was here if I had dreamed of real danger there was as much for the others as for us said Millie reasonably besides I believe Mr.

Grey and the skis good were equal to the emergency poor Mr.

Grey was the only sufferer I'm alright said the young man I say Mr.

Wareham was Miss Dalrymple frightened not that I know of answered Wareham shortly Mrs.

Ravenhill raised her eyebrows at the tone now if you and Mr.

Grey like to drive on before us she said Millie and I are quite equal to taking care of ourselves on level ground I see no reason for changing his voice was sharp and he knew it and was vexed by it the truth being that he was out of sorts with himself and the world fate he felt had played him a skittish trick in thrusting him into companionship with the one woman whom he would have avoided nor spur his steed as he might could he get away into the old track he recalled his deliberate judgment of Anne's character but it rose a bloodless ghost behind a living glowing dark face with a look of reproach in the beautiful eyes avant sorceress how should beauty outweigh friendship can a fleeting fancy shake solid foundations the very thought pricked scourged him even if he extricated himself from his false position by the simple method of breaking away from his companions at Odde he was wroth at having to admit that he could not easily regain his self respect young grey babbled youthfully about Miss Dalrymple's charms as the two men drove along but this was a mere outside accident to which Wareham was indifferent barring Hugh what others thought mattered nothing it was himself he arraigned with the reluctance of a strong character he answered briefly yes and no happily sufficient for his companion who was content to talk the storm had vanished leaving an added beauty on either side a land flashing light from raindrops on which the sun shone brilliantly a land of bold heights leaping torrents and sweet recesses of bedded moss out of which peeped wild strawberries and a hundred delicate flowers while far up against the soft blue of the sky gleamed the unbroken whiteness of the snows the others were overtaken at Seligsted a small roadside inn crowded round with unharnessed stoltkyaris and besieged by ravenous travellers willing but inefficient hosts lost their heads under press of custom and tourists stormed in vain while the young girl waiters grew sullen under their reproaches the Martins arriving earlier had managed to secure some food in a balcony the others resigning themselves to a long wait strolled to the river sat on the grass and looked at the blue cleft in the hills through which they had passed or in the opposite direction where the country broadened into tamer beauties.

When they got back the most irate of the tourists were driving away in a carriage and pair a red-faced father and two or three black-eyed girls half ashamed,

Half proud of his brow-beating hurry up!

Why the devil can't they understand plain English?

He was shouting the men standing by looked at him with calm disapproval.

An old man with a grave refined face shrugged his shoulders silently There is extraordinary variety in Norwegian roads variety which is beyond word painting and to a large degree depends upon the cultivation which the eye brings to bear upon it.

Admiration rushes easily after vast outlines and these are lacking for in Norway the mountains are of no great height and when you are among them the lower masses block out the summits.

Subtler charm lies in the variety,

The infinite multitude of tints and shadings with which the sun is always painting hill and sky the colours which the granite yields to its radiant touch so that on these summer evenings the barest piece of rock is a wonder of soft and rich colouring.

Then perhaps where the shadow deepens a foss flings itself down,

An aerial spirit here spreading like a veil there cleaving the purple gloom with a silver flash.

Hardly had the Esbelandsfoss been passed when the ponies instinctively stopped and the skidskirts springing off announced the Lottefoss They climbed a steep path and passing a small summer inn a great roaring mass of water broken into three falls and rushing and seething in an indescribable tumult of beauty was before them clambering from point to point whichever way the eye turned it fell upon clouds of spray upon swift giddy leaps made by the clear barrel coloured water before it was churned into foam by the force of its descent great wet rocks shining metallic stood erect in the midst of racing waters waving grasses caught in the eddies were washed relentlessly never a pause allowed in which to straighten themselves and over the magnificent turmoil a rainbow arched serenely.

Young grey sprang into perilous places Millie gathered trails of the delicate Linnaeus Borealis slender northerner which the great botanist chose for his own Mrs Ravenhill and Wareham strolled down to the carriages and leaving the Lottefoss behind by a road which soon began to edge itself along a lake they drove on to Otte.

Civilisation and late dinners sighed Millie as they got out at the cheerful door of the Hardanger.

Shops groaned young grey.

Excellent things each of them retorted Mrs Ravenhill cheerfully.

I wonder how long it will be before you all find yourselves in that shop.

It was not long.

Everyone is attracted by the furs,

The carvings the silver buttons,

The soft Ida rugs with their beautiful green duck breast borderings.

In the sweet summer dusk it is pleasant to stroll about the little town buy cherries from the men who bring their baskets of ripe fruit and turn into this store of Norwegian handiwork It is more enchanting to go to the front of the hotel where the fjord runs up between snowflake hills and ends.

Grave evening purples steal over the land.

In the sky and reflected in the faithful waters daffodil and primrose tints melt into each other A yacht lay in a sea of gold her fine delicate lines repeated below.

A light shone out Someone stood at the top of the landing steps looking at the water Werem hesitated then quickly walked up to her I expected to overtake you at the Lotterfoss he said abruptly.

She did not turn her head Are you grateful to me for having spared you the encounter?

If I were,

Should I be here?

Very likely I do not know why you have come I venture to bring a suggestion more likely a reproach she said.

I believe you are determined to force a quarrel upon me you misjudge me indeed you misjudge me he spoke warmly then hesitated.

Certainly we need not quarrel he said slowly.

The fates have flung us together and it appears to me that for a time at least we might leave the past behind us Forbes is my friend I cannot think that he was well treated.

Your friends doubtless would take another view but if we are not likely to agree on this one subject there are happily others in the world to talk about come.

Do you agree?

She did not immediately answer he found himself speculating anxiously what her words would be when they dropped from her at last he hung on the low tones I don't think that two can talk with comfort on even the most indifferent subjects when there is total absence of trust between them is that our position?

Then he asked uneasily is it not?

I have taken trouble to give you an explanation and you do not believe a word of it do not let us discuss that matter it is there said Anne both were silent a boat came towards them shattering the tranquil golden lights of the fjord a few strong strokes brought it up to the landing place and half a dozen English sprang out two young girls among them they looked tired carried Alpenstocks and called out a gay goodnight to the rowers they had just come back from a hard climb to the Skiaikidalsfoss and were almost too weary to be enthusiastic the boat pushed away again into the shining waters the sound of the oars died into silence presently Anne spoke ignoring their last words the difference between north and south is curiously strong forgive a truism what I meant to remark was the different call they make upon oneself here there is a good deal of enjoyment to be met with and it is exactly the opposite kind of enjoyment to what one finds in Italy or Greece do you feel this?

Since we landed I believe I have hardly thought a thought or encountered an idea my own sensation Wareham answered eagerly it has been like taking out one's brains and leaving them with one's plate at the bankers the odd thing is that I don't miss them he laughed she went on I have wondered more than once how long it would take to settle down to existence in one of those isolated little villages of two or three houses each which we passed on the Sulta lake with some of us I suspect the savage would take the upper hand more readily and more rapidly than we suppose possible the brain would not rebel you would have to admit that glorious physical excitement Anne shivered I cannot realize the possibility of any excitement at all in those desolate homes can't you?

I on the contrary picture a good deal chiefly gloomy I allow think of living forever next door to your worst enemy or your best friend which would be the most unbearable she took no notice of this cynical speech I could understand the life being endurable in summer but in winter and such a winter with its snows and darkness he demurred so far as I can make out winter is the most sociable time of the year you forget that lakes and fjords become the great means of communication in summer houses are isolated owing to the want of roads but in winter the frozen water serves in their place no depend upon it they have a good time when once they can skate or strike away on the great snow shoes you saw by the roadside today but the darkness well one gets used to that in London I don't know that we can talk besides they have a great pull over us in the stars I assure you that all the men who have said anything about it speak of the winter with evident satisfaction they know nothing better Ann said incredulously the root of all satisfaction Wareham observed she glanced at him quickly bit her lip and walked on he found himself admiring her tall slender figure and the poise of her small head thrown into relief by the glassy water he had dropped the fiction that she was not beautiful and retreated behind a yet feebler barricade the pretense that hers was not the beauty he extolled he had ceased to wonder that it served for Hugh at the end of the landing place Ann turned Wareham was immediately behind and she faced him as she had not yet done she spoke too more softly you leave tomorrow he flushed and hesitated I.

.

.

I am not sure possibly her eyes rested on his for a moment and moved away she said indifferently here is Colonel Martin Colonel Martin was charged with hope he had met the party from the Skaiketalsfoss and report of certain difficulties owing to a fall of rock had fired his athletic soul Wareham added that the Foss itself was worth a visit but this idea he rejected see one see all he declared a hurly burly of water and no fishing there you have it but there might be a chance of a climb getting there and at any rate it must be better than loafing about this wretched little hole Ann will you come no thank you I prefer loafing will you to Wareham I don't mind I've been once and should not be sorry to see it again eight and if you know the lingo perhaps you'll make the arrangement better change your mind and no my mind is set upon easier pleasures where's Blanche you needn't ask Colonel Martin's gloom returned buying broom gem goods in the shop I shouldn't wonder if you believed the fall came from broom gem too Ann retorted well I'm going to help her good night you'd better be sure you know how to work your fire escape before you go to bed he called after her it's a common occurrence for the hotels to be burnt down once a month young grey torn between Ann and adventure felt as if adventure might possess a qualifying power and went off with the other men early the next morning Millie tried to get her mother to slip away to the Boerbrae Glacier but Mrs Ravenhill was tired and disinclined for a long climb she agreed to go with Millie to a spot which they had remarked the day before where a river flung itself out of the lake but she promised Mrs Martin to join her after luncheon they captured Estolkeide and drove to their point then dismissing it and leaving the dusty road turned into a wood that belonged to a fairy tale where low trees stood singly in the grass and where every now and then they saw through a break the blue Hardanger hills rising out of the fjord and topped with snow or on the other side a silver lake with mountains stretching fold after fold into the sullen distance here and there a great rounded granite boulder cropped up tossed out of its place by titan wrath one little farm nestled amid cherry trees but the silence was profound and hardly a living creature passed only a child or two then a quaint old couple with a dog the woman was tall with a sweet dignified face the man bent and aged carried a Hardanger fiddle they stopped and chatted readily and after they had talked a while at a sign from his wife the man began to play his fiddle it was an odd jangle with no tune but somehow the old couple the granite rocks the wild peasant music seemed to belong to each other and to the country mother and daughter slowly walked home past a picturesque sawmill bringing sighs from mrs ravenhill and through fields where hay making filled the air with fresh fragrance each field has its hurdles on which the flower scented grass hangs drying when they reached the first outlying house mrs ravenhill put a question which had once or twice fluttered on her lips when is Mr Wareham going to leave us there was a moments pause before Millie answered is he going I suppose so from what he told me I believed he intended going off on his own account as soon as he had landed us at odd day well he hasn't gone said the girl looking straight before her her mother glanced but could not see her face I shall have a talk with him tomorrow said mrs ravenhill in a decided tone he may consider himself bound to us and I am sure I should be vexed beyond measure if he imagined anything of the sort it would be most annoying you see that don't you Millie she added incautiously what am I to see asked Millie with a laugh Mr Wareham bound with cords to you or to me or to miss Dalrymple which is it and unable to extricate himself I'm not sure that the picture is as pathetic as you imagine but what will you do about it implore him to consider himself a free man you should get miss Dalrymple to speak for you mrs Ravenhill was a little offended what has miss Dalrymple to do with it you told me he disliked her the girl did not answer the question she began to talk to a pony standing in a cart by the roadside then came a shop and doubt as to the purchase of an ermine purse after that hurry for the tabla dirt an English yacht lay in the fjord her people had come on shore and were lunching at the Hardanger next to the Martins Millie who had for her neighbour a clever young Siamese prince who was travelling with a Danish tutor hoped that miss Dalrymple might select them for her afternoon companions but luncheon over she made straight for Millie you and I will escape from all these people she said with a smile which would have sent young grey to her feet Millie was unaffected it is very hot she said here very but I have a cool plan in my head please come it would have been ungracious to refuse and pre engagements were not to be pleaded in Odde in an hours time the two girls were sitting in one of the light boats pointed at each end and being rowed across the fjord to the opposite side where a slender waterfall is seen from Odde dancing down through purple and green woods the fjord was still as glass each line of the English yacht repeated itself in the opal waters two children with scarlet caps hung fishing over the side of the vessel Anne lay lazily back looking at everything through half closed lids everything everything included Millie Millie asked at last where they were going to a farm does that please you she did not answer the question I can't see anything like a farm nor I said Anne idly turning her head we must take it on trust old Mr Campbell tells me such a place exists and hinted at cherries and milk but the foss to be crossed by a bridge you see I have got my bearings apparently indeed she and Millie had changed natures for she rained talk and laughter upon the younger girl and she showed no sign of being daunted by the steepness of the climb when they had landed and were struggling up the bank the path they sought eluded them presently they found themselves in a thick growing grassy wood of low trees through which they pushed a devious way it was green fresh lovely the roar of the waterfall was in their ears now and again they met some impetuous little stream which had rushed away from the greater fall to make its own willful way to the fjord delightful assurance of solitude cool deepness of grass stones sheeted with moss and wet with spray clear dash of waters interlacing bows through which sun shafts shot down lured them to breathless heights lured Anne rather for Millie dragged it was Anne who made the ventures Anne who held aside hindering branches Anne whose voice came laughing back to vow that the labyrinth grew more tangled Anne who at last dropped by the side of a baby stream babbling over its stones and bade Millie rest she could not say enough of the fascinations of the spot they will come back boasting of their fall with the hopeless name only because it is big what has size to do with beauty this thing is perfect look at its curves and its swirls and its pulls and its grasses and its small airs Millie roused herself to admire you are tired Anne asked she owned that she had walked far that morning and this place doesn't rest you as it does me I don't know Anne settled herself against a sapling I feel as if I had reached the one breathing place of my life you don't know that sensation do you think you would like it often asked Millie certainly not it is liking it so much which is so unexpected to me I am of the world worldly and to find myself exhilarated and delighted is like growing young again Millie had to smile you are not so old aged inexperience as for years they don't count or I dare say we might find that I am not so much older than you as you as everyone would imagine but I have lived did that mean she had loved Millie coloured at the charge of inexperience calling to youth you can know little about me she protested next to nothing tell me you live alone with your mother this was admitted you are not engaged to anyone oh no and have never tried that position no no that shocks you said Anne with a laugh my dear it often happens to me not seriously quite seriously she lent back and watched Millie's face with amusement are you disgusted why why do you do it I can't understand it comes somehow often really without my intending it's the way of my kind I suppose for one thing how is one to know a man at all until one is engaged and so often I can't tell beforehand whether I like them well enough or not as you see it has generally ended by my discovering that it would be intolerable I don't pretend that there have not been other reasons she added frankly riches sometimes fly away on nearer approach and that would be enough oh yes you think nothing of your promise Anne was looking at her through half-closed eyes and smiling I am not sure that I don't think too much it becomes unendurable when I am married it will have to be in a whirlwind no hesitations no hanging back so much I can tell him the rest he will have to find out stormed really stormed I should be afraid of myself she fell into silence there was no sound except the rush of the water not so much as the chirp of a bird at last she looked round again so you see me voici Anne Dalrymple Millie cried out I am glad I am not a London beauty there are more disagreeable positions Anne said reflectively now if you had said a London beauty with a heart have you no heart Millie asked impulsively not I what does duty for it is a poor little chippy dried up thing which may be reckoned on never to give me an ache or a pain she sprang to her feet come the farm I am not going to let you off the farm no bridge could they find and there was nothing for it but to retrace their steps down the hillside through the entangling greenery they plunged breathless and laughing and found themselves at last overlooking the Fjord without any means of crossing the Foss Anne undaunted spied a boat on the Fjord rowed by a boy her signals brought it to shore the boy readily agreed to row them to a higher point but this carried out he refused to wait for them never mind we are here Anne cried springing out she followed a rough path and presently pounced on wild strawberries a man was digging seeing them gathering strawberries he made signs that they were welcome to the cherries which hung temptingly from his trees he bent the boughs down Anne picked and brought crimson handfuls to Millie lying on the grass the warm sun shone a little stone chat scolded from a rail it was all calm restful and fragrant with hay they went up the narrow path towards the farm the way was overhung with cherry trees and a vagrant stream of water which played truant from the fall dashed down flinging lovely spray over the waving grasses the farm dominated the Fjord fold after fold of blue hills stretched away the white water at their feet and desolate looking islands staring up at the sunshine which scarcely softened their black outlines Anne's mood changed she grew silent and silently they went their way down the little path until they reached the man still digging his patch of ground Millie tired inquired how she proposed getting home he will take us in his boat I asked him as I picked the cherries going back it appeared as if the waters had grown yet more still and glassy each patch of snow each outburst of green each violet shadow sent a lovely repetition of itself into the world below the boat the boat slipped dreamily through them only the lap of the oars and the faint and distant murmur of the waterfall breaking the silence one after another the little green promontories dropped behind the white church of odd day and the clustering houses took form a boat passed them Anne looked up this is not the time for commonplaces yet they haunt me she said impatiently I I am the commonplace and I have stumbled into a thick mist of doubts and questionings tell me are you always direct and certain that right is right and wrong wrong Millie coloured hesitated such an appeal confused her Anne went on my rules are not so ready something else steps in and hoodwinks me though I dare say it is true that I offer my eyes for the bandage what I complain of is that when I do my best to walk straight according to my lights I am the more cried out upon your Mr Wareham now acts Radamanthus yet what does he know how can he pretend to judge what motives influenced me and whether they were bad or good has he discussed them with you the question came like a bolt the answer was a brief no no Anne's eyes were fastened on the girl Millie's honesty gave unwilling explanation never your motives he said once that Mr Forbes was his friend and that the breaking off of your engagement was not his fault he said this before before he knew you Anne meditated her eyes softened I suppose it is the everlasting I I again which makes me imagine that people talk when they are not even thinking of me however it is true that he misjudges me I had it from his own lips and I am sorry foolishly sorry because he is a man she broke off and laughed somehow my vanity would make me wish to appear at one's best before him does that shock you again why should it I couldn't say why but I am forever shocking people unintentionally you have not got over my talking of my engagements yet they don't judge me harshly anyone of those men would marry me tomorrow yes even Mr Wareham's friend in spite of Mr Wareham women however unsophisticated possess the gift of intuition Millie divined that Miss Dalrymple wished her to talk of Wareham and was ready to profess a spasmodic anger for the pleasure of hearing him defended she was reluctant and ashamed of her reluctance the shame stung her into crying why do you talk of Mr Wareham's judging you harshly you must know very well that if it ever was so he has forgiven you a smile began to play about Anne's mouth do you think so Millie flung her a look well I hope you were right he has been so stiff that it would be a victory to bring him round we shall see meanwhile here we are at Odde and what am I to offer to our boatman master to I suspect ask him the man smiled shook his head wanted nothing the equivalent of a sixpence was all he would at last consent to receive Millie dragged a heavy heart upstairs and Anne went in pursuit of Mrs Martin chapter six and the pitfalls of Cupid once more a shifting of sunny lights and purple shadows of ever varying colours of small hamlets nestling by the water side each with its pier,

Its boats and its many-hued little crowd as they steamed down the Hardanger Ford towards Eide contempt for waterfalls was balanced by joy in the effort of reaching them,

And by dint of swearing to travel night and day until he overtook them again,

Colonel Martin obtained leave from his wife to go off to the Warringfoss,

And young Grey he dragged reluctantly with him this threw the others of the party more together,

And it seemed necessary for Wareham to offer his services to those who were bereft of their nominal protector the midday meal was taken at the excellent Melands at Eide,

Afterwards they strolled about in the meadows and sat under hay hurdles in order to allow the great noonday heat to subside,

Before mounting the steep hill which lay between them and Vossefangen.

Anne,

Indeed vowed she would not walk and chose a carriol as a lighter conveyance,

But Mrs Ravenhill and Millie soon jumped out of their stolkiade,

And what a road it was high up,

A great waterfall hurled itself into a chasm of foam and while the carriages crawled round zigzags those on foot could cut off green corners clambering ever higher into the sweet elastic air,

Until at the top they rested breathless,

Until the cavalcade of patient ponies pulled slowly up,

Then merrily along the level road to Vosse Vosse is ugly but friendly,

It has a good inn and a well-known landlord,

An ancient church with a brown timber spire,

A few shops and a little train which leisurely trots backwards and forwards to Bergen,

Between it and Stellheim lies one of the most beautiful roads in Norway a road constantly changing with every variety of river and lake,

Of waving sorrel-tinted grass,

Now red,

Now green,

Now grey as the wind kisses it,

Of distant snowy heights and nearer,

Sterner hills,

Here and there a fall a watermill,

A group of cottages with turf roofs starred by oxide daisies,

And always before you the road running white into the far away,

No zig-zagged hills,

However,

And no opportunities for talk,

Except in the halts,

Which came occasionally for the hardy ponies,

And once from Ann's skiskut,

A little gill of eight or nine years old with the usual white handkerchief over her head,

There rose an agonised wail of toy,

Toy Wareham drove up rapidly Ann's portmanteau,

Which also formed the seat of her infant driver,

Hung threateningly over the edge there was much hoisting and roping before it was restored to equilibrium no more carrioles for me said Ann,

It is too dull think of not being able so much as to invade against the dust,

Apparently it would cause a revolution in the country if you for instance,

Were to drive by my side I don't pretend to cope with a Norwegian pony and its skiskut,

Answered Wareham laughing he said no more but,

After these words of hers it might have been noticed that he contrived to keep sufficiently close to exchange remarks,

If only in pantomime and when they halted at Twinde,

It was he who was at hand to help her down from her dusty perch,

There was as usual,

A foss to be visited not worth seeing announced Mrs Martin,

Someone I forget who,

Said so the more reason for going,

Ann insisted she invited Wareham to accompany her,

Mrs Martin watching their departure with expressive lifting of her eyebrows there is Ann at her usual pastime,

Making fools of the men,

She said to Mrs Ravenhill,

I thought she had had a lesson,

And might be trusted for a time,

But it's in her it's in her if there is no one else,

She sets to work upon my husband fortunately he's wood not wax what was the lesson?

It was irresistible to Mrs Ravenhill to put this leading question,

Don't you know?

London was full of it she was engaged to a Mr Forbes a son of Sir Martins and broke it off with outrageous abruptness,

I never expected her to marry him it was the way she put an end to it,

Which incensed people,

We thought the best thing for her was to get her abroad,

And here you see,

Why was she so abrupt?

She is ambitious only a brilliant position will capture,

But a fancy will sway her thankfulness sometimes goes oddly askew Mrs Ravenhill breathed a sigh of relief,

That Millie's innocent inclination had been checked in good time still,

A touch of hostility towards the man who had roused it was in her tone,

Possibly Mr Wareham is of the same kind and can take care of himself oh,

Poor fellow poor fellow ejaculated Mrs Martin rejecting the possibility the last thing in the world that would have entered Wareham's head was that he was already the subject of comment.

He allowed that there was a change in his thoughts of Anne,

But would have scouted the idea that it implied change in his attitude towards Hugh he now told himself that her conduct was probably capable of explanation that meant pardon he even indulged in dreams of reconciliation under his auspices.

That included friendship.

Hugh's infatuation no longer amazed him.

He was only surprised that he had not held her more strenuously.

For it seemed to him that had he been in such a position he would not easily have been ousted.

Thinking this the rash man also watched her,

Noting the delicate side lines of her face,

The short curve of the upper lip,

The soft growth of hair where it touched the neck and the dainty ear.

Details which only stepped into prominence when,

As now her eyes were turned away,

For their dark depths drew and held captive other eyes.

They gave the impression of offering much to one who could interpret what they said,

And in face of them it was useless to moralise upon the untrustworthiness of woman's beauty This was what Werham had presumed to do,

And now when she suddenly turned them upon him something startled him.

Have you got over your prejudice?

She asked smiling.

Prejudice?

Against me?

But I should not have asked you.

I didn't mean to do anything so imprudent,

Only that you were changed and wonderfully pleasanter and women never know when to let well alone.

They want words to quiet them and I want you to tell me,

With your own lips that you don't dislike me anymore.

Again,

That momentary feeling of intoxication.

He murmured almost inaudibly,

I can't.

She slackened her steps Why not?

Say that I don't dislike you anymore?

Had I ever known you to dislike you?

No,

No,

But you had imagined me and it was not a pretty picture,

You evolved Tell me,

Whether the picture still exists or whether it is blotted out Protestation was on his lips when the recollection of Hugh's misery rose up and checked him.

She was still watching him but now she turned away her face It is not,

I see she said quietly.

Wareham clutched at a feverish memory How can I forget his suffering?

But,

He hastened to add since I have known you,

I can't believe that caprice or heartlessness caused it.

There must have been something I don't understand and I'm certain you could explain it if you would.

Among Cupid's pitfalls,

There is no occupation so dangerous as for two persons to discuss each other's sins and virtues None,

Perhaps,

More attractive.

Wareham would have pointed this out in his books yet here he was floundering and Anne,

Was she playing Willa the Wisp?

She looked at him again.

I suppose you expect me to drop a curtsy and offer a meek thank you.

I don't expect the impossible.

Impossible I can't imagine the meekness.

Your own fault you don't inspire it.

You try to ruffle my temper What is that but giving you an opportunity to display the virtue?

You can't display meekness without cause for it?

Cause for it?

Anne struck back.

You offer cause freely.

Oh Can you say you have not been harsh in all your judgments?

Before I knew you Hugh was forgotten He had ceased to be anything but a peg on which to hang banter and perhaps strangely it was Anne who recalled him with a sigh Did he Did Mr Forbes blame me so much?

He never blamed you yet his friend was unmerciful?

What could I think?

I came home to find Hugh dashed from his heights to lowest depths of wretchedness.

He neither slept nor ate but talked immoderately From his talk I gleaned my own impressions.

He was devoted to you.

He was miserable You must forgive me if I became unjust.

Apparently she had forgotten the compassion which had made her sigh for she repeated his words demurely talked immoderately And your patience held out all the time?

I believe I can be patient and I can't.

There's the mischief.

He did not ask her to what mischief she alluded.

They were close to the foss and had been looking at it with unseeing eyes.

Now some pause in the flutter of their thoughts made them turn with relief to an outward object.

Wareham muttered a platitude about its beauty.

He thought Mrs Ravenhill would have liked it for a sketch while Anne scorned the thought.

Sketch a waterfall as well sketch a disembodied spirit.

Silence again.

Spent apparently in dreaming of the delicious freshness of the leaping water.

Really Wareham was looking at her and wondering how he could ever have been such a prejudiced fool.

He had made up his mind that she was a creature of the world adept in its wiles,

Knowing how to torment poor Hugh and using her knowledge remorselessly.

Here by the flashing waters she was young,

Frank imprudent perhaps but cruel?

Never.

Whatever had happened,

Hers was not the fault.

So far on the prism path Wareham had strayed and was certain of his footing.

Presently she spoke again.

Someday perhaps I shall tell you.

Not yet for I am not sufficiently sure of my ground.

If I have gained anything it would be humiliating to see it all melt away,

As it might.

I was vexed at your prejudging me because it was not fair.

All your sympathies were heaped on one side and I really believe if you could have crushed me with them,

You were quite ready to have done so.

Now I start on a better footing.

Now if you blame me,

As you will,

It will not be in that hard,

Unreasoning fashion.

Why say that I shall blame you?

His voice was not quite steady.

She turned and walked down the hill.

Because you cannot yet judge fairly he remonstrated.

You need not be displeased.

It is not your fault.

No man is capable of placing himself in a woman's position in such a matter.

Try me,

She laughed merrily.

There is another thing which no man can do.

Imagine that he is not an exception to the general rule.

I wish you would find something which a man can do.

Instead of crushing with negatives,

He was growing impatient and she said abruptly I believe I will tell you.

He waited,

Eagerly desiring that she should look at him.

But I risk a great deal because you are Mr Forbes' friend and you will not believe it possible.

Alas,

For friendship,

When it is first confronted with love.

Afterwards,

It may recover its footing.

But in the as yet unacknowledged whirl of head and heart,

The poor thing gets swept into the vortex.

At that moment,

Wareham could have believed much.

And it sounds so little when one puts it into words.

The sinner went on hesitatingly.

It must have been that I did not like him well enough ever.

I thought I did.

I assure you,

I was quite glad to discover that I could feel so much.

But she paused so long that Wareham repeated the word.

But I got tired of him.

Of it.

Of all.

She turned her eyes on him.

You have never tried,

Have you,

Being adored from morning to night?

Never.

It is sickening.

Like living upon sweetmeats.

I used to try to provoke him.

And if once I could have got him out of temper,

There might have been some hope.

If he had contradicted me,

I longed for a breath of fresh air and dragging on Oh.

He made a mistake all through.

Of course you can't understand.

She ended abruptly.

He felt a burning desire to assure her that he could.

But his muttered words struck him as absurdly inadequate.

Silence became more eloquent.

Anne broke it at last.

It was a hundred pities,

She mused.

And rough on him.

For what could I say?

What reason could I give?

Tell him that he bored me?

I couldn't.

I couldn't.

I can't lose my friends.

No.

No,

No.

Poor fellow.

Here we come upon all those people and Blanche is beckoning wildly and I can't think how I have had the face to talk to you.

Forget it.

With a sudden movement for which he was unprepared,

She sprang from him and ran down the steep slope.

He restrained the impulse to quicken his own pace and by the time he reached the road,

The carrioles had started and Mrs Ravenhill and Millie,

The clergyman and his wife,

Were moving off in a cloud of dust.

Wareham,

In spite of the impatience of his skiskirt,

Held back until carriages and dust had rolled away in the distance.

Tumultuous thought made it at first impossible to grasp a single idea and to hold onto it as a centre for others.

Anne's face,

The flutter of a small curl on her forehead,

Softly outlined arch of eyebrows,

All manner of idiotic fancies hustled and jostled each other in his brain and he presently became aware that instead of sending the airy traitors to the right about,

He was encouraging them to stand wall-like between himself and the truth about himself.

Too strong a man to keep up the mask when,

Once he discovered it,

He proceeded to chase the busy throng from behind them,

Anne's face peeped again.

He dragged out a hiding fact and held it bare to his own scorn.

He loved her.

Loved her.

And though but a day before the amazement of it would have struck him mute,

It had already ceased to look strange.

All had led to it.

The inconceivable would have been his failing to love.

So far,

His heart with easy swing.

But judgement stood stubborn in refusal to go with it.

Judgement it was which held the scourge.

With Hugh Forbes in the background,

What might be acknowledged natural became also offensive.

As Wareham jogged along the white road,

Unheedful of bold outlines or lovely verger,

He found himself mentally writing to his friend and recoiling with a start.

How could he word such a dispatch?

I have seen the woman for whom you are breaking your heart.

I love her myself and shall try to win her.

The very thought was brutal.

Yet to resign her for a dream?

Even for an ill-placed devotion?

What could be more foolish and morbid?

What fresh chance could come to Hugh?

His had passed when,

Sooner than carry out an engagement,

She had broken away abruptly and faced the talk and jibes of her world by venturing on a course for which blame was the more unsparingly heaped on her because it was inexplicable.

Hugh was young,

Handsome,

Ardent.

Until this moment,

Wareham had fancied him the very man to catch the fancy of a woman.

And it was only since Anne had lifted the curtain which friendship held tight that he could admit that possible something?

Was it the power of boring which had driven her from him?

This was what she meant when she said she had no patience.

That patience should be wanted.

Here was his heart once more racing smoothly until judgment caught the reins again and tugged at the runaway steed.

What boy's work was this?

A woman,

But a few weeks ago betrothed to his friend and still beloved by him?

Crazily,

It might be,

But with all his heart,

A woman of whom he knew next to nothing.

And that little up to now not in her favour.

And here,

At a word,

A look,

He was at her feet.

Shameful!

Yet,

Worst shame of all,

Not to be parted with at any price.

Already,

The world without Anne's figure in the foreground looked cold and unendurable.

His eyes tried to pierce the whirl of dust ahead and to distinguish her amid its folds.

He fancied he could do so,

And straight away his thoughts were occupied with nothing but foolish longing to know what her eyes were saying at this moment.

The confidence she had given surely pointed to a touch of sympathy,

A budding liking.

Happy,

Happy he.

In another hour or two,

They might be again together,

And he would show,

Better than he yet had done,

How much he prized her frankness.

The next moment,

These thoughts turned upon him with scourges.

Honour stood by and scornfully directed the flagellation.

And he felt himself a miserable traitor.

Here was friendship.

Here was a creditable sequel to his offices for Hugh.

So his mind wandered backwards and forwards.

Chaos lasted for a while.

And it is not impossible that the tumult was so new that he rashly suffered it,

Believing in his own powers of self-government,

And aware of a whirl as of hot-headed youth,

Which he had thought the years had left behind.

The day changed.

Brooding clouds gathered round the mountains,

Which closed in,

Rank after rank.

Nearer hills,

Heavily purple,

Swept up from the gloom of the valley.

The road slowly mounted,

The dust subsided,

And the crawling carrioles in front looked as if an effort might overtake them.

But Werham checked the impulse,

And his skis got a tempted spurt.

He would not see Anne until he had resolved on a line of action.

A resolution,

Carefully thought out,

Would serve as a guard against the rasher promptings of his heart.

And between this and Stalheim,

He had to come to terms with this resolution.

One was already there,

Not to give her up if he could gain her.

Behind this,

His heart entrenched itself,

Grumbling.

Yet,

In spite of such a reservation,

Carrying a good deal with it,

Werham hugged the delusion that the other was the more important.

Conscience had much to say as to what he should write to Hugh.

How wrap up the communication which was so abominably angular and assertive that,

Say what he would,

It inevitably presented itself in a repulsive form.

Conscience harped loudly upon truth,

Yet was anxious to give truth what should have been unnecessary,

Adorning.

Finally,

He resolved to write to Hugh that night,

And to tell him.

.

.

To tell him that he had met Miss Dalrymple.

This decided he was forced to admit that so much Hugh knew already.

There must be a more expansive confession.

He had to add admired,

Liked her,

And this written in thought appeared so significant to Werham that he imagined himself closing the letter here and drew a breath of relief.

But conscience,

Refusing compromise,

Cried out for something explicit,

And here came the difficulty.

All the sentences he revolved looked either inadequate or shameful.

Do you give her up?

Free she undoubtedly was,

Having herself asserted her freedom,

But free to Hugh Forbes's chief friend?

Yet something he must write,

And until it was written and answered,

Keep his feelings out of reach of betrayal.

Here was a resolution which he grasped,

For it belonged to the honourable instincts of a fine nature.

Too deeply rooted to suffer in the general upheaval,

He added a rider,

Necessary,

If unpalatable,

He would not avoid Anne to the extent of provoking her own or other remark,

But he must avoid well,

Such a walk,

Adieu,

As they had taken that day,

For instance.

The road grew steeper,

And he jumped out of his carrial.

Stalheim was perched above a hotel,

Two or three scattered cottages and a waterfall.

He climbed through gathering clouds,

And when he reached the door was met by English tourists of the most noisy and offensive type.

All his own people had vanished,

And he saw no more of them until supper,

Which was eaten to the accompaniment of a band.

Mrs Ravenhill confided to him that she hated the place,

In spite of the magnificence of the scenery.

And Millie and I have determined to go to Gutwangen tomorrow,

And wait for the Monday steamer.

I cannot stay here to see my own country people making themselves so obnoxious,

She hastened to add with scrupulous care.

You don't expect me,

I hope,

To repeat that you are not in the least tied to us,

And must not be influenced by anything we may do.

Does that sentence mean that I am forbidden to accompany you?

Forbidden?

Oh no,

But the others stay on,

And this is one of the special places in Norway.

I detest special places,

She warned further.

Remember that we heard the little inn at Gutwangen was very primitive.

That decides me.

If you will allow me,

I shall certainly go there with you.

Millie's face was all brightness.

Wareham indeed was inclined to look upon the proposal as the reward of merit,

To plume himself upon a sort of recognition of his having kept on the side of his conscience.

It was a step out of his dilemma.

Two days of voluntary banishment from Anne meant a sacrifice worthy of the altar of friendship.

He would write his letter,

Avoid walks,

Avoid the smallest betrayal of feeling.

All looked easy.

If love laughs at locksmiths,

How much more at lovers' resolutions.

Chapter 7.

How a Letter Got Written So satisfied was Wareham with his ample precautions that,

Supper ended,

He went in pursuit of Miss Dalrymple.

She had vanished.

Mrs Martin engaged him and Mrs Ravenhill and Millie joined in.

Presently,

A harp and voice struck up in the gallery round the hall.

An hour later,

Anne appeared at the door,

Wet,

Breathless,

But in high spirits.

She said she had been paying tribute to the place,

Had gone down the Gudvangen zigzags to see a waterfall.

Two waterfalls.

A beautiful sleigh dog slipped in behind her.

Anne!

Exclaimed Mrs Martin disapprovingly.

In this rain?

Mountain rain?

Mist?

And alone?

Maint oneself be good company?

She laughed as she said it.

Wareham,

Looking at her,

Found delightful charm in her laugh.

He felt that in breaking away,

He was giving Hugh an extraordinary proof of loyalty.

And probably his face expressed this conviction,

For Mrs Martin said sharply,

Mr Wareham may admire imprudence.

I don't.

Anne's face chilled.

He returned,

My opinion is worthless,

Or I should venture to suggest dangers in wet clothes.

Dangers?

Madness?

Cried Mrs Martin jumping up.

Come,

Anne,

I have waited for you until I can hardly keep my eyes open.

They are going to dance,

Millie hazarded.

Let them.

I go to bed.

I am tired of the noise,

Said Mrs Ravenhill,

And I have a letter to write,

Remarked Wareham.

Anne,

Who had recovered herself,

Looked back over her shoulder with a smile.

Do letters ever come or go?

She asked.

The idle question gripped Wareham.

The letter,

The act of writing had been his difficulty.

Now,

With recollection of how long a time must pass before it could reach England and bring back its answer,

Came a sinking of heart.

Honour bound him to the lines he had laid down.

If he remained near,

He must take no steps to win her until he heard from Hugh.

If he could not trust himself,

He must hold aloof.

There was the situation,

Briefly put,

Cruel.

For every hour,

Every minute now was worth months,

Years.

Now the days were strewn with opportunities.

He was thrown into her society.

If ever she was to be won,

Now was his chance.

Impatience caught,

Shook him.

It must be a fortnight before answer came from Hugh.

And when he looked at the past week and reflected that it seemed a month long,

He found the prospect of two such periods intolerable.

He endeavoured to detach himself from conditions and to philosophise.

But philosophy is old and scrupulous,

While young love has no qualms in taking advantage of the first opportunity which presents itself and tripping up the elderly combatant.

Wareham gave up arguing with himself and set doggedly to work to write his letter.

Step number one was difficult enough.

Nothing satisfied him in expression.

More than one scroll was tossed aside as inadequate,

Absurdly inadequate,

Or as expressing more than he meant.

What did he mean?

There was the mischief.

In these early days,

When he had only just begun to read his own heart and might reasonably claim a little time for its study,

It was detestable to have to offer it for a third person's perusal.

He resented the position the more that he was unused to interference with his liberty.

He lost his first flush of pity for Hugh and wrote with a certain asperity,

Circumstances have thrown Miss Dalrymple and me together.

Perhaps this will prepare you for what I have to say.

In a word,

I believe I am on the brink of loving her.

The knowledge only came to me today.

I imagine it will not please you.

My dear fellow,

I would have given a good deal for it not to have happened.

Don't reproach me without keeping that in mind.

As it is,

All I can do is to hold back.

I don't say draw back because I have done nothing and let you make the next move.

If you have any hope,

If you desire to try your luck once more,

Telegraph through Bennet.

Wait.

You can trust me to make no sign till word comes from you,

Whatever the cost to myself.

So much,

I owe you.

And perhaps you will think I owe you more,

But I believe you are generous enough to forgive what could only be a wrong if I snatched your chances from you.

At best,

My own may be small enough.

They appear to me so small that this letter becomes offensively presumptuous in even treating of them.

Yet,

Lest you should ever think me treacherous,

I write it and repeat that I hold myself bound in honour and friendship to take no step in advance until you have told me that I am free.

Or,

Let me know that you have not yet resigned your hope.

The wording displeased him.

But it did not seem as if anything he wrote could give him satisfaction,

So that he hurriedly closed his epistle and took it to the office.

A heap of letters lay on the table.

They had the appearance of having been seeking their owners for weeks,

And of reposing at last with an air of finality,

Whereom looked at them askance,

As if each carried a threat of delay.

In the morning,

Anne sat next to him at breakfast.

She said to him immediately,

Why are you so cruel as to leave us?

We are pinned here until Colonel Martin and Mr Grey come back.

Besides,

I don't like being driven from point to point without time to draw a breath.

I feel like a note of interjection.

He made a weak reply,

To the effect that Mrs Ravenhill disliked the place.

And you are bound to Mrs Ravenhill.

She hastened to apologise.

Of course you are.

Forgive me.

If this was offered as an opening,

It failed.

After a momentary pause,

She said,

You should have been with us last evening.

Us?

I had a companion.

Did you not see him?

He came in with me.

Oh,

The dog.

I don't permit those contemptuous accents for my friends.

He behaved like a true gentleman and took me to the very place where I wanted to go.

No one else offered.

If this was coquetry,

It was accompanied by a frank smile at her own expense.

Wareham stiffened,

Looked away.

And broke out,

Eagerly,

How long shall you stay here?

Until Blanche is tired of it.

I suppose till Monday.

Are you not coming out to see what you came from England to see?

Oh,

We are all coming,

Said Wareham,

Raging at his fetters.

She looked at him with eyes surprised but twinkling.

Talked about London for a decent interval and left the room.

He scarcely expected to see her reappear with the others in the hall,

But she was there.

Whatever Stalheim may suffer from its visitors,

It is magnificently placed.

A height among heights.

Straight in front,

The Neier Odal cleaves the mountains,

Its conical Jordalschut dominating the rest,

Its lovely mist drifts playing round the summits.

Below,

A silver flash darts through the greys and slender falls leap down to join the river.

Nor is this fine cleft the only outlet.

As they strolled up a road to the left,

Where was a broken foreground of shrub,

Boulders and cut grass,

Made lively by magpies,

The great valley through which they had passed the day before opened and swept away into purple gloom until the eye reached the mountains behind,

Here shrouded in cloud,

There uplifting snowy heights against the menacing darkness.

There was a wildness,

A grandeur,

A savage desolation,

Such as they had not yet seen under the august skies of Norway.

At the end of the walk,

Wareham took credit to himself for his conduct.

He was sure that he had been quite natural,

Had walked with Anne,

Talked with Anne and looked at Anne without betraying attraction.

This satisfied his man's code,

Which,

Once alarmed,

Is minute in such matters.

He even avoided wishing her goodbye,

Marked,

Slight,

Possibly too marked.

When the raven hills started,

He dispatched his portmanteau in a carriol and followed on foot.

It was a day of broken lights and flitting shadows,

Waterfalls rushed down on either side and the beautiful Salmon River,

Barrel-coloured,

Milky white indigo,

Raced along by the road and offered its counteracting life to what gloom there was.

Wareham gave eager appreciation to the green,

Flashing world through which he walked.

His conscience was light.

He enjoyed the smell of hay,

Snatched from steep,

Roof-like patches of earth,

The slender falls,

Scarcely more than silver threads,

Which leapt incredible heights to escape from their ice prisons.

The sweet,

Pure air,

The spring of turf at his feet.

Far away,

In front,

The little carriages with their dun ponies spun along.

Presently,

A wild,

Unkempt figure,

Carrying a sickle and clad in scarlet jacket,

Broad hat and knee breeches,

Strode from a bushy path.

A dog as wild as his master at his heels.

Then a cottage or two with flowery roofs came in sight,

A glimmer of fjord,

And he was at Gudfanken.

Mrs Ravenhill and Millie were standing outside Hansen's primitive little inn when he reached it.

I don't know what you will say,

Said Mrs Ravenhill,

Laughing.

Are you prepared to live in a deal box by the roadside?

But Millie and I think it delightful.

Then I shall think it delightful too,

Said Wareham.

One can always fish.

Millie inquired if he had seen the waterfall.

That little thing?

Speak respectfully,

Please.

One of the highest in Europe.

Two thousand feet,

With a jump of five hundred.

Isn't to be dismissed in such a slighting tone.

You are going to rival Mrs Martin,

In fact.

But I see you have taken Gudfanken to your heart.

Shall we go and explore?

On the way,

He was struck with Millie's lightheartedness and said to himself that here was one of those happy natures from which care rolls off.

She spoke with almost extreme admiration of Anne.

But Mrs Martin she did not like.

Her mother remonstrated that she had never been harmed by that lady.

Padded glass was all that Millie vouchsafed.

Wareham wondered a little at such unexpected perspicacity.

A figure in a long Macintosh ran joyfully up to the girl.

It was the young Siamese prince,

Breathless with triumph,

And a basket of twenty-eight trout.

Are you at Hanson's?

He demanded,

His eyes sparkling.

All of us.

Then they shall be cooked.

We will have them by and by.

Perhaps I shall even catch some more.

We will live on trout,

Said Wareham.

I must have a try.

Do,

Mrs Ravenhill urged.

I promise you that Millie and I will bring appreciative appetites.

They did not meet again till supper.

Shared with three English fishermen,

Who bemoaned the dry weather,

And two German girls travelling on foot with knapsacks.

What have you discovered?

Wareham asked.

But I can tell you.

Another waterfall.

Another.

A dozen.

We found a delightful walk,

Which you shall see tomorrow.

There is but one,

So it is as well it should have charms.

It leads to Backe,

Where the pastor,

Whom we met with a pipe a yard long,

Has service tomorrow,

And we can either row along the fjord or walk.

Mother will walk,

I expect.

She sees sketches at every turn.

Wareham foresaw another tete-a-tete stroll,

But on this occasion felt no disquietude looking upon Millie as a soothing little companion,

Who might be induced without suspicion to discourse now and then upon Miss Dalrymple.

So much depends on the point of view.

Mrs Ravenhills was not the same.

She started,

Resolved to remain with the others,

But a shadowy view of the fjord with a group of infantine kids in the foreground shook her resolution.

The lights were perfect.

Millie's little fancy,

If it ever existed,

Had quite fluttered away.

Danger could not exist.

She wavered,

Resisted,

Wavered again,

And fell.

They left her,

Happily oblivious of everything beyond the purple and green splendour of the hills and the absolute reflection of line and tint in the glassy waters.

I never before realised how much happiness belongs to art,

Said Wareham as they walked away.

It makes one envious Is not yours art?

Millie asked,

Nothing so graceful.

You paint in words,

And words are stronger than colours.

No words could bring those reflections before you,

But they could extract their inner meaning.

Wareham looked at her with surprise,

Feeling as if he had been gravely addressed by a butterfly.

But the next moment she had run lightly up the bank after strawberries.

From this point of vantage she flung him a question.

Has Miss Dalrymple a mother?

A stepmother.

She knelt down,

The better to fill a small basket she carried,

And the impulse to speak was too strong.

You are not angry any longer?

He paused a second.

Then his words rushed.

It was a misconception,

Such as comes from judging before one has heard both sides of the question.

To talk more easily,

He reached her side with two strides,

And stood looking over the fjord.

He,

My friend,

The words stuck a little,

Never blamed her,

But,

You know,

In such cases,

One takes forbearance as a matter of course.

I knew he was generous.

I concluded he must be wronged.

He paused.

Millie,

On her knees,

Leaned backward,

But still occupied herself with the strawberries.

The wedding was close at hand,

Was it not?

Close.

Was she wrong?

The question put,

He blamed himself for asking it.

It was offering up Anne's conduct to the world's judgment.

Millie did not answer until she had dropped two or three crimson berries into her basket.

Then she said,

In a steady voice,

If it was an escape from bonds,

It was right.

The answer was unexpected.

Should have been welcome,

Yet it seemed to push Anne or Hugh Forbes to the wall,

Suggesting that if she were not to blame,

He was?

Wareham uttered an impatient sigh.

I cannot conceive what she could object to in Hugh,

He said,

The friend uppermost again.

Millie was silent.

And yet,

Women,

He added tentatively,

She turned back some leaves,

Under which a cluster of fruit glowed.

I believe that I am surprised you don't condemn her with the rest of the world,

He said at last,

In order to force an answer.

How should I?

I never saw your friend.

Miss Dalrymple has been very nice to me,

But I know nothing of her or of her life.

Millie's words were hurried.

You asked me if she were right or wrong.

How should I know?

But if she was ready to brave people's tongues,

Either she had never loved him,

Or she did not love him any more.

In either case,

When she found out,

She must have been right,

Not to wait until it was too late.

That is all I can see clearly,

And I dare say,

If I knew more,

I should not see so much.

I believe you are right,

Said Wareham admiringly.

He was in the condition to find oracles in all that agreed with him.

When you know Miss Dalrymple better,

You will be sure you are.

Miss Dalrymple is not easily known.

Not?

Not by women?

To this,

Man does not object,

And Wareham Millie pondered over it.

Millie moved a little farther off.

He followed.

I do not know that it is a disadvantage,

He said,

Ignoring her last words and defending blindly.

Oh,

No,

Why should it be?

Wareham would have preferred something more combative,

Wishing for argument,

Which was unattainable when his companion only acquiesced.

He stood meditating,

And Millie started from her knees.

At this rate,

We shall never get to Bake,

She cried.

But strawberries are irresistible.

Do you really like them?

There was a dissatisfied note in his voice.

She thought,

With a pang,

Already he can see nothing to praise where she is not,

And then was horrified because she seemed to make this a reproach.

To punish herself,

She went back to Anne.

I suppose the Martins and Miss Dalrymple start in our steamer tomorrow?

Do they go to Balholm?

Wareham imagined they would go where Mrs Ravenhill went.

Her spirits sank.

She could not chatter as freely as usual,

Yet made a gallant effort.

What flower is that?

I never saw any like it.

Oh,

Thank you.

Look,

It really is odd,

Canary-coloured and hanging by a sort of filament.

We must take it back to Mother,

Who loves flowers.

Hearing this,

He gathered everything which came in his way.

He was conscious that absorbing thought left him a dull companion and wished to compensate for it by what small attentions he could offer.

As for Millie,

He looked at her only to compare her with Anne,

And the small fancies which had crossed his mind during the first days they had spent together had flitted into the unremembered past.

He liked her,

Nevertheless,

And recognised a sweetness of nature which,

In the years to come,

Would make a husband happy.

Perhaps he even liked her better than at first when a certain air of alert agreeability had once or twice annoyed him and pointed to fatigue in companionship.

And as she walked in front,

What seemed a sudden inspiration struck him.

Here was the very wife for Hugh Forbes.

He loved liveliness and her very prettiness was lively.

It was indeed the very word to use in describing her and how admirably such an arrangement would fit the puzzle into place.

Millie could not understand why he began to talk of Hugh.

He grew eloquent.

Hugh was the pleasantest fellow.

Generous,

Lovable,

Amusing,

Rising.

The picture requiring to be toned down slightly,

He admitted that he was inclined to be idle.

But idleness is a sin a girl readily condones.

Millie listened under the impression that Mr.

Forbes was talked of that he might think of Anne.

The subject was distasteful but she said heroically,

How strange she did not like him.

Then as Wareham laughed,

A smile dawned on her face.

Have I said anything odd?

No.

But I have,

He explained.

I have been trying to make one woman see Hugh's attractiveness.

At the very moment when she knew another woman could not bring herself to marry him,

That might not have been his fault.

Then it was hers.

Millie felt disposed to cry out at this persistence.

The talk had been full of pricks,

Yet was not without its tremulous pleasure since she was nearer to Wareham than when indifferent subjects were discussed.

He would not have cared to enlist her on Anne's side if friendliness had not urged him.

She said,

After a momentary pause,

Why not his misfortune?

He was silent.

It would have been difficult to have satisfied him at that instant and Millie's suggestion quite failed.

He dropped the bittersweet topic and talked of Bacchae and the curve of the fjord behind it,

Promontory,

Overlapping promontory,

Every light,

Shadow and colour reflected in the water.

An ugly little church stood near the brink.

Round it nestled the living and the waiting dead.

A few flower-roofed cottages,

More black crosses.

They stood and looked over the paling.

Grass waved upon the graves.

The same flowery sorrel-tinted grass assented the air.

Two or three children were in a boat.

The oars splashed.

Otherwise not a sound broke the silence.

Millie's spirits rose.

In the midst of a great nature she and Wareham seemed to stand alone,

To be brought nearer.

When she reached her mother,

Her eyes shone.

Wareham went up the Næroddal alone in the afternoon.

But in the dusk all three again strolled together.

Clear golden lights swept along sky and fjord.

Long shadows trembled in the water.

Two or three ponies scrambled like goats among heaped-up boulders.

And the goats themselves,

Perched on inaccessible heights,

Sent down faint,

Argumentative bleatings in response to the wild cry with which a girl was coaxing them.

What land is this in which we have all once wandered?

A land of shadows and sweet lights,

Touching everything with mysterious charm.

Hush,

Dreamer,

You know now though you did not know it then,

That this is Arcadia.

Chapter Eight Eden The steamer was to start from Gudvangen at two.

Wareham already felt as if he had offered up so much to duty that he might expect reward to have left Miss Dalrymple to the mercy of possibilities in the shape of other men for two long days was in itself an assurance that he could trust himself,

And if that were so,

The reasons for avoiding her became ludicrously small,

Almost indeed offensive.

He went to fish.

But the point he chose commanded the road through the Nyre Odal,

And when he saw the carriages broadening from specks into shape and at last could distinguish clearly,

He was not very long in making his way after them to Hansen's.

Mrs.

Martin and Anne were standing in the porch talking to old Hansen,

As well as limited vocabularies would allow.

Wareham was welcome as an interpreter to three of the party.

He hoped that Anne's smile meant more.

You see,

We are here,

She said.

We have torn ourselves from Stalheim.

Wicked Stalheim.

Why wicked?

By contrast only,

Here you look so pastoral,

So idyllic,

That our little crowds and bands and bad dinners take quite an iniquitous air.

We had a chaplain put in,

Mrs.

Martin,

To point out how bad we were.

Well,

I am glad you have escaped,

Said Wareham.

Where's Colonel Martin?

Thereby hangs a sad tale,

For he has telegraphed that he will join us at Ballholm,

And Blanche is much displeased,

And Mr.

Grey is left in the vortex at Stalheim.

Don't look so reproachful,

Or we shall ask you to go back and rescue him.

And miss my steamer?

Forbid it fates.

Gudvangen is a charming spot,

As you see.

Eden,

If you like,

But to be left here,

Without a companion,

To live upon trout and biscuits,

And amuse oneself with a jingling piano and old photographs,

Would make one hate Eden.

Besides,

All my philanthropy is packed up in England,

But what have we here?

A larger carriage drove by to the other hotel,

And was followed by a second.

Both were filled with shouting parties of tourists,

Waving and yelling.

Old Hansen set his face grimly.

Now,

He said to Wareham,

Tell me,

What people are those?

They belong to your country.

You can explain.

We have nothing like them.

They do not care about the beauty,

Or the history,

Or those who live here.

They are middle-aged men,

Many of them.

They shout and sing and laugh as loud as they can.

What are they?

Why do they come?

Wareham muttered something to the effect that there were falls in all countries.

Tell him,

It's the way we treat our lunatics,

Anne said.

It's our new system of cure.

The steamer does not go until two,

Wareham said in a low voice.

Will your Eden bear looking into?

Come and see.

Blanche,

Will you explore?

No,

It is too hot.

I hear there is a shop with rather nice furs,

And I haven't seen one for a week.

Mind you two aren't late.

Late,

When it isn't half past twelve.

But I can't sit on the steamer with those lunatics a moment longer than is necessary.

And Mr Wareham's inn may be delightfully primitive,

But I have never set myself up as a specimen of primitive woman,

And I prefer Eden without its inn.

Well,

Mr Wareham,

I am waiting.

She stood,

Erect,

Smiling.

Where will you go?

What have you to offer?

A path by the fjord,

Where you will find Mrs and Miss Ravenhill sketching,

And the road by which you have just come.

You don't perplex one with the amount of choice.

We will go back.

Stalheim.

Wicked Stalheim.

Attracts me.

I own.

They were walking along the road.

Whenever he could,

Wareham glanced at her,

Admiring the easy poise of her figure,

Her light,

Strong step.

Aren't you contented with having brought down a part of the world you admire?

They don't harmonise with Eden,

To tell the truth,

Said Anne,

Laughing.

I'm not sure that any of us do.

But I grant you all that you demand as to its charms.

Look at the soft shadows on the hills.

I can fancy it a very refreshing little place for a day.

Perhaps two?

Doubtfully.

If one was sure,

Absolutely sure,

Of getting away the day after,

Is that all you could give to Eden?

Alas.

Alas.

Rather to his surprise,

Anne was grave.

But when one has lived always in vanity fair,

Do you not feel with me?

Something else will be provided for us poor things.

Something more in accord with our heritage of ages?

She gave him a look,

In which he read what she did not say.

And they walked on,

Silently.

Making their way,

At last,

To the brink of the river.

The clear water rushed noisily past them.

A chatterer,

Wareham declared.

Pleasant chatter,

Don't you think?

If you are sure we have time,

We might sit down here a little while,

And perhaps grow cool.

Plenty of time,

He said,

Consulting his watch.

If we are back by a quarter to two,

We shall do very well.

For all your things will have gone on board.

Anne was already perched on a stone.

I throw responsibility on you.

I have come here to enjoy myself,

Not to fidget.

What shall we do to secure your object?

Oh,

She cried impatiently.

Don't talk about it.

If it isn't spontaneous,

It is failure.

Then I mayn't even ask whether you prefer silence,

Or ask nothing.

Tell me,

If you like,

What you did yesterday.

Walked.

Here?

No,

By that other path which you rejected.

To a village called Backe.

Were you alone?

Oh,

No,

We all started together.

Mrs Ravenhill fell upon a sketch,

And her daughter and I went further and returned to her.

There,

You have it all.

Miss Dalrymple scrutinised his face with a smile.

There is something very attractive about her,

She said,

Though she does not like me.

I have never heard her say so.

No,

She would not.

She is good.

I can quite imagine her in Eden.

She would make Adam very happy.

Don't you think so?

I believe she would make an excellent wife,

Said Wareham,

Keeping on open ground.

Anne said no more.

She asked questions as to how the salmon got up these rivers,

And announced her intention of trying to catch one when next she went to Scotland.

At last Wareham looked at his watch.

There is time enough to take it as coolly as you like,

He said,

But perhaps we had better go back.

Anne sprang up.

I am ready.

As we cannot stay,

I believe I shall be sorry to leave Goodfunkin.

Wareham's heart throbbed.

I shall never forget it,

He said.

Never?

Why?

Was Bucket so delightful a place?

I leave you to imagine why,

He said in a low voice.

Leave me nothing in the form of a riddle,

Said Anne.

I shall disappoint you.

He raged again.

Were all his chances to slip by?

There are moments when we feel as if we rode upon the wave,

As if what we wanted was just within our grasp.

This was such a moment.

And he was bound,

Could not so much as stretch out his hand.

His heart,

Submitting sullenly,

Would say something.

Miss Dalrymple,

He began,

Is there absolutely no hope for Hugh?

She paused for a moment.

What right have you to ask?

None,

Except he would have liked to have shot out that I want relief from a torment of doubt,

But controlled himself to say,

Except knowing that he has not given you up.

You should not use the present tense.

I can answer for it that you have not seen him for ten days.

Doesn't that give time enough for a man to change?

Wareham looked at her,

His face hard.

Yes,

He said shortly.

That is not the question.

How long does a woman take?

She made an impatient gesture.

For pity's sake,

When I came to Norway to escape Hugh Forbes.

He was silent.

Suddenly conscious that he dared not probe farther.

Womanlike,

She glanced at him to read what she could in his face.

But his eyes were on the ground.

When he raised them,

He stared before him at an empty fjord.

He dragged out his watch.

Impossible.

It is not half past one.

What is the matter?

Anne asked.

The steamer?

Am I dreaming or has she gone?

Certainly she is not there.

Anne quickened her steps.

Wareham's face was very grave.

He dashed into the inn and hammered at Old Hansen's door.

Anne waited outside,

Reflecting on the situation.

Wareham came slowly out at last,

Followed by the burly landlord.

I am afraid it is too true,

He said.

I shall never forgive myself for implicitly trusting a Norwegian timetable.

They left at one o'clock.

He looked at Hansen.

Hansen looked at Anne.

It was she who first spoke.

When is the next boat?

Tomorrow afternoon.

Wareham hazarded the remark.

If I were to take you back to Stalheim,

There is sure to be someone you could join.

I hate to be baffled,

Said Anne,

And you may have forgotten that all I have in the world here has gone on the steamer.

Heavens,

Yes,

Said Wareham,

Struck with this fresh complication.

He looked so shocked that Anne,

In self-defence,

Began to laugh.

Did no one miss us?

This is humiliating.

It appeared that Mrs Ravenhill inquired and was told they intended to go on board without returning to the inn.

Mrs Martin stayed in the shop until the last moment and had barely time to scramble on board.

It was quite natural that she should suppose the others had been before her.

So,

We have no one to blame but ourselves,

Said Anne.

But me,

Corrected Wareham,

You disclaimed responsibility from the first.

Oh,

We will share.

It is less dull to hold together.

And what does the landlord suggest?

We can't be the first castaways.

He says that the last victims took a boat and were rowed to Ulvik.

But Balholm is a good deal further,

Wareham said after consultation.

Anne decided promptly.

Very well,

Please get a boat.

You venture?

Why not?

What else can be done?

Wareham could think of nothing.

The misadventure meant more to him than it did to her.

At least,

It seemed so beforehand.

He had gone rashly near breaking his resolution in capturing that solitary hour with her and was forced to reflect that he had not come out of the ordeal scatheless.

Fate was punishing him by prolonging what he had already found too long for his strength.

And there was nothing for it but to accept fate.

He said,

Hurriedly,

I will see about a boat at once,

And was going when she called him back.

We must have dinner before we set off?

You put me to shame,

He said.

I believe my wits have deserted me.

Worse things have fallen to my lot,

She laughed.

Do you expect me to offer you words of consolation?

Bear your burdens with greater philosophy,

Mr Wareham,

If that were all rushed from his lips.

I can't even lighten them by ordering dinner,

Anne went on,

Taking no notice.

Bennet's conversation book is on the steamer with everything else and I can remember nothing but mon jetac,

Which doesn't seem called for at this moment.

At any rate,

I can order dinner,

Said Wareham humbly,

And you couldn't do anything better.

Please have a great many trout,

Who knows when we shall dine again.

I must find out how long a boat will take in reaching Balholm.

Don't ask,

Anne said quickly.

Don't you see that as the thing has to be done,

There is no possible use in looking at the difficulties?

I,

On the contrary,

Mean to treat it as something special.

All the world and his wife,

Even those horrid tourists,

Go down the Serofjord in steamers.

How much more enchanting to be rowed dreamily,

With neither smoke nor noise.

Pray,

Don't be so dismal about it.

Do you know that you are paying me the worst of compliments.

Endure your fate bravely and order the trout.

Thus adjured,

Wareham departed.

Gudvungen was sleepily interested and the misadventure had happened before.

He chose a good boat and two rowers and going back to the little saal,

Found Anne making an excellent dinner.

When one is cast away,

It is prudent to choose a place with shops for the event,

She said.

I have made this an excuse for buying some delightful furs.

Money?

I have none.

But they trust me.

I have money,

Said Wareham,

Hastily turning out his pockets and unnecessarily ashamed of this fresh absence of foresight on his part.

They could not reach Balholm before the middle of the night and Anne's wraps were on the steamer.

Very well,

Then you shall pay as we pass and I will owe it to you instead.

Having brought you into the predicament,

I think I might be allowed to provide the necessaries of life.

Do you mean that you are proposing to present me with a set of furs,

Said Anne,

Laying down her fork and staring at him?

Something you must have to keep you warm.

Mr Wareham,

Pray,

Don't make me begin to regret this incident.

He saw that she was vexed and dashed away from the subject.

Poor old Hanson was mortally afraid we should want him to telephone something or other.

I believe the telephone is sending him off his head.

He would have sent out to look for us if a message had not come down from Stalheim just at the critical moment.

Can't we use it,

Said Anne,

With a little more anxiety in her voice than she had shown hitherto.

Only backwards to Stalheim and then,

I imagine,

Telegraph to Vos.

That would not help us.

No.

No.

We are doing the only sensible thing.

The trout are excellent and I encourage hunger.

We will take some food with us.

And tea.

I insist upon tea.

But how to boil it in a boat?

We will land on a rock,

Said Anne,

Who was laughing again.

A fjord picnic.

By all means.

Besides,

Of course there are villages.

We don't want to be delayed.

And I shan't agree to anything more sociable than a rock.

You command the crew.

They were on excellent terms again.

Anne's momentary haughtiness passed.

She was mirthful over their prospects.

They went out and bought the gaudiest tinny Gudvangen could produce and packed it with what provisions they could find.

Anne insisted,

Moreover,

That there should be a packet of tobacco for the rowers.

Then she went to fetch her furs but apparently had changed her mind.

For Wareham was not allowed to pay for them.

That she would arrange in Bergen,

As originally fixed.

You have not forgiven,

He said in a low voice.

Not forgotten,

She corrected.

By this time tomorrow I may have done so.

He accepted the hint and was silent.

They went down to the boat and saw all their things placed,

Watched by the few interested spectators Gudvangen sent out,

And by old Hanson,

Who took a fatherly interest in their proceedings.

Can we sail?

Asked Miss Dalrymple.

There is not a breath.

But the men are good rowers,

And I can take an oar to relieve them.

There will be beauty enough to please you,

Provided expressly on my account,

Said Anne lightly,

You will expect me to be so prodigal of compliments at the end of the voyage that I shall not praise your arrangements now.

Are we ready?

A good journey,

Called out old Hanson.

Wareham waved his hat,

Anne nodded and smiled.

The boat moved smoothly along,

Out into a world of reflected colours.

Goodbye,

Eden,

Said Anne.

Chapter Nine Tongue-tied.

For a time neither of the two companions spoke.

The hush of the place was upon them.

The extraordinary stillness,

Unbroken by so much as the cry of a bird,

Or by any sound more harsh than the soft rhythm of the rise and fall of the oars.

On one side,

The grassy path,

Along which Millie and Wareham had walked to Backay,

Wound,

Clasping the rock with a green girdle.

On the other was neither path nor habitation,

Only the bold sweep of the mountainside,

Clothed with verdure running up to the snow patches and coloured by blue shadows or cut by the slender silver line of a foss.

Whatever there was,

Rock or trees,

Snow or leaping water,

Its double was below,

With some strange charm added to its beauty.

And so narrow was the fjord that these reflections seemed to meet and fill it.

Anne sat with her head turned away from Wareham,

Looking over the side of the boat into the green mystery through which they moved.

He would not speak,

Fearing to disturb her.

But he was able to watch her to his heart's content.

He was certain that she had grown younger since coming to Norway.

He heaped scorn on himself for having detected hardness in her lovely face.

And by what miracle were he and she together?

Yet his position was cruel enough,

For this day had already deepened his love,

So that it was more and more difficult to keep back any outward sign which hinted at its expression.

And although placed as they now were,

That would have been impossible.

He told himself that if he were not bound by his duty to his friend,

He might have put his fate to the test no later than tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

That was an endurable date,

But to be forced to wait,

Wait,

Wait,

Until the letter brought back an answer?

The letter which,

He began to calculate,

Saturday.

This was Monday,

And there was certainly no boat likely to leave Norway until the middle of the week.

His letter was dawdling along.

And at such a rate an answer would hardly reach him while he was in the country.

And all these weeks to be tongue-tied.

Anne turned round at this moment.

Apparently she was not thinking of him,

And had but changed her position in order to look at the other side of the fjord.

But every time her face came before him under a fresh aspect,

He was conscious of a sweet surprise.

Presently she looked full at him and smiled.

I want to say something,

And I can't express it,

She said.

I suppose that is incomprehensible to you.

It was so like his own case that Werem dared not venture to say how like.

He was forced to treat his own feelings as if they were a packet of explosives,

And keep light away from them.

Anne went on.

I am perplexed with myself.

This is so much more beautiful than I conceived.

And it is so odd that I should think it beautiful.

Why?

Why am I?

I.

.

.

I can't explain.

I only know that my friends will tell you that I am insensible to beauty of scenery.

Rank heresy?

I don't know.

It has been dinned into my ears so constantly that I have ended by accepting it.

They assure me I have no eye for colour.

I could confute them.

Oh,

Once let me feel sure of myself,

And I could manage the confuting,

Said Anne coolly.

After today,

I shall not go down before them quite so easily.

For I believe it is the colour which enchants me.

Was ever anything so exquisite as this crater?

I am glad you have extracted some compensation for my stupidity,

Said Wareham,

Greedy of assurance that she liked to be in the boat with him.

She took no notice beyond saying,

I still think they behaved rather meanly in deserting us.

What are they feeling now,

I wonder?

As little as possible.

Do you imply that they will not be uneasy?

Blanche will say that it is Anne all over and that she may be left to take care of herself.

I dare say she is right.

Do you like the woman?

He asked abruptly.

No catechism,

Mr Wareham.

Miss Ravenhill described her as padded glass.

Anne meditated and looked amused.

That is a clever definition.

Whether it is she or not,

I should have thought it more likely to come from you.

It was all her own.

Mrs Martin seems to me rather forcibly rude than anything else.

She has not a bad heart,

Said Anne.

Rudeness is,

To her mind,

An outward expression of honesty,

But one which she does not appreciate in other people.

It is astonishing what a different aspect our own virtues wear transplanted.

If she is kind,

Began Wareham,

I do not say she is always kind.

She can hurt.

She will not be kind about me today.

A thorn pricked Wareham.

He said hastily,

She will know it was not your fault.

She will try to keep me from knowing it.

You may be sure it will be long before I hear the last of it from her or from others.

From others?

Anne looked straight in his face.

Mr Wareham,

I imagined you to be a man of the world.

If you are,

You must know as well as I that people will chatter.

The world is not always absurd,

He retorted with heat.

When was it not a gossip?

Now,

I will ask a question which I have avoided before.

When shall we get to Balholme?

About two or three in the morning.

And you flatter yourself?

That will not give a handle for talk.

Wareham had been surprised that she had said nothing of the sort before.

He was conscious at the same time that if it had been Millie,

The fear would not have struck her.

When they know the facts,

They will see there was nothing else for us to do.

They won't know facts.

One fact will be sufficient for them,

And to that they will hold on as a dog to a bone.

Never mind.

I have gone through as much before.

When?

Wareham asked jealously.

Oh,

Not with this sort of experience.

This is new to me,

But I have served as a bone so often that I am used to the worrying.

Don't let us talk of it now.

I want to drink in my new enjoyment to develop my new sense.

Look at the drifting shadow on that hill,

And the splendour of the snow.

But it is the water,

The water that fascinates me.

I am going to watch it.

He accepted this as a hint that he was not to speak.

And the turmoil in him was not sorry for silence,

Which left time for many voices to have their say.

This hint of Anne's that the world would make her suffer for what his carelessness had brought upon her carried with it an almost unendurable sting.

Under other circumstances,

He would have said to her,

If not that hour,

Tomorrow,

I love you.

Be my wife.

But his duty to Hugh,

Doubly bound as he was by the promise of his letter to abstain from any step until the answer had come,

Could he fling it to the winds and forswear himself?

The letter to which he looked for deliverance was but tightening his bonds.

He was swayed this way and that,

Now swung low by such fretting thoughts,

Now conscious of mounting to heights of bliss in the warm,

Fresh air with the mountains and the water around and Anne sitting close to touching him.

She said presently,

We are the only thinking creatures in sight and the world looks very big.

Does it make you feel small or great?

It dwarfs one,

Doesn't it?

It seems to me as if I had seen it all before and I have been trying to think where.

I believe now that it was when I was a child and sat solitary reading Sinbad the Sailor.

Perhaps there was some old picture for certainly this takes me back to that.

Were you solitary?

Very,

Anne said,

Smiling.

I brought myself up and very badly.

Look behind,

The mountains are closing.

Now that they have let us out,

They shut their portals.

She was silent again and Wareham,

Quick to read her moods,

Humoured her.

The boat moved slowly along.

Slowly it seemed when the great surroundings filled the eye,

The heavens were blue,

But here and there a white cloud drifted lazily or caught the mountain snow beds and curled round them like a vaporous reminder of their fate.

The lovely,

Vivid green of the young summer crept up and down the mighty hills,

Softening the rude scars of centuries until they looked no more than delicate and shadowy indentations.

The stern granite blossomed into tender rose and grey and the water world below gave back all this and more.

Every now and then the men who were rowing exchanged a word.

They had grave steadfast faces.

Talk to them,

Anne said suddenly at last.

Ask them about their lives.

Wareham struggled obediently.

My questions are obliged to be simple,

He said,

And I am even more anxious the answers should be.

A universal language.

Is it a dream?

We are pleased to infer that it is our own which will serve the purpose,

But by the time the idea has developed into fact it may be Japanese to become a ruling nation they will have been forced to adopt ours.

Oh,

British arrogance.

However,

I do not wish it.

Uniformity is always dull and I would rather suffer shame from my own ignorance than have all the world patted down to one dead level.

There is dignity in the unknown.

When I hear these men talk I can't help imagining that what they say would be worth hearing,

If I could only understand,

Though probably it is about nothing more valuable than as to how many gulden they may get for their hay,

If indeed any of them ever sell anything.

Do ask them that.

I can't,

Wareham confessed.

My conversation is chiefly made up of nouns and notes of interrogation.

Well,

What have you extracted?

Both are married.

One has four children who walk five kilometres to school every day of their lives.

The other has a son,

Of course in America.

He is a woodcarver and hopes by the sale of his work to lay by enough to take him to Chicago.

Anne's eyes sparkled.

Tell him I will buy a great deal.

As soon as I meet my money again,

She added,

Laughing.

Am I not to be allowed to assist?

I have nothing to do with your purchases,

Anne said quietly.

I dare say you want something for your friends at home?

Have you a great many?

Wareham blurted out,

I have no greater friend than Hugh Forbes.

Why,

He said it,

He could not tell.

He had been forcing himself ever since they started to keep Hugh's image in mind,

And his name leapt suddenly to his lips.

Anne did not look discomposed.

He is a very good fellow,

She said,

After a momentary hesitation.

Yet you would not marry him?

It has puzzled you?

It puzzled no one else?

Blanche Martin will tell you she knew how it must be from the first.

Why,

Asked Wareham,

Leaning forward with his arms on his knees and staring at the bottom of the boat,

You should ask her,

Not me.

The accused is not bound to criminate herself.

The accused?

Good heavens,

Do you suppose.

.

.

He began passionately.

Then,

By a great effort,

Stopped.

Anne was looking at him through half-closed eyes.

However,

She went on,

As if he had not spoken.

I will let you hear her explanation.

She thinks I am a flirt.

She is a detestable woman.

Oh,

No.

And I believe her to be right.

I told you,

Just now,

That I had no sense of colour.

Well,

I have a worse confession to make.

I have no heart.

One is as true as the other,

Wareham protested stoutly.

She shook her head.

Possibly it may come,

But as yet I am without it.

You forget,

You gave me another reason.

That I did not care for him sufficiently.

It surprised you.

It might be a proof that what I tell you is no more than the truth,

For it would be difficult to conceive anyone more lovable.

Wareham's own heart agreed,

But refused to accept the conclusion.

Really,

She said,

It was this charm of his which opened my eyes to my own want.

I meant to marry,

And so long as I did not dislike the man,

I would not trouble myself to think I need give him more.

Suddenly,

I discovered I liked him too much to let him find himself in that position,

And released him.

It was the best act in my life,

And it has alienated the friends who were most worth keeping.

Wareham's hopes met this dash of ice cold water,

With a gallant effort for his friend.

He turned pale,

But muttered,

You do not know yourself.

You may love him,

Yet never.

All that I felt was that I could not feel.

She spoke with conviction,

And the conviction roused traitors in his own heart,

Who repeated the sweet assurance again and again.

As for her saying that she could not feel,

He laughed the notion to scorn.

Had he but the chance,

He would teach her to feel,

Batter at her heart,

Till it awoke with an ache to find itself captured.

The danger was that before this happened,

His honour might have to hang its head disgraced.

For the frank confidence she showed seemed to bring her nearer and nearer,

And made waiting harder.

He hoped he had strength to be silent,

For he dared not attempt to argue with her.

With an abrupt movement,

He motioned to one of the men to cease rowing,

And took his place.

The strong,

Regular play of the muscles came like a relief.

But the other man,

Forced to a quicker stroke,

Presently remonstrated,

Wareham asked whether it were impossible to sail?

Quicker movement seeming imperative.

He knew what the answer must be when he put the question,

For not a breath of wind stirred the glass of the fjord.

After he had rowed for one man some time,

He relieved the other.

If it had been possible,

He would have liked to have had it all on his shoulders.

Anne said to him at last,

You are putting such energy into your work that it tires me to look at you.

Does half an hour more or less really mean so much?

He laid down the oars,

And came across the boat to her side.

It means nothing,

Except that I felt the need of a spurt.

We are close to Udne,

Where we should find a decent inn.

Had you not better stop there and rest?

You want food by this time?

I would rather not stop.

I have been eating biscuits,

And you might as well follow my example.

Suppose Mrs.

Martin has waited?

Anne meditated.

Let us row near the shore.

If anyone belonging to us is there,

They will see and make signs.

But there will be no one.

There was not.

Wareham would gladly have hailed Mrs.

Martin.

Yet was conscious of a throb of delight when the pretty little village lay behind them.

They were by this time in more open water,

And the depression,

Which had fastened on him,

Fled away.

What are your commands about your picnic?

He asked smiling.

Find out from the men if there is any place where we can land and boil some water.

This took some time,

And a little guessing.

Finally,

I believe they say there is an island,

Said Wareham.

I am sure there is.

We should reach it in an hour.

He spent the hour in blissful dreams,

Which,

Having been once rooted,

Now trooped merrily back.

Anne was generally silent,

But when she spoke,

It was with the same friendly ease she had shown throughout the day,

And she made no complaints of fatigue.

Indeed,

He classed her as a heroine when he reflected that she had uttered nothing in the shape of a grumble.

Would not most women have indulged in something of the sort?

Wareham liked to believe that they would,

And exalted her accordingly for her forbearance.

It was evening by the hours,

And they were well in the Sognefjord when Anne pointed out the island towards which the boat was directed.

Do you see?

I see a rock.

And what else would you have in mid-water if we can but find something to burn?

I believe there is a hut,

Said Wareham,

Curving his hands into a telescope.

A solitary.

Only this was wanted.

Anne's face was radiant.

He may drive us away.

A man?

Oh no.

She laughed serenely.

Her confidence proved well-founded,

For the Sogne fishermen who leaped down the rocks to give the boat a helping hand gave them a grave welcome.

He was a wild figure,

With his scarlet jacket,

Brown breeches,

And light hair under a broad hat.

Anne looked at him appreciatively.

I could not have dressed him better myself for the piece,

She said.

How odious I am to say so.

It is one of the snares of over-civilisation that instead of the theatre suggesting nature,

Nature suggests the theatre.

This is all so natural that I feel we ought to be applauding.

She was stiff with sitting.

Wareham gave her his hand to help her from the boat and the light touch of her fingers thrilled him.

The island was no more than a rock with scant herbage.

A few goats and a dog shared it with the man.

A boat was drawn up at one shelving point and a low hut was formed of pieces of rock and roofed with waving grass.

There was no chimney.

A hole in the roof sufficed for the smoke to pass through.

Anne was as excited as a child.

She unpacked her tinne and spread their meal on a rock.

Wareham had to act as interpreter and ask that a peat or two might be set ablaze to provide them with hot water.

The man's goodwill did not reach the point of making him hurry but he watched Anne's quick deft movements with amusement.

When all was ready they sat down together.

Anne had brought a little teapot and two cups.

Wareham a bottle of wine which the men drank out of a rough mug.

He could not give up the pleasure of letting Anne pour out tea for himself.

It was a very frugal meal added to though it was by dried fish and when it was finished she dispensed tobacco to the three men.

It seemed she detested the smell.

Wareham suggested their walking round the island until the pipes had been smoked.

She hesitated finally agreed.

They scrambled round to the western side.

A filmy glory spread over the heavens.

Interrupted only by the swoop of a grey vaporish cloud.

As it had been all along what the water saw they gave back again so that the golden suffusion reached to their very feet.

The near reflections were now dark.

To live here alone can you conceive it?

Anne exclaimed.

Not for one of us but with so thin a population.

Solitude probably is second nature.

Solitude would require thought and thought culture.

Work might take its place.

Work here must be incessant.

Relax it and you die.

Why not?

What makes it worthwhile to live?

Would anyone miss him?

Depend upon it.

He has a world of his own.

But why?

He stopped suddenly.

Anne looked at him in surprise.

Why?

She repeated.

He had caught himself on the point of rushing into more personal speech.

And the jerk with which he pulled himself up made him awkward.

Why should we not ask him?

For one thing,

I imagine he does not stay in winter.

He is only here for the fishing.

Oh,

Winter.

The very idea is terrible.

Yet I should like to see this country in its own snow and ice.

Warmly wrapped.

I can fancy it bearable.

Even enjoyable.

Yes.

Cold is the rich man's luxury.

He answered her mechanically.

His thoughts flying impatiently to Hugh.

Picturing him receiving the letter.

Answering it.

Anne looked at him in surprise.

Reading trouble in his face?

Never a luxury to me.

She said.

And it is growing cold now.

Don't you think we may start?

The red-coated fisherman put aside all thought of payment.

Wareham had difficulty in making him accept a very trifling sum.

He stood watching them.

And for a time,

As long as they looked back,

They saw him blackly silhouetted against the clear sky.

Anne had wrapped herself in her furs.

The great open fjord.

Gradually paled.

The sound of the oars seemed to grow louder.

It was like a dream to Wareham.

With something of the bondage,

The confusion,

And the fret of a dream.

Yet,

With its strange delight as well.

Once or twice,

He and Anne exchanged words.

Once or twice,

He took the oars again.

Outlines grew vague.

It was not dark overhead,

But they felt as though they were rowing on into the night.

Suddenly,

Anne looked up.

The bottom of the boat is wet.

Is that right?

Wareham bent down and uttered an exclamation for water was certainly oozing in.

And undercover of the dusk had been unnoticed until Anne moved her foot and touched it.

He called one of the men who made an examination.

Is it a leak?

She asked presently.

Wareham spoke quietly.

There is a cork acting as a plug and it appears to be rotten.

But you need not be alarmed.

I am not alarmed.

What shall you do?

Try to land?

There was a consultation.

The men say we should gain very little.

It is twelve o'clock and Balholme is as near as any other place so that they advise our going on.

Of course,

One of us will keep close watch and bail out what water comes in.

Also,

Have something ready to serve as a plug.

But I am afraid it adds to your discomfort.

Oh,

No.

I shall be admiring your resources.

Don't leave me useless.

Would you like me to act like the boy at the Dutch dyke?

I am sure you would,

Said Wareham in a low voice which silenced her.

It was not very easy to find materials for the plug.

Anne handed him her gloves and he abstracted one but was afraid of discovery if he kept the other.

A felt hat belonging to one of the men was rolled as tightly as possible and held ready.

At the same time,

The men insisted that the cork should not be removed until absolutely necessary and one was told off to bail and watch.

All the sensations I imagined are going to be provided for us in miniature,

Said Anne with a laugh.

A desert island and a leaky boat in mid-ocean?

Mr Wareham,

You are a conjurer.

May the conjuring land you finally and safely at Balholme?

After which she laughed again.

Silence fell on them once more.

One man was scooping up the water in the tin mug.

It gurgled under his hand and the splash of throwing it over followed.

The fjord in the clear semi-darkness stretched into infinite distances.

A wisp of cloud sailed slowly overhead.

A pettish breeze blew chilly against Anne's cheek.

She called across to Wareham.

There is a little wind.

Can't we sail?

These fjords are treacherous.

I dare not.

You are not cold?

She was.

But she would not let him know it.

It seemed to her that the quantity of water in the boat increased.

But they laughed at her offer to assist in the bailing.

At the end of half an hour,

Wareham changed places with the man who was dipping.

The change threw him again close to Anne and facing her.

It struck him that she looked alarmingly white.

You are exhausted?

He asked anxiously.

You don't know how strong I am.

I can't get them to quicken stroke.

They are steady,

But slow.

Patience.

Patience.

He saw that she was smiling at him.

You need not preach patience to me,

He said in a low voice.

So far as I am concerned,

I should be very well pleased to go on like this forever.

There might be worse things,

Said Anne dreamily.

And his head swam.

He was silent because he dared not speak.

His thoughts leapt forward to the time when he might call her his own.

Meanwhile surely this was the very bliss of misery.

It was she who spoke next.

It is lighter,

She said.

I verily believe the day is breaking.

Werem consulted his watch.

Yes,

And in an hour we reach Balhol.

Cork and all?

I think so.

Tell me,

Have we been in danger?

Not since you found it out,

And we have had something ready.

If it had suddenly given way,

Matters might have been different,

But as it is,

We have nothing to fear beyond the discomfort of a wet boat.

And I suppose there will be someone about.

Mr Grey calls this the land of the always up.

I suppose so.

At any rate,

We will get them up at quick nice.

Perhaps Mrs Martin will have thought of you sufficiently to order a room to be kept for you.

You ought to see Balhol now.

There is too much mist.

Gradually this light mist melted.

Light laughed out.

A wind swept the mountains and left them clear.

Everything was bathed in silvery radiance.

The colours were delicate,

The air vigorous and keen.

Anne shivered.

It is like one's lost youth,

She said.

Her lost youth.

Wareham lifted a look of reproach,

But circumstances had come to the aid of his faltering resolution.

Since scooping water from the bottom of a boat is fatal to the sentimental view,

Anne at last began to laugh at him.

I am sure your back aches,

She said.

You may be sure.

There is lost youth,

If you like,

He answered,

Straightening himself and stretching.

She advised him to change with a rower,

But he would not.

It was something to be near her,

Though he suffered for it twice over,

And the strong heart of the morning showed his hopes in stouter aspect.

Hugh would see that his cause was desperate,

And generosity would not suffer him to wreck another life with his own.

Before he left,

Wareham had treated his friend's crushed heart with severity or lightness as need arose.

Now he allowed it to have been serious enough,

But as serious as his?

Never!

Nevertheless,

He could not indulge undisturbed in the wild dreams of happiness which flitted through his head,

For with them Hugh's face intruded itself,

And the letter.

They were near the landing place at Balholme,

And fronted by the mountain with the strange cleft in its snowy summit.

Mountain,

Field,

The few red-roofed houses,

The outstanding pier,

Were bathed in the glory of the sun now hastening upwards.

One or two figures stood looking at the oncoming boat.

Wareham flung a glance over his shoulder.

They are expecting us,

He said.

You see?

A shout came to them across the water.

Another.

A thought startled him.

He looked eagerly at Anne.

She had her eyes fixed on the shore.

Some agitation had crept into them,

And for a minute she did not speak.

Who is it?

Asked Wareham,

Hoarsely,

Without turning round.

It is Mr.

Forbes.

Impossible!

See for yourself.

Chapter Ten The Inconvenience of Two Heroes At its best,

The unexpected is apt to come off awkwardly,

And here was more than one awkward element.

When hearing distance was reached,

They found that Hugh was speaking volubly.

Are you all right?

No one suffered?

What a nuisance for you both!

Bring the boat a little further on,

Dick,

And Miss Dalrymple will land more comfortably.

Are you all right?

Anxiously again.

My dear fellow,

We're in a waterlogged boat,

Wareham called out.

Not sorry that his words were truer than they would have been five minutes ago,

For with his attention elsewhere,

A good deal of water had leaked in.

Horrors!

Cried Hugh,

Pressing forward,

And ready to jump in to the rescue.

Is Miss Dalrymple wet?

I'm afraid so.

Wareham was cool again,

Outwardly.

Here,

Take this rope.

Now,

Miss Dalrymple,

Your foot here,

So you are cramped.

Do not hurry,

We shall not be swamped just yet.

He managed to put his hand for her to tread on,

While Hugh eagerly helped her.

In another moment,

Men and all had scrambled on shore,

And Hugh was shaking hands violently with his friend.

I never was more annoyed than to hear what had happened.

But I felt certain you'd come on,

And have been on the lookout all night.

They shouldn't have left you.

It was too bad.

Miss Dalrymple,

Are you sure you are not cold?

I am sure of nothing,

Said Anne,

Speaking for the first time.

May I inquire what extraordinary chance brought you to this place?

She looked rather amused than vexed.

I heard you were here.

How?

Wareham,

Like a good fellow,

Telegraphed.

Anne darted a look at him.

He stood helpless.

Explanation was impossible.

She said only,

Oh.

Of course I couldn't be certain where I should strike across you,

Hugh went on,

So I came straight up in the steamer and asked as I came along.

Some other friends of yours are here.

They seemed awfully cut up about you.

But pray,

Pray,

Come at once to the hotel.

I have made them keep coffee and cold meat ready and your room is alright.

Dick will see about those fellows.

He swept her away.

Wareham stared after them.

Dumb wretchedness gnawing at his heart.

Complications gathered round him.

Anne might naturally resent what had the appearance of an act of treachery.

And was this the end of the fair dream which had floated with him along the clear waters of the Fjord?

He stood reduced insignificant before Hugh's assertive energy.

Of her,

His last view as she walked lightly away was a side face turned inquiringly towards Hugh.

Wareham's mood might be painted black of the blackest.

If virtue does not always meet with a reward,

She expects it and grows huffy at non-fulfilment.

He felt he had behaved well towards Hugh.

An occasional slip of the tongue should not count.

In comparison with the many times that he had bridled it,

And each of these times was quick to multiply itself,

By dint of looking back,

He convinced himself that Hugh's debt to him was great.

It was one way of discharging it,

To be waiting at Balholme at three o'clock in the morning to hand Miss Dalrymple out of the boat.

The men paid and left to make the boat watertight.

Wareham walked slowly up the short incline towards the inn.

He lingered from an irritable disinclination to see Anne and Hugh together again.

But before he reached the door,

Hugh came out to meet him like a bolt.

He seized Wareham's hand and wrung it.

My dear old fellow,

He cried exultingly,

Was ever anything in the world so amazingly lucky?

I might have knocked about the country for a week without tumbling up against them.

And of all the blessed moments for a man to arrive,

Just when she was a bit sore at bare want of care.

As Hugh paused to contemplate his good fortune,

Wareham thrust in a question.

What on earth made you go in for such a he would have liked to have said preposterous but left it out,

Hurricane dash across the seas?

What else would you have expected when I had your telegram?

Wasn't I just wild to get word with her again?

And saw no chance of it.

Look here,

What food there is,

Is waiting for you in there.

Come and eat.

I got to talk to someone about it all.

And I'm not so unreasonable as to harangue a hungry man.

More sleepy than hungry?

Well,

You must eat before you turn in.

Has Miss Dalrymple had some food?

Hugh laughed joyously.

Do you suppose I didn't see that she had all she wanted?

It's gone up to her room,

Of course.

She's got to pay that tribute to Mrs Grundy.

Here you are.

Now what'll you have?

Here's the landlord himself.

Beer?

Sausage?

Kippered salmon?

Marmalade?

Coffee?

Wareham made a selection.

Hugh rattled on,

Helping himself.

Meanwhile I believe I'm as hungry as you are.

Meat in this country is uneatable.

Or was yesterday,

He added with an exulting fling at his own change of mood.

But I can't understand that it isn't the orthodox breakfast time.

I suppose one must go to bed but I shan't sleep.

Not a wink.

I say,

Old fellow,

It was awfully good of you to send me that telegram.

Awfully.

And now you've seen Anne.

Anne?

Is she Anne again?

She's never been anything else in my heart.

Now you'll understand.

Enough to throw a man off his balance,

Wasn't it?

To think of losing her.

She's splendid.

And to tell you the truth,

I've been fretting myself with the idea she might be annoyed at seeing me here at her heels.

Well,

Try the salmon.

No?

You'd better.

What was I saying?

Oh,

I believe she was rather pleased than otherwise.

Women are not to be counted on.

They'll fight you but they like to be taken by storm.

Wareham agreed with a groan,

Thinking of himself in the boat.

Hugh went on.

She didn't seem a bit vexed but as I said before,

I couldn't have chosen a better moment if I'd waited a year.

Selfish pig,

That Mrs Martin.

I don't believe she cared one ha'pny.

Those other people,

Ravenstones,

Ravenhills,

What are they called,

Were twice as feeling.

The mercy was that it was you,

Old fellow,

And no other man who was with her.

It was impossible to keep back a sharp why.

Hugh laughed.

You've never seen me a prey to the yellows but I can imagine myself in their clutches.

Another man would have meant possibilities.

No,

I'm grateful.

Wareham had a horrible impulse to cry out fool and this to his friend.

Instead of it,

He said,

You'd better bottle up your gratitude till you know it's due.

He would have liked to let out more but how?

I'm not afraid.

And I tell you what,

I'm glad for another reason.

You can't have seen her for all these hours without understanding something of her charm.

Where are your prejudices now?

But I won't reproach you.

You've done me too good a turn.

By Jove,

It's hard work waiting.

Even if only a few hours.

He had his elbows on the table,

His chin in his hands.

Wareham pushed back his chair and stared at him with something of the feeling of a man who worsted yet will look his fate in his face.

He knew his age,

Eight and twenty,

But never before had he seen him as the very incarnation of youth.

It could be read in every line,

In the twist of his shoulders,

In the spring of his thick wavy hair,

In the attitude half comical,

Half petulant.

He was tall,

And his shoulders prognosticated size.

Fair as a northerner,

And clean-faced,

Grey-eyed and wide-mouthed.

Wareham,

With thirty not long left behind him,

Felt an absurd envy of his three years' advantage.

He stood up suddenly.

Look here,

Hugh.

I'm done.

I'm going to bed.

All right,

Old fellow.

You do look a bit seedy.

Shall I come up and see that they've treated you properly?

Say the word,

And I will.

For heaven's sake,

No.

You'd rather tumble in at once.

Good.

I haven't said half there is in my head,

But I dare say you think it'll keep.

I don't know what I'll do.

Lie down,

I suppose?

But there's a bathhouse out there on the pier,

And I feel more like a swim.

You won't try that instead?

Bed,

Said Wareham laconically.

Bed it is,

Then.

I'd better show the way in this rabbit warren.

You're close to me.

Quick nice will come.

He and I are old friends.

It was difficult to shake off Hugh's goodwill.

Wareham had no inclination for sleep,

But imperative need to be alone.

To meet these disjointed fancies,

Which had neither sense nor sequence,

Yet threatened mastery.

Quick nice,

Smiling hospitably as though four o'clock in the morning were the usual hour for receiving guests,

Showed him his little room,

The same as he had there once before.

It looked out on the great fjord,

Now lying in sunniest radiance.

Evidently,

Hugh from the next room had spied the boat coming over the waters and timed his own departure to the landing place.

Wareham decided,

With a grim smile,

That Anne doubtless credited him with a night watch on the shore.

This was the first consolatory reflection,

And it was petty enough.

It allowed entrance,

However,

To others.

His mind was like an American house with the valves for hot and cold air both open.

Cold and heat rushed in,

In brisk emulation,

Out of sight of Hugh,

Out of hearing his transports,

With the shining waters before him,

Across which he and she had floated.

He wondered at his own sudden dejection,

And rated it as cowardly.

The world's veriest fledgling would have borne himself more bravely.

Say that Hugh was there.

Say that Anne encountered him without displeasure.

What did that prove?

Did he expect her to frown?

To hurl reproach?

He eluded that second speech of hers in the boat,

Which had fallen icily.

He went back to her confession that Hugh bored her.

That had seemed to him decisive.

A woman does not marry the man who bores her except for cogent reasons,

Which he would not hold of possible weight with Anne.

He bored her.

She had flung up her engagement and fled.

There was the long and short of it.

Nothing was altered.

And out jumped a hundred excellent little arguments protesting that nothing ever should alter.

But the worst of these jack-in-the-box puppets is that a very little sends them in again.

Opportunity.

Golden opportunity had been his when his hands were tied.

Would she ever come again?

How was Anne to know what point of honour checked words looks?

If she did know,

There was the rub.

Would she accept it as valid reason?

Down,

Dismally down,

Went the poor puppets,

One after the other.

She would not.

She could not.

If that had been all.

But he knew that he was turning his back upon the worst difficulty.

What would happen when the unconscious Hugh received that letter which was off on its travels after him and which sooner or later must come into his hands?

What should he do?

Forestall it?

Stand aside and wait?

Regrets.

Forebodings.

Scourged him.

If he had spoken he might have won her.

Faith to his friend,

Which he could not have failed him without being forced to himself had probably lost her.

And in spite of all,

There was that in the situation which might cause Hugh to think him a traitor.

The varying sensations of the day had battered him into a condition more nearly approaching exhaustion than he knew.

Sleep came before he had formed plans for his waking and he was only aroused by Hugh thundering at his door.

Slept well?

So have I,

Like a top.

Come along,

Down to the bathhouse.

Wareham dispatched him with promise to follow.

Waking,

As often happens,

Had brought decision.

So that he shook himself free of the foggy doubts which beset him a few hours before there could be no question of Hugh's prior rights.

He had nothing to do but to stand aside and hold his tongue.

As for the letter it must be left to its fate.

Long before it reached Hugh that impetuous young man would have carried or lost the day.

And Wareham had sufficient faith in his friend's warm-heartedness to believe that he would understand,

Too.

That that,

For the moment,

Was of greater consequence.

He walked slowly down to the pier of black piles where a red-tiled building is picturesquely perched,

Revolving other people's possible actions.

They are wheels which we can drive with fewer jolts than our own.

And the pure,

Fresh air,

The sparkling gaiety of the morning,

Had their effect.

They intoxicated Hugh.

Wareham,

Who had a stronger head,

Felt their influence more subtly.

Thoughts of escape had fluttered before him.

Now he would have none of them.

Stand aside he must,

But from where he stood he could see and measure and that alone was an incalculable advantage.

Chapter 11.

Catechisms Breakfast was going on and merrily,

To judge from the rush of voices which met Wareham when he opened the door,

His friends were there together and a place was kept for him next to the Raven Hills.

Opposite were Mrs Martin Anne and Hugh.

As he took his seat,

Mrs Martin spoke across the table.

Pretty proceedings,

Mr Wareham.

They did not cause you disturbance,

He asked,

With a simulated anxiety which sent round a smile.

Nothing serious.

I believed either of you equal to the task of looking after the other,

Which took the lead.

Anne's clear voice struck in.

We shared.

I claim the suggestion of dinner at Goodwangen Mr Wareham was too much overwhelmed by the misadventure to preserve his presence of mind but that was before starting I can't conceive how you survived so many hours Wareham perceived that the incident of the island had not been offered to Mrs Martin's consideration.

His heart congratulated itself.

Hugh's indignation rushed in pointedly It's true enough that Miss Dalrymple wanted something by the time she got here,

He muttered to Anne Much she had ready for you I think you were to be envied Mrs Ravenhill said.

The fjord was so beautiful that I hated being carried through it as a rush and night here is little more than a quiet day Only too short,

Agreed Anne The sun was upon us before it seemed possible Wareham's prescribed attitude of bystander did not preclude his sucking in these little sweets of comfort with delight But Mrs Martin had not done with him What were the charms of Goodwangen Mr Wareham which made you so oblivious?

Poor Goodwangen If you speak of it in that tone I shall believe it was you who bribed the captain to start an hour earlier than his right time Millie put in a fluttering word.

It was a delightful place to Mr Wareham's companions Malice lurked in Mrs Martin's sentences Millie coloured Anne sat indifferent Hugh it was who answered No wonder.

But I get so called over the coals for want of punctuality that I vow I can't help being tickled that Wareham should be the sinner How was it?

Had a brown study got over him Miss Dalrymple?

Or did anybody fall asleep?

I think we were all to blame,

Said Mrs Ravenhill kindly.

We should have made sure that everyone was on board.

To tell the truth I did not for a moment believe that we had really started.

Anne spoke again languidly.

Is not the subject threadbare?

You will force Mr Wareham or me into invention of adventures since there is nothing real to relate that we can flatter ourselves would interest you The we and ourselves fell delightfully on Wareham's ears My dear Anne,

You don't do yourselves justice.

Mr Forbes is dying to know how you were occupied when you should have been at the steamer.

Anne lifted her eyebrows.

Mr Forbes she said questioningly He hurried to disclaim Not I.

I'm only glad you had Wareham to look after you.

Under his breath he grumbled Confound her.

Why might he not be left alone?

His own resources would carry him like the trustiest steed through the tilting which he foresaw ahead But to be forced into a position he had no mind for.

To be treated as though he were a jealous ass.

And so thrust against Anne's susceptibilities was sure to irritate her If a wish could have swept Mrs Martin out of Norway she would have found herself at this moment in England again.

Wareham equally irritated knew that it was for him to speak.

It was simple enough he said.

We had strolled out of sight or hearing of the steamer.

Believing that she would not start for an hour and a half.

At the end of an hour we found you had all flown We wanted Colonel Martin to look us up.

Yes Tom is always ready to undertake other people's business said Mrs Martin.

Helping herself to marmalade.

Do you expect him today?

Mrs Ravenhill put in.

Conscious that her neighbour would prefer a change of subject Tonight at latest.

Unless missing steamers should be in the air she looked meaningly at Wareham He turned to Millie Have you thought out any plans for today?

We meant to explore the place a little this morning and go to Fyreland by the evening steamer It is a pity we can't sleep there and see the glaciers but as it is we must just go up the fjord and down again.

Mother was out early this morning Sketching.

Yes.

She likes it immensely here.

And you?

Not so well as Gudvangen.

But it is very nice and regretfully it is so near the end How?

Millie sighed.

That he should have forgotten that they were to start for England on Friday and this was Tuesday.

But no ill humour crept into her voice.

You know we go to Bergen tomorrow night.

Then home I had forgotten said Wareham staring at his plate Isn't it a very short stay Only a fortnight But that I can hardly believe.

Nor I I suppose you will go further north with the Martins.

Hazarded Millie He said abruptly I know nothing.

And checked her Their opposite neighbours rose and departed Hugh flinging an ecstatic look at Wareham as he went Wareham's spirit sank to mute misery Anne's side illusions had been kindly but she had not dropped one direct word for him to live upon.

And fear of letting honour slip must prevent his seeking it.

He writhed under the thought that she yet believed him to have summoned Hugh.

And a hundred voices within him seeming to clamour for the right to put this one thing straight He found it hard to silence them.

Breakfast over.

Mrs Ravenhill and Millie vanished giving him to understand that the sketch had to be finished But I dare say we shall soon meet again Mrs Ravenhill said.

For here again there is not much choice of roads.

And I am sitting humbly by the roadside.

Wareham went off like a moth to get close to what hurt him She was not to be seen however nor Hugh either so that though he was not scorched he suffered from another kind of smart And it did not soothe him to drop upon Mrs Martin seated in one of the many balconies.

He would have escaped but she saw and captured him.

I want to speak to you Mr Wareham.

Pray come and sit down.

We shall all be starting out in an hour's time.

Meanwhile here we may have a few minutes peace He could not excuse himself and sat down reluctantly I'm not going to scold you about yesterday she said although I think you will allow I might You do not accuse me I hope of premeditation She professed not to be certain but glancing at Wareham's face dropped her attempt at jocularity I dare say it was Anne's fault.

She is astonishingly willful I thought I had made it clear that the mistake was all my own.

You must be well aware that Miss Dalrymple had the right to be excessively annoyed.

Mrs Martin smiled.

Anne would not trouble herself about talk if that is what you mean.

She has proved herself absolutely indifferent She will do the same here spite of himself he looked up eagerly.

Yes of course I speak of young Forbes Her friends will not thank me when they hear that I have allowed him to tack himself onto us The traitor in Wareham mentally blessed these friends though his better instincts forced him to say why?

Hugh is an only son.

His father a baronet and he what the world calls a good match Mrs Martin turned her large fair face towards him and raised her eyebrows middling No objection was made when Anne said she would marry him but she let matters go too far even for her this time and naturally they won't be pleased to have it all over again Mr Forbes says you telegraphed to him.

I wish you had left it alone Pray don't think I telegraphed to him to come.

It was the last thing I desired.

I should have imagined so said Mrs Martin dryly Wareham bit his lip One must keep a promise must one.

You will allow that the manner in which Miss Dalrymple broke off her engagement was maddening for my friend Not an interview,

Not a word only complete annihilation of all that had passed Of course from her own point of view she may have been justified I say nothing of blame Mrs Martin smiled Wareham had seldom found his own temper so tried as in this interview.

He felt as if her great hat had an irritating personality and crushed him You may know,

Or you may not know,

That the blow to him was so serious that it brought me back from India Isn't there such a thing as a ricochet?

Asked Mrs Blanche innocently.

So innocently that the innocence tickled him I am afraid there is,

He admitted with candour.

Shall I go on?

Oh,

By all means You had just landed from India Miss Dalrymple allowed Hugh no communication.

He could not even find out where she went when she left London It seemed to me that he had a right to learn her reasons for dismissal and I assured him when I quitted him that he should hear from me if I had any news of her whereabouts I could not have believed that Lady Dalrymple's servants were so above suspicion Mrs Martin heaved a sigh at recollection of her own He went on to say that finding Miss Dalrymple had crossed in the same boat with himself he telegraphed to Hugh from Stavanger He knew of no other course he could have taken and he discounted on it,

Intending all to be told to Anne.

He finished up by repeating that no idea of Hugh's coming had crossed his mind I dare say not Magnanimity has limits she murmured.

Thinking it well to turn a deaf ear he added that he had written a letter of some importance to Mr Forbes from Stalheim From Stalheim She appeared to meditate,

Looking at her own hands which were very small Then her question flashed out Was it to say you were in love with Anne?

Wareham had got himself in hand by this time He bowed That or anything else you please Mrs Martin She asked whether the letter had reached Hugh.

How should it?

He left England immediately after my telegram and there's been no time Mrs Martin looked out at the fjord but Wareham saw her shoulders shaking Tragedy was uppermost with him and at this proof of heartlessness he thought appreciatively of Millie's padded glass She turned round however demurely composed Won't it be a little inconvenient by and by?

He gazed loftily over her head I don't know that we are immediately concerned with my letter That at any rate cannot be accused of bringing Hugh I wish something would take him away again I had not the smallest intention of being mixed up with one of Anne's complicated affairs cried Mrs Martin.

The speech jarred If his presence is disagreeable to Miss Dalrymple she can certainly send him off He will have had his explanation Perhaps it will prove the shortest way out of the difficulty This laid him open to an embarrassing question.

What difficulty?

Fortunately for Wareham she did not wait for an answer before putting another.

Are you a writer of books?

I can't deny it Yet read a woman's nature no better.

Anne will not send him off Except him then Nor except him paddles.

If you had studied the genus,

As you should for your profession Mr Wareham,

You would not find the riddle hard to solve.

Anne likes Mr Forbes enough to like to have him about her but she would not marry him because she could not endure fetters Now she salves her conscience by thinking that she has done her best to give him time to recover.

You and fate have baffled her and she will enjoy herself.

He forced himself to say quietly You describe a flirt.

Anne would not deny it if you charged her Her words in the boat were recalled by a reluctant memory With them came the charm of her voice,

Her smile more powerful than words.

He started up and stood leaning against the railing of the balcony.

It comes to this You and I read differently I think you unjust to your friend.

You hold me a fool.

Of the two,

I prefer the role of fool.

But whichever turns out right,

I don't see that we can do anything except wait.

For it is certainly Miss Dalrymple who must tell Hugh to go or stay Unless you have that authority I She shook her head.

Anne's chaperones are dummies.

They don't interfere.

Besides I couldn't be bothered.

I don't even know why I have talked to you.

Except that A1 and Mr Forbes will not be amusing companions this morning Wareham was cheered by the touch of feminine spite in this speech.

The more so as he had seen Hugh cross the garden for lonely.

He inquired what might be Mrs Martin's plans for the future I suppose my husband will return today and then I shall insist upon going as far as tomorrow night.

Do you mean to come with us to the Gaydangir?

You had better.

For I can't be responsible for your friend Thanks.

But I shall get back this week.

Decision had stepped in so promptly that there was no time for regret to interpose although she hung helplessly on his skirts Mrs Martin raised her eyebrows You go with the Ravenhills They mean to secure births in the Ceylon which is expected here today I dare say that will suit me When he left her he would not seek Hugh but went to the little office from whence letters are dispensed with a feeble dream of lighting upon his own Failing in this he betook himself to the road and presently came upon Mrs Ravenhill sketching and Millie enticing half a dozen small children away from her mother by means of barley sugar.

The girls hushed themselves with awe and delight The boy,

All one broad laugh,

Flourished sticky fingers and threatened to descend upon the paper in spite of reproachful cries of Tarlig Olaf At sight of Wareham he fled And I breathe said Mrs Ravenhill But he was very much the nicest declared Millie.

All the grown up people are so grave that it is a comfort to see one having a good time while he is young He was not really so very naughty though his sisters were dreadfully scandalised Think of their all living in those lovely cottages And indeed the group of houses which Mrs Ravenhill was drawing made a perfectly harmonious note of colour The sky,

Delicate broken grey The hill behind,

Grey also,

Running down in fine outline.

Against this a group of houses,

Red roofed one or two timber pitched another,

Gabled,

White plastered,

Jutting out,

Running back and set in waving emerald rye.

Where the rye ended long flowery grass began and grew down to the foot of the bank where the children were playing A woman with a white handkerchief on her head and carrying two pails with a yoke came down the little path which the thick grass hid from view.

The swift driven clouds cast swift soft shadows.

The air was sweet with haymaking.

Wareham was in the state of mind when this soothed.

Because it seemed apart from the world of men and women as represented by Mrs Martin He had gone to her feeling that the dearest part of him was sacredly wrapped up and invisible and with shaking shoulders.

She had plucked it forth and given him to understand that she knew all about it The man must be more than usually magnanimous who does not chafe at insight from which he suffers Here were women who made no pretense at insight With them he felt healthfully at ease And so scaly strong is the coating behind which we flatter ourselves,

We are entrenched that nothing could have more amazed him than to know that Millie simple soul read through him as easily as and more truly than Mrs Martin He said suddenly at last How do you return to England Mrs Ravenhill Not as we came,

She shuddered The salon tourist steamer will be here today.

I am told that she is an old P&O and very comfortable and that we can get births in her.

But you don't go on board today Brace himself he must,

But hardly to the extent of leaving so abruptly.

No,

We shall meet her at Bergen on Friday.

He asked to be allowed to take their births and let fall something to the effect that if there was another to spare he might secure it for himself.

You will have had a short holiday Mrs Ravenhill added a little vermilion to her roofs and sighed hopelessly over the flowery grass Millie tried to check her heart's throb You come to Fireland today,

She hazarded They were all to go it appeared.

And Wareham agreed eagerly What did it matter so long as he refrained from a word?

Of course he would go He sunned himself in the anticipation Chapter 12 An air with variations The day had passed with little to market to Wareham,

To whom events meant a word from Anne They met at early dinner,

As they had met at breakfast,

And again he had to content himself with indirect speeches In the afternoon the Ceylon came in and anchored.

Wareham went off and secured three berths He felt himself a model friend But this did not prevent his looking forward eagerly to the evening.

Colonel Martin was the next to arrive.

At six o'clock came the Gutwangen steamer,

Which was to take them to Fireland.

Anne and Colonel Martin were the last to come on board.

Hugh fuming impatiently until they appeared He surrounded her with solicitude I almost gave you up.

I thought you had changed your mind.

If I had she tossed the words at him as she passed.

We might have taken a boat and repeated yesterday said Hugh daringly I hate repetitions Wareham heard and chuckled.

But where is your woman's consistency?

The next moment she had given her young lover a smile,

Which put the other man's blood into a fever.

Hugh looked round at him radiantly.

Mrs Martin eyed him with an experienced glance expressive to Wareham of,

You see he walked away.

When he came back,

The group had been enlarged by several of the other people from the inn who were making the same little voyage An elderly man with a keen,

Clever face held forth to Mrs Martin and Wareham was not ill pleased to note that the lady showed signs of discomfiture He interrogated her closely,

Would have chapter and verse with her statements and ruthlessly fastened on the futility of certain vague expressions in which she took refuge.

Wareham stood for a minute receiving broken sentences from the group except when Anne spoke upon which the other voices faded into indistinctness Nothing in Norway to compare with Scotland.

Well,

I don't know,

There's good,

Didn't you hear?

She is expected tomorrow and great preparations,

Horrible food then a voice like a bell.

I half wish we were going home in her She looks so big and so roomy.

Only the foolishness of love could make music out of this everyday remark,

But to his ear it sounded in sweet relief to the clatter of the others.

So sad is the eclipse of friendship before the greater light that he was conscious of a wish to swing Hugh out of his place by her side and stand there himself Had not he had his chance and failed to be swaggering round and playing dog in the manger was an unworthy solace.

To be compelled to hover near with a heart full of yesterday was to munch ashes.

For let philosophers say what they will.

The past is at best unsatisfying food but a past which has no more substance than hope unfulfilled chokes you with its dusty remembrances.

Wareham went restlessly about the vessel talking to the red-faced burly captain of the Commodoren.

To anyone wherever he went he saw Hugh's spirited figure and Anne's pale clear-cut profile and these two only At last as he was speaking to an elderly lady with a sweet kind face he surprised her by quitting her.

Suddenly opportunity had come and he flew to Anne's side.

At last he cried and had to check his exultation I thought I should never be allowed to speak to you alone After yesterday you could scarcely complain of that difficulty Anne was smiling her eyes were half shut Yesterday he made an impatient gesture.

She asked whether it was so long ago Half a lifetime he answered boldly and had a wild fancy that a tremulous colour just crept into her cheek.

But she hastened to inquire whether he did not find the scenery very fine.

I have not seen it.

Where have your eyes been?

On my heart would have been a true answer.

He pressed it back and muttered I have been wanting to say a word but you monopolised you Your friend you should have been satisfied.

But tell me what you wanted so much to say You heard his greeting.

Did you imagine that I had told him to come out?

It surprised me.

Pray let me hear that you thought better of me than to believe it Better?

Do you not present yourself as a symbol of friendship?

And friendship is held to condone blunders?

She spoke teasingly.

No,

No I telegraphed.

Suddenly he found it hard to explain why he had telegraphed He had a right to an explanation.

The words came out apologetically And you were the deus ex machina.

I told you.

You were a symbol of friendship Coldness was in her voice.

And Wareham reader of hearts believed he understood why she was dissatisfied I have offended you I read it in your eyes when you saw Hugh he said dismally Oh,

Hugh,

Hugh She made the exclamation with impatience and frowned He would have given worlds to ask why,

If she were displeased,

She did not dismiss her young lover,

But dared not.

Then she slowly let drop four words which set his blood leaping in wild bounds.

You might help me Heavens!

What did the words,

The look she turned on him mean Reproach Encouragement were both there.

He stood stupidly stunned by the delicious shock Conscience faltered Passion rushed to the attack.

This appealing to him.

This,

As it were holding out her hand Bliss.

Ecstasy Conscience panted out desperately.

And Honour?

And,

Once having thrust in her word,

Stood firm Wareham felt as if in that minute he had lived a year.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse his face white I cannot,

He said,

It rests with yourself She was looking at him and her face did not change,

Nor did she speak They stood silent fronting the mountains and presently Hugh's voice sounded cheerfully behind them.

I can't find your parasol,

Miss Dalrymple.

Mrs Martin thinks you must have left it behind.

Ask her whether it is not her umbrella she wants had been Mrs Martin's exact words for neither sun nor rain was likely to trouble them.

These he did not repeat.

He was sharp enough to guess that he had been disposed of for a motive but hugged the thought that it was merely caprice which had served this purpose.

For caprice he was prepared,

Resolved that it should not put him out of countenance An indefinite pre-sentiment kept Wareham on the watch.

It was a nothing,

Yet it had fallen on a crucial moment.

How would she behave to Hugh?

The next moment Anne turned smiling carelessly I am ashamed to have troubled you and for what seemed an absurdity Who wants a parasol at such an hour?

It is that I am a baby and like something in my hand Hugh was for starting off again.

No,

No,

No more errands You may sit here and tell me about the Standishes.

When did you see them?

Have they gone abroad?

Mary wrote a line to me before we left England but she told me nothing of their plans and they knew nothing of yours stammered Hugh the Happy Afraid of uttering anything which carried the ghost of a reproach Mary Standish was to have been their bridesmaid.

Wareham would hear no more He wheeled round and departed with not a word of thanks to cast a conscience,

Though she had saved him from a scrape.

Going forward he stood moodily watching the pallor creep over the vast snowfield which runs along the western side of the Fjord and from which glaciers like pale ghosts crawl down to the water At Fjalland itself there was a short stoppage.

People came on board who had tramped to the Suphetleg glacier and were enthusiastic over its beauties to those who had not seen it And now,

In going back,

The glories of the sunset touched each opening Fjord with strange variety of effect and contrast.

One had wild and menacing clouds sweeping on with threat of storm In another the mountains lay in indescribable calm against a clear daffodil sky A third again was radiant with light and crowned with floating rosy clouds Voices hushed themselves.

The ripple of the water grew more insistent Lovely reflections trembled downwards By and by a green promontory was passed and Balholm stood hospitably alight Nine o'clock sighed Colonel Martin with disconsolate acceptance of his fate.

The high tea which he hated.

Meantime,

The professor had asked Mrs Martin,

Who piqued herself upon her facts if she knew the number of square miles covered by the snow area at which they had been gazing She had an impression it was five hundred.

An impression.

He was scornful.

Women's knowledge invariably consisted of impressions Mrs Martin,

Who liked to be rude herself,

Was always crushed by retaliation in the same coin She escaped and clung to Mrs Ravenhill.

My dear protect me.

That man is a bear.

He can never have been used to any society at all.

Everything that I say to him,

He contradicts flatly and comes out with the most disagreeable speeches.

I daren't say a word.

He frightens me.

And why does he choose me?

Poor inoffensive me Ann,

As she walked up from the landing place,

Got hold of Millie.

You are really going to break away tomorrow?

I envy you.

I am sorry,

Millie said simply There is so much more which I want to see.

Ann answered her abruptly It is like everything else Life is just an air with variations and you get sick of the air I am tired of mountains and fjords.

More tired of hearing people cry how beautiful You fall when they say it of yourself?

Most of all Yet when it doesn't come,

I miss it She laughed I can't help you,

Millie returned What is it you want?

To be what I am not What I never shall be They were at the door Ann ran upstairs.

Millie dropped her defensive armour with a sigh She had somehow expected and dreaded that when Ann spoke of their leaving,

She would allude to Wareham Now that she had not done so,

She was disappointed Wareham was caught by Hugh Forbes as he went out of the Saal.

Come for a turn,

Old fellow he besought.

There are a hundred things I want to say to you.

Hadn't you better go after Miss Dalrymple,

Said Wareham sharply.

She won't let me.

Says she's had enough of me for today.

Hugh laughed and Wareham hesitated.

Self-flattery murmured that possibly she had intended this half hour for him.

And the thought fell sweet as honey drops But,

Away from her charm her beauty,

Conscience was not to be beguiled.

Avant,

Tempter Step forth,

Honour Dull paths are safest.

And the dullest of all dull paths appeared this walk with Hugh Ann left behind in a balcony overlooking shining waters They were out,

With Hugh anxiously asking why he must go tomorrow It's an awful nuisance he burst out.

And I do think it's hard on a fellow to be left unsupported just at this ticklish point.

You could be of untold good You have been already,

Of that I'm certain.

Ann likes you.

And likes to talk of you.

Now,

A great blundering fellow might have done a lot of mischief Crammed me down her throat or tried to cut me out.

I vow I wouldn't have trusted anyone but you yesterday in the boat.

When I heard that she was coming along with some man,

I was awfully cut up,

I can tell you.

And Mrs Martin never let out who it was Just like the woman,

It was Miss Ravenstone who cleared me up Why don't you take to that little girl.

A good soul with a heart of gold and a dimple I've heard you say you loved dimples And upon my soul I never saw a prettier Wareham's irritated exclamation was restrained by the recollection that here was the very suggestion which he had intended for Hugh himself presented topsy-turvily He was forced to laugh Arrange matters for yourself.

Only leave me out of the pattern,

For I don't harmonise.

Hugh rushed into farther confidences but owned that he was in a funk If I could but imagine what upset the coach last time he complained,

I'd take good care to avoid it again But I give you my word,

You know as much as I do,

She won't speak of it won't listen,

Won't so much as drop me a hint And to think of her bolting again puts me in such a devil of a fright that I don't hold on to the subject Now Dick,

If you'd stay and sound her a bit,

I should be awfully obliged to you That or any other subject?

His heart jumped like a hungry dog,

Grateful for a bone He had to recall himself to his resolve Can't?

Don't tell me you're not your own master No man is his own master that has set his shoulder to the wheel Well,

Well,

Hugh walked on revolving,

There are 24 hours yet,

You may get a chance in that time Wareham was stung into exclamation You don't know what you're asking I know exactly And it isn't much for a clever fellow like you.

You can understand that when I go pottering round,

She sees exactly what's coming and shies.

As likely as not,

She doesn't want to hurt my feelings Oh,

Your feelings?

She didn't show much regard for your feelings when she flung you over cried Wareham savagely No,

But look here old fellow,

You mustn't be so prejudiced.

It was natural enough when you didn't know her,

And I shan't forget what you did for me in those black days,

But I did think that once you were thrown with her,

You would have your eyes opened and appreciate her Wareham looked queerly at him.

How do you know I don't?

Because then you wouldn't blame her and I believe you'd stick to me now At first,

I could think of nothing but that I was near her again and could look at her,

But finding out how gingerly I've got to move makes me uneasy If you were here,

You'd give me a wrinkle or two Come Dick,

Think better of it Hugh decapitated an inoffensive ox-daisy as he spoke.

You needn't expect to put me off with talk of business Don't I know most of your affairs?

Not all Wareham's voice had grown gentler.

Hugh Do you remember my telling you that I had written a letter to me?

Yes I recollect it had slipped my memory.

I wish I could prevent its ever reaching you.

Hugh burst into his cheery laugh.

That's what I feel sometimes when I've sent off an epistle to the painter But you don't suppose anything you said to me would make me cut up,

Ruff?

When you've got it you'll understand why I go.

The other went on,

Unheeding Mysteries Mysteries.

It must be owned that Wareham thought his speech would have thrown a little light He breathed hard and his face flushed Hugh went on I know you've fought hard things of Anne but,

Old fellow,

You've never failed me yet.

And that's why I want you now.

You could say what I can't say myself What one can't say oneself had better remain unsaid Something in the tone penetrated and gave the young man a tinge of uneasiness You don't mean that you think he stopped aghast?

Wareham answered with a hand on the valve If his words were to fly it should not be on a wrong tack.

What?

That,

After all,

I've no chance?

Heavens,

Man How should I think such a thing?

I know nothing of what you have said to her or she to you.

You've got your opportunity.

What more do you want?

Go in and win All right,

Old fellow,

Hugh said good-humouredly.

May you be a true prophet Anyway don't be put out about your letter.

I've a thick skin,

As you've proved before now and if it bores you to stop,

Go Only if you do get the chance before leaving,

And if you can get her to give you a bit of explanation it may make matters smoother Isn't there some old Viking or something buried about here?

Well,

We'll go back As they returned,

They found signs of festivity about the rival inn.

Balholm sat round the walls of the saal,

And in the centre a picturesque musician played the Hardanger fiddle.

The wild piercing sounds,

Half savage half plaintive,

Penetrated the night Wareham stood at the door after Hugh had left him held by some spell for which he could not account.

The music conjured up strange imaginings The silence of the mountains encompassed lonely fjords Pallid snowflakes chased each other into clefts,

Where they lay shrouding the rock.

Winds whistled through cowering trees,

And in a moment the cruel howl of a wolf rose menacingly above the other sounds.

The tragedies of the country had found a voice in the wild,

Almost discordant instrument.

Wareham stood,

Absorbed,

Staring at the ground.

When the music stopped,

He looked up uncertainly Hay sweet in the air gold and light still lingered in the sky yet he shivered The landlord came out,

Wareham gave him a gulden for the musician,

And walked slowly back to his own quarters.

Chapter 13 Persuasion The next day the wreathing mists,

Which lightly swept the mountains,

Had gathered moisture enough to descend in thick rain It fell continuously,

But was still so vaporish that there was as much white as grey everywhere,

And the sun behind the clouds suffused them with dazzling light.

The broad fjord presented enchantingly ethereal and aerial effects.

A grey veil blurred the heights on its other side,

But here and there a mysterious gleam of whiteness shot out from the snowy summit,

Radiantly piercing the gloom.

Silvery lights fell across the faint grey of the waters,

Which changed to opal near a shore,

And took in places a clear,

Transparent emerald green.

A rough ridge of stone walled in a small harbour,

And here were boats drawn up,

Black,

Green,

White,

Sharp points of contrast to the delicate half-tones beyond.

The covered balconies of the inn were thronged with dissatisfied travellers,

Casting gloomy glances at the falling rain.

"'Detestable climate,

' muttered Colonel Martin,

Pulling up his coat collar.

He added to Wareham,

"'You're a lucky fellow to be getting out of it.

I wish I could.

'" "'Don't be absurd,

Tom,

' his wife retaliated.

"'The weather at home is infinitely worse.

'" "'I don't see it.

You are like the ostrich.

You bury your head.

'" The Professor lifted his from a newspaper with the sniff of a war horse.

"'My dear Mrs.

Martin,

You don't credit that ridiculous fable.

'" She raised her hands imploringly.

"'Take it.

I yield.

'" The Professor has got possession of a hundred harmless illustrations,

Which he puts to the torture and then gibbets.

"'To be worth anything,

An illustration should be accurate.

'" Anne went to the rescue.

"'We may struggle after truth,

But accuracy.

' Half an hour hence,

And unprepared,

I defy the Professor to repeat this conversation without an error.

Facts,

Facts,

Facts come to us thick with paint.

Who will describe the view before us?

One person says beastly weather.

Another is eloquent on the loveliness of silver grey.

What then?

The fact remains that it rains,

' said the Professor with a bow.

He was forbearing to Anne.

"'Not a drop!

' Hugh turned round from contemplation,

His laugh vigorous and infectious.

"'The ostrich is forfeit,

' confessed the Professor gallantly.

"'To some eyes it appears that he buries his head.

Others behold him running upright.

He is gone,

' and science with him.

"'Am I forgiven?

' "'You never asked me that question,

' said Mrs Martin.

"'My dear lady,

You never gave me the opportunity.

' While they laughed,

Anne made a scarcely perceptible sign to Wareham.

He came close.

"'What takes you back in such a hurry to England?

' He hesitated.

"'Is it business which I should not understand?

Business which I can't explain would be nearer the truth.

' She leaned forward,

Dropping her eyes.

"'Mr Forbes says that all his endeavours to keep you have been in vain.

Are you inexorable?

I believe we are going to the finest part of Norway.

But perhaps you are afraid of another contretemps such as that of Monday?

' His head whirled.

He dared not look at her.

In an odd,

Strained voice he muttered something which sounded like perhaps.

She took no notice,

But went on lightly.

"'You need not have any fear.

You will be amply protected.

With Colonel Martin of the party,

I defy anyone to be late for anything.

' He kept his eyes fixed on the opal waters and stood up as stiffly as if he had to receive the shock of a charge.

Who to look at him would have guessed that he felt as if all were lost.

The ages have at least taught man to keep his face like a mask.

"'You are very good.

Hugh will look after you.

It is impossible for me to stay.

' He stammered.

He did not know what he said,

But he had not yielded.

He was sure he had not yielded.

The victor is too often represented as a fine fellow,

Marching away self-contentedly to the sound of his own trumpets.

Much more frequently,

He is bruised and battered.

Nobody giving him so much as a cheer,

While his own discontented ideal scornfully holds up a mirror that he may not deceive himself with vain imaginings.

This a hero.

Poor mud-bispattered figure.

Just scraped through a conflict without utter overthrow.

Standing upright it may be,

But in what condition?

Nothing to be proud of here.

No subject for triumphal arches or laurel wreaths,

Which indeed became ludicrous even in imagination.

Fit only to creep away,

Bind up his wounds as best he may,

And cleanse himself from the mud-stains and say as little as possible of what has happened.

And yet,

A victor.

Wareham wandered about that day,

Seeing little of the others,

And especially avoiding hue.

The misty rain continued.

Grey and silver predominated everywhere about the fjord,

But the mountains behind the little village reared purple glooms into the cloud regions,

And the greens were vivid.

The whole party were to go on board the steamer which came in at seven or eight in the evening,

And to separate at Vadheim at one in the morning.

By the time they started,

The rain had ceased,

And there were clear lights about,

Though no gorgeous pump of sunset.

A chill was in the air,

Suggesting raps,

And if adventurous spirits made excursions to the upper deck,

They soon retreated to the heap of luggage which offered seats and comparative shelter.

Anne had taken up a position between the professor and the elderly lady.

Hue could not get at her,

And mooned about,

Disconsolate.

He went to Mrs.

Martin at last,

In sheer despair.

She laughed at him.

How many days has your satisfaction lasted,

Mr.

Forbes?

And do not copybooks assure us that happiness is a shy goddess?

Be indifferent.

That is your only chance of cajoling her to stay.

As well say,

Be someone else.

Won't you help me?

I would not if I could.

Anne is charming as she is.

Married?

I don't know which would be the most miserable.

She or her husband?

I would risk it.

Of course.

Because you have lost your head.

I should not wonder if the professor would risk it too.

Hue began to laugh.

You will be saying as much of Wareham in a minute.

Do you mean that he owns to it?

Asked Mrs.

Martin innocently.

His laugh grew hilarious.

No,

No,

No.

Oh,

The bare idea was too comic.

I have never known him,

Smitten.

He will not even consent to stay on with us,

Though Anne asked him herself.

And you have asked him also,

No doubt?

In vain,

Though.

I have never known him so stiff.

If it had been anyone else,

I should have suspected the attraction of Miss Ravenhill's dimple.

Mrs.

Martin gazed at him admiringly.

How clear-sighted you men are,

She cried.

Hue disclaimed modestly.

Not we.

For you women often puzzle us.

But if I didn't know Wareham,

I don't know who should.

He's been better than a brother to me.

Stuck by me and pulled me through a lot.

Hang that old man if he's going to monopolise Anne.

I'll have a smoke,

Meanwhile.

You're coming down to the feed,

Mrs.

Martin.

May I choose your places?

Leave that to Mr.

Wareham.

She called after him with a laugh.

Wareham sat with the Ravenhills at the other table of the narrow cabin.

Anne's voice behind him sounded in his ears,

So that he heard little else,

And gave himself the luxury of silence that he might listen to the dear sounds.

Mrs.

Ravenhill found him a dull companion and raised her eyebrows to Millie to indicate her opinion while she praised the salmon.

Youth had ousted age and Hue was at Anne's elbow with irreverent jests upon the professor's dread of the cabin.

The steamer had anchored off a little village to disembark a company of unkempt soldiers and was rolling steadily to the discomfort of more than one.

I looked into the lady's cabin,

Said Anne.

It is not to be faced and I shall spend the night on deck.

I too,

But the night is not very long.

True,

I had forgotten we land at one.

Are you really coming with us?

What else on earth should I do?

That is easily answered.

Go home with your friend.

Are you not his fighter,

Sir Katie's?

Don't you think it base to desert him?

He dropped his voice into rapture.

You don't expect me to prefer his society to yours.

Mrs Martin who had quick ears,

Bestowed a mental smile on the one-sidedness of friendship Anne looked at him calmly and remarked you are an extraordinary boy.

He flushed and asked her not to call him a boy.

She answered that she thought him younger now than ever before.

It is only a boy that would have shown so much rashness.

How?

In hurling yourself upon us,

As you have done,

Unasked,

Except by your faithful friend.

Threat lurked in her voice and terrified him into instant humbleness.

Forgive me.

If I do,

It is because you are what you disclaim and not quite responsible The real offender should have remained to take care of you.

I don't need him if you won't laugh at me too cruelly.

Besides,

Do you know that Dick is only three years my senior?

Upon my honour,

That's all.

She made no remark on this but changed her note to one more serious and therefore more alarming.

Your coming with us is certain to revive talk hush,

And I do not wish that to happen.

While you were here with another,

The fact was not so pointed,

But I did not realise that Mr Wareham proposed to leave you altogether on our hands and I do not like it.

He will go Hugh said gloomily He began to see Wareham's departure in a menacing light.

You know he told you so.

Oh,

Me me?

Am I his friend?

When he gave you wise advice,

Did he not treat me in the light of a baleful ogress?

However there is no more to be said for if he will not make so small a concession for you her tones betrayed annoyance.

Hugh's heart descended to his boots,

And he mentally resolved upon another and stronger argument with Wareham.

His path would not be strewn with roses,

He began to see.

At any rate,

If the roses were there thorns also gave plentiful promise and he could not understand Wareham,

On whom he would have counted for staunch support in these prickly ways.

Poor Hugh,

Whose lights were steady,

But not brilliant,

Felt himself unable to comprehend either his friend or Anne.

At times she suffered his hope to sail like a kite,

Straining at its cord.

Then,

With a jerk,

Down came the poor flutterer and dragged helplessly on the ground Up again,

He forgot the downfall and was as unprepared as ever for disaster.

It was cold sharply cold on deck.

People began to prepare for sleep.

Mrs Martin betook herself to the lady's cabin.

Mrs Ravenhill and Millie stretched themselves on the ground in a small corner at the head of the companion ladder.

Anne barricaded herself amongst the small luggage and warned off Hugh,

Who wandered round,

Disconsolate.

There was still clear light in the sky,

Though the horizontal layer of clouds had grown dark,

Almost black.

Black,

Too,

Were the low hills,

Which rose on either side of the broad sogne.

Here and there a single light gleamed out of the solitude.

Now and then a bubble of laughter broke from a group on the deck.

Hugh went in pursuit of Wareham and found him in the forepart of the vessel talking to a Norwegian gentleman on the politics which were causing upheaval in the country.

When he at last walked away,

Wareham remarked to his friend,

Individually,

They are a strong nation,

But our overgrown world now requires quantity at the back of quality.

Besides,

They have no young men.

Why?

Emigration.

The passion for their country remains,

But only as a sentiment.

It does not bring them back to starve for her.

They would be fools if it did,

Commented Hugh.

True,

But it requires fools to do great things.

However,

My Norwegian is not quite of my opinion.

He thinks the struggle with nature's physical forces so tremendous that it exhausts the energy of the people.

In old days it flung them southward to conquer more promising lands.

This is no longer possible.

And he holds that they must for the present content themselves with crossing the seas and growing rich by the work of their brains.

The worst is that the men who return do not bring back the fine qualities they took.

You are interested in them.

They seem to me among the best people in the world.

But you have seen so little.

One day I must come back.

Look here,

Dick.

What a fellow you are,

Hugh exclaimed remonstrantly.

There's nothing to take you home and you won't stop.

When you might be of the greatest possible use to me.

Anne is beginning to cut up rough because she thinks my staying on with them alone looks marked.

Do think better of it.

You're not tied to those other people.

I can't be uncivil to them.

I claim you before them.

Wareham sighed wearily.

Haven't we gone through it all?

I tell you,

I know what I am about.

That letter.

It has something to do with that letter.

I'll swear it has.

And what rubbish as if anything you said could ever come between us.

Out with it,

Man.

Let's hear this mighty matter.

Then perhaps you'll stay and study your Norwegian in peace.

My Norwegian must wait.

The Ceylon has me fast booked.

Hugh was put out.

I never knew you so stiff he cried with vexation in his tone.

You must take my word that I have reasons.

At any rate you might give me one.

Wareham was silent.

Hugh kicked at a rope.

What on earth can I say to Anne?

You might be satisfied with your position?

The other man went on disregarding.

A week ago you would have thought it bliss.

So it is.

Hugh rose on wings.

But if ever you'd been in love you'd understand that the uncertainty is awfully trying.

After what happened once I shan't have a minute's peace until we're married.

Now,

When she might have let me say something,

She has sent me off.

Wareham was understood to mutter that no one could assist Hugh but Hugh himself.

Oh I know.

I know.

Only I want to keep her pleased.

Three weeks before his friend would have flung out that if he couldn't affect this preliminary he had better step aside and leave the lady to please herself.

Three weeks however had changed,

If not his opinions,

At least his power of advancing them.

Silence was again his refuge and Hugh meandered on.

Perhaps old Martin will say a good word for me.

Suppose Anne says I am not to go on with them.

Can't you take your dismissal?

No!

Hugh flung out the word with such energy that a passing sailor looked round to see whether the quarrel was serious.

Wareham recognised and admired the tenacity.

You've grip,

He admitted.

It would take less to put me off.

The young man made no answer.

They were nearing a landing place.

The usual group stood there,

Only that at this hour they were dark shadows now and then flashed upon by a moving light.

Two boys in fur caps carried great plates of wild strawberries.

Hugh bought a couple with promise that the steamer should bring back the plates.

He dashed off with them to Anne and was back in a moment.

Happy hit!

She likes them.

But she wants you to come too.

Wareham hesitated.

Went with a shrug at his own weakness.

Anne pushed a campstool in front of her.

Sit there.

Mr Forbes,

Please carry some to Mrs Ravenhill.

They are delicious.

As he went off obediently,

Wareham said you are unkind.

No,

He is pleased.

He thinks you are sure to say something in his favour and jumps at the opportunity.

Is that why you sent for me?

To hear your counsel,

Yes.

As it is you who have planted me in this quandary,

You had better at least tell me what you would advise that I leave to your own heart.

He was conscious that prudence would have touched the string more lightly.

You are so uncomplimentary as to have forgotten what I told you and not so long ago I don't own the thing.

At all events,

It is of the smallest.

So is what we see of the moon,

Said Wareham,

Pointing to a slender crescent.

Anne smiled for a woman who talks of heartlessness does so to be contradicted.

Well,

It appears to me that you put forth little on behalf of your friend.

One doesn't praise the people one loves.

He dared not look at her,

But her nearness thrilled him and he had not thought to be thus together again in the mysterious dusk of a northern night.

She was silent for a time.

When she spoke,

It was to say,

Slowly,

If you tell me that you honestly wish it,

I may perhaps,

But he had started up impatiently.

Good heavens,

Am I your guide?

I have nothing to do with it.

I wash my hands of all,

He added with a strong effort.

Let me say that you could not choose a better fellow,

And that he loves you with his whole heart.

How big is that?

Anne demanded in a mocking tone.

The question jarred.

He loved,

But did not like her so well as before.

You at any rate have no reason to doubt its generosity,

He answered gravely.

And one thing I will ask of you,

Do not cause unnecessary pain.

The situation is none of my creating.

Give me credit at least for having done my utmost to avoid painful positions.

You,

Or fate,

Have baffled me,

Yet now you refuse to interfere,

And I do not pretend to answer for myself.

She pushed away the plate of strawberries,

And leaned back among the rugs and furs,

Her face pale in the half-light,

Her voice cold.

Wareham was still standing when Hugh came back and glanced from one to the other.

Have you persuaded him?

He inquired.

Mr Wareham,

Said Anne carelessly,

I should not venture to attempt it.

Time's nearly up,

Hugh announced.

In a quarter of an hour we shall be at Vadheim,

And Colonel Martin wants to know if you have seen the brown rug?

Tell him it is here,

She said with a little eagerness,

And Hugh was turning away when Wareham stopped him.

Stay,

He said,

I will go.

He did not return.

Lights shone out ahead of them,

And there was a stir in the vessel and an uprising of sleepers,

For this is the point where those bound for northern Norway leave the Sogne.

The professor's voice was heard,

Acutely insistent.

Colonel Martin came to look for Anne and his rug.

The lights resolved themselves into illuminated windows of a square inn and with no movement about it,

This midnight illumination had an almost spectral effect.

A procession of goodbyes followed.

Goodbye,

Mr Wareham,

Said Mrs Martin with a laugh.

High ideals may be very fine things but they don't pay,

And you had better have stayed.

Lucky man,

With a tender chop in sight,

Muttered her husband.

As Anne passed out,

She turned a smiling face towards Wareham.

But if he had feared or hoped for a farewell word he was disappointed.

She said no more than goodnight and put a warm hand into his.

He had prepared himself for words but silence knocked aside his defences.

We are friends,

He asked eagerly.

She lifted her eyebrows,

Still smiling.

I should never reach your ideal of friendship.

Keep it for Mr Forbes.

Hugh pressed in from behind,

Laden with bundles.

Here's everything,

As far as I can see,

But if you find anything,

Dick,

Leave it with Bennet in Bergen.

You're a villain not to come along with us.

Then,

In a whisper,

Wish me well old fellow.

He had only time to spring on shore.

The vessel backed slowly away from the pier.

The figures faded into darkness.

The spectral inn presented its squares of steady light.

Wareham stood watching.

Then,

With something like a groan,

Turned away and flung himself down where Anne had sat among the luggage.

Chapter 14 Over the water where Anne As the fjord widens into open sea,

The hills sink into insignificance,

And the steamer makes her way between clustering islands,

Rocky and barren.

But on nearing Bergen,

The scenery again gains dignity,

And Bergen itself,

Lying on a promontory between two harbours,

And overshadowed by fine mountains,

Is strikingly picturesque.

There is an air of vigorous life about it.

Oddly rigged and brightly painted vessels scud along before a wind which catches the waves and tears them into foam.

Against the beautiful,

Shadowy hills stands a jumble of red-roofed houses,

Pierced,

As it were,

By a forest of masts.

Mrs Ravenhill,

Sitting on the upper deck,

Swept the scene with what Millie called her air of hungry enjoyment.

She sees points,

Effects,

And is perfectly happy.

What I foresee,

Added the girl laughing,

Is a struggling crowd from which I shall have to defend her.

Norwegians are never rude,

Announced Mrs Ravenhill.

Not often,

But what of that girl at Stalheim who demanded money because you had sketched her cottage?

Ugh,

Stalheim.

Stalheim is a spoiled place.

I do not count Stalheim.

You will find points enough and to spare,

Said Wareham.

And if you can get on board a steamer,

You may have peace also.

I suppose Smebby's will do as well as any other hotel?

So it was settled.

Only,

As Smebby's was full,

Mrs Ravenhill and Millie went across the street and had rooms at the house of a kindly,

Funny little woman who told them long Norwegian stories,

Which she found it impossible to conceive were not understood.

The days were bright,

But chilly,

With a spirited wind blowing in from the sea and ruffling the harbour.

The Ravenhills attempted no demands upon Wareham's hours.

He was free to come and go,

Join them or leave them alone,

Whether Mrs Ravenhill sketched or made regulation purchases of spoons,

Furs or photographs at the shops.

This liberty pleased him.

It allowed him to live with Anne in thought and to be miserable over the combinations he foresaw.

When two and two must drive together,

Would not Hugh contrive to be with Anne?

No one would prevent it,

If Anne suffered the arrangement,

And to be near her,

To look into her eyes.

Now that the victory was won,

He gave himself the luxury of imagining what a defeat would have brought him.

He might have been in Hugh's place.

And his heart leaped with the conviction that he would have been preferred.

He walked hurriedly,

Urged,

Goaded by this thought.

Over his head clouds were flying,

Gulls screamed to each other,

Flashing white wings against the grey.

He walked long,

Seeing nothing.

When he wheeled round at last,

It was more from instinct than intention,

And after supper he went out again.

Mrs Ravenhill was not quite pleased.

No one invited Mr Wareham,

She said to Millie that night.

If he chose to come with us,

He might take more trouble to be entertaining.

Millie stood at the window,

Her back to her mother.

Never mind,

She said at last.

You have earned his gratitude.

Why?

He is not very happy,

So he likes to be alone.

Mrs Ravenhill laid down the photographs she was examining and stared.

Not happy?

Millie,

You catch up absurd fancies.

The man eats,

Drinks,

Talks as usual.

He has not been confiding in you.

Quickly the no came with a sigh.

Her mother heard the no and not the sigh and took up the photographs again.

Then I wouldn't waste my pity.

I will tell you what I think.

Mr Wareham has lived in his own interests till he has grown selfish.

The large party and the little rubs did not please him and he came away.

He is welcome to go where he likes.

All that I complain of is that he seems to think he owes nothing to us.

You see what I mean?

Yes.

And don't you think he was glad to break away?

Perhaps,

Said Millie untruthfully.

Oh,

He was.

The mother was persuaded that Millie never flung a thought in the direction of Wareham.

Yet mother-like would not believe that he could have been attracted to another when her girl was there.

Descent such as that ranks with the incredible.

Yet if if Millie were not so entirely heart-hole as she believed,

She yearned to offer comfort.

She said with a smile,

Miss Dalrymple has too much of the bearing of a conqueror to please a man not easily subdued.

The girl's heart was trembling.

Lest the secret it held should escape.

She praised Anne on purpose to be quit of all suspicion of jealousy.

She is one of the women who has a right to such a bearing.

If I were a man,

I should fall in love with her a dozen times over.

Mrs Ravenhill's momentary suspicion fled.

He could have stayed if he had wished it,

I suppose,

She said cheerfully,

And slipped into other talk.

A newspaper had given them moderately late news of the country,

And when they met at breakfast,

Wareham alluded to it.

At home,

If you miss the times for a day,

You become a hopeless laggard in the world.

It is amazing how soon the feeling wears off.

By the way,

I see the professor mentioned for an appointment,

Said Mrs Ravenhill.

Our professor?

Mrs Martin's?

They laughed.

Whatever it may be,

Said Wareham,

He will not be troubled by the misgiving that a worthier man might have been found.

Millie remarked that he had a very accurate mind.

From which he shoots out poor Mrs Martin's facts as rubbish.

But in Miss Dalrymple's hands,

He is a lamb,

Said Mrs Ravenhill.

I think she might even venture on a statistic,

Unquestioned.

Wareham made no answer.

He turned to ask something of the long landlord.

Millie spoke to a pale-faced girl who was still shuddering from the crossing she had just gone through,

And unwilling to believe that anything in Norway could be worth its preliminary horrors.

Mrs Ravenhill got up.

Which is the way to the fish market?

She asked.

I will go with you if you will allow me?

Wareham answered.

Don't let us trouble you.

Millie was conscious of a touch of stiffness in her mother's manner,

But he showed no signs of noticing it.

You should have gone earlier,

He said.

Seven or eight o'clock is a better time.

However,

You will gain some idea of its picturesqueness even now,

And from there you can have a look at the Hanseatic house.

There is a general museum too,

And a good one.

The one important street in Bergen runs directly through the town.

Here and there,

Desolate open spaces break away,

The safeguards from the ever dreaded enemy fire.

Here and there cellars yawn,

Heaped with gaily painted tinne.

Here and there again,

You catch sight of the dancing waters of the harbour,

And a jumble of shipping.

It is at the end of the harbour that the fish market is held.

The boats are jammed together,

The buyers stand and lean over the railings,

Women in thickly plaited black dresses with close black caps,

A rim of white round the face,

And one spot of white behind,

Are sprinkled among the more ordinary costumes.

More remarkable were the fishermen in the boats.

Old and young,

The hardy faces caught and held attention.

You looked at men.

As Wareham had said,

The great throng was over,

But even yet there were plenty of purchases,

And a penny would gain a plateful of little fish.

And here in the heart of Old Bergen is the house of the Hanseatic League,

Unchanged since the time of the traders.

It is the past fossilised for some,

For others it is the means by which to drift back themselves into the past and join the ghosts.

Away with the crowd of laughing sightseers.

Here sits the merchant in fur cap and gown,

His account book before him.

Check the entries if you will,

It lies open.

Here is the eating room for the apprentices,

Lads who taught to sweep and cook,

Should make good husbands by and by.

But as their dignities were not put up with bed-making,

And woman was not admitted,

All the beds are provided with a sliding panel,

Whereby that useful but dangerous appendage standing outside could insert her arms and head no more,

And arrange for masculine comfort.

And here is the great lantern which,

Fixed on a pole,

The trader carried in the funeral processions of his guild.

From youth to old age it is all here.

The outer circumstances of life,

Out-living life,

Said Wareham as they emerged.

Now,

Will you come to the other museum and plunge still farther back into the age of flint implements?

Mrs Ravenhill shook her head.

Any stone would do as well for me.

My mind refuses to leap those distances,

And I look at them foolishly unimpressed.

Is it only flint implements?

Millie asked.

I don't object to them,

But I believe it is because I am so ignorant that I can't gauge my own ignorance.

It appeared that,

With many other collections,

There were old Norwegian curiosities and a fine set-out of wooden bowls which attracted Mrs Ravenhill,

Bent on taking home trophies of that description.

Passing the fish market again,

Millie bought a basket full of berries from a boat laden with nothing else.

The small events of this day came back to her afterwards with a curious distinctness,

And yet there was nothing especially to market to her,

Nor at the time did it seem blessed,

Certainly not deserving the golden aureole which set it apart.

She said little,

But let her thirsty heart drink in what tasted like delicious draughts,

And thrust aside the consciousness that soon first would be on her again.

Whatever Wareham had done the day before,

Today he was all kindness.

Mrs Ravenhill never,

Indeed exacting,

Had no reason to utter a complaint.

Five o'clock saw them in the launch of the Ceylon,

Red-roofed Bergen curving behind them,

And it was not long before they steamed out of the harbour.

The wind was fresh,

But for a long time they were under the lee of the shore,

And even through the next day most of the passengers kept fairly on deck.

But by Sunday the vessel was rolling heavily,

And Millie appeared alone.

The usual service could not be held,

And only one or two ladies left their cabins.

It was natural that Wareham should be much with the girl.

They talked of Norway.

From that they fell to talking of those who had been their companions.

Of all,

At least,

Except Anne.

But a question was so close to Millie's lips that,

At last,

It flew out.

Was it Mr Forbes,

Of whom you once spoke?

Did I speak?

At Stavanger,

She said reproachfully.

He had forgotten the confidence.

Before you knew Miss Dalrymple?

Ah,

Yes,

It was before I knew,

He acquiesced and went off in a dream.

She supposed the yes was intended for an answer to her question,

But it was not clear enough for her burning longing to be certain.

They were once engaged?

Yes,

He forced himself to add with a smile.

The Sphinx was a woman.

To have followed shows that he must love her,

Said Millie thoughtfully.

Why not?

She hugged her pain.

Why not indeed?

But if she is as unchanged as he,

Will he not suffer?

Fortunes of war,

Returned Wareham briefly.

And dropped the conversation.

From which,

However,

He drew the consolation that Millie's pity showed what she thought was in store for the young man.

For this,

He forgave her the questioning which he might otherwise have resented.

He had not a suspicion that she saw any further than her words told him.

The childish dimple in her cheek belying such a thought.

What he read was as much curiosity as belongs to a daughter of Eve,

Joined to a kindly sympathy for the young fellow whose perseverance perhaps touched kindly romance.

If adverse fate could have flung these two together.

He talked to her,

Reaching further into her mind than ever before.

And the more he probed its innocent depths,

The more he blamed fate for its dilatoriness.

And Millie,

All unconscious of this dream,

Suffered a lurking fancy of possible contingencies to brighten her eyes and deepen the pretty colour in her cheek.

The sun shone,

But the wind was cold.

Wareham felt that he was responsible for her comfort and saw that her deck chair was placed at a right angle and moved when necessary.

He helped her when she moved and sat next her at meals.

On his own account,

He was glad of the companionship,

For to be alone was to think.

Not of Anne but of Anne and Hugh.

By the next morning they were in smooth water,

And Mrs Ravenhill came on deck.

She thanked Wareham for his care of her daughter.

I was helpless myself and I couldn't condemn her to the cabin,

But I am glad to be up again,

If only to see the mouth of the Thames a yawning mudbank.

Our coast doesn't compare well with Norway.

Mrs Ravenhill's patriotism led her to declare that one looked for something beyond beauty in the Thames and Wareham owned,

In spite of his speech,

To ardent Cockneyism.

Which means that you will soon be out of London in a few days and you?

We shall stay.

This has been our holiday.

When you come back,

I hope you will find us out.

I shall come and ask you to show me your sketches so as to be carried back again.

He said it warmly and Millie's heart beat.

Afterwards came landing,

Train and a grimy plunge into London.

At the station they parted.

End of Volume 1 .

Reviews

Thank you, thank you… Got me to sleep many many times over many many nights… The scenery is incredible! I can’t see how the story is going to work out though with two unrequited love angles, lol … thank you, dear!✨🙏🏼✨