"Yes. But I have come to speak to you, Edward. I knew you generally came about this time."

"What do you want with me?"

It was only now he noticed how agitated she was.

"Is it true you have said you will take the responsibility on yourself of Larssen's going to h.e.l.l?"

"I don't believe in h.e.l.l one atom."

"No, but did you say that?"

"I don't know. No, I don't think I did."

"Well, you see, others have a different opinion to you. And they feel indignant when they hear such words. You will lose all you have gained here by your work if you talk like that, I can tell you that." Kallem felt this to be so thoroughly like her old self.

"Yes, I daresay it is wrong to say such things. But by heaven, it is wrong to torment a man like Kristen Larssen, too. As long as he has his powers of reasoning, no one will get him to believe in h.e.l.l; so they may as well leave him alone."

"That is not what they want with him either."

"Indeed, what is it then?"

"You know just as well as I do, Edward, and it is for your own sake I beg you not to scoff at earnest and loving people."

"I have no wish to scoff; I only say that they can spare themselves the trouble, and spare him too."

"He is too cold."

"Cold or warm, such things depend on one's disposition and manner of living."

"But people can live themselves into a state of coldness of the soul, and that is what he has done."

"May-be; but I know somebody who is warm enough, and who thinks exactly in the same way as Kristen Larssen. So it is not that."

"Well, what is it, then?"

"Thousands of things. She whom I allude to always puts her thoughts into pictures, and from the time she saw a very old drawing of the Trinity, a large body with three heads, and heard that the head in the middle was son to the two at the sides, the father and mother (for you know that the Holy Ghost began by being a woman), from that time she never could believe in the Trinity; she laughed at it. And as I said before, she is warm enough."

"Fie!" hissed out Josephine, in all the strength of her indignation; "she may be warm, but she cannot be pure!" Kallem felt a stab at his heart; she was aiming at Ragni! His sister was cruel, and looked cruel like in her school-girl days, and he too became again the boy of those days; bang! he gave her a box on the ear. It hit the hood, but it was heartily meant.

With flaming eyes she flew at him like in the days when they used to fight. She whispered: "I think you----!" she trembled with rage and scorn, then she turned full of contempt and left him.

Had anyone seen them? They were alone in the street. He felt an indescribable fear; this might perhaps be visited on Ragni.

Kallem thought that the words "not pure," coming from Josephine's mouth, were a hit at what had happened in former years; that was why he was so indignant. But what would he not have felt if he had known that she was rather aiming at their present life? When the minister and his wife came home and kept away from them, the reason was partly that Kristen Larssen, the scoffer and blasphemer, was received in Kallem's house, that Ragni gave him English lessons, and that Kallem had long conversations with him. For the majority of the congregation Kristen Larssen appeared to be a regular devil, and when any new arrivals, both men and women, sought his company (like the Soren Pedersens), it was a great offence. Soon after Karl Meek came to live with them, and from that time Ragni was never seen anywhere except in his society. To crown all, they travelled up together to the wood district; this was too much when it a was a question of a divorced wife, who was both a free-thinker and might be accused of breaking her marriage bonds.

Josephine had come with the well-meant intention of warning her brother. If she had been allowed to talk to him quietly, she would have told him all this; she was not afraid, and she was sincerely fond of him. But now she went back branded by his scorn.

Then all her pent-up pa.s.sion burst forth! First and foremost, in bitterest hatred of her who separated brother from sister; but by degrees it turned to hatred of everything that caused it. The death of Andersen, the mason--the more her husband was upset by it, the more noticeable was the contrast between them--and at a particularly unfortunate time. All that Tuft complained of in himself was like making so many concessions to her, and now he intended to put an end to it. It could not have happened at a worse time.

In the house next to theirs lived a dried up old woman, the minister's mother; she was always protesting against the other house. She never put her foot inside it at any party, and seldom otherwise except for family prayers, and when she dined there on church festival days. Her daughter-in-law's manner, her dancing, her dressing, and her friends were an abomination to her, and the minister's perpetual love-making she thought unG.o.dly. The little boy became her spy. Josephine was sitting one summer day on the other side of the open door, and heard her questioning him as to who had been there the day before, what they had had for dinner, and if they had drunk much wine, and how many different kinds. "Grandmother asks me if mother is going out to-day, too," said he one day. "And she asks me what father says to mother when she comes home, and if father slept upstairs with us."

Josephine took it very quietly. But the knowledge that her mother-in-law was at the bottom of all the minister's religious admonitions, did not make her more inclined to give in. She intended to live as she thought fit; he might do the same.

For him, it was the struggle of his youth, from the time that he for her sake had given up the idea of being a missionary and there was always the same result; he was so much in love that he was not master of himself. But not because she enticed him--just the contrary! When she sometimes became tired of him as of everything else--for there were sudden changes in her moods--it was then that she appeared to him most lovely and most to be desired, like the women of the old legends. He could make no resistance then.

But the great task that G.o.d had imposed on him by the sick-bed of his friend, that showed him what he had neglected in his life; now he would feel the fruits of remission.

Whilst he had, after much self-examination, made up his mind that he could speak to his wife, she had been keeping all her struggles secret.

After the last battle, she had at once decided what was the fairest thing to do--revenge was what she always called justice--but soon, too, it became clear to her that her brother had seen through her own dubious conduct. From the moment she had danced with him, she felt that no one thought so much of her as he; but since their last meeting, she had discovered that he despised her religious transactions. Indeed, he had every right to do so. She had never really counted the cost; she had always been content if her husband's faith and works were appreciated, if only she might be left in peace. Things could not continue like this; her brother's contempt was unbearable to her.

There were morning and evening prayers in the minister's house; grandmamma always came in, after her the maid-servants, and then the minister. Josephine did not always appear at morning prayers, and if they had any guests, evening prayers were given up. The minister always either began or ended with a prayer suitable to the occasion. At this period these prayers were lengthy and earnest, so Josephine stayed away altogether.

These solemn unctuous debates were her detestation, in public even more so than in private. The latter generally took place near bed-time, when their little boy was asleep and family worship was over; if she knew it was coming, she went to bed; he then seldom followed her; it was slippery ground to tread on up there. But this evening he did come. She had heard him moving in the study, and she now heard him on the staircase. She did not lock her door, and she left the big lamp burning. But when he took hold of the handle, she exclaimed: "You must not come in."

"Why not?"

"Not as long as I am undressing."

"I will wait."

He went down again, and she began to undress slowly. Their bed-room lay over the study and looked out to the garden; to the right, through a curtain, was her dressing-room, just over the spare-room; to the left a door that led to another dressing room. Beside this was a staircase leading from the pa.s.sage by the study. She could hear him coming up for the second time; she was now in bed. The door was in the middle of the room, just opposite the windows; their beds stood to the right of the door, hers nearest to it. The little boy slept at the other side, near the dressing-room.

He did not inquire again whether he might come in, but just opened the door. She lay in her white nightdress, her black hair done up in the usual knot; her head was propped by her left hand as if she were about to raise herself.

He sat down on the edge of her bed; she at once moved slightly backwards, as if she did not like to come in contact with him. He looked very black. "Josephine, you avoid me; it is not right of you; I require comfort and advice. The old trouble is upon me, Josephine, the day of reckoning cannot be postponed." He looked at her sorrowfully; she looked back silently at him. "You know what is the matter with me.

I live here at your side in affluence and comfort, and amongst my congregation in earnest worship. But a Christian does not grow in grace in this way. The other day I was weighed in the balance and found wanting." He hid his face in his hands and sat silently for some time, as though he were praying. "Dearest Josephine!"--he raised his head--"help me! I must make an entire change in everything around me; I must live and work in a different way."

"How so?"

"I am not a true minister, and you are not truly a minister's wife; the following of our own wills leads us astray!"

"All these attempts of yours, Ole, to lead a different life commence with me and my house. Pray begin with yourself! I am as I wish to be; you can act as you think rightly yourself. As to our home, we only live as people of our means and tastes should do; if this does not suit you, well, you have your own private apartment to be in; you can arrange things as you like there. Should you prefer living separately, pray do so!"

"Yes," he answered, "I mean there must be a change in everything, even down to the household and the very bill of fare."

"I have not the slightest regard for these everlasting complaints of yours."

"That is because you do not understand the spiritual meaning."

She became quite pale. "I only know one thing," she answered him, harshly, "that is, I refused to be as sensual as you were, and that was the beginning of it all."

"You never will let me hear the last of that. But I am not ashamed to confess that the first crisis arose from the cravings of nature and your resistance; that opened my eyes. I am not ashamed to confess this.

For when I proposed a total reformation----"

"And pray, did I forbid this?" she said, interrupting him. "Yes, I forbade you to begin trying your reformations on me; try them on yourself, Ole!"

He got up. "You don't understand me, nor do you understand G.o.d's will with regard to us. I still hold that there is a want of spirituality about you, Josephine; you have never given yourself up entirely to repentance and prayer, you never consecrated your life to all absorbing worship; your heart is not set on things above, only on the things of this world. You wish to be a Christian, but you do nothing to attain thereto. Why do you not answer? Won't you try? Now, together with me?

Josephine? Oh, how I do suffer, also on your account!" He seated himself humbly beside her again.