Mary kept silence.

"Had Jorgen Thiis anything to do with it?"

Mary gave her a look.

"Ah! that is what I feared. But remember, my child, that he has loved you since the first time he saw you--you, and no one else. That means a great deal. And never once so much as hinted it to you--has he?"

Mary shook her head.

"It's no small thing, that either. It shows strength of character. He has served you and he has honoured you--don't be too hard on him. Not till now, when you are poor, does he dare--but what was it?"

Mary waited a little; then she said:

"First I thought he was ill. Then he suddenly lost his senses."

"Oh, I could tell you something. I too.... Yes, yes, yes!" She seemed lost in thought. Then she murmured: "Those who go for years...."

But Mary cut her short. "Don't let us talk any more about it," she said, rising.

"No. Only it is...."

"No more on that subject, please!" repeated Mary, walking to the window.

Standing there she heard Mrs. Dawes say: "You must let me tell you that he has spoken to me--asked me if he dared offer himself to you. He can imagine no greater happiness than to help you when we are no longer able. But he thinks that you are too unapproachable."

Mary made an involuntary movement. Mrs. Dawes saw it.

"Don't be too hard on him, Mary. Do you know, child, that your father and I think ..."

"Now, Aunt Eva!" Mary turned sharply towards her--not as if she were angry, but yet in such a manner as to check the words on the old lady's lips.

Mary remained in the room. She would not risk meeting Jorgen Thiis. When she was doing some small service for Mrs. Dawes, the latter said: "You know, child, that Jorgen is to have Uncle Klaus's money?" As Mary did not answer, she ventured to go on. "And he believes that Uncle Klaus will help him if he marries." This, too, Mary allowed to pa.s.s unnoticed.

When there was no longer any danger, she went to her own room. There she recalled the scene from beginning to end. Her cheeks burned, but she was astonished that, dreadful though it had been, she was not really angry.

Just as she was thinking: What will happen next? there was a gentle knock at the door. Now she felt angry, and inclined to jump up and turn the key. Presently, however, she said: "Come in!" The door was opened and closed, but she did not look round from where she sat in her big chair. Gently, humbly, Jorgen came forward and knelt down on one knee in front of her, hiding his face with his hands. There was nothing in the action that offended her. He was strongly agitated. She looked down upon the handsome head with the soft hair, and her eyes fell on the long, true musician's fingers. Something refined about him conciliated her.

But a mournful: "Shall I go!" was all that came from him. She waited a little, then in a low voice answered: "Yes." He let his hands drop, seized one of hers and pressed his lips to it--long, but reverently; then rose and left the room.

During the kiss, reverential as it was, a feeling of excitement pa.s.sed through Mary, of the same nature as that which, when he kissed and kissed again, had made her almost faint away. She sat still, long after he had gone, wondering at this. She once more recalled every particular of their struggle, and shuddered. "Why am I not angry with him?"

Another knock was heard. It was the maid with a request from Mrs. Dawes that Mary would come to her.

"You have let him go, child?"

Mrs. Dawes was in real distress. In her agitation she sat up, supporting herself on one arm. Her cap was awry upon her grey, short hair; the fat neck was redder than usual, as if she were too hot.

"Why did you let him go?" she repeated.

"It was his own wish."

"How can you say such a thing, child? He has been here complaining. He would give his life to stay! You don't understand in the least. You do nothing but reject his advances, and torture him."

She lay down again, in exhaustion and despair. The word "torture"

produced a momentary comic impression on Mary; but she herself had the feeling that she ought to have spoken to Jorgen before she let him go.

That he was to go, she was quite determined.

On these events followed rather a hard time for them all. A change in the weather affected Anders Krog unfavourably; he was unable to take sufficient nourishment, and had more difficulty in speaking. Mary was much with him; and at these times his eyes rested on her and followed her so persistently that she almost felt afraid.

Mrs. Dawes sent small notes in to him. She could not give up her writing, even in bed. He looked long at Mary each time one of these notes came; so she guessed what they were about.

Mrs. Dawes said to her one day: "You over-estimate your own powers when you believe that you can live here alone with us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, tired as you may be of society in spring, when winter comes it will exercise its attraction again. You are too much accustomed to it."

Mary made no answer at the time, but some days later--the weather had long been bad, and she had not been out--she said to Mrs. Dawes: "You may be right in believing that the life we have lived all these years has taken strong hold of me."

"Stronger than you have any idea of, child."

"But what would you have me do? I cannot leave here. Nor do I wish to."

"No. But you could have a change sometimes."

"How?"

"You know quite well what I mean, child. If you married Jorgen, he would live sometimes here with you, and you sometimes at Stockholm with him."

"A curious married life!"

"I don't believe you can combine the two things in any better way."

"Which two things?"

"What life demands of you and what you are accustomed to."

Mary felt that what Mrs. Dawes had just said expressed her father's wish. She knew that what gave him most anxiety was her future, and that a marriage with Jorgen which ensured Uncle Klaus's protection would give him a feeling of security. It oppressed her to think how little regard to her father's wishes she had hitherto shown.

These days, with their deliberations, struck her as resembling the recitative in an opera, the part which connects two important actions.

Now that the season was advancing, she felt like a captive when she looked out across the bay. When she stood on the hill, watching autumn's stern entrance in foaming breakers, she knew that it was bringing imprisonment for the winter. Her spirit stirred in rebellion; she was accustomed to something so different.

Something in her blood stirred too. Her tranquillity was gone. As a memory, Jorgen was not repellent. The atmosphere which he brought with him was actually sympathetic.

That her father had been incapacitated by an apoplectic shock, that Jorgen had been on the spot when this occurred, that he was her father's choice--was there not something in this that linked them together? Was there not fate in it?

To make her appearance at Jorgen's side in Stockholm,[C] and afterwards to be sent farther afield--could there be a more fitting conclusion to her life of travel, a better opportunity of turning to advantage all that she had learned during the course of it?

[C] The Foreign Office of Sweden was at that time the Foreign Office of Norway also.

Uncle Klaus should help them--help them generously. She knew her power over Uncle Klaus.