"This is very curious." He took up his hat and went out. Hardly five minutes later, Fru Rendalen came quickly in from the inner pa.s.sage.

"You excite yourself so, Tomas."

"Excite myself?" As soon as she saw that Nora was there she turned quickly towards him. "Hush," she said, and went towards her bedroom, he following her. Nora heard him talking quickly and without a pause; she could hear Fru Rendalen as well, parrying his words, and at last tearfully justifying herself. At length he went away; long afterwards Fru Rendalen came back, sad and sorrowful. "I have done a dreadfully foolish thing," said Nora shamefacedly.

Fru Rendalen made no reply; she continued to walk slowly up and down.

It was more than she could bear alone, and Nora's evident sympathy tempted her.

"G.o.d knows, I believed it was one of the best acts of my life, and now I am told it is the worst." Tears bedewed her spectacles, and as usual she turned her attention to them as she sat down. Nora rose and came forward sympathetically. "But, dear Fru Rendalen." She knelt down beside her. The old lady wanted this friendliness, wanted some one to confide in, and so Nora learned that "Tomasine" was Tomas's sister. The girl had begun well, but from the time that she had gone to America she fell into bad ways, and was sent home again, out of her mind. Fru Rendalen had paid for her till her death. She had been entirely silent about it to her son--why need he know of it? But now he fell upon her with the most frightful accusations. The dead girl had had the same right in her father's fortune as he; the law on this subject was vile, no honourable person could abide by it. In the most violent words he had cast his sister's misfortune in Fru Rendalen's face. _She_ was responsible for it.

Nora was dismayed. She had heard one or two things said since she had been up here, but this----!

Rendalen's manner during the time which followed frightened her, if possible, still more; she suffered almost as much as Fru Rendalen. He treated his mother distantly and coldly when he was obliged to be with her; as a rule he avoided her.

From the time he was a boy Tomas had at times felt her to be coa.r.s.e-grained and wanting in refinement, as though he had no relationship with her. The feeling had always yielded to grat.i.tude, and to the similarity in their views and purposes of life; and, whatever his feelings might be, he nourished a constant admiration for her strength and power of government. His ill-temper had always come suddenly, and pa.s.sed away directly.

It was quite the contrary at a later time.

His mother did not understand all this, neither did Karl, but they realised that he was unhappy. He seemed to them to be in a growing state of self-torment, and in this they were not mistaken. He would discover, with all the ingenuity of a _Kierkegaard_, that if _he_ had never existed, his sister would have lived happily. She would have had the property then, and the hereditary tendency would not have grown into insanity; or he would picture his sister brought up there with him, with Augusta, and with the other girls, in the garden, in the school; all those strangers had admittance here, she only had not--his sister, his father's daughter. That his mother could with an easy conscience buy herself free from this imperative duty, and that with a few paltry daler a month; that she had never felt that more was demanded of her!--what a crime had been committed against the unfortunate girl, and she had never once comprehended this!

In the midst of it all came the incident of Tora. His mother _insisted_ on speaking to him. The first time, as we know, she was interrupted; but when Tora was asleep she went in and confided it all to him. He perceived at once its bearing on the school, on her friends, and on himself, and fell into such a fury against Niels Furst, whom he had not loved before, as can be best described by his own exclamation: "If I had him here I would beat him to a jelly with my own two hands."

Although Tomas had no outward resemblance to his father, he could look so like him that it made Fru Rendalen shudder.

This very fear gave her courage. For a whole year she had seen how his impatience, irritability, and quickness of temper increased. When she herself aroused it she did no more than justify herself, or perhaps go away; he had really cowed her by degrees.

But now another was in question. Tora's despair forced her on; it had, too, an alarming resemblance to what she saw before her. When, after another overpowering outburst, he was about to rush away, she placed herself before him.

"Tomas, you frighten the life out of me with your violence. You give way to it more and more; it will grow beyond you at last, my son."

He shuddered, and grew deadly white.

"Yes, excess is excess in whatever way it shows itself, and I think you ought to be on your guard."

Her voice trembled; their eyes met and measured each other; an unhappiness and bitterness had risen into his, which wounded her.

"What, Tomas, may I not so much as warn you--I, your own mother? No, do not look at me like that. It is not _my_ fault. I have combated it as well as I could--yes, before you were born, Tomas, and I intend to combat it still. For the last year you have not struggled against your temper, and it is especially on me that you vent it."

He stood near the window, looking out. He turned now with a melancholy expression.

"What is it, Tomas? Tell me, in G.o.d's name, what it is."

But he turned away again, and laid his head on his arm.

"I do not understand you, Tomas, you are so supercilious to me. You say there is something naturally blind about me, and I know it. Yes, you often humiliate me--often when I am alone, and that I can bear; but often before others as well, and that you should not do. At all events, you ought to be able to bear having your faults pointed out to you by me."

She said the last words almost humbly; they worked strongly upon him.

He did not speak, but he turned and began to walk quickly up and down in visible agitation.

"If I could only understand what it is you are vexed with me for. It is not only what you rebuked me for---- Yes, Tomas, you cannot bear to hear that word; but I have had to endure more than words. It is not that alone; there is something more under all this. What is it? Why do you never talk, now, Tomas, either to me or Karl? You are unhappy; do you think we have not noticed it? I would so joyfully do anything for you. Even if I am inferior to you----"

"I cannot endure to hear that word," he cried.

"No, no, but you never will condescend to speak to me, so I am compelled to think--no, I will not say that, but you see yourself what you are; one must not so much as make use of a word before you, and you---- But I will be silent, I see that you are suffering, my son; if only you would remember that I suffer as well. Great heavens! must I ask permission before I remind you that this has been going on for a year? I have not the slightest idea what is the matter--not the slightest, Tomas, beyond what results from my want of ability. If there is anything that I can set right, only tell me--tell me, whatever it is. Can you not trust me?"

"Cannot you trust me?" he burst out, and threw himself down on the sofa, with his face in his hands.

And then it transpired that he thirsted for sympathy.

His was a warm, impulsive nature, which must have trust and affection if he were not to waste his whole life. The independence to which he had accustomed himself, and which had increased during his violent studies, his continual journeys, and by his different plans, had changed into a sense of deprivation--had been succeeded by the most terrible hunger when he was here in the midst of a daily recurring life, full of heartiness and devotion--devotion to one another, while he was always outside it. All his being yearned for what he saw. "Not the cursed littlenesses," as he expressed himself; "no, only to have trust as the groundwork of everything--trust, and nothing but trust."

They must just bear with him and take him as he was, _because they believed in him_. Otherwise, he should go to destruction.

Fru Rendalen sat there, she had taken his head on her lap; she listened and listened, her heart swelled, and she laid her spectacles aside, for they were no longer any use to her.

"He is right," she thought; "oh, how right he is!" One image rose up in her mind after another; above all, the incident with the teachers. She had believed them at once, and to humour them had taken the school away from him, and from that time forward had in a manner controlled it.

Till this moment she had lived in the blessed delusion that he was indifferent to this--nay, that it was a relief to him. And thus things began to dawn upon her which she might otherwise never have discovered.

She did not understand this delicate, sensitive nature. If his repressed powers did not recover their strength, the fault would be hers.

"You mean about the teachers, Tomas?" she asked, and she could hardly control her voice. He took her hands and held them while he enumerated his grievances.

There were, oh, such a string of them, both great and small--some so small that she had never been conscious of them. An answer, a word of advice in pa.s.sing, a remark to some one else, even a silent look in response to something he had said. In her distress, the worthy Fru Rendalen asked his pardon with voice and gesture and tender embraces, declaring that hereafter if he said he wished to go to the moon, she would believe him. She had never worked herself up before to such decided exaggeration, so that Tomas was forced to smile. Her memory was awakened. She remembered clearly how it had all happened, and how she had first lost confidence in him. It had been after his famous lecture; he had taken her much farther with him on to "slippery ice" than she had really the courage to go, and she had only discovered this afterwards. That was the foundation of it all. His power of persuasion, his gift for talking people over, and something indescribable added to this, carried one away; that was undoubtedly what the teachers had felt. Now unfortunately it is the way with mankind, that as soon as we discover that any one has carried us farther than it suits us to go, we not only try to fight against it--that would be right enough--but we look ever afterwards with mistrust at what that person says. Fru Rendalen knew that at times she had done this, and had tried to correct it; but she had had no idea how often she had done so, and still less how often he had noticed it. She knew that she hurt herself when she did so, but till now it had never occurred to her that she had hurt him--he seemed so superior and so distant.

There was a real reconciliation. It was broken off, and taken up again during the next few days, whenever it was possible.

The immediate fate of the unfortunate Tora was decided at the same time, but this was but a small settlement compared to the great one which had been accomplished. A confidence was now opened between them which on his side poured out with overwhelming wealth. The long privation of a year satisfied itself in two days; he was so spontaneous, so tender, and so loyal in the smallest things, that she more than admired him, she adored him. If when she was wrapt in her own thoughts, he came unexpectedly upon her, she coloured; you could see by her face when she heard his step--she guessed everything he wanted, and _everything_ he wished for was remarkable. If she saw that he was in a good humour, she sang--the worst thing she could have done, for no one ever yet discovered what it was she believed herself to be singing.

Nora would have felt unhappy if she had not as well been drawn into this great feast of reconciliation, which lasted from morning till evening, and from morning till evening again.

In the midst of all their joy, Tora's affairs, as has been said, were arranged. Tomas had soon come to a clear understanding of what should be done. The newspapers announced that Furst had been ordered to Stockholm, and he offered to take Tora there at once. Furst should be forced to marry her--not, of course, that she should live with such a scoundrel, but in order to give his name to her child and support to herself, so that she might learn to do something, and be able to care for her child. If Rendalen had to go to Furst's superior officers--nay, to the King himself--he would answer for it that the wretch should do her justice. None of those in the secret, least of all Fru Rendalen, doubted for a moment. They were surrounded by an atmosphere of confidence and hope.

The unfortunate Tora had from the first felt the deepest aversion to Rendalen's plan; the ground on which she consented to yield was consideration for the school and her friends, that as little shame as possible might fall on them. They had forborne to mention this, but it forced itself upon them.

Only in one particular was Rendalen's plan altered--Fru Rendalen would go instead of her son; his presence might have produced the very opposite of what they wished.

Two days after this plan had been conceived--three days after the violent interruption to the lecture--Fru Rendalen and Tora set off.

On the afternoon of the last day Fru Rendalen had become suddenly very despondent. It was known that there had been some worry about money, but that was always happening; and, indeed, it had been set right, but, notwithstanding, the gloom did not disappear. Rendalen went to her and tried to find out what it was. She put him off with excuses once or twice, but when he held her fast she was obliged to blurt out that she could not tell him; it was another person's secret--"not Tora's," she hastened to add. "Use your own eyes, and then you will not need to tempt me." He did use them, both on man and beast, but found it quite impossible to discover the cause of his mother's low spirits. She carried the secret away with her. He went round and asked everybody, but they were all equally obtuse.

It made some stir in the town that Fru Rendalen, at this time of the year, and in the midst of the school work, should go to Stockholm; and that if she needed a companion she should have chosen Tora Holm, who was ill.

Tora Holm's mother announced with some pride that probably her daughter would not return, for if Stockholm seemed to be the best place, she would continue her studies there. Every one had heard that Tora's talents were more than ordinary, so this seemed quite reasonable.

Fru Rendalen had been up to speak to Sheriff Tue and his wife about Nora. According to her ideas, Nora was cut out for teaching and directing. She became less self-a.s.sertive, too, the more responsibility she had, and she had ceased to be capricious.

Fru Rendalen asked if Nora might not move over to "The Estate," and during her absence overlook the house and school, and take charge of the money and books. Afterwards she might help with them, and perhaps perfect herself in school subjects. Both parents gave their unqualified consent to this at once, they had precisely the same opinion of their daughter as Fru Rendalen. Her father added, smiling, that she seemed to have no notion of falling in love. "No," her mother observed gladly; "she has no inclination for marriage."

At the house and in the school, all thought it strange that the youngest teacher, a pupil a year ago, should be put over them; but it was certainly true that Nora displayed her best qualities--she was clear-headed, ready, and marvellously helpful.

She got on well with Rendalen, he seemed to find pleasure in conversing with her. "Conversing with" is not the right expression--_he_ talked and she listened, but then he never did otherwise; he always went away when others joined in.