A Riverside Romance. A novel

Front matter

A RIVERSIDE ROMANCE. Jl I^IVERglDE I^OTCE A NOVEL. BY MRS. EDWARD KENNARD, Author of The Hunting Girl,' ' The Catch ol the County,' Sporting Tales,' crv. " It is the fatal spell of destiny, which obliges us to feed our grief from our own hand, to prolong the existence of our vulture, to throw into the furnace of our punishment and expiation, our powers, our qualities, our very virtues " Amiel's Journal. IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON F. V. WHfTE & CO 14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C PRINTED BT KEI.LY AND CO. LLSIITEP, 182, 183 & 184, HIGH IIOLBOKN, LOMHIK, W.C, AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. CONTENTS CHAP TAGE I. — An Alien in the Land i II. —The First Salmon of the Season 9 III. — Herr Brandt Remonstrates . . 17 IV. — Lisa. 25 V. — Liberty, Equality and Fraternity . 32 VI. — In Dire Distress .... 40 VII. — A Fair Pleader 48 VIII. — The Young Bird Begins to Stretch its Wings 56 IX. — The Enemy 66 X. — Going a-Fishing .... 74 XI. — A Grand Afternoon's Sport . . 81 XII. — The Ewe Lamb Wanders . . 90 XIII. — She Returns to the Fold . . 98 XIV. — "Promise Never to Marry" . 105 XV. — A Maiden's Meditation . . . 113 XVI. — The Reward of Merit . . . 120 XVII.— "The Laxe Hul" . . . .127 XVIII. — Capital Sport . . . . 135 XIX. — In the Cool of the Evening . . 142 XX.— The Wolf Shows His Teeth .

CONTENTS. VI CHAP. rAGE XXI.— Jansen Grows Jealous . . 158 XXII.— Up in the Forest . . . 168 XXIII.— Frue Brandt to the Rescue . 175 XXIV. — Opening the Viking's Grave . 182 XXV. — Finding the Treasure . .190 XXVI.— Jansen Shows Fight . . 197 XXVII.—" She Never Told Her Love " . 205 XXVIII. — Didrik Goes to a Wedding . 213 XXIX. — The Result of Ignoring Wifely Admonition . . . .219 XXX. — Dick Seeks Advice . . . 228 XXXI. — The Fish of the Season . . 235 XXXII.— " Darling, I Want You" . 242 XXXIII. — In Peril of Her Life . .250 XXXIV. — True to Her Tenets . . 257 XXXV. — Things Reach a Crisis . . 264 XXXVI. — Surrender of the Enemy . 270 XXXVII.— "Your Father's Name" . . 277 XXXVIII. — " On the Heads of the Children" .... 284 XXXIX. — Conclusion

Chapter I

an alien in the land. It was the first week in June. After a cold winter and an unusually late spring, summer, with her genial rays and mellow tints, was at last beginning to steal over the little valley of Fosdalen. Fosdalen was a remote, sequestered spot, far removed from the beaten track of tourists. The valley, or rather gorge, was singularly narrow, from base to base of the immense snow-crowned mountains which hemmed it in, could not have measured more than a hundred yards. It formed a kind of hollow, apparently surrounded by barren cliffs, on whose precipitous grey slopes, here and there, grew a few hardy birch trees and straggly tufts of coarse grass. Looking at them from below they seemed almost perpendicular ; nevertheless goat, and even sheep, found a scanty living here. In the winter-time, they lent a severe austerity to the scene, and gave rise to a curious sense of oppression.

In order to gain a glimpse of the outside world, it was necessary to walk a couple of miles along the narrow, dusty track which did duty for road, then, rounding a point, one came suddenly upon the fjord. Gazing at the smooth, far reaching expanse of water, with its unsullied surface and clear reflections, the spectator heaved a sigh of relief. Behind him lay constraint and confinement, ahead, freedom and the delights which liberty brings. He felt as a man feels who has recently escaped from prison. The fjord was an off-shoot of one of Norway's best known and most-frequented inland seas, the Sogne Fjord, but in order to reach the latter, one had to take open boat and row about seven miles to the small village of Hoitvand. Here a steamer from Bergen touched once a week, bringing supplies, letters, newspapers, etc.

Her arrival was always looked upon as a great event, and the villagers flocked down to the landing-stage, which they regarded as a fashionable lounge, and stared with curiosity at any strangers, for during the summer months the steamer brought great numbers of English and American travellers, who came to Hoitvand for the sake of its scenery, and for the excellent trout fishing to be obtained in the laxe from which the village derived its name. Not one in a hundred penetrated as far as Fosdalen ; now and again some stalwart fellow, knapsack on back, might be met trudging up the valley, but visitors were few and far between and mostly Norwegians, who had business to transact connected with the buying and selling of wood. Altogether, the inhabitants of Fosdalen were justified in imagining that they could live and die there, " the world forgetting, by the world forgot."

There were not many of them. The land was too poor, too rocky and uncultivable to support a large population. To live was not easy, where Nature offered so little encourage ment. Far as eye could reach not more than half-a dozen cottages were to be seen. They were distinguishable by a splash of green against the grey boulders, which in the majority of cases represented a miniature hay-field, a plot of potatoes and one of barley. The houses were built of wood, each plank over-lapping, and were mostly painted a deep red, or else yellow ochre picked out with broad bands of white. They resembled the toy houses in a Noah's ark, and looked equally small when compared with the mighty hills which overhung them. There was one, however, larger than its companions. It had white walls and a red roof, and bore a prosperous appearance.

It stood on a knoll of rising ground at the far end of the valley. Close in its rear rose a frowning precipice, over three thousand feet in height. The front windows looked down on the Fosdalen River, which wound a foaming and tempestuous course to the fjord. It came from a great glacier, far away in the heart of the mountains, and its beautiful blue-green ice-water crested with myriads of white wavelets offered a charming contrast to the yellow-green banks. Later on, the latter were adorned by a rich crop of purple clover, waving grasses, red sorrel and many-coloured wild flowers. The pink dog-roses showed their starry heads, the wild blue periwinkle peeped out from its lowly bed, buttercups, meadow sweet, white - headed parsley and yellow rape flourished in profusion. AN ALIEN IN THE LAND. 3 But the season was still young, and their beauty was therefore in its infancy.

The Fosdalen was a famous river for salmon, and they ran to an immense size, its strong waters seeming to be peculiarly adapted to their growth and development. So fierce indeed was the current, that only about three-quarters of a mile of the stream was sishable. It made up, however, in quality for what it wanted in quantity. It was jointly owned by the Priest- Herr Brandt, who lived on the Fosdalen Fjord — Jansen, a peasant proprietor, who possessed great pine woods and most of the land in the valley, and by his tenant, a man named Didrik Peterhof, who shared the fishing rights of the best pool. Jansen and the priest cared nothing for fishing, and when they wanted a salmon, their way of getting one was either with net or trap. But Didrik knew how to cast with a fly, and was passionately fond of the sport ; every stone and hole in the river was familiar to him from his boyhood.

The sun had gone behind the hills. Even in summer, the valley was in shadow every afternoon at five o'clock. The long Norwegian twilight lingered, cool and soft, and although it was now nearly nine she seemed intent on putting night to flight. The tall mountains in the distance, which effectually shut out all view of the fjord, and stood there like mighty sentinels guarding the door to the world beyond, were bathed in a fine, ultramarine mist. The sky above was blue — blue and tender, and of that deep, un fathomable hue which defies description. Not a cloud ruffled its serene surface ; the sun-sweetened air was still warm, and laden with fragrant odours. Inside the white-walled, red-roofed house sat a woman. Although superior to its neighbours it was at best but a modest abode. On the ground floor were a good-sized sitting room and kitchen.

Above, were two bedrooms and a small closet or "camera," where slept the servant. Out side were sundry wooden structures which from a distance lent importance to the edifice. In one the pig resided, in another the fowls sojourned, a third was stacked full of wood, ready chopped for household fuel, whilst yet a fourth was used as a cellar, where were stored empty barrels, garden tools, a pile of " fladbrod," or barley-meal cakes, and a variety of miscellaneous articles. In front of the cottage, for it was nothing more, was a i* little grass field which sloped down to the river. A dun coloured pony, with a hogged mane and flowing tail, and a dark stripe down his back, contentedly cropped at the growing herbage. A piece of ground close to the house had been railed off with young pine and saplings.

It was about twenty yards square, and here some loving hand had planted a few hardy (lowers. Against the porch climbed a rose bush, its buds beginning to swell and to show the delicate leaves tightly curled beneath their outer covering of green. A clump of yellow daffodils had quite a home like aspect, not destroyed, but rather increased, by their proximity to a bed of humble cabbages. The sitting-room was bare almost to plainness ; nevertheless, it bore the stamp of refined female occupancy. The floor was painted a light grey, but a square Persian carpet of harmonious colouring adorned the centre. From the windows depended clean white curtains, caught back with the bright worsted garters in familiar use among the peasantry. The principal ones looked out upon the river, whose never-ceasing roar dwarfed every other sound.

The view was grand, if limited. In vain the eye sought to pierce the walls of solid rock which faced it on all sides. There was a third and smaller window in the apartment, opposite the other two. It confronted the towering precipice before alluded to. In this quarter nothing could be seen save massive granite heights patched with lichen, and scarred by deep crevices and indentations. In order to see the sky it was necessary to stoop almost down to the floor. The room was evidently used as dining and drawing-room in one. On one side, next to the precipice, stood a table covered with a white cloth, showing indica tions of an approaching meal. On that nearest the river was another table, round in shape, and strewn with books, work and flowers. A couple of cushioned armchairs faced the principal windows.

The rest of the furniture was distinguished by its exceeding simplicity. Janet Carson — reputed by the peasants rich to a degree — was invariably termed Frue Carson. Her simple neigh bours looked up to her, because she and her daughter, Agatha, had fresh meat sent to them once a week from Bergen, and could afford to eat white bread made of fine, wheaten meal. Their custom was, to kill a pig in the early autumn whilst harvest was proceeding, then salt and dry it, AN ALIEN IN THE LAND. 5 Until it was as hard as a piece of shoe leather. During the winter, the flesh was sparingly cut into little strips and eaten with a thin cake of "Fladbrod." The taste of fresh meat was well nigh unknown to them. All the year round, they lived on barley-meal porridge, milk and potatoes, with an occasional piece of " Gammel Kjod " (old meat).

Therefore, they reverenced Frue Carson for her wealth and the magnificence of her state. These simple, child-like people, worshipped money quite as devoutly as their more civilized brethren of European towns. Only, there was this difference between them. Their worship possessed no element of snobbishism. It was artless, ignorant, and free from self-seeking ; being born rather of grinding poverty, than of a fawning and obsequious spirit, such as is common to cultivated parasites. They did not covet — they admired. In reality Mrs. Carson was far from rich. Her income did not exceed three hundred a year, but she had enough for her wants. In this far-away valley there was no temptation to spend, and she had even saved a little fortune for her daughter Agatha. Precisely fifteen years ago, Mrs. Carson had come to Fosdalen.

Her arrival had caused great wonder to the natives. They themselves had been born in the place and were tied to it by long association, but they could not understand a lady — for she evidently was one — voluntarily choosing Fosdalen as a place of residence. Bergen or Christiania now — and they would not have been surprised. They had heard that they were fine, flourishing cities, but the valley offered few attractions, especially to people who were not obliged to work hard for their daily bread. Mrs. Carson was a mystery to them, and had ever since continued to be one. Her sayings and doings were quoted and discussed. They formed a very considerable item in their conversation, and one of which they apparently never wearied. She was good to them and charitable. Consequently, they liked her: and yet with their liking there was always mingled a feeling of awe.

They realized that some invisible barrier divided them, and that her acts, however kindly, were inspired rather by Duty and Conscience, than by that heart-felt sympathy which alone truly gains the affections of the poor. Still, no one had a serious word to say against her, especially as she often gave them soup made from the bones of fresh meat, and some times even a loaf of white bread manufactured by the baker at Hoitvand, and which he supplied to the hotel there. Nevertheless, when they were by themselves, they would often say to each other—" It is strange that she and her child should have corne to settle here, so far away from their own country and relations. We have read that the people in England are very rich, and if she came only in the summer-time for change of air, one could understand it.

But to live here year after year, and never move out of the valley— not even to shop at Hoitvand, for she always sends Kristie or else Didrik Peterhof to meet the steamer there must be something queer." And then, they shook their heads and made all kinds of conjectures, but as they had no means of ascertaining their accuracy, Frue Carson remained what she had always been — a puzzle. She lived amongst them, stern-faced, sad-eyed and incomprehensible. Although she might adopt their manners, their customs and their country, she was not, and never could be, one of themselves. They looked upon her as an alien in the land. For the rest — The White House — as it was called, afforded little subject of gossip. Mrs. Carson saw no company, and the only people on terms of intimacy with her were the priest and his wife.

This good man had once saved Agatha's life, when, as a little thing, the girl had tumbled into the river and been swept away by the current. He had plunged boldly in to the rescue — an act which the mother never forgot. Henceforth, he made close friends with the lonely and inscrutable Englishwoman, who had hitherto repelled his advances, with a brusqueness amounting almost to rude ness. But even he had the same seeling about her as the peasants. Anjnvisible wall seemed to divide them. True, he had bored a small hole in the barrier of her reserve, but he could not succeed in demolishing it altogether. This knowledge took away something from the pleasure of their intercourse. It was always to a certain extent formal and constrained. He would no more have dared to speak the thoughts that were in his mind to Mrs. Carson's face than fly.

Only to the wife of his bosom, good, simple Anna, did he venture now and again to give them utterance.' At such seasons, he would say, "She is a woman whose real nature it is impossible to divine. I know her on the sur face only. That is the side which she studiously presents to our Fosdalen world. But mark my words, Anna, that is AN ALIEN IN THE LAND. 7 not the true Frue Carson. She has a history, and if I am not mistaken, that history has marred her life, and taught her to avoid her fellow-countrymen. Depend upon it, there is more than meets the eye." Anna nodded her sleek, grey head, and said : "Ja, ja." Whether she understood what her husband said or not, that was her invariable method of answering his remarks. If unchanging assent did not afford much originality of opinion, it yet had a soothing effect, and was eminently satisfactory in a wife.

" My Anna never contradicts me by any chance," Herr Brandt was wont to aver with pride, whenever the shortcomings of married ladies were under discussion. " No matter what I say, she always agrees." Happy man ! And yet his intellect languished, in spite of its uncontested superiority. He had nothing to sharpen it upon. But to return to Mrs. Carson. As she stood looking impatiently out of the window, let us profit by the oppor tunity to take a glance at her. A handsome woman and a sad. That was the first impression conveyed to the spectator's mind. Her large, dark eyes were indescribably mournful in expression. Their black, fathomless pupils had a peculiar pathos. The soul of the woman seemed to look out of them, and say : " I have suffered — suffered, until I have grown dull, and old, and callous with suffering.

And yet I am not really old, nor callous either. Would to God that I were." They were wonderful eyes — a little sunken — a little hollow — but full of a suppressed fire, which flashed from them periodically. They fascinated the beholder, and reduced every other feature to insignificance by their sombre sparkle. And yet the face was not one to be lightly passed over. Its features were fine, though set like a mask. The complexion was almost startling in its death like pallor. It had not a vestige of colour, and made the lustreless black hair, which formed a frame to the counten ance, appear doubly black. A striking face, even now, and one that must have been very beautiful in its youth, before it acquired that rigid and impenetrable look. What was Janet Carson's secret ? Were the uncultured peasants right in supposing that her past had been full of incident, and of a kind which she strove to forget ?

Or was Nature alone responsible for a visage, which, from its appearance, might have been sculp tured out of stone ? Ah ! what mystery there is in life— in the earth, the air, the water • but more especially in the human soul. We laugh, we talk, but hidden deep there is nearly always some sore, which we would fain hide from the world. Mrs. Carson's figure was tall and commanding, spare almost to leanness, and her dress scrupulously plain. The fashion of it revealed that its wearer no longer cared for personal adornment, and contented herself with a sober neatness. Her black gown, buttoned from throat to waist, and unrelieved by any dash of colour, was severe in its simplicity, as were also the white linen collar and cuffs at her throat and hands. And yet she was not an old woman. She had not long passed her fortieth year, and many women at that age still keep up a show of youth.

They are fond of their clothes, and at any rate are not altogether indifferent to appearance. For fifteen years, Mrs. Carson had looked out on that foaming river and the silent hills beyond. Her youth — her beauty — both lay buried in this narrow valley, remote from the tide of human traffic. When she first came to Fosdalen, she could have been little more than a girl. Surely, at that time, if not now, she must have had longings and aspirations natural to her age. No friends or relations from England had visited her in all those years. She did not even receive foreign letters. This was known at the Hoitvand post office. It was as if, deliberately and of her own free will, she had cut herself off from her native land. Many and many a time had she stood thus at the window of her little sitting-room, gazing with dark, unseeing eyes at the turbulent river, hurrying, splashing and leaping on its downward course.

" Where were her thoughts ? What occupied them ? " The peasants, as they trudged homeward after their daily toil was ever, often rested for a minute, and looked at her with a kind of superstitious awe. Didrik had once laughingly declared her to be a witch in disguise. It might be true. The more ignorant amongst their number were inclined to believe there was some foundation for the assertion. THE FIRST SALMON OF THE SEASON. 9 Some one entered the room, causing the painted wooden floor to creak. Mrs. Carson gave a start. " Is that you, Agatha ? " she cried eagerly. " No," answered Kristie, the maid of all work, setting a water bottle upon the dining-table. "It is I."

Chapter II. The First Salmon Of The Season

Mrs. Carson made a gesture of disappointment. "Agatha is late to-night," she murmured. "I hope nothing has happened." Since Agatha's narrow escape from drowning, she always felt uneasy whenever the girl was long out of her sight. Her nervous system had received a shock on that occasion from which it had never wholly recovered. Kristie seemed to know intuitively what was passing through her mistress's mind, for in soothing accents and with the familiarity of a confidential servant, she said : " You need not be uneasy on Froken's account. About an hour ago, Didrik Peterhof sent a boy to the house, saying he was to fetch her rod. It appears that, in spite of the late season, a number of salmon have been seen jumping in the fjord and at the mouth of the river." Mrs. Carson shrugged her shoulders with an air of mingled resignation and relief.

"Ah! if Agatha has gone fishing, that accounts for her being so late. Time is of no importance when there is a salmon in question. Nevertheless, the child must be hungry, and supper is waiting." Kristie presently withdrew, and the sound of fish frizzling in a frying pan was audible, proceeding from the kitchen. Left alone, Mrs. Carson went out into the garden. She stood there, her tall figure clearly defined against the white wall of the house, shading her eyes with her hand • for in spite of the lateness of the hour, the heavens were flushed with a rosy after-glow, which struck the river here and there, causing it to gleam with a reddish light. By-and-bye, the stern face softened. Its expression grew wondrously soft, and a smile played about the corners of Frue Carson's mouth. Far off, she spied a young girl, accompanied by an old man.

They were laughing and talking. Their spirits were evidently excellent, and as they drew nearer, she saw that they carried between them a sine, silvery salmon. A cord was fastened round its tail and gills. Agatha held one end, Herr Brandt the other. From the slowness of their gait, as they ascended the hill which led to the house, it was easy to tell that the fish weighed heavy. At length, they threw him down in triumph at Mrs. Carson's feet, and both bearers uttered an exclamation of relief. Agatha's face was flushed. Her beautiful dark eyes sparkled. She resembled her mother ; only she was young and happy, and her cheeks wore a delicate, pomegranate-like bloom. She had a finely-balanced figure. There was something graceful and free about it. She was nineteen years old, had never known a care or sorrow in her life, and looked the picture of health.

She wa* dressed in a dull red gown, which harmonised deliciously with the green of the valley and the grey of the mountains. Her dress might not have been of the latest fashion according to Parisian ideas, but it was strikingly picturesque and set off her beauty to advantage. Mrs. Carson's eyes dwelt lovingly on her daughter. She saw in her a brighter, softer, fairer edition of herself — what she might have been under different cir cumstances, had Fate developed the tender, rather than the hard side of her nature. "The first salmon of the season," she exclaimed. " Hurrah ! Agatha, I congratulate you. You have indeed done well." "Yes, mother," returned the girl, "and isn't he a beauty ? He weighs close upon thirty pounds. Herr Brandt and I have had quite a business to haul him up from the fjord.

My arms ache still." " Why should either of you have undertaken the task ? Where is Didrik Peterhof ? " And Mrs. Carson glanced inquiringly at the Priest, who stood rubbing his brow with a cotton pocket handkerchief. " Ah ! " he said, significantly, " thereby hangs a tale. But Froken Agatha had better tell it you in her own fashion, especially as I only arrived late on the scene, and barely in time to help in landing the fish." A shadow passed over the girl's face. " That tiresome Didrik has been drinking again," she said soberly. " He has made me so many promises of amendment that I really believed them. I am dreadfully THE EIRST SALMON OF THE SEASON. 11 disappointed, mother. He went to Hoitvand this morning to fetch a bag of flour, and relapsed into his old habits. I begin to give up all hope of him.

He was just as bad as ever this afternoon." And she gave a sigh. " I never did place much faith in Didrik's good reso lutions," said Mrs. Carson. " He has not sufficient strength of character to adhere to them. Besides," she added severely, for Didrik was no favourite of hers, "once a drunkard, always a drunkard." " Yet there are some men who reform, and cure them selves of bad habits," observed Herr Brandt, to whom this assertion seemed hard. "Mighty few," rejoined Frue Carson. "Sooner or later, they invariably break out, precisely as our friend Didrik has done, and will continue to do until the end of the chapter. 1 have no faith in the reformation of such a man." " We must hope for the best," said Herr Brandt, who by temperament was a thorough optimist. " Didrik is young. At seven and twenty, a man has yet time to turn over a new leaf.

We must not despair of him altogether, especially as he is a nice enough fellow when sober." " Quite so," assented Agatha. " He can work very well when he chooses. Personally, I always stand up for Didrik. He is such a good sportsman, and is so kind in letting me fish in his pool. Nevertheless, I confess I lost all patience with him this afternoon. Imagine what hap pened, mother," and Agatha turned to Mrs. Carson. "As you probably know, Didrik sent up to the house for my rod, and then we went down to the mouth of the river together. He fished the upper part, and I the lower. As it chanced, I had the luck. Before long, a fine salmon rose to my fly. He missed it, however, and you can imagine my despair. Upon this I waited for three or four minutes, and then made another cast over him. Immediately, there was a mighty swirl in the water, followed by a second's painful un certainty, and then — I had him fast."

" Was it the fish that I see here ? " asked Mrs. Carson, smiling at her daughter's enthusiasm, for Agatha was a veritable disciple of Father Izaak Walton. " I am quite interested in the matter." " Yes, mother, the same. But oh ! you don't know how nearly I lost him. If it had not been for Herr Brandt's opportune - resence, we should have had no 'lax ' (salmon) for our supper to-night. Didrik was too provoking for words." "How was that, Agatha ? " queried Mrs. Carson. "I always understood you to say that he was such a splendid gaffer, and scarcely ever made a wrong stroke." " So he is when sober. That is the aggravating part. However, to go on with my story. I had thought Didrik's manner a little queer earlier in the day. He was so curiously drowsy and absent, and did nothing but chew tobacco with the consequent disagreeable result ; still I did not like to suspect him wrongfully, and hoped I might be mistaken.

The fish played hard for about twenty minutes, then he gave in, and Didrik had an absurdly easy chance of gaffing him. It was not even necessary for him to take off his shoes and stockings and go into the water, as he generally does. He missed in the most shameful manner, and then I knew for certain what ailed him. Again and again he made frantic thrusts at the salmon with the point of the gaff. I was afraid he would cut my line, and at last fairly lost my temper. Turning upon him with righteous wrath, I said straight out to his face, ' You miserable fellow ! You have been drinking again, and ought to be ashamed of yourself ! ' " " I am glad you said that," said Mrs. Carson approvingly. " And what reply did Didrik make ? " " He made none. He hung his head and looked foolish. He had just enough sense left to know that he had misde meaned.