Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [121]
No, she was not ill. It was just that she had thought it over—.
So that was what she meant to say, that she regretted her promise, that perhaps she couldn’t love him?
Yes, that was it.... “But forgive me, and don’t feel let down!” She had thought it over last night, all night long, and found it more and more impossible. Well, she had also consulted her heart, and she was afraid she couldn’t love him as she ought to.
Ah, that was it! Pause. But didn’t she think she might get to love him in time?1 He had looked forward to the chance of starting a new life. Oh, he would be so kind to her!
Moved by this, she pressed her hand to her bosom; but her eyes were still lowered and she didn’t say anything.
So she didn’t believe, did she, that he could make her love him later on, when they would always be together?
She whispered, “No.” A few tears trickled down from her long eyelashes.
Pause. His body was shaking, the blue veins in his temples stood out sharply.
Oh dear. Well, there was nothing to be done about that! She mustn’t cry anymore on that account. The whole thing couldn’t be helped. She had to forgive him for pressing her with his entreaties. He had meant it for the best—.
She quickly grasped his hand and held it firmly. Rather surprised by this sudden emotion, he asked, Was there something in particular about him that was offensive to her? He would correct it, remedy it, if it was in his power. Perhaps she didn’t like that he—
Suddenly cutting him off, she said, “No, there’s nothing, nothing! But it’s all so unthinkable; for example, I don’t even know who you are. Well, I do know you wish me well, don’t misunderstand me—”
“Who I am, for example?” he said, looking at her. He’s instantly struck by a suspicion—he understands that something has undermined her confidence in him, something hostile that has forced its way between them. “Has anyone been to see you today?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer.
“I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter, I have no right to ask you any more questions.”
“Oh, I was so happy last night!” she said. “Good God, how I waited for the morning to come, and how I waited for you too! But today I’m full of doubts.”
“Just tell me one thing: so you don’t believe I’ve been honest with you, you still suspect me, in spite of everything, isn’t that so?”
“No, not always. Please, don’t be angry with me! You’re such a stranger here, I only know what you tell me; you may mean it sincerely now but regret it all later. How can I know what ideas may enter your head?”
Pause.
He puts his hand under her chin, raises her head slightly and says, “And what else did Miss Kielland say?”
Bewildered, she gave him a timid glance that betrayed her dismay. “I didn’t say that, did I?” she exclaimed. “No, I didn’t say that!”
“No, no, you didn’t.” He became lost in thought, his eyes staring unseeingly at one spot. “No, you didn’t say it was her, you didn’t mention her name, you may feel easy on that score.... And yet, Miss Kielland has certainly been here; she came in through that door and left the same way after accomplishing her errand. It was so important to her that she simply had to go out today, in this weather! How strange! ... Dear, kind Martha, you good soul, I kneel before you because you are good! Trust me in spite of everything, trust me just for tonight, and I’ll show you later how little I mean to deceive you. Don’t take back your promise. Think it over again, won’t you? Think it over till tomorrow and let me see you then2—”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she broke in.
“You don’t know? So you’d rather get rid of me once and for all now, this evening? Oh well.”
“I would rather come visit you sometime after you—well, after you’re married and it’s finished—the house, that is—I mean after ... I would rather be a maid in your house. Yes, I would.”
Pause. Her mistrust of him had already struck deep roots; no longer able to overcome it, he couldn’t set her mind at ease as before. And he felt, regretfully, that the more he talked, the more she slipped away