It was a bright evening in the beginning of June that
they disembarked from the steamer, and at once left
the town in the boat which was to take them to Hellebergene.
They did not know any of the boatmen, although they
were from the estate; the boat also was new.
But the islands among which they were soon rowing
were the old ones, which had long awaited them and
seemed to have swum out to meet them, and now to move
one behind the other so that the boat might pass between
them. Neither mother nor son spoke to the men,
nor did they talk to each ether. In thus keeping
silence they entered into each other’s feelings,
for they were both awestruck. It came upon them
all at once. The bright evening light over sea
and islands, the aromatic fragrance from the land,—the
quick splash of a little coasting steamer as she passed
them—nothing could cheer them.
Their life lay there before them, bringing responsibilities
both old and new. How would all that they were
coming to look to them, and how far were they themselves
now fitted for it?
Now they had passed the narrow entrance of the bay,
and rounded the last point beneath the crags of Hellebergene.
The green expanse opened out before them, the buildings
in its midst. The hillsides had once been crowned
and darkly clad with luxuriant woods. Now they
stood there denuded, shrunk, formless, spread over
with a light green growth leaving some parts bare.
The lowlands, as well as the hills which framed them,
were shrunk and diminished, not in extent but in appearance.
They could nut persuade themselves to look at it.
They recalled it all as it had been and felt themselves
despoiled.
The buildings had been newly painted, but they looked
small by contrast with those which they had in their
minds. No one awaited them at the landing, but
a few people stood about near the gallery, looking
embarrassed—or were they suspicious?
The travellers went into Fru Kaas’s old rooms,
both up stairs and down. These were just as they
had left them, but how faded and wretched they looked!
The table, which was laid for supper, was loaded with
coarse food like that at a farmer’s wedding.
The old lime-trees were gone. Fru Kaas wept.
Suddenly she was reminded of something. “Let
us go across to the other wing,” she said this
as if there they would find what was wanting.
In the gallery she took Rafael’s arm; he grew
curious. His father’s old rooms had been
entirely renovated for him. In everything, both
great and small, he recognised his mother’s
designs and taste. A vast amount of work, unknown
to him, an endless interchange of letters and a great
expenditure of money. How new and bright everything
looked! The rooms differed as much from what
they had been, as she had endeavoured to make Rafael’s
life from the one that had been led in them.
They two had a comfortable meal together after all,
followed by a quiet walk along the shore. The
wide waters of the bay gleamed softly, and the gentle
ripple took up its old story again while the summer
night sank gently down upon them.
