But then the peasants smashed up the yacht which was lying in the steamer track through the ice, and then it was impossible to get across as they were too weak to drag out another boat. People had begun to damage everything of Tord’s that they could lay hands on, nets, piers, boats; so hated was he now. And Tord no longer swore and raged. He only walked about like a dumb animal for days and weeks together. And about that time the lamp oil also ran out, so that they had to sit there in the darkness in the evenings after the logs in the fireplace had burnt out. So they sat there in the dark and dared not let each other go and still they couldn’t help nagging. She was ill, and she wanted to die merely to annoy him. And he tried to keep quiet until she should go mad.
“Yes, this has been a terribly long winter,” said Dagmar, “a terribly long winter.”
After which she was quiet for a moment and sat there rocking her head and staring straight in front of her.
Laura had risen from the table and stood warming her back at the open fireplace:
“But why, in God’s name, woman, why have you not left him long ago?” she exclaimed.
Dagmar started. It seemed as if she had been cruelly torn out of the voluptuous intoxication of at last shouting out her misery.
“Why didn’t I leave him?” she mumbled; “it must be because I am mad, because he has infected me, because I have not spoken to a woman for years. But now there must be an end. Now I must get away. Fancy, I was quite young when I came here! Quite young and pretty! And look what he has made of me now!”
She tore her frock open and showed her thin neck and shrunken chest.
“Yes, that’s how I am now. I must get away. I must come with you to town. He says he will shoot me if I run away—but that doesn’t matter. I can’t live another winter out here anyhow.”
During Dagmar’s outpourings Stellan had been sitting motionless sucking an unlighted cigar. Now he exchanged a quick glance with Laura. Unpleasantness and scandal threatened from all sides. They must be careful. He called in the men and ordered them to clear the table and take the things down to the boat. Then he turned to Dagmar:
“To take you with us now is absolutely out of the question,” he said coldly. “But if you can persuade Tord to go abroad, preferably out of Europe, I am prepared to give you some money.”
Dagmar had begun to pull out some clothes at random and put them in a knapsack. She looked up and shook her head:
“You don’t understand,” she muttered hurriedly. “He is impossible. It is impossible to talk to him. I must get away!”
Stellan rose:
“Goodbye,” he said. “Thank you. We must get away before it grows dark. Think over what I have said.”
Dagmar stamped on the floor:
“No,” she cried. “I must come with you! You can put me ashore wherever you like. I can very well sleep in the gutter tonight! But I must get away!”
Laura and Stellan walked quickly out. Dagmar came after them, without hat, in her red silk frock and with her bundle in her hand. The gale tore her untidy fair hair. Mumbling, crying, stumbling, she ran after Laura and Stellan down the rock hillside.
“If you don’t take me with you, I will throw myself in the water!”
And so she did. When by Stellan’s orders the man pulled in the gangway and the boat began to back out she flung herself in, scorning death, with bundle and silk frock and all.
The men had to pick her up. Pale, shivering, dripping, but full of the determination of despair she clung to the mast on the foredeck. But Stellan steered into the pier again. …
At that moment a grey figure appeared round the corner of the shed. It was Tord. For hours he had been sitting there in the smell of herrings, amongst torn nets and worm-eaten decoy ducks, and staring at an ant’s trail that began in a hole in a floor board and disappeared between some stones at the side of the lake. Now he walked halfway out along the tottering dilapidated pier. He was dressed in a worn fur cap, grey Iceland sweater and torn Lapp boots. In his hand he held a rifle. His rough unshaven face was as grey as a lichen, shrunken, and set in hopeless defiance. For a moment he stood motionless, staring at Dagmar, who still tremblingly clung to the mast. The gust of wind ruffled the pools on deck and tore at her wet ragged skirt. The vibration of the motor set the water in the whole of the little harbour nervously trembling. It was as if the water, the boat and the woman were shivering from the same cold squall.
“I can jump into the water again,” she cried.
Stellan was going to jump ashore, but Tord fingered his rifle.
“Back,” he shouted. “Let go! You shall not land at my pier again. To hell with you all!”
Yes, that is what Tord cried out. For years he had watched over Dagmar like a red Indian, so that she should not run away. But now he suddenly stood there telling her to go to hell!
Laura had settled down comfortably on the bridge. She pulled Stellan’s arm:
“Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Let us see what he will do. This is interesting. I have not seen Tord for many years. He really is interesting.”
But Stellan took no notice of her. He was ashamed before his men and stepped up to Tord. He stood there straight and stiff in his yachting suit with the mien of an officer before a drunken recruit.
“This won’t do,” he said in a low tone. “Damn it, what a figure you cut! You are completely impossible. If you will take
