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Boyhood in Norway-Part10_Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen(1848-1895)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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was his duty as a servant of God to stamp out and root out at all

hazards? Yes, there could be no doubt of it; he had but



exercised his legal right. He had done what was demanded of him

by laws human and divine. He had nothing to reproach himself



for. And yet, with a haunting persistency, the image of the

despairing pilot praying God for vengeance stared at him from



every dark corner, and in the very church bells, as they rang out

their solemninvitation to the house of God, he seemed to hear



the rhythm and cadence of the heart-broken father's imprecation.

In the depth of his heart there was a still small voice which



told him that, say what he might, he had acted cruelly. If he

put himself in Atle Pilot's place, bound as he was in the iron



bonds of superstition, how different the case would look? He saw

himself, in spirit, rowing in a lonely boat through the stormy



winter night to his pastor, bringing his only son, who was at the

point of death, and praying that the pastor's daughter might lay



her hands upon him, as Christ had done to the blind, the halt,

and the maimed. And his pastor received him with wrath, nay,



with blows, and sent him away uncomforted. It was a hideous

picture indeed, and Mr. Holt would have given years of his life



to be rid of it.

It was on the sixth day after Atle's visit that the pastor,



sitting alone in his study, called Carina to him. He had

scarcely seen her during the last six days, or at least talked



with her. Her sweet innocent spirit would banish the shadows

that darkened his soul.



"Carina," he said, in his old affectionate way, "papa wants to

see you. Come here and let me talk a little with you."



But could he trust his eyes? Carina, who formerly had run so

eagerly into his arms, stood hesitating, as if she hoped to be



excused.

"Well, my little girl," he asked, in a tone of apprehension,



"don't you want to talk with papa?"

"I would rather wait till some other time, papa," she managed to



stammer, while her little face flushed with embarrassment.

Mr. Holt closed the door silently, flung himself into a chair,



and groaned. That was a blow from where he had least expected

it. The child had judged him and found him wanting. His Carina,



his darling, who had always been closest to his heart, no longer

responded to his affection! Was the pilot's prayer being



fulfilled? Was he losing his own child in return for the one he

had refused to save? With a pang in his breast, which was like



an aching wound, he walked up and down on the floor and marvelled

at his own blindness. He had erred indeed; and there was no hope



that any chance would come to him to remedy the wrong.

The twilight had deepened into darkness while he revolved this



trouble in his mind. The night was stormy, and the limbs of the

trees without were continually knocking and bumping against the



walls of the house. The rusty weather-vane on the roof whined

and screamed, and every now and then the sleet dashed against the



window-panes like a handful of shot. The wind hurled itself

against the walls, so that the timbers creaked and pulled at the



shutters, banged stray doors in out-of-the-way garrets, and then,

having accomplished its work, whirled away over the fields with a



wild and dismal howl. The pastor sat listening mournfully to

this tempestuous commotion. Once he thought he heard a noise as



of a door opening near by him, and softly closing; but as he saw

no one, he concluded it was his overwrought fancy that had played



him a trick. He seated himself again in his easy-chair before

the stove, which spread a dim light from its draught-hole into



the surrounding gloom.

While he sat thus absorbed in his meditations, he was startled at



the sound of something resembling a sob. He arose to strike a

light, but found that his match-safe was empty. But what was



that? A step without, surely, and the groping of hands for the

door-knob.



"Who is there?" cried the pastor, with a shivering uneasiness.

He sprang forward and opened the door. A broad figure,



surmounted by a sou'wester, loomed up in the dark.

"What do you want?" asked Mr. Holt, with forced calmness.



"I want to know," answered a gruff, hoarse voice, "if you'll come

to my son now, and help him into eternity?"



The pastor recognized Atle Pilot's voice, though it seemed




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