The Girl From the Marsh Croft Part 6

Suddenly Gudmund leaned his head against his father's shoulder and burst out crying.

"What ails you?" asked Erland Erlandsson, drawing in the reins so suddenly that the horse stopped.

"Oh, they are all so good to me and I don't deserve it."

"But you have never done anything wrong, surely?"

"Yes, father, I have."

"That we can't believe."

"I have killed a human being!"

The father drew a deep breath. It sounded almost like a sigh of relief, and Gudmund raised his head, astonished, and looked at him. His father set the horse in motion again; then he said calmly, "I'm glad you have told of this yourself."

"Did you know it already, father?"

"I surmised last Sat.u.r.day evening that there was something wrong. And then I found your knife down in the mora.s.s."

"So it was you who found the knife!"

"I found it and I noticed that one of the blades had been broken off."

"Yes, father, I'm aware that the knife-blade is gone, but still I cannot get it into my head that I did it."

"It was probably done in the drunkenness and delirium."

"I know nothing; I remember nothing. I could see by my clothes that I had been in a fight and I knew that the knife-blade was missing."

"I understand that it was your intention to be silent about this," said the father.

"I thought that perhaps the rest of the party were as irresponsible as myself and _I_ couldn't remember anything. There was perhaps no other evidence against me than the knife, therefore I threw it away."

"I comprehend that you must have reasoned in that way."

"You understand, father, that I do not know who is dead. I had never seen him before, I dare say. I have no recollection of having done it. I didn't think I ought to suffer for what I had not done knowingly. But soon I got to thinking that I must have been mad to throw the knife into the marsh. It dries out in summer, and then any one might find it. I tried last night and the night before to find it."

"Didn't it occur to you that you should confess?"

"No! Yesterday I thought only of how I could keep it a secret, and I tried to dance and be merry, so that no one would mark any change in me."

"Was it your intention to go to the bridal altar to-day without confessing? You were a.s.suming a grave responsibility. Didn't you understand that if you were discovered you would drag Hildur and her kin with you into misery?"

"I thought that I was sparing them most by saying nothing."

They drove now as fast as possible. The father seemed to be in haste to arrive, and all the time he talked with his son. He had not said so much to him in all his life before.

"I wonder how you came to think differently?" said he.

"It was because Helga came and wished me luck. Then there was something hard in me that broke. I was touched by something in her. Mother, also, moved me this morning, and I wanted to speak out and tell her that I was not worthy of your love; but then the hardness was still within me and made resistance. But when Helga appeared, it was all over with me. I felt that she really ought to be angry with me who was to blame for her having to leave our home."

"Now I think you are agreed with me that we must let the Juryman know this at once," said the father.

"Yes," answered Gudmund in a low tone. "Why, certainly!" he added almost immediately after, louder and firmer. "I don't want to drag Hildur into my misfortune. This she would never forgive me."

"The alvkra folk are jealous of their honor, like the rest," remarked the father. "And you may as well know, Gudmund, that when I left home this morning I was thinking that I must tell the Juryman your position if you did not decide to do so yourself. I never could have stood silently by and let Hildur marry a man who at any moment might be accused of murder."

He cracked the whip and drove on, faster and faster. "This will be the hardest thing for you," said he, "but we'll try and have it over with quickly. I believe that, to the Juryman's mind, it will be right for you to give yourself up, and they will be kind to you, no doubt."

Gudmund said nothing. His torture increased the nearer they approached alvkra. The father continued talking to keep up his courage.

"I have heard something of this sort before," said he. "There was a bridegroom once who happened to shoot a comrade to death during a hunt.

He did not do it intentionally, and it was not discovered that he was the one who had fired the fatal shot. But a day or two later he was to be married, and when he came to the home of the bride, he went to her and said: 'The marriage cannot take place. I do not care to drag you into the misery which awaits me.' But she stood, dressed in bridal wreath and crown, and took him by the hand and led him into the drawing-room, where the guests were a.s.sembled and all was in readiness for the ceremony. She related in a clear voice what the bridegroom had just said to her. 'I have told of this, that all may know you have practised no deceit on me.' Then she turned to the bridegroom. 'Now I want to be married to you at once. You are what you are, even though you have met with misfortune, and whatever awaits you, I want to share it equally with you.'"

Just as the father had finished the narrative, they were on the long avenue leading to alvkra. Gudmund turned to him with a melancholy smile. "It will not end thus for us," he said.

"Who knows?" said the father, straightening in the cart. He looked upon his son and was again astonished at his beauty this day. "It would not surprise me if something great and unexpected were to come to him,"

thought he.

There was to have been a church ceremony, and already a crowd of people were gathered at the bride's home to join in the wedding procession. A number of the Juryman's relatives from a distance had also arrived. They were sitting on the porch in their best attire, ready for the drive to church. Carts and carriages were strung out in the yard, and one could hear the horses stamping in the stable as they were being curried. The parish fiddler sat on the steps of the storehouse alone, tuning his fiddle. At a window in the upper story of the cottage stood the bride, dressed and waiting to have a peep at the bridegroom before he had time to discover her.

Erland and Gudmund stepped from the carriage and asked immediately for a private conference with Hildur and her parents. Soon they were all standing in the little room which the Juryman used as his study.

"I think you must have read in the papers of that fight in town last Sat.u.r.day night, where a man was killed," said Gudmund, as rapidly as if he were repeating a lesson.

"Oh, yes, I've read about it, of course," said the Juryman.

"I happened to be in town that night," continued Gudmund. Now there was no response. It was as still as death. Gudmund thought they all glared at him with such fury that he was unable to continue. But his father came to his aid.

"Gudmund had been invited out by a few friends. He had probably drunk too much that night, and when he came home he did not know what he had been doing. But it was apparent that he had been in a fight, for his clothes were torn."

Gudmund saw that the dread which the others felt increased with every word that was said, but he himself was growing calmer. There awoke in him a sense of defiance, and he took up the words again: "When the paper came on Sat.u.r.day evening and I read of the fight and of the knife-blade which was imbedded in the man's skull, I took out my knife and saw that a blade was missing."

"It is bad news that Gudmund brings with him," said the Juryman. "It would have been better had he told us of this yesterday."

Gudmund was silent; and now his father came to the rescue again. "It was not so easy for Gudmund. It was a great temptation to keep quiet about the whole affair. He is losing much by this confession."

"We may be glad that he has spoken now, and that we have not been tricked and dragged into this wretched affair," said the Juryman bitterly.

Gudmund kept his eyes fixed on Hildur all the while. She was adorned with veil and crown, and now he saw how she raised her hand and drew out one of the large pins which held the crown in place. She seemed to do this unconsciously. When she observed that Gudmund's glance rested upon her, she stuck the pin in again.

"It is not yet fully proved that Gudmund is the slayer," said his father, "but I can well understand that you wish the wedding postponed until everything has been cleared up."

"It is not worth while to talk of postponement," said the Juryman. "I think that Gudmund's case is clear enough for us to decide that all is over between him and Hildur now."

Gudmund did not at once reply to this judgment. He walked over to his betrothed and put out his hand. She sat perfectly still and seemed not to see him. "Won't you say farewell to me, Hildur?"

Then she looked up, and her large eyes stared coldly at him. "Was it with that hand you guided the knife?" she asked.