Read Online Victoria by Knut Hamsun - Free Book Online

the door to a room.
    The miller walks in, hands her the handkerchief and says, “We’ve had a letter from Johannes.”
    Her face lights up for an instant, a fleeting instant. “Thank you,” she says. “Yes, the handkerchief is mine.”
    “He’ll be coming home,” the miller goes on in a near whisper.
    Her face assumes a chilly expression. “Speak up, miller; who’s coming?” she says.
    “Johannes.”
    “Johannes. Well, what then?”
    “Oh, it was just . . . We figured I ought to let you know. My wife and I discussed it, and she thought so too. You asked the other day if he would be coming home this spring. Well, he’s coming.”
    “That must make you very happy,” the young lady says. “When is he coming?”
    “In a month.”
    “I see. And there wasn’t anything else?”
    “No. We just thought that since you asked . . . No, there wasn’t anything else. Only this.”
    The miller had again lowered his voice.
    She sees him out. In the hallway they meet her father, and she says to him in passing, loudly and nonchalantly, “The miller tells me that Johannes is coming home. You remember Johannes, don’t you?”
    And the miller walks out through the Castle gate, promising himself never, never again to be a fool and listen to his wife when she claimed to understand hidden things. And he means to let her know.

VII
    At one time he had wanted to cut down the slender rowan tree by the millpond to make a fishing rod; now many years had passed, and the tree had become thicker than his arm. He looked at it in wonder and walked on.
    Along the river, the impenetrable jungle of ferns still flourished, a veritable forest through which the cattle had trampled regular paths, now arched over by the overhanging fern fronds. He fought his way through the thicket as in his childhood days, swimming with his hands and feeling his way with his feet. Insects and crawling things fled before the enormous man.
    Up by the granite quarry he found blackthorn, white anemones and violets. He picked a few, their familiar fragrance called him back to days gone by. The hills of the neighboring parish showed blue in the distance, and across the bay the cuckoo started calling.
    He sat down; shortly he began humming. Then he heard footsteps on the path.
    It was evening, the sun had set, but the heat still quivered in the air. An infinite stillness hovered over the woods, the hills, and the bay. A woman was coming up toward the quarry. It was Victoria. She was carrying a basket.
    Johannes stood up, bowed, and made as if to go.
    “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said. “I just wanted to get some flowers.”
    He didn’t answer. And it didn’t occur to him that she had all the flowers in the world in her garden.
    “I’ve brought a basket to put the flowers in,” she went on. “But perhaps I won’t find any. It’s because of the party, we need them for the table. We’re going to have a party.”
    “Here are white anemones and violets,” he said. “Higher up one can usually find avens. But it may be too early in the year for those.”
    “You’re paler than the last time we met,” she remarked. “That was more than two years ago. You’ve been away, I hear. I’ve read your books.”
    He still didn’t answer. It occurred to him that he might just say, “Well, my young lady, have a good evening!” and go. From where he stood it was one step down to the next stone, from there one more to her, whereupon he could withdraw as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was standing directly in his way. She had on a yellow dress and a red hat, she was mysterious and beautiful; her throat was bare.
    “I’m blocking your path,” he murmured, stepping down. He tried hard not to betray any emotion.
    There was now only one step separating them. She made no move to get out of his way, but simply stood there. They looked each other squarely in the face. Suddenly she blushed crimson, dropped her eyes and stepped aside; her