An Orkney Maid
by Amelia E. Barr · English · Gutenberg #29752 · 366,742 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: An Orkney Maid
Author: Amelia E. Barr
Release date: August 22, 2009 [eBook #29752]
Most recently updated: January 5, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ORKNEY MAID ***
Produced by Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
AN ORKNEY MAID
By AMELIA E. BARR
An Orkney Maid
Christine
Joan
Profit and Loss
Three Score and Ten
The Measure of a Man
The Winning of Lucia
Playing with Fire
All the Days of My Life
D. APPLETON & COMPANY
Publishers
New York
[Illustration: "Ian was utterly charmed with the picture she made----"
[PAGE 60]]
AN ORKNEY MAID
BY
AMELIA E. BARR
AUTHOR OF "CHRISTINE," "JOAN," "PROFIT AND LOSS," ETC.
_"The pleasant habit of existence, the sweet fable of life."_
ILLUSTRATED
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
LONDON
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
TO
MY DEAR FRIEND
DR. MARTIN BARR
OF
ELWYNN, PENNSYLVANIA,
I INSCRIBE THIS BOOK.
AMELIA E. BARR.
"_Honor and truth formed your will,
Your heart, fidelity._"
_MOTTO_
_"You can glad your child, or grieve it,
You can help it, or deceive it,
When all is done,
Beneath God's sun,
You can only love, and leave it."_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
Introduction 1
I. The House of Ragnor 7
II. Adam Vedder's Trouble 30
III. Aries the Ram 47
IV. Sunna and Her Grandfather 72
V. Sunna and Thora 98
VI. The Old, Old Trouble 129
VII. The Call of War 164
VIII. Thora's Problem 193
IX. The Bread of Bitterness 230
X. The One Remains, the Many Change and Pass 271
XI. Sequences 304
INTRODUCTION
Yesterday morning this thing happened to me: I was reading the _New
York Times_ and my eyes suddenly fell upon one word, and that word
rang a little bell in my memory, "Kirkwall!" The next moment I had
closed my eyes in order to see backward more clearly, and slowly, but
surely, the old, old town--standing boldly upon the very beach of the
stormy North Sea--became clear in my mental vision. There was a whole
fleet of fishing boats, and a few smart smuggling craft rocking gently
in its wonderful harbour--a harbour so deep and safe, and so capacious
that it appeared capable of sheltering the navies of the world.
I was then eighteen years old, I am now over eighty-six; and the
straits of Time have widened and widened with every year, so that many
things appear to have been carried away into forgetfulness by the
stress and flow of full waters. But not so! They are only lying in
out-of-the-way corners of consciousness, and can easily be recalled by
some word that has the potency of a spell over them.
"Kirkwall!" I said softly, and then I began to read what the _Times_
had to say about Kirkwall. The great point appeared to be that as a
rendezvous for ships it had been placed fifty miles within the "made
in Germany" danger zone, and was therefore useless to the British
men-of-war. And I laughed inwardly a little, and began to consider if
Kirkwall had ever been long outside of some danger zone or other.
All its myths and traditions are of the fighting Picts and Scots, and
when history began to notice the existence of the Orkneys it was to
chronicle the struggle between Harold, King of Norway, and his
rebellious subjects who had fled to the Orkneys to escape his
tyrannical control. And of the danger zones of every kind which
followed--of storm and battle and bloody death--does not the Saga of
Eglis give us a full account?
This fight for popular freedom was a failure. King Harold conquered
his rebellious subjects, and incidentally took possession of the
islands and the people who had sheltered them. Then their rulers
became Norwegian jarls--or earls--and there is no question about
the danger zones into which the Norwegian vikings carried the
Orcadeans--quite in accord with their own desire and liking, no doubt.
And the stirring story of these years--full of delightful dangers
to the men who adventured them--may all be read today in the
blood-stirring, blood-curdling Norwegian Sagas.
In the middle of the fifteenth century, James the Third, King of
Scotland, married Margaret of Denmark, and the Orcades were given to
Scotland as a security for her dowry. The dowry was never paid, and
after a lapse of a century and a half Denmark resigned all her
Orcadean rights to Scotland. The later union of England and Scotland
finally settled their destiny.
But until the last century England cared very little about the
Orcades. Indeed Colonel Balfour, writing of these islands in A. D.
1861, says: "Orkney is a part of a British County, but probably
there is no part of Europe which so few Englishmen visit." Colonel
Balfour, of Balfour and Trenabie, possessed a noble estate on the
little isle of Shapinsay. He enthused the Orcadeans with the modern
spirit of improvement and progress; he introduced a proper system
of agriculture, built mills of all kinds, got laws passed for
reclaiming waste lands, and was in every respect a wise, generous,
faithful father of his country. To Americans Shapinsay has a
peculiar interest. In a little cottage there, called _Quholme_, the
father and mother of Washington Irving lived, and their son
Washington was born on board an American ship on its passage from
Kirkwall to New York.
However, it is only since A. D. 1830, one year before I was born, that
the old Norse life has been changed in Orkney. Up to that date
agriculture could hardly be said to exist. The sheep and cattle of all
towns, or communities, grazed together; but this plan, though it saved
the labour of herding, was at the cost of abandoning the lambs to the
eagles who circled over the flocks and selected their victims at will.
In the late autumn all stock was brought to the "infield," which was
then crowded with horses, cattle and sheep. In A. D. 1830, the
Norwegian system of weights was changed to the standard weights and
measures, and money, instead of barter, began to be used generally.
Then a great Scotch emigration set in, and brought careful methods of
farming with it; and the Orcadean could not but notice results. The
Scotch trader came also, and the slipshod Norse way of barter and
bargaining had no chance with the Scotch steady prices and ready
money. But even through all these domestic and civic changes Orkney
was constantly in zones of danger. In the first half of the nineteenth
century England was at war with France and Spain and Russia, and the
Orcadeans have a fine inherited taste for a sea fight. The Vikings did
not rule them through centuries for nothing: the Orcadean and his
brother, the Shetlander, salt the British Navy, and they rather enjoy
danger zones.
A single generation, with the help of steam communications, changed
Orkney entirely and in the course of the second generation the
Orcadean became eager for improvements of all kinds, and ready to
forward them generously with the careful hoardings of perhaps many
generations. And as it is in this transient period of the last century
that my hero and heroine lived, I have thought it well to say
something of antecedents that Americans may well be excused for
knowing nothing about. Also--
... the past will always win
A glory from its being far;
And orb into the perfect star,
We saw not, when we walked therein.
However, Orkney was far from being out of danger zones in the
nineteenth century. In its first quarter French and Dutch privateers
made frequent raids on the islands; and the second quarter gave her
men their chance of danger in the Crimea. They were not strangers in
the Russian Chersoneus; their fathers had been in southern seas
centuries before them. During the last fifty years they have made
danger zones of their own free will, quarreling with coast guards,
tampering with smugglers, wandering off with would-be discoverers of
the North Pole, or with any other doubtful and dangerous enterprise.
And these reflections made me quite comfortable about the
"made-in-Germany" danger zone. I think the Orcadeans will rather enjoy
it; and I am quite sure if any Germans take to trafficking, or buying
or selling, in Kirkwall, they will get the worst of it. In this
direction it is rather pleasant to remember that even Scotchmen,
disputing about money, will find the Orcadeans "too far north for
them."
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE OF RAGNOR
Kind were the voices I used to hear
Round such a fireside,
Speaking the mother tongue old and dear;
Making the heart beat,
With endless tales of wonder and fear,
Or plaintive singing.
Great were the marvellous stories told
Of Ossian heroes,
Giants, and witches and young men bold
Seeking adventures,
Winning Kings' daughters, and guarded gold
Only with valor.
The House of Ragnor was a large and very picturesque edifice. It was
built of red and white sandstone which Time had covered with a
heathery lichen, softening the whole into a shade of greenish grey.
Many minds and many hands had fashioned it, for above its central door
was the date, 1688, which would presuppose that it had been built
from revenues coming as a reward for opposition to the Stuarts. It had
been altered and enlarged by nearly every occupant, was many-roomed,
and surrounded by a large garden, full of such small fruits as could
ripen in the short summers, and of such flowers and shrubs as could
live through the long winters. In sheltered situations, there were
even hardy roses, and a royal plenty of England's spring flowers
sweetened many months of the year. A homely garden, where berries and
roses grew together and privet hedges sheltered peas and lettuce, and
tulips and wall-flowers did not disdain the proximity of household
vegetables.
Doubtless the Ragnors had been jarls in old Norwegian times, but in
1853 such memories had been forgotten, and Conall Ragnor was quite
content with his reputation of being the largest trader in Orkney, and
a very wealthy man. Physically he was of towering stature. His hair
was light brown, and rather curly; his eyes large and bright blue, his
face broad and rosy. He had great bodily and mental vigor, he was
blunt in speech, careless about his dress, and simple in all his ways.
His Protestantism was of the most decided character, but he was not a
Presbyterian. Presbyterianism was a new thing on the face of the
earth; he had been "authoritatively told, the Apostles were
Episcopalians."
"My soul has received no orders to go to thy Presbyterian Church," he
said to the young Calvinist minister who asked him to do so. "When the
order comes, then that may happen which has never happened before."
Yet in spite of his pronounced nationality, and his Episcopal faith,
he married Rahal Gordon from the braes of Moray; a Highland Scotch
woman and a strict Calvinist. What compact had been made between them
no one knew, but it had been sufficient to prevent all religious
disputes during a period of twenty-six years. If Rahal Ragnor had any
respectable excuse, she did not go to the ritual service in the
Cathedral. If she had no such excuse, she went there with her husband
and family. Then doubtless her prayer was the prayer of Naaman, that
when "she bowed herself in the House of Rimmon, the Lord would pardon
her for it."
No one could deny her beauty, though it was of the Highland Scotch
type, and therefore a great contrast to the Orcadean blonde. She was
slender and dark, with plentiful, glossy, black hair, and soft brown
eyes. Her face was oval and richly coloured. Her temperament was frank
and domestic; yet she had a romantic side, and a full appreciation of
what she called "a proper man."
They had had many children, but four were dead, and three daughters
were married and living in Edinburgh and Lerwick, and two sons had
emigrated to Canada; while the youngest of all, a boy of fifteen, was
a midshipman on Her Majesty's man-of-war, _Vixen_, so that only one
boy and one girl were with their parents. These were Boris, the eldest
son, who was sailing his own ship on business ventures to French and
Dutch ports, and Thora, the only unmarried daughter. And in 1853 these
five persons lived happily enough together in the Ragnor House,
Kirkwall.
One day in the spring of 1853 Conall Ragnor was at the rear door of
his warehouse. The sea was lippering against its foundation, and he
stood with his hand on his left hip, as with a raised head and keen
eyes, he searched the far horizon.
In a few minutes he turned with a look of satisfaction. "Well and
good!" he thought. "Now I will go home. I have the news I was watching
for." Anon he looked at his watch and reflecting a moment assured
himself that Boris and the _Sea Gull_ would be safely at anchor by
five o'clock.
So with an air of satisfaction he walked through the warehouse,
looking critically at the men cleaning and packing feathers, or dried
fish, or fresh eggs. There was no sign of slacking in this department,
and he turned into the shop where men were weighing groceries and
measuring cloth. All seemed well, and after a short delay in his own
particular office he went comfortably home.
Meanwhile his daughter Thora was talking of him, and wondering what
news he would bring them, and Mistress Ragnor, in a very smart cap and
a gown of dark violet silk, was knitting by the large window in the
living room--a very comfortable room carpeted with a good Kilmarnock
"three-ply" and curtained with red moreen. There were a few sea
pictures on the walls, and there was a good fire of drift-wood and
peat upon the snow-white hearth.
Thora had just entered the room with a clean table-cloth in her hands.
Her mother gave her a quick glance of admiration and then said:
"I thought thou wert looking for Boris home tonight."
"Well, then, Mother, that is so. He said we must give him a little
dance tonight, and I have asked the girls he likes best to come here.
I thought this was known to thee. To call my words back now, will give
great disappointment."
"No need is there to call any word back. Because of thy dress I feared
there had been some word of delay. If likelihood rule, Maren and Helga
Torrie will wear the best they have."
"That is most certain, but I am not minded to outdress the Torrie
girls. Very hard it is for them to get a pretty frock, and it will
make them happy to see themselves smarter than Thora Ragnor."
"Thou should think of thyself."
"Well, I am generally uppermost in my own mind. Also, in Edinburgh I
was told that the hostess must not outdress her guests."
"Edinburgh and Kirkwall are not in the same latitude. Keep mind of
that. Step forward and let me look at thee."
So Thora stood up before her mother, and the light from the window
fell all over her, and she was beautiful from head to feet. Tall and
slender, with a great quantity of soft brown hair very loosely
arranged on the crown of her head; a forehead broad and white;
eyebrows, plentiful and well arched; starlike blue eyes, with a large,
earnest gaze and an oval face tinted like a rose. Oh! why try to
describe a girl so lovely? It is like pulling a rose to pieces. It is
easier to say that she was fleshly perfect and that, being yet in her
eighteenth year, she had all the bloom of opening flowers, and all
their softness and sweetness.
Apparently she owed little to her dress, and yet it would have
been difficult to choose anything more befitting her, for though it
was only of wine-coloured cashmere, it was made with a plain
picturesqueness that rendered it most effective. The short sleeves
then worn gave to her white arms the dark background that made them
a fascination; the high waist, cut open in front to a point, was
filled in with white satin, over which it was laced together with a
thin silk cord of the same colour as the dress. A small lace collar
completed the toilet, and for the occasion, it was perfect;
anything added to it would have made it imperfect.
This was the girl who, standing before her mother, asked for her
approval. And Rahal Ragnor's eyes were filled with her beauty, and she
could only say:
"Dear thing! There is no need to change! Just as thou art pleases
me!"
Then with a face full of love Thora stooped and kissed her mother and
anon began to set the table for the expected guests. With sandalled
feet and smiling face, she walked about the room with the composure of
a goddess. There was no hesitation concerning what she had to do; all
had been arranged and settled in her mind previously, though now and
then, the discussion of a point appeared to be pleasant and
satisfying. Thus she thoughtfully said:
"Mother, there will be thyself and father and Boris, that is three,
and Sunna Vedder, and Helga and Maren Torrie, that makes six, and Gath
Peterson, and Wolf Baikie and his sisters Sheila and Maren make ten,
and myself, eleven--that is all and it is enough."
"Why not make it twelve?"
"There is luck in odd numbers. I am the eleventh. I like it."
"Thou might have made it ten. There is one girl on thy list it would
be better without."
"Art thou thinking of Sunna Vedder, Mother?"
"Yes, I am thinking of Sunna Vedder."
"Well and good. But if Sunna is not here, Boris would feel as if
there was no one present. It is Sunna he wants to see. It is Sunna he
wants to please. He says he is so sorry for her."
"Why?"
"Because she has to live with old Vedder who is nothing but a
bookworm."
"Vedder is a very clever man. The Bishop was saying that."
"Yes, in a way he was saying it, but----"
"The Bishop was not liking the books he was studying. He said they did
men and women no good. Thy father was telling me many things. Yes, so
it is! The Vedders are counted queer--they are different from thee and
me, and--the Bishop."
"And the Dominie?"
"That may well be. Thy father has a will for Boris to marry Andrina
Thorkel."
"Boris will never marry Andrina. It would be great bad luck if he did.
Many speak ill of her. She has a temper to please the devil. I was
hearing she would marry Scot Keppoch. That would do; for then they
would not spoil two houses."
"Tell thy father thy thought, and he will give thee thy answer;--but
why talk of the Future and the Maybe? The Now is the hour of the wise,
so I will go upstairs and lay out some proper clothing and do thou
get thy father to dress himself, as Conall Ragnor ought to do."
"That may not be easy to manage."
"Few things are beyond thy say-so." Then she lifted her work-bag and
left the room.
During this conversation Conall Ragnor had been slowly making his way
home, after leaving his warehouse when the work of the day was done.
Generally he liked his walk through the town to his homestead, which
was just outside the town limits. It was often pleasant and
flattering. The women came to their doors to watch him, or to speak to
him, and their admiration and friendliness was welcome. For many years
he had been used to it, but he had not in the least outgrown the
thrill of satisfaction it gave him. And often he wondered if his wife
noticed the good opinion that the ladies of Kirkwall had for her
husband.
"Of course she does," he commented, "but a great wonder it would be if
my Rahal should speak of it. In that hour she would be out of the
commodity of pride, or she would have forgotten herself entirely."
This day he had received many good-natured greetings--Jenny Torrie had
told him that the _Sea Gull_ was just coming into harbour, and so
heavy with cargo that the sea was worrying at her gunwale; then Mary
Inkster--from the other side of the street--added, "Both hands--seen
and unseen--are full, Captain, I'll warrant that!"
"Don't thee warrant beyond thy knowledge, Mary," answered Ragnor, with
a laugh. "The _Sea Gull_ may have hands; she has no tongue."
"All that touches the _Sea Gull_ is a thing by itself," cried pretty
Astar Graff, whose husband was one of the _Sea Gull's_ crew.
"So, then, Astar, she takes her own at point and edge. That is her
way, and her right," replied Ragnor.
Thus up the narrow street, from one side or the other, Conall Ragnor
was greeted. Good wishes and good advice, with now and then a careful
innuendo, were freely given and cheerfully taken; and certainly the
recipient of so much friendly notice was well pleased with its freedom
and good will. He came into his own house with the smiling amiability
of a man who has had all the wrinkles of the day's business smoothed
and soothed out of him.
Looking round the room, he was rather glad his wife was not there. She
was generally cool about such attentions, and secretly offended by
their familiarity. For she was not only a reader and a thinker, she
was also a great observer, and she had seen and considered the slow
but sure coming of that spirit of progress, which would break up their
isolation and, with it, the social privileges of her class. However,
she kept all her fears on this subject in her heart. Not even to Thora
would she talk of them lest she might be an inciter of thoughts that
would raise up a class who would degrade her own: "Few people can be
trusted with a dangerous thought, and who can tell where spoken words
go to." And this idea, she knit, or stitched, into every garment her
fingers fashioned.
So, then, it was quite in keeping with her character to pass by
Conall's little social enthusiasms with a chilling indifference, and
if any wonder or complaint was made of this attitude, to reply:
"When men and women of thine own worth and station bow down to thee,
Conall, then thou will find Rahal Ragnor among them; but I do not
mingle my words with those of the men and women who sort goose
feathers, and pack eggs and gut fish for the salting. Thy wife,
Conall, looks up, and not down."
Well, then, as Rahal knew that the safe return of Boris with the _Sea
Gull_ would possibly be an occasion for these friendly familiarities,
she wisely took herself out of the way of hearing anything about it.
And it is a great achievement when we learn the limit of our power to
please. Conall Ragnor had not quite mastered the lesson in twenty-six
years. Very often, yet, he had a half-alive hope that these small
triumphs of his daily life might at length awaken in his wife's breast
a sympathetic pleasure. Today it was allied with the return of Boris
and his ship, and he thought this event might atone for whatever was
repugnant.
And yet, after all, when he saw no one but Thora present, he had a
sense of relief. He told her all that had been said and done, and
added such incidents of Boris and the ship as he thought would please
her. She laughed and chatted with him, and listened with unabated
pleasure to the very end, indeed, until he said: "Now, then, I must
stop talking. I dare say there are many things to look after, for
Boris told me he would be home for dinner at six o'clock. Till that
hour I will take a little nap on the sofa."
"But first, my Father, thou wilt go and dress. Everything is ready for
thee, and mother is dressed, and as for Thora, is she not pretty
tonight?"
"Thou art the fairest of all women here, if I know anything about
beauty. Wolf Baikie will be asking the first dance with thee."
"That dance is thine. Mother has given thee to me for that dance."
"To me? That is very agreeable. I am proud to be thy father."
"Then go and dress thyself. I am particular about my partners."
"Dress! What is wrong with my dress?"
"Everything! Not an article in it is worthy of thee and the
occasion."
"I tell thee, all is as it should be. I am not minded to change it in
any way."
"Yes; to please Thora, thou wilt make some changes. Do, my Father. I
love thee so! I am so proud of thy figure, and thou can show even Wolf
Baikie how he ought to dance."
"Well, then, just for thee--I will wash and put on fresh linen."
"And comb thy beautiful hair. If thou but wet it, then it curls so
that any girl would envy thee. And all the women would say that it was
from thee, Thora got her bright, brown, curly hair."
"To comb my hair? That is but a trifle. I will do it to please thee."
"And thou wilt wet it, to make it curl?"
"That I will do also--to please thee."
"Then, as we are to dance together, thou wilt put on thy fine white
socks, and thy Spanish leather shoes--the pair that have the bright
buckles on the instep. Yes, thou wilt do me that great favour."
"Thou art going too far; I will not do that."
"Not for thy daughter Thora?" and she laid her cheek against his
cheek, and whispered with a kiss, "Yes, thou wilt wear the buckled
shoes for Thora. They will look so pretty in the dance: and Wolf
Baikie cannot toss his head at thy boots, as he did at Aunt Brodie's
Christmas dinner."
"Did he do that thing?"
"I saw him, and I would not dance with him because of it."
"Thou did right. Thy Aunt Barbara----"
"Is my aunt, and thy eldest sister. All she does is square and
upright; what she says, it were well for the rest of the town to take
heed to. It would please Aunt if thou showed Wolf Baikie thou had
dancing shoes and also knew right well how to step in them."
"Well, then, thou shalt have thy way. I will wash, I will comb my
hair, I will put on clean linen and white socks and my buckled shoes.
That is all I will do! I will not change my suit--no, I will not!"
"Father!"
"Well, then, what call for 'Father' now?"
"I want thee to wear thy kirk suit."
"I will not! No, I will not! The flannel suit is good enough for any
man."
"Yes, if it were clean and sweet, and had no fish scales on it, and no
fish smell in it. And even here--at the very end of the world--thy
friend, the good Bishop, wears black broadcloth and all gentlemen copy
him. If Thora was thy sweetheart, instead of thy own dear daughter,
she would not dance with thee in anything but thy best suit."
"It seems to me, my own dear daughter, that very common people wear
kirk toggery. When I go to the hotels in Edinburgh, or Aberdeen, or
Inverness, I find all the men who wait on other men are in kirk
clothes; and if I go to a theatre, the men who wait on the crowd there
wear kirk clothes, and----"
"Thy Bishop also wears black broadcloth."
"That will be because of his piety and humility. I am not as pious
and humble as I might be. No, indeed! Not in everything can I humour
thee, and trouble myself; but this thing is what I will do--I have a
new suit of fine blue flannel; last night I brought it home. At
McVittie's it was made, and well it fits me. For thy sake I will wear
it. This is the end of our talk. No more will I do."
"Thou dear father! It is enough! With a thousand kisses I thank
thee."
"Too many kisses! Too many kisses! Thou shalt give me five when we
finish our dance; one for my curled hair, and one for my white, fresh
linen, and one for my socks, and one for my buckled shoes, and the
last for my new blue suit. And in that bargain thou wilt get the best
of me, so one favour in return from thee I must have."
"Dear Father, thy will is my will. What is thy wish?"
"I want thy promise not to dance with Wolf Baikie. Because of his
sneer I am coaxed to dress as I do not want to dress. Well, then, I
will take his place with thee, and every dance he asks from thee is to
be given to me."
Without a moment's hesitation Thora replied: "That agreement does not
trouble me. It will be to my great satisfaction. So, then, thou art
no nearer to getting the best of the bargain."
"Thou art a clever, handsome little baggage. But my promises I will
keep, and it is well for me to be about them. Time flies talking to
thee," and he looked at his watch and said, "It is now five minutes
past five."
"Then thou must make some haste. Dinner is set for six o'clock."
"Dost thou think I will fiddle-faddle about myself like a woman?"
"But thou must wash----"
"In the North Sea I wash me every morning. Before thou hast opened thy
eyes I have had my bath and my swim in the salt water."
"There is rain water in thy room; try it for a change." And he
answered her with a roar of laughter far beyond Thora's power to
imitate. But with it ringing in her heart and ears she saw him go to a
spare room to keep his promises. Then she hastened to her mother.
"Whatever is the matter with thy father, Thora?"
"He has promised to wash and dress. I got all I asked for."
"Will he change his suit?"
"He has a fine new suit. It was hid away in Aunt's room."
"What made him do such a childish thing?"
"To please thee, it was done. It was to be a surprise, I think."
"I will go to him."
"No, no, Mother! Let father have the pleasure he planned. To thee he
will come, as soon as he is dressed."
"Am I right? From top to toe?"
"From top to toe just as thou should be. The white roses in thy cap
look lovely with the violet silk gown. Very pretty art thou, dear
Mother."
"I can still wear roses, but they are white roses now. I used to wear
pink, Thora."
"Pink and crimson and yellow roses thou may wear yet. Because white
roses go best with violet I put that colour in thy cap for tonight.
Think of what my aunt said when thou complained to her of growing old,
'Rahal, the mother of twelve sons and daughters is always young.' Now
I will run away, for my father does everything quickly."
In about ten or fifteen minutes, Rahal Ragnor heard him coming. Then
she stood up and watched the swift throwing open of the door, and the
entrance of her husband. With a cry of pleasure she clapped her hands
and said joyfully:
"Oh, Coll! Oh, my dear Coll!" and the next moment Coll kissed her.
"Thou hast made thyself so handsome--just to please me!"
"Yes, for thee! Who else is there? Do I please thee now?"
"Always thou pleases me! But tonight, I have fallen in love with thee
over again!"
"And yet Thora wanted me to wear my kirk suit," and he walked to the
glass and looked with great satisfaction at himself. "I think this
suit is more becoming."
"My dear Coll, thou art right. A good blue flannel suit is a man's
natural garment. To everyone, rich and poor, it is becoming. If thou
always dressed as thou art now dressed, I should never have the heart
or spirit to contradict thee. Thou could have thy own way, year in and
year out."
"Is that the truth, my dear Rahal? Or is it a compliment?"
"It is the very truth, dear one!"
"From this hour, then, I will dress to thy wish and pleasure."
She stepped quickly to his side and whispered: "In that case, there
will not be in all Scotland a more distinguished and proper man than
Conall Ragnor!"
And in a large degree Conall Ragnor was worthy of all the fine things
his wife said to him. The new clothes fell gracefully over his grand
figure; he stepped out freely in the light easy shoes he was wearing;
there was not a single thing stiff or tight or uncomfortable about
him. Even his shirt collar fell softly round his throat, and the
bright crimson necktie passed under it was unrestrained by anything
but a handsome pin, which left his throat bare and gave the scarf
permission to hang as loosely as a sailor's.
At length Rahal said, "I see that Boris and the ship are safely home
again."
"Ship and cargo safe in port, and every man on board well and hearty.
On the stroke of six he will be here. He said so, and Boris keeps his
word. I hear the sound of talking and laughing. Let us go to meet
them."
They came in a merry company, Boris, with Sunna Vedder on his arm
leading them. They came joyously; singing, laughing, chattering,
making all the noise that youth seems to think is essential to
pleasure. However, I shall not describe this evening. A dinner-dance
is pretty much alike in all civilized and semi-civilized communities.
It will really be more descriptive to indicate a few aspects in which
this function of amusement differed from one of the same kind given
last night in a fashionable home or hotel in New York.
First, the guests came all together from some agreed-upon rendezvous.
They walked, for private carriages were very rare and there were none
for hire. However, this walking party was generally a very pleasant
introduction to a more pleasant and intimate evening. The women were
wrapped up in their red or blue cloaks, and the men carried their
dancing slippers, fans, bouquets, and other small necessities of the
ballroom.
Second, the old and the young had an equal share in any entertainment,
and if there was a difference, it was in favour of the old. On this
very night Conall Ragnor danced in every figure called, except a
saraband, which he said was too slow and formal to be worth calling a
dance. Even old Adam Vedder who had come on his own invitation--but
welcome all the same--went through the Orkney Quickstep with the two
prettiest girls present, Thora Ragnor and Maren Torrie. For honourable
age was much respected and every young person wished to share his
happiness with it.
A very marked characteristic was the evident pleasure old and young
had in the gratification of their sense of taste, in the purely animal
pleasure of eating good things. No one had a bad appetite, and if
anyone wished for more of a dish they liked, they asked for it. Indeed
they had an easy consciousness of paying their hostess a compliment,
and of giving themselves a little more pleasure.
Finally, they made the day, day; and the night, night. Such gatherings
broke up about eleven o'clock; then the girls went home unwearied, to
sleep, and morning found them rosy and happy, already wondering who
would give them the next dance.
CHAPTER II
ADAM VEDDER'S TROUBLE
... they do not trust their tongues alone
But speak a language of their own;
Convey a libel in a frown,
And wink a reputation down;
Or by the tossing of a fan,
Describe the lady and the man.--SWIFT
It is good to be merry and wise,
It is good to be honest and true,
It is well to be off with the old love
Before you are on with the new.
Boris did not remain long in the home port. It was drawing near to
Lent, and this was a sacred term very highly regarded by the citizens
of this ancient cathedral town. Of course in the Great Disruption the
National Episcopal Church had suffered heavy loss, but Lent was a
circumstance of the Soul, so near and dear to its memory, that even
those disloyal to their Mother Church could not forget or ignore it.
In some cases it was secretly more faithfully observed than ever
before; then its penitential prayers became intensely pathetic in
their loneliness. For these self-bereft souls could not help
remembering the days when they went up with the multitude to keep the
Holy Fast in the House of their God.
Rahal Ragnor had never kept it. It had been only a remnant of popery
to her. Long before the Free Kirk had been born, she and all her
family had been Dissenters of some kind or other. And yet her life and
her home were affected by this Episcopal "In Memoriam" in a great
number of small, dominating ways, so that in the course of years she
had learned to respect a ceremonial that she did not endorse. For she
knew that no one kept Lent with a truer heart than Conall Ragnor, and
that the Lenten services in the cathedral interfered with his business
to an extent nothing purely temporal would have been permitted to do.
So, after the little dance given to Boris, there was a period of
marked quietness in Kirkwall. It was as if some mighty Hand had been
laid across the strings of Life and softened and subdued all their
reverberations. There was no special human influence exerted for this
purpose, yet no one could deny the presence of some unseen, unusual
element.
"Every day seems like Sabbath Day," said Thora.
"It is Lent," answered Rahal.
"And after Lent comes Easter, dear Mother."
"That is the truth."
In the meantime Boris had gone to Edinburgh on the bark _Sea Gull_ to
complete his cargo of Scotch ginghams and sewed muslins, native
jewelry and table delicacies. Perhaps, indeed, the minimum notice
accorded Lent in the metropolitan city had something to do with this
journey, which was not a usual one; but after the departure of the
_Sea Gull_ the Ragnor household had settled down to a period of
domestic quiet. The Master had to make up the hours spent in the
cathedral by a longer stay in the store, and the women at this time
generally avoided visiting; they felt--though they did not speak of
it--the old prohibition of unkind speech, and the theological quarrel
was yet so new and raw that to touch it was to provoke controversy,
instead of conversation.
It was at such vacant times that old Adam Vedder's visits were doubly
welcome. One day in mid-Lent he came to the Ragnor house, when it was
raining with that steady deliberation that gives no hope of anything
better. Throwing off his waterproof outer garments, he left them to
drip dry in the kitchen. An old woman, watching him, observed:
"Thou art wetting the clean floor, Master Vedder," and he briskly
answered: "That is thy business, Helga, not mine. Is thy mistress in
the house?"
"Would she be out, if she had any good sense left?"
"How can a man tell what a woman will do? Where is thy mistress?" and
he spoke in a tone so imperative, that she answered with shrinking
humility:
"I ask thy favour. Mistress Ragnor is in the right-hand parlour. I
will look after thy cloak."
"It will be well for thee to do that."
Then Adam went to the right-hand parlour and found Rahal sitting by
the fire sewing.
"I am glad to see thee, Rahal," he said.
"I am glad to see thee always--more at this time than at any other."
"Well, that is good, but why at this time more than at any other?"
"The town is depressed; business goes on, but in a silent fashion.
There is no social pleasure--surely the reason is known to thee!"
"So it is, and the reason is good. When people are confessing their
sins, and asking pardon for the same, they cannot feel it to be a
cheerful entertainment; and, as thou observed, it affects even their
business, which I myself notice is done without the usual joking or
quarrelling or drinking of good healths. Well, then, that also is
right. Where is Thora?"
"She is going to a lecture this afternoon to be given by the
Archdeacon Spens to the young girls, and she is preparing for it." And
as these words were uttered, Thora entered the room. She was dressed
for the storm outside, and wore the hood of her cloak drawn well over
her hair; in her hands were a pair of her father's slippers.
"For thee I brought them," she said, as she held them out to Vedder.
"I heard thy voice, and I was sure thy feet would be wet. See, then, I
have brought thee my father's slippers. He would like thee to wear
them--so would I."
"I will not wear them, Thora. I will not stand in any man's shoes but
my own. It is an unchancy, unlucky thing to do. Thanks be to thee, but
I will keep my own standing, wet or dry. Look to that rule for
thyself, and remember what I say. Let me see if thou art well shod."
Thora laughed, stood straight up, and drew her dress taut, and put
forward two small feet, trigly protected by high-laced boots. Then,
looking at her mother, she asked: "Are the boots sufficient, or shall
I wear over them my French clogs?"
Vedder answered her question. "The clogs are not necessary," he said.
"The rain runs off as fast as it falls. Thy boots are all such
trifling feet can carry. What can women do on this hard world-road
with such impediments as French clogs over English boots?"
"Mr. Vedder, they will do whatever they want to do; and they will go
wherever they want to go; and they will walk in their own shoes, and
work in their own shoes, and be well satisfied with them."
"Thora, I am sorry I was born in the last century. If I had waited for
about fifty years I would have been in proper time to marry thee."
"Perhaps."
"Yes; for I would not have let a woman so fair and good as thou art go
out of my family. We should have been man and wife. That would
certainly have happened."
"If two had been willing, it might have been. Now our talk must end;
the Archdeacon likes not a late comer;" and with this remark, and a
beaming smile, she went away.
Then there was a silence, full of words longing to be spoken; but
Rahal Ragnor was a prudent woman, and she sighed and sewed and left
Vedder to open the conversation. He looked at her a little impatiently
for a few moments, then he asked:
"To what port has thy son Boris sailed?"
"Boris intends to go to Leith, if wind and water let him do so."
"Boris is not asking wind and water about his affairs. There is a
question I know not how to answer. I am wanting thy help."
"If that be so, speak thy mind to me."
"I want a few words of advice about a woman."
"Is that woman thy granddaughter, Sunna?"
"A right guess thou hast made."
"Then I would rather not speak of her."
"Thy reason? What is it?"
"She is too clever for a simple woman like me. I have not two faces. I
cannot make the same words mean two distinct and separate things.
Sunna has all thy self-wisdom, but she has not thy true heart and thy
wise tongue."
"Listen to me! Things have come to this--Boris has made love to Sunna
in the face of all Kirkwall. He has done this for more than a year.
Then for two weeks before he left for Leith he came not near my house,
and if he met Sunna in any friend's house he was no longer her lover.
What is the meaning of this? My girl is unhappy and angry, and I
myself am far from being satisfied; thou tell, what is wrong between
them?"
"I would prefer neither to help nor hinder thee in this matter. There
is a broad way between these two ways, that I am minded to take. It
will be better for me to do so, and perhaps better for thee also."
"I thought I could count on thee for my friend. Bare is a man's back
without friends behind it! In thee I trusted. While I feared and
doubted, I thought, 'If worse comes I will go at once to Rahal
Ragnor'--_Thou hast failed me_."
"Say not that--my old, dear friend! It is beyond truth. What I know I
told to my husband; and I asked him if it would be kind and well to
tell thee, and he said to me: 'Be not a bearer of ill news to Vedder.
Little can thou trust any evil report; few people are spoken of better
than they deserve.' Then I gave counsel to myself, thus: Conall has
four dear daughters, _he knows_. Conall loves his old friend Vedder;
if he thought to interfere was right, he would advise Vedder to
interfere or he would interfere for him, and my wish was to spare thee
the sorrow that comes from women's tongues. I was also sure that if
the news was true, it would find thee out--if not true, why should
Rahal Ragnor sow seeds of suspicion and ill-will? Is Sunna disobedient
to thee?"
"She is something worse--she deceives me. Her name is mixed up with
some report--I know not what. No one loves me well enough to tell me
what is wrong."
"Well, then, thou art more feared than loved. Few know thee well
enough to risk thy anger and all know that Norsemen are bitter
cruel to those who dare to say that one hair of their women is out
of its place. Who, then, would dare to say this or that about thy
granddaughter?"
"Rahal Ragnor could speak safely to me."
Then there was silence for a few moments and Rahal sat with her
doubled-up left hand against her lips, gazing out of the window.
Vedder did not disturb her. He waited patiently until she said:
"If I tell thee what was told me, wilt thou visit the story upon my
husband, or myself, or any of my children?"
Vedder took a signet ring from his finger and kissed it. "Rahal," he
said, "I have kissed this ring of my fathers to seal the promise I
shall make thee. If thou wilt give me thy confidence in this matter of
Sunna Vedder, it shall be for thy good, and for the good of thy
husband, and for the good of all thy children, as far as Adam Vedder
can make it so."
"I ask a special promise for my son Boris, for he is concerned in this
matter."
"Boris can take good care of Boris: nevertheless, I promise thee that
I will not say or look or do, with hands or tongue, anything that will
injure, or even annoy, Boris Ragnor. Unto the end of my life, I
promise this. What may come after, I know not. If there should be a
wrong done, we will fight it out elsewhere."
"Thy words are sufficient. Listen, then! There is a family, in the
newest and best part of the town, called McLeod. They are yet strange
here. They are Highland Scotch. Many say they are Roman Catholics.
They sing Jacobite songs, and they go not to any church. They have
opened a great trading route; and they have brought many new customs
and new ideas with them. A certain class of our people make much of
them; others are barely civil to them; the best of our citizens do not
notice them at all. But they have plenty of money, and live
extravagantly, and the garrison's officers are constantly seen there.
Do you know them?"
"I have heard of them."
"McLeod has a large trading fleet, and he has interfered with the
business of Boris in many ways."
"Hast thou ever seen him? Tell me what he is like."
"I have seen him many times. He is a complete Highlander; tall,
broad-shouldered and apparently very strong, also very graceful. He
has high cheekbones, and a red beard, but all talk about him, and many
think him altogether handsome."
"And thou? What dost thou think?"
"When I saw him, he was in earnest discussion with one of his men, and
he was not using English but sputtering a torrent of shrill Gaelic,
shrugging his shoulders, throwing his arms about, thrilling with
excitement--but for all that, he was the picture of a man that most
women would find irresistible."
"I have heard that he wears the Highland dress."
"Not on the street. They have many entertainments; he may wear it in
some of them; but I think he is too wise to wear it in public. The
Norseman is much indebted to the Scot--but it would not do to flaunt
the feathered cap and philabeg too much--on Kirkwall streets."
"You ought to know."
"Yes, I am Highland Scotch, thank God! I understand this man, though I
have never spoken to him. I know little about the Lowland Scot. He is
a different race, and is quite a different man. You would not like
him, Adam."
"I know him. He is a fine fellow; quiet, cool-blooded, has little to
say, and wastes no strength in emotion. There's wisdom for you--but go
on with thy talk, woman; it hurts me, but I must hear it to the end."
"Well, then, Kenneth McLeod has the appearance of a gentleman, though
he is only a trader."
"Say _smuggler_, Rahal, and you might call him by a truer name."
"Many whisper the same word. Of a smuggler, a large proportion of our
people think no wrong. That you know. He is a kind of hero to some
girls. Many grand parties these McLeods give--music and dancing, and
eating and drinking, and the young officers of the garrison are there,
as well as our own gay young men; and where these temptations are,
young women are sure to go. His aunt is mistress of his house.
"Now, then, this thing happened when Boris was last here. One night he
heard two men talking as they went down the street before him. The
rain was pattering on the flagged walk and he did not well understand
their conversation, but it was altogether of the McLeods and their
entertainments. Suddenly he heard the name of Sunna Vedder. Thrice he
heard it, and he followed the men to the public house, called for
whiskey, sat down at a table near them and pretended to be writing.
But he grew more and more angry as he heard the free and easy talk of
the men; and when again they named Sunna, he put himself into their
conversation and so learned they were going to McLeod's as soon as the
hour was struck for the dance. Boris permitted them to go, laughing
and boastful; an hour afterwards he followed."
"With whom did he go?"
"Alone he went. The dance was then in progress, and men and women were
constantly going in and out. He followed a party of four, and went in
with them. There was a crowd on the waxed floor. They were dancing a
new measure called the polka; and conspicuous, both for her beauty and
her dress, he saw Sunna among them. Her partner was Kenneth McLeod,
and he was in full McLeod tartans. No doubt have I that Sunna and her
handsome partner made a romantic and lovely picture."
"What must be the end of all this? What the devil am I to think?"
"Think no worse than needs be."
"What did Boris do--or say?"
"He walked rapidly to Sunna, and he said, 'Miss Vedder, thou art
wanted at thy home--at once thou art wanted. Get thy cloak, and I will
walk with thee.'"
"Then?"
"She was angry, and yet terrified; but she left the room. Boris feared
she would try and escape him, so he went to the door to meet her.
Judge for thyself what passed between them as Boris took her home. At
first she was angry, afterwards, she cried and begged Boris not to
tell thee. I am sure Boris was kind to her, though he told her frankly
she was on a dangerous road. All this I had from Boris, and it is the
truth; as for what reports have grown from it, I give them no heed.
Sunna was deceitful and imprudent. I would not think worse of her than
she deserves."
"Rahal, I am much thy debtor. This affair I will now take into my own
hands. To thee, my promise stands good for all my life days--and thou
may tell Boris, it may be worth his while to forgive Sunna. There is
some fault with him also; he has made love to Sunna for a long time,
but never yet has he said to me--'I wish to make Sunna my wife!' What
is the reason of that?"
"Well, then, Adam, a young man wishes to make sure of himself. Boris
is much from home----"
"There it is! For that very cause, he should have made a straight
clear road between us. I do not excuse Sunna, but I say that wherever
there is a cross purpose, there has likely never been a straight one.
Thou hast treated me well, and I am thy debtor; but it shall be ill
with all those who have led my child wrong--the more so, because the
time chosen for their sinful deed makes it immeasurably more sinful."
"The time? What is thy meaning? The time was the usual hour of all
entertainments. Even two hours after the midnight is quite respectable
if all else is correct."
"Art thou so forgetful of the God-Man, who at this time carried the
burden of all our sins?"
"Oh! You mean it is Lent, Adam?"
"Yes! It is Lent!"
"I was never taught to regard it."
"Yet none keep Lent more strictly than Conall Ragnor."
"A wife does not always adopt her husband's ideas. I had a father,
Adam, uncles and cousins and friends. None of them kept Lent. Dost
thou expect me to be wiser than all my kindred?"
"I do."
"Let us cease this talk. It will come to nothing."
"Then good-bye."
"Be not hard on Sunna. One side only, has been heard."
"As kindly as may be, I will do right."
Then Adam went away, but he left Rahal very unhappy. She had disobeyed
her husband's advice and she could not help asking herself if she
would have been as easily persuaded to tell a similar story about her
own child. "Thora is a school girl yet," she thought, "but she is just
entering the zone of temptation."
In the midst of this reflection Thora came into the room. Her mother
looked into her lovely face with a swift pang of fear. It was radiant
with a joy not of this world. A light from an interior source
illumined it; a light that wreathed with smiles the pure, childlike
lips. "Oh, if she could always remain so young, and so innocent! Oh,
if she never had to learn the sorrowful lessons that love always
teaches!"
Thus Rahal thought and wished. She forgot, as she did so, that women
come into this world to learn the very lessons love teaches, and that
unless these lessons are learned, the soul can make no progress, but
must remain undeveloped and uninstructed, even until the very end of
this session of its existence.
CHAPTER III
ARIES THE RAM
O Christ whose Cross began to bloom
With peaceful lilies long ago;
Each year above Thy empty tomb
More thick the Easter garlands grow.
O'er all the wounds of this sad strife
Bright wreathes the new immortal life.
Thus came the word: Proclaim the year of the Lord!
And so he sang in peace;
Under the yoke he sang, in the shadow of the sword,
Sang of glory and release.
The heart may sigh with pain for the people pressed and slain,
The soul may faint and fall:
The flesh may melt and die--but the Voice saith, Cry!
And the Voice is more than all.--CARL SPENCER.
It was Saturday morning and the next day was Easter Sunday. The little
town of Kirkwall was in a state of happy, busy excitement, for though
the particular house cleaning of the great occasion was finished,
every housewife was full laden with the heavy responsibility of
feeding the guests sure to arrive for the Easter service. Even Rahal
Ragnor had both hands full. She was expecting her sister-in-law,
Madame Barbara Brodie by that day's boat, and nobody ever knew how
many guests Aunt Barbara would bring with her. Then if her own home
was not fully prepared to afford them every comfort, she would be sure
to leave them at the Ragnor house until all was in order. Certainly
she had said in her last letter that she was not "going to be imposed
upon, by anyone this spring"--and Thora reminded her mother of this
fact.
"Dost thou indeed believe thy aunt's assurances?" asked Rahal. "Hast
thou not seen her break them year after year? She will either ask some
Edinburgh friend to come back to Kirkwall with her, or she will pick
up someone on the way home. Is it not so?"
"Aunt generally leaves Edinburgh alone. It is the people she picks up
on her way home that are so uncertain. Dear Mother, can I go now to
the cathedral? The flowers are calling me."
"Are there many flowers this year?"
"More than we expected. The Balfour greenhouse has been stripped and
they have such a lovely company of violets and primroses and white
hyacinths with plenty of green moss and ivy. The Baikies have a
hothouse and have such roses and plumes of curled parsley to put
behind them, and lilies-of-the-valley; and I have robbed thy
greenhouse, Mother, and taken all thy fairest auriculas and
cyclamens."
"They are for God's altar. All I have is His. Take what vases thou
wants, but Helga must carry them for thee."
"And, Mother, can I have the beautiful white Wedgewood basket for the
altar? It looked so exquisite last Easter."
"It now belongs to the altar. I gave it freely last Easter. I promised
then that it should never hold flowers again for any meaner festival.
Take whatever thou wants for thy purpose, and delay me no longer. I
have this day to put two days' work into one day." Then she lifted her
eyes from the pastry she was making and looking at Thora, asked: "Art
thou not too lightly clothed?"
"I have warm underclothing on. Thou would not like me to dress God's
altar in anything but pure white linen? All that I wear has been made
spotless for this day's work."
"That is right, but now thou must make some haste. There is no
certainty about Aunt Barbie. She may be at her home this very
minute."
"The boat is not due until ten o'clock."
"Not unless Barbara Brodie wanted to land at seven. Then, if she
wished, winds and waves would have her here at seven. Her wishes
follow her like a shadow. Go thy way now. Thou art troubling me. I
believe I have put too much sugar in the custard."
"But that would be a thing incredible." Then Thora took a hasty kiss,
and went her way. A large scarlet cloak covered her white linen dress,
and its hood was drawn partially over her head. In her hands she
carried the precious Wedgewood basket, and Helga and her daughter had
charge of the flowers and of several glass vases for their reception.
In an hour all Thora required had been brought safely to the vestry of
Saint Magnus, and then she found herself quite alone in this grand,
dim, silent House of God.
In the meantime Aunt Barbara Brodie had done exactly as Rahal Ragnor
anticipated. The boat had made the journey in an abnormally short
time. A full sea, and strong, favourable winds, had carried her
through the stormiest Firth in Scotland, at a racer's speed; and she
was at her dock, and had delivered all her passengers when Conall
Ragnor arrived at his warehouse. Then he had sent word to Rahal, and
consequently she ventured on the prediction that "Aunt Barbara might
already be at her home."
However, it had not been told the Mistress of Ragnor, that her
sister-in-law had actually "picked up someone on the way"; and that
for this reason she had gone directly to her own residence. For on
this occasion, her hospitality had been stimulated by a remarkably
handsome young man, who had proved to be the son of Dr. John Macrae, a
somewhat celebrated preacher of the most extreme Calvinist type. She
heartily disapproved of the minister, but she instantly acknowledged
the charm of his son; but without her brother's permission she thought
it best not to hazard his influence over the inexperienced Thora.
"I am fifty-two years old," she thought, "and I know the measure of a
man's deceitfulness, so I can take care of myself, but Thora is a
childlike lassie. It would not be fair to put her in danger without
word or warning. The lad has a wonderful winning way with women."
So she took her fascinating guest to her own residence, and when he
had been refreshed by a good breakfast, he frankly said to her:
"I came here on special business. I have a large sum of money to
deliver, and I think I will attend to that matter at once."
"I will not hinder thee," said Mrs. Brodie, "I'm no way troubled to
take care of my own money, but it is just an aggravation to take care
of other folks' siller. And who may thou be going to give a 'large sum
of money' to, in Kirkwall town? I wouldn't wonder if the party isn't
my own brother, Captain Conall Ragnor?"
"No, Mistress," the young man replied. "It belongs to a young
gentleman called McLeod."
"Humph! A trading man is whiles very little of a gentleman. What do
you think of McLeod?"
"I am the manager of his Edinburgh business, so I cannot discuss his
personality."
"That's right, laddie! Folks seldom see any good thing in their
employer; and it is quite fair for them to be just as blind to any bad
thing in him--but I'll tell you frankly that your employer has not a
first rate reputation here."
"All right, Mistress Brodie! His reputation is not in my charge--only
his money. I do not think the quality of his reputation can hurt
mine."
"Your father's reputation will stand bail for yours. Well now, run
away and get business off your mind, and be back here for one o'clock
dinner. I will not wait a minute after the clock chaps one. This
afternoon I am going to my brother's house, and I sent him a message
which asks for permission to bring you with me."
"Thanks!" but he said the word in an unthankful tone, and then he
looked into Mistress Brodie's face, and she laughed and imitated his
expression, as she assured him "she had no girl with matrimonial
intentions in view."
"You see, Mistress," he said, "I do not intend to remain longer than a
week. Why should I run into danger? I am ready to take heartaches. Can
you tell me how best to find McLeod's warehouse?"
"Speir at any man you meet, and any man will show you the place. I,
myself, am not carin' to send folk an ill road."
So Ian Macrae went into the town and easily found his friend and
employer. Then their business was easily settled and it appeared to be
every way gratifying to both men.
"You have taken a business I hate off my hands, Ian," said McLeod,
"and I am grateful to you. Where shall we go today? What would you
like to do with yourself?"
"Why, Kenneth, I would like first of all to see the inside of your
grand cathedral. I would say, it must be very ancient."
"Began in A. D., 1138. Is that old?"
"Seven hundred years! That will do for age. They were good builders
then. I have a strange love for these old shrines where multitudes
have prayed for centuries. They are full of _Presence_ to me."
"_Presence._ What do you mean?"
"Souls."
"You are a creepy kind of mortal. I think, Ian, if you were not such a
godless man, you might have been a saint."
Macrae drew his lips tight, and then said in detached words--"My
father is--sure--I--was--born--at--the--other--end--of--the--measure."
Then they were in the interior of the cathedral. The light was dim,
the silence intense, and both men were profoundly affected by
influences unknown and unseen. As they moved slowly forward into the
nave, the altar became visible, and in this sacred place of Communion
Thora was moving slowly about, leaving beauty and sweetness wherever
she lingered.
Her appearance gave both men a shock and both expressed it by a
spasmodic breath. They spoke not; they watched her slim, white figure
pass to-and-fro with soft and reverent steps, arranging violets and
white hyacinths with green moss in the exquisite white Wedgewood. Then
with a face full of innocent joy she placed it upon the altar, and for
a few moments stood with clasped hands, looking at it.
As she did so, the organist began to practice his Easter music, and
she turned her face towards the organ. Then they saw fully a
beautiful, almost childlike face transfigured with celestial
emotions.
"Let us get out of this," whispered McLeod. "What business have we
here? It is a kind of sacrilege." And Ian bowed his head and followed
him. But it was some minutes ere the every-day world became present to
their senses. McLeod was the first to speak:--
"What an experience!" he sighed. "I should not dare to try it often.
It would send me into a monastery."
"Are you a Roman Catholic?"
"What else would I be? When I was a lad, I used to dream of being a
monk. It was power I wanted. I thought then, that priests had more
power than any other men; as I grew older I found out that it was
money that owned the earth."
"Not so!" said Ian sharply, "'the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness
thereof.' I promised to be at Mistress Brodie's for dinner at one
o'clock. What is the time?"
McLeod took out his watch:--"You have twenty minutes," he said. "I was
just going to tell you that the girl we saw in the cathedral is her
niece."
Ian had taken a step or two in the direction of the Brodie house, but
he turned his head, and with a bright smile said, "Thank you, Ken!"
and McLeod watched him a moment and then with a sigh softly
ejaculated: "What a courteous chap he is--when he is in the mood to be
courteous--and what a ---- when he is not in the mood."
Ian was at the Brodie house five minutes before one, and he found
Mistress Brodie waiting for him. "I am glad that you have kept your
tryst," she said. "We will just have a modest bite now, and we can
make up all that is wanting here, at my brother Coll's, a little
later. I have a pleasant invite for yourself. My good sister-in-law
has read some of your father's sermons in the Sunday papers and
magazines, and for their sake she will be glad to see you. I just
promised for you."
"Thank you, I shall be glad to go with you," and it was difficult for
him to disguise how more than glad he was to have this opportunity.
"So then, you will put on the best you have with you--the best is none
too good to meet Thora in."
"Thora?"
"Thora Ragnor, my own niece. She is the bonniest and the best girl in
Scotland, if you will take me as a judge of girls. 'Good beyond the
lave of girls,' and so Bishop Hadley asked her special to dress the
altar for Easter. He knew there would be no laughing and daffing about
the work, if Thora Ragnor had the doing of it."
"Is there any reason to refrain from laughing and daffing while at
that work?"
"At God's altar there should be nothing but prayer and praise. You
know what girls talk and laugh about. If they have not some poor lad
to bring to worship, or to scorn, they have no heart to help their
hands; and the work is done silent and snappy. They are wishing they
were at home, and could get their straight, yellow hair on to
crimping pins, because Laurie or Johnny would be coming to see them,
it being Saturday night."
"Then the Bishop thought your niece would be more reverent?"
"He knew she would. He knew also, that she would not be afraid to be
in the cathedral by herself, she would do the work with her own hands,
and that there would be no giggling and gossiping and no young lads
needed to hold vases and scissors and little balls of twine."
Their "moderate bite" was a pleasant lingering one. They talked of
people in Edinburgh with whom they had some kind of a mutual
acquaintance, and Mistress Brodie did the most of the talking. She was
a charming story-teller, and she knew all the good stories about the
University and its great professors. This day she spent the time
illustrating John Stuart Blackie taking his ease in a dressing gown
and an old straw hat. She made you see the man, and Ian felt refreshed
and cheered by the mental vision. As for Lord Roseberry, he really sat
at their "modest bite" with them. "You know, laddie," she said,
"Scotsmen take their politics as if they were the Highland fling; and
Roseberry was Scotland's idol. He was an orator who carried every soul
with him, whether they wanted to go or not; and I was told by J. M.
Barrie, that once when he had fired an audience to the delirium point,
an old man in the hall shouted out:--'I dinna hear a word; but it's
grand; it's grand!'"
They barely touched on Scottish religion. Mistress Brodie easily saw
it was a subject her guest did not wish to discuss, and she shut it
off from conversation, with the finality of her remark that "some
people never understood Scotch religion, except as outsiders
misunderstood it. Well, Ian, I will be ready for our visit in about
two hours; one hour to rest after eating and a whole hour to dress
myself and lecture the lasses anent behaving themselves when they are
left to their own idle wishes and wasteful work."
"Then in two hours I will be ready to accompany you; and in the
meantime I will walk over the moor and smoke a cigar."
"No, no, better go down to the beach and watch the puffins flying over
the sea, and the terns fishing about the low lying land. Or you might
get a sight of an Arctic skua going north, or a black guillemot with a
fish in its mouth flying fast to feed its young. The seaside is the
place, laddie! There is something going on there constantly."
So Ian went to the seaside and found plenty of amusement there in
watching a family quarrel among the eider ducks, who were feeding on
the young mussels attached to the rocks which a low tide had
uncovered.
It was a pleasant walk to the Ragnor home, and Rahal and Thora were
expecting them. The sitting room was cheery with sunshine and fire
glow, Rahal was in afternoon dress and Thora was sitting near the
window spinning on the little wheel the marvellously fine threads of
wool made from the dwarfish breed of Shetland sheep, and used
generally for the knitting of those delicate shawls which rivalled the
finest linen laces. On the entrance of her aunt and Ian Macrae she
rose and stood by her wheel, until the effusive greetings of the two
elder ladies were complete; and Ian was utterly charmed with the
picture she made--it was completely different from anything he had
ever seen or dreamed about.
The wheel was a pretty one, and was inlaid with some bright metal, and
when Thora rose from her chair she was still holding a handful of fine
snowy wool. Her blue-robed and blue-eyed loveliness appeared to fill
the room as she stood erect and smiling, watching her mother and
aunt. But when her aunt stepped forward to introduce Ian to her, she
turned the full light of her lovely countenance upon him. Then both
wondered where they had met before. Was it in dreams only?
Mother and aunt were soon deep in the fascinating gossip of an
Edinburgh winter season, and Thora and Ian went into the greenhouse
and the garden and found plenty to talk about until Conall Ragnor
came home from business and supper was served. And the wonder was,
that Conall bent to the young man's charm as readily as Thora had
done. He was amazed at his shrewd knowledge of business methods
and opportunities; and listened to him with grave attention, though
laughing heartily at some of his plans and propositions.
"Mr. Macrae," he said, "thou art too far north for me. I do know a few
Shetlanders that could pare the skin off thy teeth, but we Orcadeans
are simple honest folk that just live, and let live." At which remark
Ian laughed, and reminded Conall Ragnor of certain transactions in
railway stock which had nonplussed the Perth directors at the time.
Then Ragnor asked how he happened to know what was generally
considered "private information," and Ian answered, "Private
information is the most valuable, sir. It is what I look for." Then
Ragnor rose from the table and said, "Let us have a smoke and a little
music."
"Take thy smoke, Coll," said Mrs. Ragnor, "and Mr. Macrae will give us
the music. Barbara says he sings better than Harrison. Come, Mr.
Macrae, we are waiting to hear thee."
Ian made no excuses. He sat down and sang with delightful charm and
spirit "A Life on the Ocean Wave" and "The Bay of Biscay." Then these
were followed by the fresh and then popular songs, "We May Be Happy
Yet," "Then You'll Remember Me" and "The Land of Our Birth." No one
spoke or interrupted him, even to praise; but he was well repaid by
the look on every face and the kindness that flowed out to him. He
could see it in the eyes, and hear it in the voices, and feel it in
the manner of all present.
The silence was broken by the sound of quick, firm footsteps. Ragnor
listened a moment and then went with alacrity to open the door. "I
knew it was thee!" he cried. "O sir, I am glad to see thee! Come in,
come in! None can be more welcome!" And it was good to hear the
strong, sweet modulations of the voice that answered him.
"It is Bishop Hedley!" said Rahal.
"Then I am going," said Aunt Barbara.
"No, no, Aunt!" cried Thora, and the next moment she was at her aunt's
side coaxing her to resume her chair. Then the Bishop and Ragnor
entered the room, and the moment the Bishop's face shone upon them,
all talk about leaving the room ceased. For Bishop Hedley carried his
Great Commission in his face and his life was a living sermon. His
soul loved all mankind; and he had with it an heroic mind and a
strong-sinewed body, which refused to recognise the fact that it died
daily. For the Bishop's business was with the souls of men, and he
lived and moved and did his daily work in a spiritual and eternal
element.
And if constant commerce with the physical world weakens and ages the
man who lives and works in it, surely the life passed amid spiritual
thoughts and desires is thereby fortified and strengthened to resist
the cares and worries which fret the physical body to decay. Then
vainly the flesh fades, the soul makes all things new. This is a great
truth--"it is only by the supernatural we are strong."
The Bishop came in bringing with him, not only the moral tonic of his
presence, but also the very breath of the sea; its refreshing "tang,"
and good salt flavour. His smile and blessing was a spiritual sunshine
that warmed and cheered and brightened the room. He was affectionate
to all, but to Mistress Brodie and Ian Macrae, he was even more kindly
than to the Ragnors. They were not of his flock but he longed to take
care of them.
"I heard singing as I came through the garden," he said, "and it was
not your voice, Conall."
"It was Ian Macrae singing," Conall answered, "and he will gladly sing
for thee, sir." This promise Macrae ratified at once, and that with
such power and sweetness that every one was amazed and the Bishop
requested him to sing, during the next day's service, a fine "Gloria"
he had just given them in the cathedral choir. And Ian said he would
see the organist, and if it could be done, he would be delighted to
obey his request.
"See the organist!" exclaimed Mistress Brodie. "What are you talking
about? The organist is Sandy Odd, the barber's son! How can the like
of him hinder the Bishop's wish?" Then the Bishop wrote a few words in
his pocket book, tore out the leaf, and gave it to Macrae, saying:
"Mr. Odd will manage all I wish, no doubt. Now, sir, for my great
pleasure, play us 'Home, Sweet Home.' I have not been here for four
months, and it is good to be with friends again." And they all sang it
together, and were perfectly at home with each other after it. So much
so, that the Bishop asked Rahal to give him a cup of tea and a little
bread; "I have come from Fair Island today," he said, "and have not
eaten since noon."
Then all the women went out together to prepare and serve the
requested meal, so that it came with wonderful swiftness, and beaming
smiles, and charming words of laughing pleasure. And when he saw a
little table drawn to the hearth for him and quickly spread with the
food he needed and smelled the refreshing odour of the young Hyson,
and heard the pleasant tinkle of china and glass and silver as Thora
placed them before the large chair he was to occupy, he sat down
happily to eat and drink, while Thora served him, and Conall smoked
and watched them with a now-and-then smile or word or two, while Rahal
and Barbara talked, and Ian played charmingly--with soft pedal
down--quotations from Beethoven's "Pastoral Symphony" and "Hark, 'Tis
the Linnet!" from the oratorio, "Joshua."
It was a delightful interlude in which every one was happy in their
own way, and so healed by it of all the day's disappointments and
weariness. But the wise never prolong such perfect moments. Even while
yielding their first satisfactions, they permit them to depart. It is
a great deal to _have been happy_. Every such memory sweetens after
life.
The Bishop did not linger over his meal, and while servants were
clearing away cups and plates, he said, "Come, all of you, outside,
for a few minutes. Come and look at the Moon of Moons! The Easter
Moon! She has begun to fill her horns; and she is throwing over the
mystery and majesty of earth and sea a soft silvery veil as she
watches for the dawn. The Easter dawn! that in a few hours will come
streaming up, full of light and warmth for all."
But there was not much warmth in an Orcadean April evening and the
party soon returned to the cheerful, comfortable hearth blaze. "It is
not so beautiful as the moonlight," said Rahal, "but it is very
good."
"True," said the Bishop, "and we must not belittle the good we have,
because we look for something better. Let us be thankful for our feet,
though they are not wings."
Then one of those sudden, inexplicable "arrests" which seem to seal
up speech fell over every one, and for a minute or more no one could
speak. Rahal broke the spell. "Some angel has passed through the room.
Please God he left a blessing! Or perhaps the moonlight has thrown a
spell over us. What were you thinking of, Bishop?"
"I will tell you. I was thinking of the first Good Friday in Old
Jerusalem. I was thinking of the sun hiding his face at noonday.
Thora, have you an almanac?"
Thora took one from a nail on which it was hanging and gave it to
him.
"I was thinking that the sun, which hid his face at noonday, must at
that time have been in Aries, the Ram. Find me the signs of the
Zodiac." Thora did so. "Now look well at Aries the Ram. What month of
our year is signed thus?"
"The month of March, sir."
"Why?"
"I do not know. Tell me, sir."
"I believe that in a long forgotten age, some priest or good man
received a promise or prophecy revealing the Great Sacrifice that
would be offered up for man's salvation once and for all time. And I
think they knew that this plenary sacrament would occur in the vernal
season, in the month of March, whose sign or symbol was Aries, the
Ram."
"But why under that sign, sir?"
"The ram, to the ancient world, was the sacrificial animal. We have
only to open our Bibles and be amazed at the prominence given to the
ram and his congeners. From the time of Abraham until the time of
Christ the ram is constantly present in sacrificial and religious
ceremonies. Do you remember, Thora, any incident depending upon a
ram?"
"When Isaac was to be sacrificed, a ram caught in a thicket was
accepted by God in Isaac's place, as a burnt offering."
"More than once Abraham offered a ram in sacrifice. In Exodus, Chapter
Twenty-ninth, special directions are given for the offering of a ram
as a burnt offering to the Lord. In Leviticus, the Eighth Chapter, a
bullock is sacrificed for a sin offering but a ram for a burnt
offering. In Numbers we are told of _the ram of atonement_ which a man
is to offer, when he has done his neighbour an injury. In Ezra, the
Tenth, the ram is offered for a trespass because of an unlawful
marriage. On the accession of Solomon to the throne one thousand rams
with bullocks and lambs were 'offered up with great gladness.' In the
Old Testament there are few books in which the sacrificial ram is not
mentioned. Even the horn of the ram was constantly in evidence, for it
called together all religious and solemn services.
"A little circumstance," continued the Bishop, "that pleases me to
remember occurred in Glasgow five weeks ago. I saw a crowd entering a
large church, and I asked a workingman, who was eating his lunch
outside the building, the name of the church; and he answered,--'It's
just the auld Ram's Horn Kirk. They are putting a new minister in the
pulpit today and they seem weel pleased wi' their choice.'
"Now I am going to leave this subject with you. I have only indicated
it. Those who wish to do so, can finish the list, for the half has not
been told, and indeed I have left the most significant ceremony until
the last. It is that wonderful service in the Sixteenth Chapter of
Leviticus, where the priest, after making a sin offering of young
bullocks and a burnt offering of a ram, casts lots upon two goats for
a sin offering, and the goat upon which the lot falls is 'presented
alive before the Lord to make an atonement; and to let him go for a
scapegoat into the wilderness.'"
Then he took from his pocket a little book and said, "Listen to the
end of this service, 'And Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head
of the live goat, and confess over him all the iniquities of the
Children of Israel, and all their transgressions in all their sins,
putting them upon the head of the goat, and shall send him away, by
the hand of a fit man into the wilderness.
"'And the goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities unto a land
not inhabited; and he shall let go the goat in the wilderness.'
"My friends, this night let all read the Fifty-third of Isaiah, and
they will understand how fitting it was that Christ should be 'offered
up' in Aries the Ram, the sacrificial month representing the shadows
and types of which He was the glorious arch-type."
Then there was silence, too deeply charged with feeling, for words.
The Bishop himself felt that he could speak on no lesser subject, and
his small audience were lost in wonder at the vast panorama of
centuries, day by day, century after century, through all of which God
had remembered that He had promised He would provide the Great and
Final Sacrifice for mankind's justification. Then Aries the Ram would
no longer be a promise. It would be a voucher forever that the Promise
had been redeemed, and a memorial that His Truth and His mercy
endureth forever!
At the door the Bishop said to Ragnor, "In a few hours, Friend Conall,
it will be Easter Morning. Then we can tell each other '_Christ has
risen_!'" And Conall's eyes were full of tears, he could not find his
voice, he looked upward and bowed his head.
CHAPTER IV
SUNNA AND HER GRANDFATHER
Love is rich in his own right,
He is heir of all the spheres,
In his service day and night,
Swing the tides and roll the years.
What has he to ask of fate?
Crown him; glad or desolate.
Time puts out all other flames,
But the glory of his eyes;
His are all the sacred names,
His are all the mysteries.
Crown him! In his darkest day
He has Heaven to give away!
--CARL SPENCER.
Arms are fair,
When the intent for bearing them is just.
In the meantime Sunna was spending the evening with her grandfather.
The old gentleman was reading, but she did not ask him to read aloud,
she knew by the look and size of the book that it would not be
interesting; and she was well pleased when one of her maids desired
to speak with her.
"Well then, Vera, what is thy wish?"
"My sister was here and she was bringing me some strange news. About
Mistress Brodie she was talking."
"Yes, I heard she had come home. Did she bring Thora Ragnor a new
Easter gown?"
"Of a gown I heard nothing. It was a young man she brought! O so
beautiful is he! And like an angel he sings! The Bishop was very
friendly with him, and the Ragnors, also; but they, indeed! they are
friendly with all kinds of people."
"This beautiful young man, is he staying with the Ragnors?"
"With Mistress Brodie he is staying, and with her he went to dinner at
the Ragnors'. And the Bishop was there and the young man was singing,
and a great deal was made of his singing, also they were speaking of
his father who is a famous preacher in some Edinburgh kirk, and----"
"These things may be so, but how came thy sister to know them?"
"This morning my sister took work with Mistress Ragnor and she was
waiting on them as they eat; and in and out of the room until nine
o'clock. Then, as she went to her own home, she called on me and we
talked of the matter, and it seemed to my thought that more might come
of it."
"Yes, no doubt. I shall see that more does come of it. I am well
pleased with thee for telling me."
Then she went back to her grandfather and resumed her knitting. Anon,
she began to sing. Her face was flushed and her nixie eyes were
dancing to the mischief she contemplated. In a few minutes the old
gentleman lifted his head, and looked at her. "Sunna," he said, "thy
song and thy singing are charming, but they fit not the book I am
reading."
"Then I will stop singing and thou must talk to me. There has come
news, and I want thy opinion on it. The Ragnors had a dinner party
today, and we were not asked."
"A great lie is that! Conall Ragnor would not give Queen Victoria a
party in Lent. Who told thee such foolishness?"
Then Sunna retailed the information given her and asked, "What hast
thou done to Conall Ragnor? Always before he bid thee to dinner when
the Bishop was at his house? Or perhaps the offence is with Rahal
Ragnor? Not long ago thou spent an afternoon with her and black and
dangerous as a thunder storm thou came home."
"This day the dinner was an accidental gathering. Rahal knows well
that I have no will to dine with Mistress Brodie. Dost thou want her
here, as thy stepmother?"
"If Mistress Brodie is not tired of an easy life, she will turn her
feet away from this house. If Sunna cannot please thee, thou art in
danger of worse happening. Yes, many are guessing who it is thou wilt
marry."
"And which way runs the guessing?"
"Not all one way. For thee, that is not a respectable thing. Thou
should not be named with so many old women."
"I am of thy opinion. An old woman is little to my mind. If I trust
marriage again, I will choose a young girl for my wife--such an one as
Treddie Fae, or Thora Ragnor."
"Thora Ragnor! Dreaming thou art! I am sure Barbara Brodie has brought
this young man here for Thora's approval. Can thou stand against a
young man?"
"Yes. Adam Vedder and fifty thousand pounds can hand any young man his
hat and gloves. Thy father's father is not for thee to make a jest
about. So here our talk shall come to an end on this subject. Go to
thy bed! Sleep, and the Good Being bless thee!"
Sunna was not yet inclined to sleep. She sat down before her mirror,
uncoiled her plentiful hair, and carefully brushed and braided it for
the night, as she considered the news that had come to her.
"This beautiful young man, this singing man, is one of Barbara
Brodie's 'finds.' Not much do I think of any of them! That handsome
scholar she brought here turned out an unbearable encumbrance. I
believe she paid him to go back to Edinburgh. That Aberdeen man, who
wanted to invest money in Kirkwall had to borrow two pounds from
grandfather to take him back to where he came from. That witty,
good-looking Irishman left a big bill at the Castle Hotel for some one
to pay; and the woman who wanted to begin a dressmaking business, on
the good will of people like Barbara Brodie, knew nothing about
dressmaking. This beautiful young man, I'll warrant, is a fish out of
the same net. As for the Bishop being taken with his beauty, that is
nothing! The poorer a man is, the better Bishop Hedley will like him.
So it goes! I wish I knew where Boris Ragnor is--I wish----
"Pshaw! I wonder what kind of a dress Mistress Barbara Brodie brought
Thora. Not much taste in either men or clothes has she! Too large
will the pattern be, or too strong the colours, and too heavy, or
too light, will be the material. I know! And it will not fit her.
Too big, or too little it is sure to be! With my own dress I am
satisfied. And if grandfather asks no questions about it, I shall
count it a lucky dress and save it till Boris comes home. I am
going to forgive him when he comes home--perhaps----Now I will put
the hopes and worries of this world under my pillow and be off to
the Land of Dreams----Tomorrow is Sunday, Easter Sunday--I shall
sing the solo in my new dress--that is good, I like a religious
feeling in a new dress--I think I am rather a religious girl."
Alas for the hopes of all who wanted to dress for Easter. It was an
uncompromising, wet day. It was oil skin and rubber for the men; it
was cloaks and pattens and umbrellas for the women. Yet, aside from
the rain, it was a day full of good things. The cathedral was crowded,
there was full cathedral service, and the Bishop preached a
transfiguring sermon. The music was good, the home choir did well, and
Sunna's solo was effectively sung; but after she had heard Ian
Macrae's "Gloria," she was sorry she had sung at all.
"Grandfather!" she commented, "No private person has a right to sing
as that man sings! After him, non-professionals make a show of
themselves."
"Thou sang well--better than usual, I thought."
"I was told he was such a handsome young man! And he has black hair
and black eyes! Even his skin is dark. He looks like a Celt. I don't
like Celts. None of our people like them. When they come to the
fishing they are not respected."
"Thou art much mistaken. Our men like them."
"Boris Ragnor says they are poor traders."
"Well then, it is to fish they come."
"What they come for is no care of mine. Boris is ten times more of a
man than the best of them. No notice shall I take of this Celt."
"Through thy scorn he may live, and even enjoy his life. The English
officers do that."
"This chicken is better than might be. Wilt thou have a little more of
it?"
"Enough is plenty. I have had enough. At Conall Ragnor's there is
always good eating and I am going there for my supper. Wilt thou go
with me? Then with Thora thou can talk. This beautiful young man is
likely at Ragnor's. It was too stormy for Mistress Brodie to go to her
own house at the noonday. Dost thou see then, how it will be?"
"I will go with thee, I want to see Thora's new dress. I need not
notice the young man."
"His name? Already I have forgotten it."
"Odd was calling him 'Macrae.'"
"Macrae! That is Highland Scotch. The Macraes are a good family. There
is a famous minister in Edinburgh of that name. The Calvinists all
swear by him."
"This man sang in a full cathedral service. Dost thou believe a
Calvinist would do that? He would be sure it was a disguised mass, and
nothing better."
Adam laughed as he said, "Well, then, go with me this night to
Ragnor's and between us we will find something out. A mystery is not
pleasant to thee."
"There is something wrong in a mystery, that is what I feel."
"Thou can ask Thora all about him."
"I shall not ask her. She will tell me."
Adam laughed again. "That is the best way," he said. "It was thy
father's way. Well then, five minutes ago, the wind changed. By four
o'clock it will be fair."
"Then I will be ready to go with thee. If I am left alone, I am sad;
and that is not good for my health."
"But thou must behave well, even to the Celt."
"Unless it is worth my while, I do not quarrel with any one."
"Was it worth thy while to quarrel with Boris Ragnor?"
"Yes--or I had not quarrelled with him."
"Here comes the sunshine! Gleam upon gloom! Cheery and good it is!"
"They say an Easter dress should be christened with a few drops of
rain. That is not my opinion. I like the Easter sunshine on it. Now I
shall leave thee and go and rest and dress myself. Very good is thy
talk and thy company to me, but to thee, I am foolishness. As I shut
the door, the big book thou art reading, thou wilt say to it: 'Now,
friend of my soul, some sensible talk we will have together, for that
foolish girl has gone to her foolishness at her looking glass.'"
"Run away! I am in a hurry for my big book."
Sunna shut the door with a kiss--and as she took the stairs with
hurrying steps, the sunshine came dancing through the long window, and
her feet trod on it and it fell all over her.
At four o'clock she was ready for her evening's inquest and she found
her grandfather waiting for her. He had put on a light vest and a
white tie, and he had that clean, healthy, good-tempered look that
pleases all women. He smiled and bowed to Sunna and she deserved the
compliment; for she was beautiful and had dressed her beauty most
becomingly. Her gown was of Saxony cloth, the exact colour of her
hair, with a collar, stomacher and high cuffs of pale green velvet.
The collar was tied with cord and small tassels of gold braid; the
stomacher laced with gold braid over small gilt buttons, and the high
cuffs were trimmed to match. Very handsome gilt combs held up her
rippled hair, and a large red-riding-hood cloak covered her from the
crowning bow of her hair to the little French pattens that protected
her black satin slippers. She expected to make a conquest, and her
thoughts were usually the factors of success.
A little disappointment awaited her. She was usually shown into the
right-hand parlour at once, and she relied on the bit of colour
afforded by her scarlet cloak to give life to the modest shades of her
spring colours of pale fawn and tender green. But servants were
setting the dinner table in the right-hand parlour; and Conall and
Rahal and Aunt Barbara had taken themselves to Conall's little
business room where there was a bright fire burning. There, in his big
chair, Conall was next door to sleeping; and Barbara and Rahal were
talking in a sleepy, mysterious way about something that did not
appear to interest them.
At the sound of Adam Vedder's voice, Conall became wide awake; and
Barbara's face lighted up with a fresh interest. If there was nothing
else, there was a chronic quarrel between them, which Barbara was
ready to lift at a moment's notice. But Sunna was not dissatisfied.
Conall's quick look of admiration, and Rahal's and Barbara's glances
of surprise, were excellent in their way. She knew she had given them
a subject of interest sufficient to make even the hour before dinner
appear short.
"Where is Thora?" she asked, as she turned every way, apparently to
look for Thora, but really to allow her admirers to convince
themselves that her dress was trimmed as handsomely at the back as the
front--that if the stomacher was perfect in front, the sash of green
velvet at the back was quite as stylish and elaborate.
"Where _is_ Thora?" she asked again.
"In the drawing room thou wilt find Thora with Ian Macrae," said
Rahal. "Go to them. They will be glad of thy company."
"Doubtful is their gladness. Two are company, three are a crowd. Yet
so it is! I must run into danger, like the rest of women."
"Is that thy Easter gown, Sunna?" asked Mistress Brodie.
"It is. Dost thou like it?"
"Who would not like it? The rumour goes abroad that thy grandfather
sent to Inverness for it. Others say it came to thee from Edinburgh."
"Wrong are both stories. I am happy to say that Sunna Vedder gave
herself a dress so pretty and so suitable."
With these smiling words she left the room and the elder women
shrugged their shoulders and looked expressively at each other. "What
can a sensible man like Boris Ragnor see in such a harum-scarum girl!"
was Rahal Ragnor's question, and Barbara Brodie thought it was all
Adam Vedder's fault. "He ought to have married some sensible woman who
would have brought up the girl as girls ought to be brought up," she
answered; adding, "We may as well remember that the management of
women, at any age, is a business clean beyond Adam Vedder's
capabilities."
"Adam is a clever man, Barbie."
"Book clever! What is the use of book wisdom when you have a live
girl, full of her own way, to deal with?"
"Conall chose the husbands for his daughters. They were quite suitable
to the girls and they have been very happy with them."
"Thora will choose for herself."
"Perhaps, that may be so. Thora has been spoiled. Her marriage need
not yet be thought of. In two or three years, we will consider it. The
little one has not yet any dreams of that kind."
"Such dreams come in a moment--when you are not thinking of them."
In fact, at that very moment Thora was learning the mystery of
"falling in love"; and there is hardly a more vital thing in life than
this act. For it is something taking place in the subconscious self;
it is a revolution, and a growth. It happened that after dinner,
Conall wished to hear Ian sing again that loveliest of all metrical
Collects, "Lord of All Power and Might," and Thora went with Ian to do
her part as accompanist on the piano. As they sang Conall appeared to
fall asleep, and no more music was asked for.
Then Ian lifted a book full of illustrations of the English lake
district, and they sat down on the sofa to examine it. Ian had once
been at Keswick and Ambleside, and he began to tell her about Lake
Windemere and these lovely villages. He was holding Thora's hand and
glancing constantly into her face, and before he recognised what he
was saying, Ambleside and Windemere were quite forgotten, and he was
telling Thora that he loved her with an everlasting love. He vowed
that he had loved her in his past lives, and would love her, and only
her, forever. And he looked so handsome and spoke in words of the
sweetest tenderness, and indeed was amazed at his own passionate
eloquence, but knew in his soul that every word he said was true.
And Thora, the innocent little one, was equally sure of his truth. She
blushed and listened, while he drew her closer to his side calling her
"his own, his very own!" and begging her to promise that she would
"marry him, and no other man, in the whole earth."
And Thora promised him what he wished and for one-half hour they were
in Paradise.
Now, how could this love affair have come to perfection so rapidly?
Because it was the natural and the proper way. True love dates its
birth from the first glance. It is the coming together of two souls,
and in their first contact love flashes forth like flame. And then
their influence over each other is like that gravitation which one
star exerts over another star.
But much that passes for love is not love. It is only a prepossession,
pleasant and profitable, promising many every-day advantages. True
love is a deep and elemental thing, a secret incredible glory, in a
way, it is even a spiritual triumph. And we should have another name
for love like this. For it is the long, long love, that has followed
us through ages, the healing love, the Comforter! In the soul of a
young, innocent girl like Thora, it is a kind of piety, and ought to
be taken with a wondering thankfulness.
An emotion so spiritual and profound was beyond Sunna's understanding.
She divined that there had been some sort of love-making, but she was
unfamiliar with its present indications. Her opinion, however, was
that Ian had offered himself to Thora, and been rejected; in no other
way could she account for the far-offness of both parties. Thora
indeed was inexplicable. She not only refused to show Sunna her Easter
dress, she would not enter into any description of it.
"That is a very remarkable thing," she said to her grandfather, as
they walked home together. "I think the young man made love to Thora
and even asked her to marry him, and Thora was frightened and said
'No!' and she is likely sorry now that she did not say 'Yes.'"
"To say 'No!' would not have frightened thee, I suppose?"
"That is one of the disagreeable things women have to get used to."
"How often must a woman say 'No!' in order to get used to it?"
"That depends on several small things; for instance I am very
sympathetic. I have a tender heart! Yes, and so I suffer."
"I am glad to know of thy sympathy. If I asked thee to marry a young
man whom I wished thee to marry, would thou do it--just to please
me?"
"It would depend--on my mood that day."
"Say, it was thy sympathetic mood?"
"That would be unfavourable. Of the others I should think, and I
should feel that I was cruel; if I took all hope from them."
"Thou wilt not be reasonable. I am not joking. Would thou marry Boris
to please me?"
"Boris has offended me. He must come to me, and say, 'I am sorry.' He
must take what punishment I choose for his rudeness to me. Then, I may
forgive him."
"And marry him?"
"Only my angel knows, if it is so written. Men do not like to do as
their women say they must do. Is there any man in the Orcades who
dares to say 'No,' to his wife's 'Yes?'"
"What of Sandy Stark?"
"Sandy is a Scot! I do not use a Scotch measure for a Norseman. Thou
art not a perfect Norseman, but yet, even in Edinburgh, there is no
Scot that could be thy measure. I should have to say--'thou art five
inches taller than the Scot at thy side, and forty pounds heavier, and
nearly twice as strong.' That would not be correct to an ounce, but it
is as near as it is possible to come between Norse and Scot."
"Thou art romancing!"
"As for the Norse women----"
"About Norse women there is no need for thee to teach thy grandfather.
I know what Norse women are like. If I did not know, I should have
married again."
"Well then, Barbara Brodie is a good specimen of a capable Norse woman
and I have noticed one thing about them, that I feel ought to be
better understood."
"Chut! What hast thou understood? Talk about it, and let thy wisdom be
known."
"Well then, it is this thing--Norse women always outlive their
husbands. Thou may count by tens and hundreds the widows in this town.
The 'maidens of blushing fifteen' have no opportunities; the widow of
fifty asks a young man into her beautiful home and makes him
acquainted with the burden of her rents and dividends and her share
in half a dozen trading boats, and he takes to the golden lure and
marries himself like the rest of the world. Thou would have been
re-married long ago but for my protection. I have had a very
disagreeable day and----"
"Then go to thy bed and put an end to it."
"My new dress is crushed and some way or other I have got a spot on
the front breadth. Is it that Darwin book thou art looking for?"
"Yes."
"Would thou like to read a chapter to me?"
"No, I would not."
"Grandfather, I can understand it. I like clever men. Can thou
introduce me to him--to Darwin?"
"He would not care to see thee. Clever men do not want clever wives;
so if thou art thinking of a clever husband keep thy 'blue stockings'
well under thy petticoats."
"And grandfather, do thou keep out of the way of the widows of Orkney
or thou wilt find thyself inside of a marriage ring."
"Not while thou remains unmarried. Few women would care to look after
thy welfare. I am used to it, long before thou had been short-coated,
I had to walk thee to sleep in my arms."
"Yes," laughed Sunna, "I remember that. I felt myself safest with
thee."
"Thou remembers nothing of the kind. At six months old, thou could
neither compare nor remember."
"But thou art mistaken. I was born with perfect senses. Ere I was
twenty-four hours old, I had selected thee as the most suitable person
to walk me to sleep. I think that was a proof of my perfect
intelligence. One thing more, and then I will let thee read. I am
going to marry Boris Ragnor, and then the widow Brodie would--take
charge of thee." She shut the door to these words and Adam heard her
laughing all the way to her own room. Then he rubbed his hand slowly
over and over his mouth and said to himself--"She shall have her
say-so; Boris is the only man on the Islands who can manage her."
After the departure of the Vedders, Rahal and her sister Brodie went
upstairs, taking Thora with them. She went cheerfully though a little
reluctantly. She liked to hear Ian talk. She had thought of asking him
to sing; but she was satisfied with the one straight, long look which
flashed between them, as Ian bid her "good night"; for--
He looked at her as a lover can;
She looked at him as one who awakes,
The past was a sleep and her life began.
Then she went to her room, and thought of Ian until she fell asleep
and dreamed of him.
For nearly two hours Ian remained with Conall Ragnor. The Railway
Mania was then at its height in England, and the older man was
delighted with Ian's daring stories of its mad excitement. Ian had
seen and talked with Hudson, the draper's clerk, who had just
purchased a fine ducal residence and estate from the results of his
reckless speculations. Ian knew all the Scotch lines, he had even full
faith in the _Caledonian_ when it was first proposed and could hardly
win any attention. "Every one said a railway between England and
Scotland would not pay, Mr. Ragnor," said Ian.
"I would have said very different," replied Conall. "It would be
certain to pay. Why not?"
"Because there would be _no returns_," laughed Ian, and then Conall
laughed also, and wished that Boris had been there to learn whatever
Ian might teach him.
"Hast thou speculated in railway stock yet," he asked.
"No, sir. I have not had the money to do so."
"How would thou buy if thou had?"
"I would buy when no one else was buying, and when everyone else was
buying, I would keep cool, and sell. A very old and clever speculator
gave me that advice as a steady rule, saying it was 'his only
guide.'"
This was the tenor of the men's conversation until near midnight, and
then Ragnor went with Ian to the door of his room and bid him a frank
and friendly good night. And as he stood a moment handfast with the
youth, his conscience troubled him a little and he said: "Ian, Ian,
thou art a wise lad about this world's business, but thou must not be
forgetting that there is another world after this."
"I do not forget that, sir."
"Bishop Hedley is a greater and wiser man than all the railway nabobs
thou hast spoken of."
"I think so, sir! I do indeed!" and the mutual smile and nod that
followed required no further "good night."
It was a lovely, silent night. The very houses looked as if they were
asleep; and there was not a sound either in the town on the brown pier
or the moonlit sea. It was a night full of the tranquillity of God.
Men and women looked into its peace, and carried its charm into their
dreams. For most fine spirits that dwell by the sea have an elemental
sympathy with strange oracles and dreams and old Night. In the
morning, Conall Ragnor was the first to awaken. He went at once to
fling open his window. Then he cried out in amazement and wonder, and
awakened his wife:--
"Rahal! Rahal!" he shouted. "Come here! Come quick! Look at the town!
It is hung with flags. The ships in the harbour--flying are their
flags also! And there is a ship just entering the harbour and her
colours are flying! And there are the guns! They are saluting her from
the garrison! It must be a man-of-war! I wonder if the Queen is coming
to see us at last! If thou art ready, call Thora and Barbara.
Something is up! Thou may hear the town now, all tip-on-top with
excitement!"
"Why did not thou call us sooner, Coll?"
"I slept late and long."
"But thou must have heard the town noises?"
"A confused noise passed through my ears, a noise full of hurry like a
morning dream, that was all. Now, I am going for my swim and I will
bring the news home with me."
But long before it was within expectation of Ragnor's return, the
three women standing at the open door saw Ian coming rapidly to the
house from the town. His walk was swift and full of excitement. His
head was thrown upward, and he kept striking himself on the right
side, just over the place where his ancestors had worn their dirks or
broadswords. As soon as he saw the three women he flung his Glengarry
skyward and shouted a ringing "Hurrah!"
As he approached them, all were struck with his remarkable beauty, his
manly figure, his swift graceful movements and his handsome face
suffused with the brightness of fiery youth. Through their long black
lashes his eyes were shining and glowing and full of spirit, and
indeed his whole personality was instinct with verve and fire. Anyone
watching his approach would have said--"Here comes a youth made to
lead a rattling charge of cavalry."
"Whatever is the matter with you, Ian?" cried Mistress Brodie. "You
are surely gone daft."
"No indeed!" he answered. "I seem at this very hour to have just found
myself and my senses."
"What is all the fuss about, Ian?" asked Rahal.
"England has gone to war at the long last with the cruel, crafty black
Bear of the North."
"Well then, it is full time she did so, there are none will say
different."
"And," continued Ian, "there is a ship now in harbour carrying
enlisting officers--you may see her; she is to call at the Orkney and
Shetland Islands for recruits for the navy, and Great Scot! she will
get them! All she wants! She could take every man out of Kirkwall!"
"The Mayor and Captain Ragnor will not permit her to do so. She will
have to leave men to manage the fishing," said Rahal.
"I thought the women could do that," said Ian.
"You do not know what you are talking about. It takes two or three men
to lift a net full of fish out of the water, and they are about done
up if they manage it. Come in and get your breakfast. If your news be
true, there is no saying when Ragnor will get home. He will have some
reasoning with his men to do, he cannot spare many of them."
"I have a good idea," said Mistress Brodie. "I will give a dance on
Friday night for the enlisting officers, and we will invite all the
presentable young men, and all the prettiest girls, to meet them."
"But you will be too late on Friday. The cutter and her crew will
leave Thursday morning early," said Ian.
"Then say Wednesday night."
"That might do. I could tell the men freshly enlisted to wear a white
ribbon in their coats----"
"No, no, no!" cried Rahal. "What are you saying, Ian? A white favour
is a Stuart favour. You would set the men fighting in the very dance
room. There is no excuse in the Orkneys for a Stuart memory."
"I was not thinking of the Stuarts. Have they not done bothering
yet?"
"In the Scotch heart the Stuart lives forever," said Rahal, with a
sigh.
But the dance was decided on and some preparations made for it as soon
as breakfast was over. Ian was enthusiastic on the matter and Thora
caught his enthusiasm very readily, and before night, all Kirkwall was
preparing to feast and rejoice because England was going to make the
great Northern Bear--"the Bear that walks like a man"--stay in the
North where he belonged.
CHAPTER V
SUNNA AND THORA
Love, the old, old troubler of the world.
Love has reasons, of which reason knows nothing.
Alas, how easily things go wrong!
A sigh too much, or a kiss too long,
And there follows a mist and a weeping rain
And life is never the same again.
No sooner was Mrs. Brodie's intention known, than all her friends were
eager to help her. There was truly but little time between Monday
morning and Wednesday night; but many hands make light work, and old
and young offered their services in arranging for what it pleased all
to consider as a kind of national thanksgiving.
The unanimity of this kindness gave Rahal a slight attack of a certain
form of jealousy, to which she had been subject for many years, and
she asked her husband, as she had done often before, "Why is it, Coll,
that every woman in the town is eager to help and encourage Barbara
if she only speaks of having a dance or dinner; but if I, thy wife, am
the giver of pleasure, I am left to do all without help or any show of
interest. It troubles me, Coll."
And Coll answered as he always did answer--"It is thy superiority,
Rahal. Is there any woman we know, who would presume to give thee
advice or counsel? And it is well understood by all of them that thou
cannot thole an obligation. Thou, and thy daughter, and thy servants
are sufficient for all thy social plans; and why should thou be
bothered with a lot of old and young women? Thy sister Brodie loves a
crowd about her, and she says 'thank thee' to all and sundry, as
easily as she takes a drink of water. It chokes thee to say 'thanks'
to any one."
So Rahal was satisfied, and went with the rest to help Mistress Brodie
prepare for her dance. There were women in the kitchen making pies and
custards and jellies, and women in her parlours cleaning and
decorating them, and women in the great hall taking up carpets because
it was a favourite place for reels, and women washing China and
trimming lamps. Thora was doing the shopping, Ian was carrying the
invitations; and every one who had been favoured with one had not
only said "Yes," but had also asked if there was anything they could
loan, or do, to help the impromptu festival. Thus, Mrs. Harold Baikie
sent her best service of China, and the Faes sent several extra large
lamps, and the bride of Luke Serge loaned her whole supply of
glassware, and Rahal took over her stock of table silver; and Mistress
Brodie received every loan--useful or not--with the utmost delight and
satisfaction.
On Wednesday afternoon, however, she was faced by a condition she did
not know how to manage. Ian came to her in a hurry, saying, "My
friend, McLeod, is longing for an invitation from you, and he has
asked me to request one. Surely you will send him the favour! Yes, I
know you will."
"You are knowing too much, Ian. What can I do? You know well, laddie,
he is not popular with the best set here."
"I would not mind the 'best set' if I were you. What makes them 'the
best'? Just their own opinion of themselves. McLeod is of gentle
birth, he is handsome and good-hearted, you will like him as soon as
you speak to him. There is another 'best set' beside the one Adam
Vedder leads; I would like some one to take down that old man's
conceit of himself--there is nothing wrong with McLeod! Yes, he is
Highland Scotch----"
"There! that is enough, Ian! Go your ways and bid the young man. Ask
him in your own name."
"No, Mistress, I will not do that. The invitation carries neither
honour nor good will without your name."
"Well then, my name be it. My name has been so much used lately, I
think I will change it."
"Take my name then. I will be proud indeed if you will."
"You are aye daffing, Ian; I am o'er busy for nonsense the now. Give
the Mac a hint that tartans are not necessary."
"But I cannot do that. I am going to wear the Macrae tartan."
"You can let that intent go by."
"No, I can not! A certain 'yes' may depend on my wearing the Macrae
tartan."
"Well, checked cloth is bonnier than black broadcloth to some people.
I don't think Thora Ragnor is among that silly crowd. There is not a
more quarrelsome dress than a tartan kilt--and I'm thinking the
Brodies were ill friends with the Macraes in the old days."
"The Brodies are not Highlanders."
"You are a shamefully ignorant man, Ian Macrae. The Brodies came from
Moray, and are the only true lineal descendants of Malcolm Thane of
Brodie in the reign of Alexander the Third, lawful King of Scotland.
What do you think of the Brodies now?"
"The Macrae doffs his bonnet to them; but----"
"If you say another word, the McLeod will be out of it--sure and
final."
So Ian laughingly left the room, and Mistress Brodie walked to the
window and watched him speeding towards the town. "He is a wonderful
lad!" she said to herself. "And I wish he was my lad! Oh why were all
my bairns lasses? They just married common bodies and left me! Oh for
a lad like Ian Macrae!" Then with a great sigh, she added: "It is all
right. I would doubtless have spoiled and mismanaged him!"
It is not to be supposed that Sunna Vedder kept away from all this
social stir and preparation. She was first and foremost in everything
during Monday and Tuesday, but Wednesday she reserved herself
altogether for the evening. No one saw her until the noon hour; then
she came to the dinner table, for she had an entirely fresh request to
make, one which she was sure would require all her personal influence
to compass.
She prefaced it with the intelligence that Boris had arrived during
the night, and that Elga had met him in the street--"looking more
handsome than any man ought to look, except upon his wedding day."
"And on that day," said Adam, gloomily, "a man has generally good
cause to look ugly."
"But if he was going to marry me, Grandfather, how then?"
"He would doubtless look handsome. Men usually do when they are on the
road of destruction."
"Grandfather! I have made up my mind to marry Boris, and lead him the
way I want him to go. That will always be the way thou chooseth."
"How comes that?"
"I loved thee first of all. I shall always love thee first. Boris
played me false, I must pay him back. I must make him suffer. Those
Ragnors--all of them--put on such airs! They make me sick."
"What art thou after? What favour art thou seeking?"
"Thou knows how the girls will try to outdress each other at this
Brodie affair----"
"It is too late for a new dress--what is it thou wants now?"
"I want thee to go to the bank and get me my mother's necklace to wear
just this one night."
"I will not. I gave thy dead mother a promise."
"Break it, for a few hours. My Easter dress is not a dancing dress. I
have no dancing dress but the pretty white silk thou gave me last
Christmas--and I have no ornaments at all--none whatever, fit to wear
with it."
"There are always flowers----"
"Flowers! There is not a flower in Kirkwall. Easter and old Mistress
Brodie have used up every daisy--besides, white silk ought to have
jewels."
Adam shook his head positively.
"My mother wishes me to have what I want. Thou ought not to keep it
from me."
"She told me to give thee her necklace on thy twenty-first birthday--not
before."
"That is so silly! What better is my twenty-first birthday than any
other day? Grandfather, I cannot love thee more, because my love for
thee is already a perfect love; but I will be such a good girl if thou
wilt give me what I want, O so much I want it! I will be so obedient!
I will do everything thou desires! I will even marry Boris Ragnor."
And this urgent request was punctuated with kisses and little fondling
strokes of her hand, and Adam finally asked--
"How shall I answer thy mother when she accuses me of breaking my
promise to her?"
"I will answer for thee. O dear! It is growing late! If thou dost not
hurry, the bank will be closed, and then I shall be sick with
disappointment, and it will be thy fault."
Then Adam rose and left the house and Sunna, having seen that he took
the proper turn in the road, called for a cup of tea and having
refreshed herself with it, went upstairs to lay out and prepare
everything for her toilet. And as she went about this business she
continually justified herself:--
"It is only natural I should have my necklace," she thought. "Norse
women have always adored gold and silver and gems, and in the old days
their husbands sailed long journeys and fought battles for what their
women wanted. My great Aunt Christabelle often told me that many of
the old Shetland and Orkney families had gold ornaments and uncut
gems, hundreds of years old, hid away. I would not wonder if
Grandfather has some! I dare say the bank's safe is full of them! I do
not care for them but I do want my mother's wedding necklace--and I am
going to have it. Right and proper it is, I should have it now. Mother
would say so if she were here. Girls are women earlier than they were
in her day. Twenty-one, indeed! I expect to be married long before I
am twenty-one."
In less than an hour she began to watch the road for her grandfather's
return. Very soon she saw him coming and he had a small parcel in his
hand. Her heart gave a throb of satisfaction and she began to unplait
her manifold small braids: "I shall not require to go to bed," she
murmured. "Grandfather has my necklace. He will want to take it back
to the bank tomorrow--I shall see about that--I promised--yes, I know!
But there are ways--out of a promise."
She was, of course, delightfully grateful to receive the necklace, and
Vedder could not help noticing how beautiful her loosened hair
looked. Its length and thickness and waves of light colour gave to
her stately, blonde beauty a magical grace, and Vedder was one of
those men who admire the charms of his own family as something
naturally greater than the same charms in any other family. "The
Vedders carry their beauty with an air," he said, and he was right.
The Vedders during the course of a few centuries of social prominence
had acquired that air of superiority which impresses, and also
frequently offends.
Certainly, Sunna Vedder in white silk and a handsome necklace of
rubies and diamonds was an imposing picture; and Adam Vedder, in spite
of his sixty-two years, was an imposing escort. It would be difficult
to say why, for he was a small man in comparison with the towering
Norsemen by whom he was surrounded. Yet he dominated and directed any
company he chose to favour with his presence; and every man in
Kirkwall either feared or honoured him. Sunna had much of his natural
temperament, but she had not the driving power of his cultivated
intellect. She relied on her personal beauty and the many natural arts
with which Nature has made women a match for any antagonist. Had she
not heard her grandfather frequently say "a beautiful woman is the
best armed creature that God has made! She is as invincible as a
rhinoceros!"
This night he had paid great attention to his own toilet. He was
fashionably attired, neat as a new pin, and if not amiable, at least
exceedingly polite. He had leaning on his arm what he considered the
most beautiful creature in Scotland, and he assumed the manners of her
guardian with punctilious courtesy.
There was a large company present when the Vedders reached Mrs.
Brodie's--military men, a couple of naval officers, gentlemen of
influence, and traders of wealth and enterprise; with a full
complement of women "divinely tall and fair." Sunna made the sensation
among them she expected to make. There was a sudden pause in
conversation and every eye filled itself with her beauty. For just a
moment, it seemed as if there was no other person present.
Then Mrs. Brodie and Colonel Belton came to meet them, and Sunna was
left in the latter's charge. "Will you now dance, Miss Vedder?" he
asked.
"Let us first walk about a little, Colonel. I want to find my friend,
Thora Ragnor."
"I have long desired an introduction to Miss Ragnor. Is she not
lovely?"
"Yes, but now only for one man. A stranger came here last week, and
she was captured at once."
"How remarkable! I thought that kind of irresponsible love had gone
quite out of favour and fashion."
"Not so! This youth came, saw, and conquered."
"Is it the youth I see with Ken McLeod?"
"The same. Look! There they are, together as usual."
"She is very sweet and attractive."
Sunna answered this remark by asking Thora to honour Colonel Belton
with her company for a short time, saying: "In the interval I will
take care of Ian Macrae." Then Thora stood up in her innocence and
loveliness and she was like some creature of more ethereal nature than
goes with flesh and blood. For the eye took her in as a whole, and at
first noticed neither her face nor her dress in particular. Her dress
was only of white tarlatan, a thin, gauze-like material long out of
fashion. It is doubtful if any woman yet remembers its airy, fairy
sway, and graceful folds. The filmy robe, however, was plentifully
trimmed with white satin ribbon, and the waist was entirely of satin
trimmed with tarlatan. The whole effect was girlish and simple, and
Thora needed no other ornament but the pink and white daisies at her
belt.
However, if Sunna expected Thora's manner and conversation to match
the simplicity of her dress, she was disappointed. In Love's school
women learn with marvellous rapidity, and Thora astonished her by
falling readily into a conversation of the most up-to-date social
character. She had caught the trick from Ian, a little playful fencing
round the most alluring of subjects, yet it brought out the simplicity
of her character, while it also revealed its purity and intelligence.
Dancing had commenced when Mrs. Ragnor entered the room on the arm of
her son Boris. Boris instantly looked around for Sunna and she was
dancing with McLeod. All the evening afterwards Boris danced, but
never once with Sunna, and Adam Vedder watched the young man with
scorn. He was the most desirable party in the room for any girl and he
quite neglected the handsome Sunna Vedder. That was not his only
annoyance. McLeod was dancing far too often with Sunna, and even the
beautiful youth Ian Macrae had only asked her hand once; and Adam was
sure that Thora Ragnor had been the suggester of that act of
politeness. Girls far inferior to Sunna in every respect had received
more attention than his granddaughter. He was greatly offended, but he
appeared to turn his back on the whole affair and to be entirely
occupied in conversation with Conall Ragnor and Colonel Belton
concerning the war with Russia.
Every way the evening was to Sunna a great disappointment, in many
respects she felt it to be a great humiliation; and the latter feeling
troubled her more for her grandfather than for herself. She knew he
was mortified, for he did not speak to her as they walked through the
chill, damp midnight to their home. Mrs. Brodie had urged Adam and
Sunna to put the night past at her house, but Adam had been proof
against all her suggestions, and even against his own desires. So he
satisfied his temper by walking home and insisting on Sunna doing
likewise.
It was a silent, unhappy walk. Adam said not a word to Sunna and she
would not open the way for his anger to relieve itself. When they
reached home they found a good fire in the room full of books which
Adam called his own, and there they went. Then Sunna let her long
dress fall down, and put out her sandalled feet to the warmth of the
fire. Adam glanced into her face and saw that it was full of trouble.
"Go to thy bed, Sunna," he said. "Of this night thou must have had
enough."
"I have had too much, by far. If only thou loved me!"
"Who else do I love? There is none but thee."
"Then with some one thou ought to be angry."
"Is it with Boris Ragnor I should be angry?"
"Yes! It is with Boris Ragnor. Not once did he ask me to dance.
Watching him and me were all the girls. They saw how he slighted me,
and made little nods and laughs about it."
"It was thy own fault. When Boris came into the room, he looked for
thee. With McLeod thou wert dancing. With that Scot thou wert dancing!
The black look on his face, I saw it, thou should have seen it and
have given him a smile--Pshaw! Women know so much--and do so little.
By storm thou ought to have taken the whole affair for thy own. I am
disappointed in thee--yes, I am disappointed."
"Why, Grandfather?"
"An emergency thou had to face, and thou shirked it. When Boris
entered the room, straight up to him thou should have gone; with an
outstretched hand and a glad smile thou should have said: 'I am
waiting for thee, Boris!' Then thou had put all straight that was
crooked, and carried the evening in thy own hands."
"I will pay Boris for this insult. Yes, I will, and thou must help
me."
"To quarrel with Boris? To injure him in any way? No! that I will not
do. It would be to quarrel also with my old friend Conall. Not thee!
Not man or woman living, could make me do that! Sit down and I will
tell thee a better way."
"No, I will not sit down till thou say 'yes' to what I ask"; for some
womanly instinct told her that while Adam was cowering over the hearth
blaze and she stood in all her beauty and splendour above him, she
controlled the situation. "Thou must help me!"
"To what or whom?"
"I want to marry Boris."
"Dost thou love him?"
"Better than might be. When mine he is all mine, then I will love
him."
"That is little to trust to."
"Thou art wrong. It is of reasons one of the best and surest. Not
three months ago, a little dog followed thee home, an ugly,
half-starved little mongrel, not worth a shilling; but it was
determined to have thee for its master, and thou called it thy dog,
and now it is petted and pampered and lies at thy feet, and barks at
every other dog, and thou says it is the best dog on the Island. It is
the same way with husbands. Thou hast seen how Mary Minorie goes on
about her bald, scrimpy husband; yet she burst out crying when he put
the ring on her finger. Now she tells all the girls that marriage is
'Paradise Regained.' When Boris is my husband it will be well with me,
and not bad for him. He will be mine, and we love what is our own."
"Why wilt thou marry any man? Thou wilt be rich."
"One must do as the rest of the world does--and the world has the
fashion of marrying."
"Money rules love."
"No!"
"Yes! Bolon Flett had only scorn for his poor little wife until her
uncle left her two thousand pounds. Since then, no word is long enough
or good enough for her excellencies. Money opens the eyes as well as
the heart. What then, if I make Boris rich?"
"Boris is too proud to take money from thee and I will not be sold to
any man!"
"Wilt thou wait until my meaning is given thee--flying off in a temper
like a foolish woman!"
"I am sorry--speak thy meaning."
"Sit down. Thou art not begging anything."
"Not from thee. I have thy love."
"And thine is mine. This is my plan. Above all things Boris loves a
stirring, money-making business. I am going to ask him to take me as
his partner. Tired am I of living on my past. How many boats has
Boris?"
"Thou knowest he has but one, but she is large and swift, and does as
much business as McLeod's three little sloops."
"Schooners."
"Schooners, then--little ones!"
"Well then, there is a new kind of boat which thou hast never seen.
She is driven by steam, not wind, she goes swiftly, all winds are fair
to her, and she cares little for storms."
"I saw a ship like that when I was in Edinburgh. She lay in Leith
harbour, and the whole school went to Leith to see her come in."
"If Boris will be my partner, I will lay my luck to his, and I will
buy a steam ship, a large coaster--dost thou see?"
Then with a laugh she cried: "I see, I see! Then thou can easily beat
the sloops or schooners, that have nothing but sails. Good is that,
very good!"
"Just so. We can make two trips for their one. No one can trade
against us."
"McLeod may buy steam ships."
"I have learned all about him. His fortune is in real estate, mostly
in Edinburgh. It takes a lifetime to sell property in Edinburgh. We
shall have got all there is to get before McLeod could compete with
Vedder and Ragnor."
"That scheme would please Boris, I know."
"A boat could be built on the Clyde in about four months, I think.
Shall I speak to Boris?"
"Yes, Boris will not fly in the face of good fortune; but mind
this--it is easier to begin that reel than it will be to end it. One
thing I do not like--thou wert angry with Boris, now thou wilt take
him for a partner."
"At any time I can put my anger under my purse--but my anger was
mostly against thee. Now shall I do as I am minded?"
"That way is more likely than not! I think this affair will grow with
thee--but thou may change thy mind----"
"I do not call my words back. Go now to thy bed and forget everything.
This is the time when sleep will be better than either words or deeds.
Of my intent speak to _no one_. In thy thoughts let it be still until
its hour arrives."
"In the morning, very early, I am going to see Thora. When the
enlisting ship sails northward, there will be a crowd to see her off.
Boris and Thora and Macrae will be among it. I also intend to be
there. Dost thou know at what hour she will leave?"
"At ten o'clock the tide is full."
"Then at ten, she will sail."
"Likely enough, is that. Our talk is now ended. Let it be, as if it
had not been."
"I have forgotten it."
Vedder laughed, and added: "Go then to thy bed, I am tired."
"Not tired of Sunna?"
"Well then, yes, of thee I have had enough at present."
She went away as he spoke, and then he was worried. "Now I am
unhappy!" he ejaculated. "What provokers to the wrong way are women!
Her mother was like her--my beloved Adriana!" And his old eyes filled
with sorrowful tears as he recalled the daughter he had lost in the
first days of her motherhood. Very soon Sunna and Adriana became one
and he was fast asleep in his chair.
In the morning Sunna kept her intention. She poured out her
grandfather's coffee, and talked of everything but the thing in her
heart and purpose. After breakfast she said: "I shall put the day past
with Thora Ragnor. Thy dinner will be served for thee by Elga."
"Talking thou wilt be----"
"Of nothing that ought to be kept quiet. Do not come for me if I am
late; I intend that Boris shall bring me home."
Sunna dressed herself in a pretty lilac lawn frock, trimmed with the
then new and fashionable Scotch open work, and fresh lilac ribbons.
Her hair was arranged as Boris liked it best, and it was shielded by
one of those fine, large Tuscan hats that have never, even yet, gone
out of fashion.
"Why, Sunna!" cried Thora, as she hastened to meet her friend, "how
glad am I to see thee!"
"Thou wert in my heart this morning, and I said to it 'Be content, in
an hour I will take thee to thy desire.'" And they clasped hands, and
walked thus into the house. "Art thou not tired after the dance?"
"No," replied Thora, "I was very happy. Do happy people get tired?"
"Yes--one can only bear so much happiness, then it is weariness--sometimes
crossness. Too much of any good thing is a bad thing."
"How wise thou art, Sunna."
"I live with wisdom."
"With Adam Vedder?"
"Yes, and thou hast been living with Love, with Mr. Macrae. Very
handsome and good-natured he is. I am sure that thou art in love with
him! Is that not the case?"
"Very much in love with me he is, Sunna. It is a great happiness. I do
not weary of it, no, indeed! To believe in love, to feel it all around
you! It is wonderful! You know, Sunna--surely you know?"
"Yes, I, too, have been in love."
"With Boris--I know. And also Boris is in love with thee."
"That is wrong. No longer does Boris love me."
"But that is impossible. Love for one hour is love forever. He did
love thee, then he could not forget. Never could he forget."
"He did not notice me last night. Thou must have seen?"
"I did not notice--but I heard some talk about it. The first time thou
art alone with him, he will tell thee his trouble. It is only a little
cloud--it will pass."
"I suppose the enlisting ship sails northaway first?"
"Yes, to Lerwick, though they may stop at Fair Island on the way.
Boris says they could get many men there--and Boris knows."
"Art thou going to the pier to see them leave? I suppose every one
goes. Shall we go together?"
"Why, Sunna! They left this morning about four o'clock. Father went
down to the pier with Boris. Boris sailed with them."
"Thora! Thora! I thought Boris was to remain here until the naval
party returned from Shetland?"
"The lieutenant in command thought Boris could help the enlisting, for
in Lerwick Boris has many friends. Thou knows my sisters Anna and
Nenie live in Lerwick. Boris was fain to go and see them."
"But they will return here when their business is finished in
Lerwick?"
"They spoke of doing so, but mother is not believing they will return.
They took with them all the men enlisted here and the men are wanted
very much. Boris did not bid us a short 'good-bye.' Mother was crying,
and when he kissed me his tears wet my cheeks."
Sunna did not answer. For a few minutes she felt as if her heart had
suddenly died. At last she blundered out:
"I suppose the officer was afraid that--Boris might slip off while he
was away."
"Well, then, thou supposes what is wrong. When a fight is the
question, Boris needs no one either to watch him or to egg him on."
"Is that youngster, Macrae, going to join? Or has he already taken the
Queen's shilling? I think I heard such a report."
"No one could have told that story. Macrae is bound by a contract to
McLeod for this year and indeed, just yet, he does not wish to go."
"He does not wish to leave thee."
"That is not out of likelihood."
"Many are saying that England is in great stress, and my grandfather
thinks that so she is."
"My father says 'not so.' If indeed it were so, my father would have
gone with Boris. Mother is cross about it."
"About what then is she cross?" asked Sunna.
"People are saying that England is in stress. Mother says such words
are nothing but men's 'fear talk.' England's sons are many, and if few
they were, she has millions of daughters who would gladly fight for
her!" said Thora.
"Well, then, for heroics there is no present need! I surely thought
Boris loved his business and would not leave his money-making."
"Could thou tell me what incalculable sum of money a man would take
for his honour and patriotism?" asked Thora.
"What has honour to do with it?"
"Everything; a man without honour is not a man--he is just 'a body';
he has no soul. Robert Burns told Andrew Horner how such men were
made!" replied Thora.
"How was that? Tell me! A Burns' anecdote will put grandfather in his
finest temper, and I want him in that condition for I have a great
favour to ask from him."
"The tale tells that when Burns was beginning to write, he had a rival
in a man called Andrew Horner. One day they met at the same club
dinner, and they were challenged to each write a verse within five
minutes. The gentlemen guests took out their watches, the poets were
furnished with pencils and paper. When time was up Andrew Horner had
not written the first line but Burns handed to the chairman his verse
complete."
"Tell me. If you know it, tell me, Thora!"
"Yes, I know it. If you hear it once you do not forget it."
"Well then?"
"It runs thus:
"'Once on a time
The Deil gat stuff to mak' a swine
And put it in a corner;
But afterward he changed his plan
And made it summat like a man,
And ca'ed it Andrew Horner.'"
"That is good! It will delight grandfather."
"No doubt he already knows it."
"No, I should have heard it a thousand times, if he knew it."
"Well, then, I believe it has been suppressed. Many think it too
ill-natured for Burns to have written; but my father says it has the
true Burns ring and is Robert Burns' writing without doubt."
"It will give grandfather a nice long job of investigation. That is
one of his favourite amusements, and all Sunna has to do is to be sure
he is right and everybody else wrong. Now I will go home."
"Stay with me today."
"No. Macrae will be here soon."
"Uncertain is that."
"Every hair on thy head, Thora, every article of thy dress, from the
lace at thy throat to the sandals on thy feet, say to me that this is
a time when my absence will be better than my company."
"Well, then, do as thou art minded."
"It is best I do so. A happy morning to thee! What more is in my heart
shall lie quiet at this time."
Sunna went away with the air of a happy, careless girl, but she said
many angry words to herself as she hasted on the homeward road. "Most
of the tales tell how women are made to suffer by the men they
love--but no tale shall be made about Sunna Vedder! _No!_ _No!_ It is
Boris Ragnor I shall turn into laughter--he has mocked my very
heart--I will never forgive him--that is the foolish way all women
take--all but Sunna Vedder--she will neither forgive nor forget--she
will follow up this affair--yes!"
By such promises to herself she gradually regained her usual
reasonable poise, and with a smiling face sought her grandfather. She
found him in his own little room sitting at a table covered with
papers. He looked up as she entered and, in spite of his intention,
answered her smile and greeting with an equal plentitude of good will
and good temper.
"But I thought then, that thou would stay with thy friend all day, and
for that reason I took out work not to be chattered over."
"I will go away now. I came to thee because things have not gone as I
wanted them. Thy counsel at such ill times is the best that can
happen."
Then Vedder threw down his pencil and turned to her. "Who has given
thee wrong or despite or put thee out of the way thou wanted to
take?"
"It is Boris Ragnor. He has sailed north with the recruiting
company--without a word to me he has gone. He has thrown my love back
in my face. Should thy grandchild forgive him? I am both Vedder and
Fae. How can I forgive?"
Vedder took out his watch and looked at the time. "We have an hour
before dinner. Sit down and I will talk to thee. First thou shalt tell
me the very truth anent thy quarrel with Boris. What did thou do, or
say, that has so far grieved him? Now, then, all of it. Then I can
judge if it be Boris or Sunna, that is wrong in this matter."
"Listen then. Boris heard some men talking about me--that made his
temper rise--then he heard from these men that I was dancing at
McLeod's and he went there to see, and as it happened I was dancing
with McLeod when he entered the room, and he walked up to me in the
dance and said thou wanted me, and he made me come home with him and
scolded me all the time we were together. I asked him not to tell
thee, and he promised he would not--if I went there no more. I have
not danced with McLeod since, except at Mrs. Brodie's. Thou saw me
then."
"Thou should not have entered McLeod's house--what excuse hast thou
for that fault?"
"Many have talked of the fault, none but thou have asked me why or how
it came that I was so foolish. I will tell thee the very truth. I
went to spend the day with Nana Bork--with thy consent I went--and
towards afternoon there came an invitation from McLeod to Nana to join
an informal dance that night at eight o'clock. And Nana told me so
many pleasant things about these little dances I could not resist her
talk and I thought if I stayed with Nana all night thou would never
know. I have heard that I stole away out of thy house to go to
McLeod's. I did not! I went with Nana Bork whose guest I was."
"Why did thou not tell me this before?"
"I knew no one in Kirkwall would dare to say to thee this or that
about thy grandchild, and I hoped thou would never know. I am sorry
for my disobedience; it has always hurt me--if thou forgive it now, so
much happier I will be."
Then Adam drew her to his side and kissed her, and words would have
been of all things the most unnecessary. But he moved a chair close to
him, and she sat down in it and laid her hand upon his knee and he
clasped and covered it with his own.
"Very unkindly Boris has treated thee."
"He has mocked at my love before all Kirkwall. Well, then, it is Thora
Ragnor's complacency that affronts me most. If she would put her
boasting into words, I could answer her; but who can answer looks?"
"She is in the heaven of her first love. Thou should understand that
condition."
"It is beyond my understanding; nor would I try to understand such a
lover as Ian Macrae. I believe that he is a hypocrite--Thora is so
easily deceived----"
"And thou?"
"I am not deceived. I see Boris just as he is, rude and jealous and
hateful, but I think him a far finer man than Ian Macrae ever has
been, or ever will be."
"Yes! Thou art right. Now then, let this affair lie still in thy
heart. I think that he will come to see thee when the boats return
from Shetland--if not, then I shall have something to say in the
matter. I shall want my dinner very soon, and some other thing we will
talk about. Let it go until there is a word to say or a movement to
make."
"I will be ready for thee at twelve o'clock." With a feeling of
content in her heart, Sunna went away. Had she not the Burns story to
tell? Yet she felt quite capable of restraining the incident until she
got to a point where its relation would serve her purpose or her
desire.
CHAPTER VI
THE OLD, OLD TROUBLE
From reef and rock and skerry, over headland, ness and roe,
The coastwise lights of England watch the ships of England go.
... a girl with sudden ebullitions,
Flashes of fun, and little bursts of song;
Petulant, pains, and fleeting pale contritions,
Mute little moods of misery and wrong.
Only a girl of Nature's rarest making,
Wistful and sweet--and with a heart for breaking.
The following two weeks were a time of anxiety concerning Boris. The
recruiting party with whom he had gone away had said positively they
must return with whatever luck they had in two weeks; and this
interval appeared to Sunna to be of interminable length. She spent a
good deal of the time with Thora affecting to console her for the loss
of Ian Macrae, who had left Kirkwall for Edinburgh a few days after
the departure of Boris.
"We are 'a couple of maidens all forlorn,'" she sang, and though Thora
disclaimed the situation, she could not prevent her companion
insisting on the fact.
Thora, however, did not feel that she had any reason for being
forlorn. Ian's love for her had been confessed, not only to herself,
but also to her father and mother, and the marriage agreed to with a
few reservations, whose wisdom the lovers fully acknowledged. She was
receiving the most ardent love letters by every mail and she had not
one doubt of her lover in any respect. Indeed, her happiness so
pervaded her whole person and conduct that Sunna felt it sometimes to
be both depressing and irritating.
Thora, however, was the sister of Boris, she could not quarrel with
her. She had great influence over Boris, and Sunna loved Boris--loved
him in spite of her anger and of his neglect. Very slowly went the two
weeks the enlisting ships had fixed as the length of their absence,
but the news of their great success made their earlier return most
likely, and after the tenth day every one was watching for them and
planning a great patriotic reception.
Still the two weeks went slowly away and it was a full day past this
fixed time, and the ships were not in port nor even in sight, nor had
any late news come from them. In the one letter which Rahal had
received from her son he said: "The enlistment has been very
satisfactory; our return may be even a day earlier than we expected."
So Sunna had begun to watch for the party three days before the set
time, and when it was two days after it she was very unhappy.
"Why do they not come, Thora?" she asked in a voice trembling with
fear. "Do you think they have been wrecked?"
"Oh, no! Nothing of the kind! They may have sailed westward to Harris.
My father thinks so." But she appeared so little interested that Sunna
turned to Mistress Ragnor and asked her opinion.
"Well, then," answered Rahal, "they _are_ staying longer than was
expected, but who can tell what men in a ship will do?"
"They will surely keep their word and promise."
"Perhaps--if it seem a good thing to them. Can thou not see? They are
masters on board ship. Once out of Lerwick Bay, the whole world is
before them. Know this, they might go East or West, and say to no man
'I ask thy leave.' As changeable as the sea is a sailor's promise."
"But Boris is thy son--he promised thee to be home in two weeks. Men
do not break a promise made on their mother's lips. How soon dost thou
expect him?"
"At the harbour mouth he might be, even this very minute. I want to
see my boy. I love him. May the good God send those together who would
fain be loved!"
"Boris is in command of his own ship. He was under no man's orders. He
ought not to break his promise."
"With my will, he would never do that."
"Dost thou think he will go to the war with the other men?"
"That he might do. What woman is there who can read a man's heart?"
"His mother!"
"She might, a little way--no further--just as well 'no further.' Only
God is wise enough, and patient enough, to read a human heart. This is
a great mercy." And Rahal lifted her face from her sewing a moment and
then dropped it again.
Almost in a whisper Sunna said "Good-bye!" and then went her way home.
She walked rapidly; she was in a passion of grief and mortification,
but she sang some lilting song along the highway. As soon, however, as
she passed inside the Vedder garden gates, the singing was changed
into a scornful, angry monologue:
"These Ragnor women! Oh, their intolerable good sense! So easy it is
to talk sweetly and properly when you have no great trouble and all
your little troubles are well arranged! Women cannot comfort women.
No, they can not! They don't want to, if they could. Like women, I do
not! Trust them, I do not! I wish that God had made me a man! I will
go to my dear old grandad!--He will do something--so sorry I am that I
let Thora see I loved her brother--when I go there again, I shall
consider his name as the bringer-on of yawns and boredom!"
An angry woman carries her heart in her mouth; but Sunna had been
trained by a wise old man, and no one knew better than Sunna Vedder
did, when to speak and when to be silent. She went first to her room
in order to repair those disturbances to her appearance which had been
induced by her inward heat and by her hurried walk home so near the
noontide; and half an hour later she came down to dinner fresh and
cool as a rose washed in the dew of the morning. Her frock of muslin
was white as snow, there was a bow of blue ribbon at her throat, her
whole appearance was delightfully satisfying. She opened her
grandfather's parlour and found him sitting at a table covered with
papers and little piles of gold and silver coin.
"Suppose I was a thief, Grandfather?" she said.
"Well then, what would thou take first?"
"I would take a kiss!" and she laid her face against his face, and
gave him one.
"Now, thou could take all there is. What dost thou want?"
"I want thee! Dinner is ready."
"I will come. In ten minutes, I will come----" and in less than ten
minutes he was at the dinner table, and apparently a quite different
man from the one Sunna had invited there. He had changed his coat, his
face was happy and careless, and he had quite forgotten the papers and
the little piles of silver and gold.
Sunna had said some things to Thora she was sorry for saying; she did
not intend to repeat this fault with her grandfather. Even the subject
of Boris could lie still until a convenient hour. She appeared,
indeed, to have thrown off her anger and her disappointment with the
unlucky clothing she had worn in her visit to Thora. She had even
assured herself of this change, for when it fell to her feet she
lifted it reluctantly between her finger and thumb and threw it aside,
remarking as she did so, "I will have them all washed over again! Soda
and soap may make them more agreeable and more fortunate."
And perhaps if we take the trouble to notice the fact, clothing does
seem to have some sort of sympathy or antagonism with its wearers.
Also, it appears to take on the mood or feeling predominant, looking
at one time crisp and perfectly proper, at another time limp and
careless, as if the wearer informed the garment or the garment
explained the wearer. It is well known that "Fashions are the external
expression of the mental states of a country, and that if its men and
women degenerate in their character, their fashions become absurd."
Surely then, a sympathy which can affect a nation has some influence
upon the individual. Sunna had noticed even in her childhood that her
dresses were lucky and unlucky, but the why or the wherefore of the
circumstance had never troubled her. She had also noticed that her
grandfather liked and disliked certain colours and modes, but she
laid all their differences to difference in age.
This day, however, they were in perfect accord. He looked at her and
nodded his head, and then smilingly asked: "How did thou find thy
friend this morning?"
"So much in love that she had not one regret for Boris."
"Well, then, there is no reason for regret. Boris has taken the path
of honour."
"That may be so, but for the time to come I shall put little trust in
him. Going such a dubious way, he might well have stopped for a God
Bless Thee!"
"Would thou have said that?"
"Why should we ask about things impossible? Dost thou know,
Grandfather, at what time the recruiting party passed Kirkwall?"
"Nobody knows. I heard music out at sea three nights ago, just after
midnight. There are no Shetland boats carrying music. It is more
likely than not to have been the recruiting party saluting us with
music as they went by."
"Yes! I think thou art right. Grandfather, I want thee to tell me what
we are fighting about."
"Many times thou hast said 'it made no matter to thee.'"
"Now then, it is different. Since Boris and so many of our men went
away, Mistress Ragnor and Thora talk of the war and of nothing but the
war. They know all about it. They wanted to tell me all about it. I
said thou had told me all that was proper for me to know, and now
then, thou must make my words true. What is England quarrelling about?
It seems to me, that somebody is always looking at her in a way she
does not think respectful enough."
"This war is not England's fault. She has done all she could to avoid
it. It is the Great Bear of Russia who wants Turkey put out of
Europe."
"Well, then, I heard the Bishop say the Turks were a disgrace to
Europe, and that the Book of Common Prayer had once contained a
petition for delivery from the Devil, the Turks, and the comet, then
flaming in the sky and believed to be threatening destruction to the
earth."
"Listen, and I will tell thee the truth. The Greek population of
Turkey, its Syrians and Armenians, are the oldest Christians in the
world. They are also the most numerous and important class of the
Sultan's subjects. Russia also has a large number of Russian
Christians in Turkey over whom she wants a protectorate, but these two
influences would be thorns in the side of Turkey. England has bought
favour for the Christians she protects, by immense loans of money and
other political advantages, but neither the Turk nor the English want
Russia's power inside of Turkey."
"What for?"
"Turkey is in a bad way. A few weeks ago the Czar said to England, 'We
have on our hands a sick man, a very sick man. I tell you frankly, it
will be a great misfortune if one of these days he should slip away
from us, especially if it were before all necessary arrangements were
made. The Czar wants Turkey out of his way. He wants Constantinople
for his own southern capital, he wants the Black Sea for a Russian
lake, and the Danube for a Russian river. He wants many other
unreasonable things, which England cannot listen to."
"Well then, I think the Russian would be better than the Turk in
Europe."
"One thing is sure; in the hour that England joins Russia, Turkey will
slay every Christian in her territories. Dost thou think England will
inaugurate a huge massacre of Christians?"
"That is not thinkable. Is there nothing more?"
"Well then, there is India. The safety of our Indian Empire would be
endangered over the whole line between East and West if Russia was in
Constantinople. Turkey lies across Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor and
Armenia, and above all at Constantinople and the Straits. Dost thou
think England would ask Russia's permission every time she wished to
go to India?"
"No indeed! That, itself, is a good reason for fighting."
"Yes, but the Englishman always wants a moral backbone for his
quarrel."
"That is as it should be. The Armenian Christians supply that."
"But, Sunna, try and imagine to thyself a great military despotic
Power seating itself at Constantinople, throwing its right hand over
Asia Minor, Syria and Egypt; and its left holding in an iron grip the
whole north of two continents; keeping the Dardanelles and the
Bosphorus closed whenever it was pleased to do so, and building fleets
in Egypt; and in Armenia, commanding the desirable road to India by
the Euphrates."
"Oh, that could not be suffered! Impossible! All the women in Kirkwall
would fight against such a condition."
"Well, so matters stand, and we had been at sword points a year ago
but for Lord Aberdeen's cowardly, pernicious love of peace. But he is
always whining about 'war destroying wealth and commerce'--as if
wealth and commerce were of greater worth than national honour and
justice and mercy."
"Yet, one thing is sure, Grandad; war is wasteful and destructive----"
"And one thing is truer still--it is this--_that national wealth is
created by peace for the very purpose of defending the nation in war_.
Bear this in mind. Now, it seems to me we have had enough of war. I
see Elga coming with a dish of good Scotch collops, and I give thee my
word that I will not spoil their savour by any unpleasant talk." Then
he poured a little fine Glenlivet into a good deal of water and said:
"Here's first to the glory of God! and then to the honour of England!"
And Sunna touched his glass with her glass and the little ceremony put
both in a very happy mood.
Then Sunna saw that the moment she had waited for had arrived and she
said: "I will tell thee a good story of Robert Burns to flavour thy
collops. Will that be to thy wish?"
"It is beyond my wish. Thou can not tell me one I do not know."
"I heard one today from Thora Ragnor that I never heard thee tell."
"Then it cannot be fit for thee and Thora Ragnor to repeat."
"Wilt thou hear it?"
"Is it about some girl he loved?"
"No, it is about a man he scorned. Thou must have heard of Andrew
Horner?"
"Never heard the creature's name before."
"Then the story will be fresh to thee. Will thou hear it now?"
"As well now, as later." For Adam really had no expectation of hearing
anything he had not already heard and judged; and he certainly
expected nothing unusual from the proper and commonplace Thora Ragnor.
But Sunna exerted all her facial skill and eloquence, and told the
clever incident with wonderful spirit and delightful mimicry. Adam was
enchanted; he threw down his knife and fork and made the room ring
with laughter and triumph so genuine that Sunna--much against her
will--was compelled to laugh with him. They heard the happy thunder in
the kitchen, and wondered whatever was the matter with the Master.
"It is Robert Burns, his own self, and no other man. It is the best
thing I have heard from 'the lad that was born in Kyle!'" Vedder
cried. "Ill-natured! Not a bit of it! Just what the Horner man
deserved!" Then he took some more collops and a fresh taste of
Glenlivet, and anon broke into laughter again.
"Oh! but I wish I was in Edinburgh tonight! There's men there I would
go to see and have my laugh out with them."
"Grandfather, why should we not go to Edinburgh next winter? You could
board me with Mistress Brodie, and come every day to sort our quarrels
and see that I was properly treated. Then you could have your crow
over the ignoramuses who did not know such a patent Burns story; and I
could take lessons in music and singing, and be learning something or
seeing something, every hour of my life."
"And what about Boris?"
"The very name of Boris tires my tongue! I can do without Boris."
"Well, then, that is good! Thou art learning 'the grand habit of doing
without.'"
"Wilt thou take me to Edinburgh? My mother would like thee to do that.
I think I deserve it, Grandfather; yes, and so I ask thee."
"If I was going, I should have no mind to go without thee. One thing I
wish to know--in what way hast thou deserved it?"
"I did not expect thee to ask me a question like that. Have I fretted
and pined, and forgot to eat and sleep, and gone dowdy and slovenly,
because my lover has been fool enough to desert me? Well, then, that
is what any other girl would have done. But because I am of thy blood
and stock, I take what comes to me as part of my day's work, and make
no more grumble on the matter than one does about bad weather. Is that
not the truth?"
"One thing is sure--thou art the finest all round girl in the
Orcades."
"Then it seems to me thou should take me to Edinburgh. I want that
something, that polish, only great cities can give me."
"Blessings on thee! All Edinburgh can give, thou shalt have! But it is
my advice to thee to remain here until Mrs. Brodie goes back, then go
thou with her."
"That will be what it should be. Mrs. Brodie, I feel, will be my
stepmother; and----"
"She will never step past thee. Fear not!"
"Nor will any one--man or woman--step between thee and me! Doubt me
not!"
"Well, then, have thy way. I give thee my word to take thee to
Edinburgh in the autumn. Thou shalt either stay with Mrs. Brodie or at
the Queen's Hotel on Prince's Street, with old Adam Vedder."
"Best of all is thy last offer. I will stay with thee. I am used to
men's society. Women bore me."
"Women bore me also."
"Know this, there are three women who do not bore thee. Shall I speak
their names?"
"I will not hinder thee."
"Sunna Vedder?"
"I love her. She cannot bore me."
"Rahal Ragnor?"
"I respect her. She does not bore me--often."
"Yes, that is so; it is but seldom thou sees her. Well, then, Barbara
Brodie?"
"I once loved her. She can never be indifferent to me."
"Thou hast told me the truth and I will not follow up this catechism."
"For that favour, I am thy debtor. I might not always have been so
truthful. Now, then, be honest with me. What wilt thou do all the
summer, with no lover to wait on thy whims and fancies?"
"On thee I shall rely. Where thou goes, I will go, and if thou stay at
home, with thee I will stay. Thou can read to me. I have never heard
any of our great Sagas and that is a shame. I complain of that neglect
in my education! I heard Maximus Grant recite from 'The Banded Men and
Haakon the Good,' when I was in Edinburgh, and I said to myself, 'how
much finer is this, than opera songs, sung with a Scotch burr, in the
Italian; or than English songs, sung by Scotch people who pronounce
English after the Scotch fashion!' Then I made up my mind that this
coming winter I would let Edinburgh drawing-rooms hear the songs of
Norse warriors; the songs in which the armour rattles and the swords
shine!"
"That, indeed, will befit thee! Now, then, for the summer, keep
thyself well in hand. Say nothing of thy plans, for if but once the
wind catches them, they will soon be for every one to talk to death."
Adam was finishing his plate of rice pudding and cream when he gave
this advice; and with it, he moved his chair from the table and said:
"Come into the garden. I want to smoke. Thou knows a good dinner
deserves a pipe, and a bad one demands it."
Then they went into the garden and talked of the flowers and the young
vegetables, and said not a word of Edinburgh and the Sagas that the
winds could catch and carry round to human folk for clash and gossip.
And when the pipe was out, Adam said: "Now I am going into the town.
That Burns story is on my lips, my teeth cannot keep my tongue behind
them much longer."
"A good time will be thine. I wish that I could go with thee."
"What wilt thou do?"
"Braid my hair and dress myself. Then I shall take out thy Saga of
'The Banded Men' and study the men who were banded, and find them
out, in all their clever ways. Then I can show them to others. If I
get tired of them--and I do get tired of men very quickly--I will
put on my bonnet and tippet, and go and carry Mrs. Brodie thy
respectful----"
"Take care, Sunna!"
"Good wishes! I can surely go so far."
"Know this--every step on that road may lead to danger--and thou
cannot turn back and tread them the other way. There now, be off! I
will talk with thee no longer."
Sunna said something about Burns in reply, but Vedder heard her not.
He was satisfying his vocal impatience by whistling softly and very
musically "The Garb of Old Gaul," and Sunna watched and listened a
moment, and then in something of a hurry went to her room. A new
thought had come to her--one which pleased her very much; and she
proceeded to dress herself accordingly.
"None too good is my Easter gown," she said pleasantly to herself;
"and I can take Eric a basket of the oranges grandfather brought home
today. A treat to the dear little lad they will be. Before me is a
long afternoon, and I shall find the proper moment to ask the advice
of Maximus about 'The Banded Men.'" So with inward smiles she dressed
herself, and then took the highway in a direction not very often taken
by her.
It led her to a handsome mansion overlooking the Venice of the
Orcades, the village and the wonderful Bay of Kirkwall, into which
... by night and day,
The great sea water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills.
The house had a silent look, and its enclosure was strangely quiet,
though kept in exquisite order and beauty. As she approached, a lady
about fifty years old came to the top of the long, white steps to meet
her, appearing to be greatly pleased with her visit.
"Only at dinner time Max was speaking of thee! And Eric said his
sweetheart had forgotten him, and wondering we all were, what had kept
thee so long away."
"Well, then, thou knowest about the war and the enlisting--everyone,
in some way, has been touched by the changes made."
"True is that! Quickly thou must come in, for Eric has both
second-sight and hearing, and no doubt he knows already that here thou
art----" and talking thus as she went, Mrs. Beaton led the way up a
wide, light stairway. Even as Mrs. Beaton was speaking a thin, eager
voice called Sunna's name, a door flew open, and a man, beautiful as
a dream-man, stood in the entrance to welcome them. And here the word
"beautiful" need not to be erased; it was the very word that sprang
naturally from the heart to the lips of every one when they met
Maximus Grant. No Greek sculptor ever dreamed of a more perfect form
and face; the latter illumined by noticeable grey eyes, contemplative
and mystical, a face, thoughtful and winning, and constantly breaking
into kind smiles.
He took Sunna's hand, and they went quickly forward to a boy of about
eleven years old, whom Sunna kissed and petted. The little lad was in
a passion of delight. He called her "his sweetheart! his wife! his
Queen!" and made her take off her bonnet and cloak and sit down beside
him. He was half lying in a softly cushioned chair; there was a large
globe at his side, and an equally large atlas, with other books on a
small table near by, and Max's chair was close to the whole
arrangement. He was a fair, lovely boy, with the seraphic eyes that
sufferers from spinal diseases so frequently possess--eyes with the
look in them of a Conqueror of Pain. But also, on his young face there
was the solemn Trophonean pallor which signs those who daily dare "to
look at death in the cave."
"Max and I have been to the Greek islands," he said, "and Sunna, as
soon as I am grown up, and am quite well, I shall ask thee to marry
me, and then we will go to one of the loveliest of them and live
there. Max thinks that would be just right."
"Thou little darling," answered Sunna, "when thou art a man, if thou
ask me to marry thee, I shall say 'yes!'"
"Of course thou wilt. Sunna loves Eric?"
"I do, indeed, Eric! I think we should be very happy. We should never
quarrel or be cross with each other."
"Oh! I would not like that! If we did not quarrel, there would be no
making-up. I remember papa and mamma making-up their little tiffs, and
they seemed to be very happy about it--and to love each other ever so
much better for the tiff and the make-up. I think we must have little
quarrels, Sunna; and then, long, long, happy makings-up."
"Very well, Eric; only, thou must make the quarrel. With thee I could
not quarrel."
"I should begin it in this way: 'Sunna, I do not approve of thy
dancing with--say--Ken McLeod.' Then thou wilt say: 'I shall dance
with whom I like, Eric'; and I will reply: 'thou art my wife and I
will not allow thee to dance with McLeod'; and then thou wilt be
naughty and saucy and proud, and I shall have to be angry and
masterful; and as thou art going out of the room in a terrible temper,
I shall say, 'Sunna!' in a sweet voice, and look at thee, and thou
wilt look at me, with those heavenly eyes, and then I shall open my
arms and thou wilt fly to my embrace, and the making-up will begin."
"Well, then, that will be delightful, Eric, but thou must not accuse
me of anything so bad as dancing with Mr. McLeod."
"Would that be bad to thee?"
"Very bad, indeed! I fear I would never try to have a 'make-up' with
any one who thought I would dance with him."
"Dost thou dislike him?"
"That is neither here nor there. He is a Scot. I may marry like the
rest of the world, but while my life days last, Sunna Vedder will not
marry a Scot."
"Yes--but there was some talk that way. My aunt heard it. My aunt
hears everything."
"I will tell thee, talk that way was all lies. No one will Sunna
Vedder marry, that is not of her race." Then she put her arms round
Eric, and kissed his wan face, calling him "her own little Norseman!"
"Tell me, Sunna, what is happening in the town?" said he.
"Well, then, not much now. Men are talking of the war, and going to
the war, and empty is the town. About the war, art thou sorry?"
"No, I am glad----
"How glorious the valiant, sword in hand,
In front of battle for their native land!"
And he raised his small, thin hands, and his face glowed, and he
looked like a young St. Michael.
Then Max lifted the globe and books aside and put his chair close to
his brother's. "Eric has the soul of a soldier," he said, "and the
sound of drums and trumpets stirs him like the cry of fire."
"And so it happens, Mr. Grant, that we have much noise lately from the
trumpets and the fife and drums."
"Yes, man is a military animal, he loves parade," answered Max.
"But in this war, there is much more than parade."
"You are right, Miss Vedder. It was prompted by that gigantic
heart-throb with which, even across oceans, we feel each other's
rights and wrongs. And in this way we learn best that we are men and
brothers. Can a man do more for a wrong than give his life to right
it?"
Then Eric cried out with hysterical passion: "I wish only that I might
have my way with Aberdeen! Oh, the skulking cowards who follow him!
Max! Max! If you would mount our father's big war horse and hold me in
front of you and ride into the thick of the battle, and let me look on
the cold light of the lifted swords! Oh, the shining swords! They
shake! They cry out! The lives of men are in them! Max! Max! I want to
die--on a--battlefield!"
And Max held the weeping boy in his arms, and bowed his head over him
and whispered words too tender and sacred to be written down.
For a while Eric was exhausted; he lay still watching his brother and
Sunna, and listening to their conversation. They were talking of the
excitement in London, and of the pressure of the clergy putting down
the reluctancies and falterings of the peace men.
"Have you heard, Miss Vedder," said Grant, "that one of the bishops
decided England's call to war by a wonderful sermon in St. Paul's?"
"I am sorry to be ignorant. Tell me."
"He preached from Jeremiah, Fourth Chapter and Sixth Verse; and his
closing cry was from Nahum, Second Chapter and First Verse, 'Set up
the standard toward Zion. Stay not, for I will bring evil from the
north and a great destruction,' and he closed with Nahum's advice, 'He
that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face, keep the munition,
watch the way, make thy loins strong, fortify thy power mightily.'"
"Well, then, how went the advice?"
"I know not exactly. It is hard to convince commerce and cowardice
that at certain times war is the highest of all duties. Neither of
them understand patriotism; and yet every trembling pacifist in time
of war is a misfortune to his country."
"And the country will give them--what?" asked Sunna.
"The cold, dead damnation of a disgrace they will never outlive,"
answered Max.
There was a sharp cry from Eric at these words, and then a passionate
childish exclamation--"Not bad enough! Not bad enough!" he screamed.
"Oh, if I had a sword and a strong hand! I would cut them up in
slices!" Then with an hysterical cry the boy fell backward.
In an instant Max had him in his arms and was whispering words of
promise and consolation, and just then, fortunately, Mrs. Beaton
entered with a servant who was carrying a service of tea and muffins.
It was a welcome diversion and both Max and Sunna were glad of it. Max
gently unloosed Eric's hand from Sunna's clasp and then they both
looked at the child. He had fallen into a sleep of exhaustion and Max
said, "It is well. When he is worn out with feeling, such sleeps alone
save his life. I am weary, also. Let us have a cup of tea." So they
sat down and talked of everything but the war--"He would hear us in
his sleep," said Max, "and he has borne all he is able to bear today."
Then Sunna said:
"Right glad am I to put a stop to such a trouble-raising subject. War
is a thing by itself, and all that touches it makes people bereft of
their senses or some other good thing. Here has come news of Thora
Ragnor's hurried marriage, but no one knows or cares about the
strange things happening at our doorstep. Such haste is not good I
fear."
"Does Ragnor approve of it?" asked Mrs. Beaton.
"Thora's marriage is all right. They fell in love with each other the
moment they met. No other marriage is possible for either. It is this,
or none at all," answered Sunna.
"I heard the man was the son of a great Edinburgh preacher."
"Yes, the Rev. Dr. Macrae, of St. Mark's."
"That is what I heard. He is a good man, but a very hard one."
"If he is hard, he is not good."
"Thou must not say that, little Miss; it may be the Episcopalian
belief, but we Calvinists have a stronger faith--a faith fit for men
and soldiers of the Lord."
"There! Mrs. Beaton, you are naming soldiers. That is against our
agreement to drop war talk. About Macrae I know nothing. He is not
aware that anyone but Thora Ragnor lives; and I was not in the least
attracted by him--his black hair and black eyes repelled me--I dislike
such men."
"Will they live in Edinburgh?"
"I believe they will live in Kirkwall. Mrs. Ragnor owns a pretty
house, which she will give them. She is going to put it in order and
furnish it from the roof to the foundation. Thora is busy about her
napery--the finest of Irish linen and damask. Now then, I must hurry
home. My grandfather will be waiting his tea."
Max rose with her. He looked at his little brother and said: "Aunt, he
will sleep now for a few hours, will you watch him till I return?"
"Will I not? You know he is as safe with me as yourself, Max."
So with an acknowledging smile of content, he took Sunna's hand and
led her slowly down the stairway. There was a box running all across
the sill of the long window, lighting the stairs, and it was full and
running over with the delicious muck plant. Sunna laid her face upon
its leaves for a moment, and the whole place was thrilled with its
heavenly perfume. Then she smiled at Max and his heart trembled with
joy; yet he said a little abruptly--"Let us make haste. The night
grows cloudy."
Their way took them through the village, and Sunna knew that she
would, in all likelihood, be the first woman ever seen in Maximus
Grant's company. The circumstance was pleasant to her, and she carried
herself with an air and manner that she readily caught and copied from
him. She knew that there was a face at every window, but she did not
turn her head one way or the other. Max was talking to her about the
Sagas and she had a personal interest in the Sagas, and any ambition
she had to be socially popular was as yet quite undeveloped.
At the point where the Vedder and Ragnor roads crossed each other, two
men were standing, talking. They were Ragnor and Vedder, and Ragnor
was at once aware of the identity of the couple approaching; but
Vedder appeared so unaware, that Ragnor remarked: "I see Sunna,
Vedder, coming up the road, and with her is Colonel Max Grant."
"But why 'Colonel,' Ragnor?"
"When General Grant died his son was a colonel in the Life Guards. He
left the army to care for his brother. I heard that the Queen praised
him for doing so."
Then the couple were so close, that it was impossible to affect
ignorance of their presence any longer; and the old men turned and
saluted the young couple. "I thank thee, Colonel," said Vedder, as he
"changed hats" with the Colonel, "but now I can relieve thee of the
charge thou hast taken. I am going home and Sunna will go with me; but
if thou could call on an old man about some business, there is a
matter I would like to arrange with thee."
"I could go home with you now, Vedder, if that would be suitable."
"Nay, it would be too much for me tonight. It is concerning that waste
land on the Stromness road, near the little bridge. I would like to
build a factory there."
"That would be to my pleasure and advantage. I will call on you and
talk over the matter, at any time you desire."
"Well and good! Say tomorrow at two o'clock."
"Three o'clock would be better for me."
"So, let it be." Then he took Sunna's hand and she understood that her
walk with Grant was over. She thanked Max for his courtesy, sent a
message to Eric, and then said her good night with a look into his
eyes which dirled in his heart for hours afterwards. Some compliments
passed between the men and then she found herself walking home with
her grandfather.
"Thou ought not to have seen me, Grandfather," she said a little
crossly, "I was having such a lovely walk."
"I did not want to see thee, and have I not arranged for thee
something a great deal better on tomorrow's afternoon?"
"One never knows----"
"Listen; he is to come at three o'clock, it will be thy fault if he
leaves at four. Thou can make tea for him--thou can walk in the
greenhouse and the garden with him, thou can sing for him--no,
let him sing for thee--thou can ask him to help thee with 'The
Banded Men'--and if he goes away before eight o'clock I will say
to thee--'take the first man that asks thee for thou hast no
woman-witchery with which to pick and choose!' Grant is a fine man.
If thou can win him, thou wins something worth while. He has always
held himself apart. His father was much like him. All of them
soldiers and proud as men are made, these confounded, democratic
days."
"And what of Boris?" asked Sunna.
"May Boris rest wherever he is! Thou could not compare Boris with
Maximus Grant."
"That is the truth. In many ways they are not comparable. Boris is a
rough, passionate man. Grant is a gentleman. Always I thought there
was something common in me; that must be the reason why I prefer
Boris."
"To vex me, thou art saying such untruthful words. I know thy
contradictions! Go now and inquire after my tea. I am in want of it."
During tea, nothing further was said of Maximus Grant; but Sunna was
in a very merry mood, and Adam watched her, and listened to her in a
philosophical way;--that is, he tried to make out amid all her
persiflage and bantering talk what was her ruling motive and intent--a
thing no one could have been sure of, unless they had heard her
talking to herself--that mysterious confidence in which we all
indulge, and in which we all tell ourselves the truth. Sunna was
undressing her hair and folding away her clothing as she visited this
confessional, but her revelations were certainly honest, even if
fragmentary, and full of doubt and uncertainty.
"Grant, indeed!" she exclaimed, "I am not ready for Grant--I believe I
am afraid of the man--he would make me over--make me like himself--in
a month he would do it--I like Boris best! I should quarrel with
Boris, of course, and we should say words neither polite nor kind to
each other; but then Boris would do as that blessed child said, 'Look
at me'; and I should look at him, and the making-up would begin.
Heigh-ho! I wish it could begin tonight!" She was silent then for a
few minutes, and in a sadder voice added--"with Max I should become an
angel--and I should have a life without a ripple--I would hate it,
just as I hate the sea when it lies like a mirror under the
sunshine--then I always want to scream out for a great north wind and
the sea in a passion, shattering everything in its way. If I got into
that mood with Max, we should have a most unpleasant time----" and she
laughed and tossed her pillows about, and then having found a
comfortable niche in one of them, she tucked her handsome head into it
and in a few moments the sleep of youth and perfect health lulled her
into a secret garden in the Land of Dreams.
The next day Sunna appeared to be quite oblivious regarding Grant's
visit and Vedder was too well acquainted with his granddaughter to
speak of it. He only noticed that she was dressed with a peculiar
simplicity and neatness. At three o'clock Grant was promptly at the
Vedder House, and at half-past four the land in question had been
visited and subsequently bought and sold. Then the cup of tea came in,
and the walk in the garden followed, and at six there was an ample
meal, and during the singing that followed it, Vedder fell fast
asleep, as was his custom, and when he awoke Grant was just going and
the clock was striking ten. Vedder looked at Sunna and there was no
need for him to speak.
"It was 'The Banded Men,'" said Sunna with a straight look at her
grandfather.
"Well, then, I know a woman who is a match for any number of 'banded
men.'"
"And in all likelihood that woman will be a Vedder. Good night,
Grandfather."
CHAPTER VII
THE CALL OF WAR
I came not to send peace but a sword.
--_Matt. x, 34._
For when I note how noble Nature's form
Under the war's red pain, I deem it true
That He who made the earthquake and the storm,
Perchance made battles too.
The summer passed rapidly away for it was full of new interests.
Thora's wedding was to take place about Christmas or New Year, and
there were no ready-made garments in those days; so all of her girl
friends were eager to help her needle. Sunna spent half the day with
her and all their small frets and jealousies were forgotten. Early in
the morning the work was lifted, and all day long it went happily on,
to their light-hearted hopes and dreams. Then in June and September
Ian came to Kirkwall to settle his account with McLeod, and at the
same time, he remained a week as the Ragnors' guest. There was also
Sunna's intended visit to Edinburgh to talk about, and there was
never a day in which the war and its preparations did not make itself
prominent.
One of the pleasantest episodes of this period occurred early and
related to Sunna. One morning she received a small box from London,
and she was so amazed at the circumstance, that she kept examining the
address and wondering "who could have sent it," instead of opening the
box. However, when this necessity had been observed, it revealed to
her a square leather case, almost like those used for jewelry, and her
heart leaped high with expectation. It was something, however, that
pleased her much more than jewelry; it was a likeness of Boris, a
daguerreotype--the first that had ever reached Kirkwall. A narrow
scrap of paper was within the clasp, on which Boris had written, "I am
all thine! Forget me not!"
Sunna usually made a pretense of despising anything sentimental but
this example filled her heart with joy and satisfaction. And after it,
she took far greater pleasure in all the circumstances relating to
Thora's marriage; for she had gained a personal interest in them. Even
the details of the ceremony were now discussed and arranged in accord
with Sunna's taste and suggestions.
"The altar and nave must be decorated with flags and evergreens and
all the late flowers we can secure," she said.
"There will not be many flowers, I fear," answered Mistress Ragnor.
"The Grants have a large greenhouse. I shall ask them to save all they
possibly can. Maximus Grant delights in doing a kindness."
"Then thou must ask him, Sunna. He is thy friend--perhaps thy lover.
So the talk goes."
"Let them talk! My lover is far away. God save him!"
"Where then?"
"Where all good and fit men are gone--to the trenches. For my lover is
much of a man, strong and brave-hearted. He adores his country, his
home, and his kindred. He counts honour far above money; and liberty,
more than life. My lover will earn the right to marry the girl he
loves, and become the father of free men and women!" And Rahal
answered proudly and tenderly:
"Thou art surely meaning my son Boris."
"Indeed, thou art near to the truth."
Then Rahal put her arm round Sunna and kissed her. "Thou hast made me
happy," she said, and Sunna made her still more happy, when she took
out of the little bag fastened to her belt the daguerreotype and
showed her the strong, handsome face of her soldier-sailor boy.
During all this summer Sunna was busy and regular. She was at the
Ragnors' every day until the noon hour. Then she ate dinner with her
grandfather, who was as eager to discuss the news and gossip Sunna had
heard, as any old woman in Kirkwall. He said: "Pooh! Pooh!" and
"Nonsense!" but he listened to it, and it often served his purpose
better than words of weight and wisdom.
In the afternoons Mistress Brodie was to visit, and the winter in
Edinburgh to talk over. Coming home in time to take tea with her
grandfather, she devoted the first hour after the meal to practising
her best songs, and these lullabyed the old man to a sleep which often
lasted until "The Banded Men" were attended to. It might then be ten
o'clock and she was ready to sleep.
All through these long summer days, Thora was the natural source of
interest and the inciting element of all the work and chatter that
turned the Ragnor house upside down and inside out; but Thora was
naturally shy and quiet, and Sunna naturally expressive and
presuming; and it was difficult for their companions to keep Thora and
Sunna in their proper places. Every one found it difficult. Only when
Ian was present, did Sunna take her proper secondary place and Ian,
though the most faithful and attentive of lovers by mail, had only
been able to pay Thora one personal visit. This visit had occurred at
the end of June and he was expected again at the end of September. The
year was now approaching that time and the Ragnor household was in a
state of happy expectation.
It was an unusual condition and Sunna said irritably: "They go on
about this stranger as if he were the son of Jupiter--and poor Boris!
They never mention him, though there has been a big battle and Boris
may have been in it. If Boris were killed, it is easy to see that this
Ian Macrae would step into his place!"
"Nothing of that kind could happen! In thy own heart keep such foolish
thoughts," replied Vedder.
So the last days of September were restless and not very happy, for
there was a great storm prevailing, and the winds roared and the rain
fell in torrents and the sea looked as if it had gone mad. Before the
storm there was a report of a big battle, but no details of it had
reached them. For the Pentland Firth had been in its worst equinoctial
temper and the proviso added to all Orkney sailing notices, "weather
permitting," had been in full force for nearly a week.
But at length the storm was over and everyone was on the lookout for
the delayed shipping. Thora was pale with intense excitement but all
things were in beautiful readiness for the expected guest. And Ian did
not disappoint the happy hopes which called him. He was on the first
ship that arrived and it was Conall Ragnor's hand he clasped as his
feet touched the dry land.
Such a home-coming as awaited him--the cheerful room, the bountifully
spread table, the warm welcome, the beauty and love, mingling with
that sense of peace and rest and warm affection which completely
satisfies the heart. Would such a blissful hour ever come again to him
in this life?
His pockets were full of newspapers, and they were all shouting over
the glorious opening of the war. The battle of Alma had been fought
and won; and the troops were ready and waiting for Inkerman. England's
usual calm placidity had vanished in exultant rejoicing. "An English
gentleman told me," said Ian, "that you could not escape the chimes of
joyful bells in any part of the ringing island.'"
Vedder had just entered the room and he stood still to listen to these
words. Then he said: "Men differ. For the first victory let all the
bells of England ring if they want to. We Norsemen like to keep our
bell-ringing until the fight is over and they can chime _Peace_. And
how do you suppose, Ian Macrae, that the English and French will like
to fight together?"
"Well enough, sir, no doubt. Why not?"
"Of Waterloo I was thinking. Have the French forgotten it? Ian, it is
the very first time in all the history we have, that Frenchmen ever
fought with Englishmen in a common cause. Natural enemies they have
been for centuries, fighting each other with a very good will whenever
they got a chance. Have they suddenly become friends? Have they forgot
Waterloo?" and he shook his wise old head doubtfully.
"Who can tell, sir, but when the English conquer any nation, they feel
kindly to them and usually give them many favours?"
"Well, then, every one knows that the same is both her pleasure and
her folly; and dearly she pays for it."
"Ian," said Mistress Ragnor, "are the English ships now in the Black
Sea? And if so, do you think Boris is with them?"
"About Boris, I do not know. He told me he was carrying 'material of
war.' The gentleman of whom I spoke went down to Spithead to see them
off. Her Majesty, in the royal yacht, _Fairy_, suddenly appeared. Then
the flagship hauled home every rope by the silent 'all-at-once' action
of one hundred men. Immediately the rigging of the ships was black
with sailors, but there was not a sound heard except an occasional
command--sharp, short and imperative--or the shrill order of the
boatswain's whistle. The next moment, the Queen's yacht shot past the
fleet and literally led it out to sea. Near the Nab, the royal yacht
hove to and the whole fleet sailed past her, carried swiftly out by a
fine westerly breeze. Her Majesty waved her handkerchief as they
passed and it is said she wept. If she had not wept she would have
been less than a woman and a queen."
While Vedder and Ragnor were discussing this incident, and comparing
it with Cleopatra at the head of her fleet and Boadicea at the head
of her British army and Queen Elizabeth at Tewksbury reviewing her
army, Mrs. Ragnor and Thora left the room. Ian quickly followed. There
was a bright fire in the parlour, and the piano was open. Ian
naturally drifted there and then Thora's voice was wanted in the song.
When it was finished, Mrs. Ragnor had been called out and they were
alone. And though Mrs. Ragnor came back at intervals, they were
practically alone during the rest of the evening.
What do lovers talk about when they are alone? Ah! their conversation
is not to be written down. How unwritable it is! How wise it is! How
foolish when written down! How supremely satisfying to the lovers
themselves! Surely it is only the "baby-talk" of the wisdom not yet
comprehensible to human hearts! We often say of certain events; "I
have no words to describe what I felt"--and who will find out or
invent the heavenly syllables that can adequately describe the divine
passion of two souls, that suddenly find their real mate--find the
soul that halves their soul, created for them, created with them,
often lost or missed through diverse reincarnations; but sooner or
later found again and known as soon as found to both. No wooing is
necessary in such a case--they meet, they look, they love, and
naturally and immediately take up their old, but unforgotten love
patois. They do not need to learn its sweet, broken syllables, its
hand clasps and sighs, its glances and kisses; they are more natural
to them than was the grammared language they learned through years of
painful study.
Ian and Thora hardly knew how the week went. Every one respected their
position and left them very much to their own inclinations. It led
them to long, solitary walks, and to the little green skiff on the
moonlit bay, and to short visits to Sunna, in order, mainly, that they
might afterwards tell each other how far sweeter and happier they were
alone.
They never tired of each other, and every day they recounted the
number of days that had to pass ere Ian could call himself free from
the McLeod contract. They were to marry immediately and Ian would go
into Ragnor's business as bookkeeper. Their future home was growing
more beautiful every day. It was going to be the prettiest little home
on the island. There was a good garden attached to it and a small
greenhouse to save the potted plants in the winter. Ragnor had
ordered its furniture from a famous maker in Aberdeen, and Rahal was
attending with love and skill to all those incidentals of modern
housekeeping, usually included in such words as silver, china, napery,
ornaments, and kitchen-utensils. They were much interested in it and
went every fine day to observe its progress. Yet their interest in the
house was far inferior to their interest in each other, and Sunna may
well be excused for saying to her grandfather:
"They are the most conceited couple in the world! In fact, the world
belongs to them and all the men and women in it--the sun and the moon
are made new for them, and they have the only bit of wisdom going. I
hope I may be able to say 'yes' to all they claim until Saturday
comes."
"These are the ways of love, Sunna."
"Then I shall not walk in them."
"Thou wilt walk in the way appointed thee."
"Pure Calvinism is that, Grandfather."
"So be it. I am a Calvinist about birth, death and marriage. They are
the events in life about which God interferes. His will and design is
generally evident."
"And quite as evident, Grandfather, is the fact that a great many
people interfere with His will and design."
"Yes, Sunna, because our will is free. Yet if our will crosses God's
will, crucifixion of some kind is sure to follow."
"Well, then, today is Friday. The week has got itself over nearly; and
tomorrow will be partly free, for Ian goes to Edinburgh at ten
o'clock. Very proper is that! Such an admirable young man ought only
to live in a capitol city."
"If these are thy opinions, keep them to thyself. Very popular is the
young man."
"Grandfather, dost thou think that I am walking in ankle-tights yet? I
can talk as the crowd talks, and I can talk to a sensible man like
thee. Tomorrow brings release. I am glad, for Thora has forgotten me.
I feel that very much."
"Thou art jealous."
Vedder's assertion was near the truth, for undeniably Ian and Thora
had been careless of any one but themselves. Yet their love was so
vital and primitive, so unaffected and sincere, that it touched the
sympathies of all. In this cold, far-northern island, it had all the
glow and warmth of some rose-crowned garden of a tropical paradise.
But such special days are like days set apart; they do not fit into
ordinary life and cannot be continued long under any circumstances. So
the last day came and Thora said:
"Mother, dear, it is a day in a thousand for beauty, and we are going
to get Aunt Brodie's carriage to ride over to Stromness and see the
queer, old town, and the Stones of Stenness."
"Go not near them. If you go into the cathedral you go expecting some
good to come to you; for angels may be resting in its holy aisles,
ready and glad to bless you. What will you ask of the ghosts among the
Stones of Stenness? Is there any favour you would take from the Baal
and Moloch worshipped with fire and blood among them?"
"Why, Mother," said Thora, "I have known many girls who went with
their lovers to Stenness purposely to join their hands through the
hole in Woden's Stone and thus take oath to love each other forever."
"Thou and Ian will take that oath in the holy church of St. Magnus."
"That is what we wish, Mother," said Ian. "We wish nothing less than
that."
"Well, then, go and see the queer, old, old town, and go to the
Mason's Arms, and you will get there a good dinner. After it ride
slowly back. Father will be home before six and must have his meal at
once."
"That is the thing we shall do, Mother. Ian thought it would be so
romantic to take a lunch with us and eat it among the Stones of
Stenness. But the Mason's Arms will be better. The Masons are good
men, Mother?"
"In all their generations, good men. Thy father is a Mason in high
standing."
"Yes, that is so! Then the Mason's Arms may be lucky to us?"
"We make things lucky or unlucky by our willing and doing; but even
so, it is not lucky to defy or deny what the dead have once held to be
good or bad."
"Well, then, why, Mother?"
"Not now, will we talk of whys and wherefores. It is easier to believe
than to think. Take, in this last day of Love's seven days, the full
joy of your lives and ask not why of anyone."
So the lovers went off gaily to see the land-locked bay and the
strange old town of Stromness; and the house was silent and lonely
without them and Rahal wished that her husband would come home and
talk with her, for her soul was under a cloud of presentiments and
she said to herself after a morning of fretful, inefficient work: "Oh,
how much easier it is to love God than it is to trust Him. Are not my
dear ones in His care? Yet about them I am constantly worrying; though
perfectly well I know that in any deluge that may come, God will find
an ark for those who love and trust Him. Boris knows--Boris knows--I
have told him."
About three o'clock she went to the window and looked towards the
town. Much to her astonishment she saw her husband coming home at a
speed far beyond his ordinary walk. He appeared also to be disturbed,
even angry, and she watched him anxiously until he reached the house.
Then she was at the open door and his face frightened her.
"Conall! My dear one! Art thou ill?" she asked.
"I am ill with anger and pity and shame!"
"What is thy meaning? Speak to me plainly."
"Oh, Rahal! the shame and the cruelty of it! I am beside myself!"
"Come to my room, then thou shalt tell thy sorrow and I will halve it
with thee."
"No! I want to cry out! I want to shout the shameful wrong from the
house-tops! Indeed, it is flying all over England and Scotland--over
all the civilized world! And yet--my God! the guilty ones are still
living!"
"Coll, my dear one, what is it thou most needs--cold water?"
"No! No! Get me a pot of hot tea.[*] My brain burns. My heart is like
to break! Our poor brave soldiers! They are dying of hunger and of
every form of shameful neglect. The barest necessities of life are
denied them."
[*] The Norsemen of Shetland and Orkney drank tea in every kind of
need or crisis. No meal without it, no pleasure without it; and
it was equally indispensable in every kind of trouble or
fatigue.
"By whom? By whom, Coll?"
"Pacifists in power and office everywhere! Give me a drink! Give me a
drink! I am ill--get me tea--and I will tell thee."
There was boiling water on the kitchen hob, and the tea was ready in
five minutes. "Drink, dear Coll," said Rahal, "and then share thy
trouble and anger with me. The mail packet brought the bad news, I
suppose?"
"Yes, about an hour ago. The town is in a tumult. Men are cursing
and women are doing nothing less. Some whose sons are at the front
are in a distraction. If Aberdeen were within our reach we would
give him five minutes to say his prayers and then send him to the
judgment of God. Englishmen and Norsemen will not lie down and rot
under Russian tyranny. To die fighting against it sends them joyfully
to the battlefield! But oh, Rahal! to be left alone to die on the
battlefield, without help, without care, without even a drink of
cold water! It is damnable cruelty! What I say is this: let England
stop her bell-ringing and shouts of victory until she has comforted
and helped her wounded and dying soldiers!"
"And Aberdeen? He is a Scotch nobleman--the Scotch are not cowards--what
has he done, Coll?"
"Because he hates fighting for our rights, he persuades all whom his
power and patronage can reach to lie down or he says they will be
knocked down. So it may be, but every man that has a particle of the
Divine in him would rather be knocked down than lie down--if down it
had to be--but there is no question of down in it! Aberdeen! He is
'England's worst enemy'--and he holds the power given him by England
to rule and ruin England! I wish he would die and go to judgment this
night! I do! I do! and my soul says to me, 'Thou art right.'"
"Coll, no man knoweth the will of the Almighty."
"Then they ought to! The question has now been up to England for a
two-years' discussion, and they have only to open His Word and find it
out"; then he straightened himself and in a mighty burst of joyful
pride and enthusiasm cried out:
"'Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and
my fingers to fight.
"'
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