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“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?”
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“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 tono 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.118“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 I119said 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.”
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“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 and121Nenie 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.”
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“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.”
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“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 timeThe Deil gat stuff to mak’ a swineAnd put it in a corner;But afterward he changed his planAnd 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.”
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“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 Boris125Ragnor 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 my126face. 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 was127so 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 boasting128into 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.
129CHAPTER VITHE 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.
Thefollowing 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.
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“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 it131was 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, “theyarestaying 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 East132or 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;133she 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 as134a 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 anger135and 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 certain136colours 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.”
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“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 a138large 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 will139inaugurate 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.”
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“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 had141waited 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––much142against 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.”
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“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.”
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“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.”
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“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.”
146
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–––”
147
“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 overlooking148the Venice of the Orcades, the village and the wonderful Bay of Kirkwall, into which
... by night and day,
The great sea water finds its wayThrough 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, beautiful149as 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.”
150
“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 with151whom 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. No152one 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.