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.
"'My goodness, and my fortress, my high tower, and my deliverer, my
shield, and He in whom I trust, who subdueth the people under me.'"
Anon he began to pace the floor as he continued: "'Rid us and deliver
us, from the hands of strange children--whose mouth speaketh vanity,
and whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood.' Rahal, could there
be a better description of Russia--'her right hand of falsehood, her
mouth speaking vanity?' David put the very words needed in our mouths
when he taught us to say, 'rid us of such an enemy, and of all who
strike hands with him!' Yes, rid us. We want to be rid of all such
dead souls! Rid us."
Then Rahal reminded her husband that only recently his physician had
warned him against all excitement, especially of anger, and so finally
induced him to take a sedative and go to sleep. But sleep was far from
her. She sat down in her own room and closed her eyes against all
worldly sights and sounds. Her soul was trying to reach her son's soul
and impress upon it her own trust in the love and mercy of the "God of
battles." She had hoped that some word or thought of Boris would come
back to her in such a personal manner that she would feel that he was
thinking of her and of the many sweet spiritual confidences they had
had together.
But nothing came, no sign, no word, no sudden, flashing memory of some
special promise. All was void and still until she heard the voices of
Thora and Ian. Then she went down to them and found that the evil news
had met them on their way home. She asked Ian if he had any knowledge
of the whereabouts of Boris. Ian thought he might be at sea, as his
ship was at Spithead among the carrying ships of the navy. "If he had
been in Alma's fight, you might have heard from him," he added. "It
would be his first battle and he would want to write to you about it.
That would be only natural."
"Well, then, I will look for good news. If bad news is coming, I will
not pay it the compliment of going to meet it. Have you had a pleasant
day? Where first did you go?"
"To the land-locked Bay of Stromness which was full of ships of all
sizes, of schooners, and of little skiffs painted a light green colour
like the pleasure skiffs of Kirkwall."
"And the town?"
"Was very busy while we were there. It has but one long street, with
steep branches running directly up the big granite hill which shelters
it from the Atlantic. What I noticed particularly was, that the houses
on the main street all had their gables seaward; and are so built that
the people can step from their doors into their boats. I liked that
arrangement. Stromness is really an Orcadean Venice. The town is a
queer old place, with a non-English and non-Scotch look. The houses
have an old-world appearance and the names over the doorways carry you
back to Norseland. Only one street is flagged and little bays run up
into the street through its whole length. But the place appeared to be
very busy and happy. I noticed few Scotch there, the people seemed to
be purely Norse. All were busy--men, women and children."
"It used to be the last port for the Hudson Bay Company," said Rahal,
"and the big whaling fleets, and in days of war and convoys there were
hundreds of big ships in its wonderful harbour. I suppose that you had
no time to visit any of the ancient monuments there?" Rahal asked.
"No; Thora told me her grandmother Ragnor was buried in its cemetery
and that her grave was near the church door and had a white pillar at
the head of it. So we walked there."
"Well, then?"
"I cannot describe to you the savage, lonely grandeur of its
situation. It frightened me."
"The men and women who chose it were not afraid of it."
"Thora says its memory frightened her for years."
"Thora was only eight years old when her father placed the pillar at
the head of his mother's grave. It was then she saw it--but at eight
years many people are often more sensitive than at eighty. Yes,
indeed! They may see, then, what eyes dimmed by earthly vision cannot
see, and feel what hearts hardened by earth's experiences cannot
feel. Thora's spiritual sight was very keen in childhood and is not
dimmed yet."
At these words Thora entered the room, wearing the little frock of
white barege she had saved for this last day of Ian's visit. Her face
had been bathed, her hair brushed and loosened but yet dressed with
the easiest simplicity. She was in trouble but she knew when to speak
of trouble, and when to be silent. Her mother was talking of
Stromness; when her father came, he would know all, and say all. So
she went softly about the room, putting on the dinner table those last
final accessories that it was her duty to supply.
Yet the conversation was careless and indifferent. Rahal talked of
Stromness but her heart was far away from Stromness, and Thora would
have liked to tell her mother how beautifully their future home had
been papered, and all three were eager to discuss the news that had
come. But all knew well that it would be better not to open the
discussion till Ragnor was present to inform and direct their
ignorance of events.
On the stroke of six, Ragnor entered. He had slept and washed and was
apparently calm, but in some way his face had altered, for his heart
had mastered his brain and its usual expression of intellectual
strength was exchanged for one of intense feeling. His eyes shone and
he had the look of a man who had just come from the presence of God.
"We are waiting for you, dear Coll," said Rahal; and he answered
softly: "Well, then, I am here." For a moment his eyes rested on
the table which Rahal had set with extra care and with the delicacies
Ian liked best. Was it not the last dinner he would eat with them
for three months? She thought it only kind to give it a little
distinction. But this elaboration of the usual home blessings did not
produce the expected results. Every one was anxious, the atmosphere
of the room was tense and was not relieved until Ragnor had said a
grace full of meaning and had sat down and asked Ian if he "had heard
the news brought by that day's packet?"
"Very brokenly, Father," was the answer. "Two men, whom we met on the
Stromness road, told us that it was 'bad with the army,' but they were
excited and in a great hurry and would not stand to answer our
questions."
"No wonder! No wonder!"
"Whatever is the matter, Father?"
"I cannot tell you. The words stumble in my throat, and my heart
burns and bleeds. Here is the _London Times_! Read aloud from it what
William Howard Russell has witnessed--I cannot read the words--I would
be using my own words--listen, Rahal! Listen, Thora! and oh, may God
enter into judgment at once with the men responsible for the misery
that Russell tells us of."
At this point, Adam Vedder entered the room. He was in a passion that
was relieving itself by a torrent of low voiced curses--curses only
just audible but intensely thrilling in their half-whispered tones of
passion. In the hall he had taken off his hat but on entering the room
he found it too warm for his top-coat, and he began to remove it,
muttering to himself while so doing. There was an effort to hear what
he was saying but very quickly Ragnor stopped the monologue by
calling:
"Adam! Thee! Thou art the one wanted. Ian is just going to read what
the _London Times_ says of this dreadful mismanagement."
"'Mismanagement!' Is that what thou calls the crime? Go on, Ian! More
light on this subject is wanted here."
So Ian stood up and read from the _Times'_ correspondent's letter the
following sentences:
"The skies are black as ink, the wind is howling over the
staggering tents, the water is sometimes a foot deep, our men have
neither warm nor waterproof clothing and we are twelve hours at a
time in the trenches--and not a soul seems to care for their
comfort or even their lives; the most wretched beggar who wanders
about the streets of London in the rain leads the life of a prince
compared with the British soldiers now fighting out here for their
country.
... "The commonest accessories of a hospital are wanting; there
is not the least attention paid to decency or cleanliness, the
stench is appalling, the fetid air can barely struggle out through
chinks in the walls and roofs, and for all I can observe the men
die without the least effort being made to save them. They lie
just as they were let down on the ground by the poor fellows,
their comrades, who brought them on their backs from the camp with
the greatest tenderness but who are not allowed to remain with
them. The sick appear to be tended by the sick, and the dying by
the dying. There are no nurses--and men are literally dying
hourly, because the medical staff of the British army has
forgotten that old rags of linen are necessary for the dressing of
wounds."
"My God!" cried Ian, as he let the paper fall from the hands he
clasped passionately together, "My God! How can Thou permit this?"
"Well, then, young man," said Adam, "thou must remember that God
permits what He does not will. And Conall," he continued, "millions
have been voted and spent for war and hospital materials, where are
the goods?"
"The captain of the packet told me no one could get their hands on
them. Some are in the holds of vessels and other things so piled on
the top of them that they cannot be got at till the hold is regularly
emptied. Some are stored in warehouses which no one has authority to
open--some are actually rotting on the open wharves, because the
precise order to remove them to the hospital cannot be found. The
surgeons have no bandages, the doctors no medicine, and as I said
there are no nurses but a few rough military orderlies. The situation
paralyses those who see it!"
"Paralyses! Pure nonsense!" cried Vedder, whose face was wet with
passionate tears, though he did not know it. "Paralyses! No, no! It
must make them work miracles. I am going to Edinburgh tomorrow. I am
going to buy all the luxuries and medicines I can afford for the lads
fighting and suffering. Sunna is going to spend a week in gathering
old linen in Kirkwall and then Mistress Brodie and she will bring it
with them. Rahal, Thora, you must do your best. And thou, Conall?"
"Adam, thou can open my purse and take all thou thinks is right. My
Boris may be among those dear lads; his mother will have something to
send him. Wilt thou see it is set on a fair way to reach his hand?"
"I will take it to him. If he be in London with his vessel, I will
find him; if he be at the front, I will find him. If he be in Scutari
hospital, I will find him!"
"Oh, Adam, Adam!" cried Rahal, "thou art the good man that God loves,
the man after His own heart." Her face was set and stern and white as
snow, and Thora's was a duplicate of it; but Ragnor, during his short
interval of rest, had arrived at that heighth and depth of confidence
in God's wisdom which made him sure that in the end the folly and
wickedness of men would "praise Him"; so he was ready to help, and
calm and strong in his sorrow.
At this point, Rahal rose and a servant came in and began to clear the
table and carry away the remains of the meal. Then Rahal rose and took
Thora's hand and Ian went with them to the parlour. She spoke kindly
to Ian who at her first words burst into bitter weeping, into an
almost womanly burst of uncontrollable distress. So she kissed and
left him with the only woman who had the power to soothe, in any
degree, the sense of utter helplessness which oppressed him.
"I want to go to the Crimea!" he said, "I would gladly go there. It
would give me a chance to die happily. It would repay me for all my
miserable life. I want to go, Thora. You want me to go, Thora! Yes,
you do, dear one!"
"No, I do not want you to go. I want you here. Oh, what a selfish
coward I am. Go, Ian, if you wish--if you feel it right to go, then
go."
This subject was sufficient to induce a long and strange conversation
during which Thora was led to understand that some great and cruel
circumstances had ruined and in some measure yet controlled her
lover's life. She was begging him to go and talk to her father and
tell him all that troubled him so cruelly when Rahal entered the room
again.
"Dear ones," she said, "the house is cold and the lamps nearly out.
Say good night, now. Ian must be up early--and tomorrow we shall have
a busy day collecting all the old linen we can." She was yet as white
as the long dressing gown she wore but there was a smile on her face
that made it lovely as she recited slowly:
"Watching, wondering, yearning, knowing
Whence the stream, and where 'tis going
Seems all mystery--by and by
He will speak, and tell us why."
And the simple words had a charm in them, and though they said "Good
night," in a mist of tears, the sunshine of hope turned them into that
wonderful bow which God 'bended with his hands' and placed in the
heavens as a token of His covenant with man, that He would always
remember man's weakness and give him help in time of trouble. Now let
every good man and woman say "I'll warrant it! I never yet found a
deluge of any kind but I found also that God had provided an ark for
my refuge and my comfort."