THE BREAD OF BITTERNESS
Sorrow develops the mind. It seems as if a soul was given us to suffer
with--
Dust to dust, but the pure spirit shall flow
Back to the burning fountain whence it came
A portion of the Eternal which must glow
Through time and change unalterably the same.
Our endless need is met by God's endless help.
At her room door Thora bid her mother good night. Rahal desired to
talk with her, but the girl shook her head and said wearily, "I want
to think, Mother. I have no heart to speak yet." And Rahal turned
sadly away. She knew that hour, that her child had come to a door for
which she had no key and she left her alone with the situation she had
to face. Nor did Thora just then realize that within the past hour her
girlhood had vanished, and that she had suddenly become a woman with a
woman's fate upon her and a woman's heart-rending problem to solve.
How it came she did not enquire, yet she did recognise some change in
herself. Hitherto, all her troubles had been borne by her father or
mother. This trouble was her very own. No one could carry it for her
but without any hesitation she accepted it. "I must find out the very
root of this matter," she said to herself, "and I will not go to bed
until I do. Nor is it half-asleep I will be over the question. I will
sit up and be wide awake."
So she put more peat and coal on her fire and lit a fresh candle;
removed her day clothing and wrapped herself in a large down cloak.
And the night was not cold for there was a southerly wind, and the
gulf stream embraces the Orkneys, giving them an abnormally warm
climate for their far-north latitude. And she had a passing wonder at
herself for these precautions. A year ago, a week ago, she would have
thrown herself upon her bed in passionate weeping or clung to her
mother and talked her sorrow away in her loving sympathy and advice.
But at this supreme hour of her life, she wanted to be alone. She
did not wish to talk about Ian with any one. She was wide awake,
quite sensible of the pain and grief at her heart, yet tearless
and calm. Never before had she felt that dignity of soul, which
looks straight into the face of its sorrow and feels itself equal
to the bearing of it. She had as yet no idea that during that
evening she had passed through that wonderful heart-experience,
which suddenly ripens girlhood into womanhood. Indeed, they will
be thoughtless girls--whatever their age--who can read this
sentence and not pause and recall that marvellous transition in their
own lives. To some it comes with a great joy, to others with a great
sorrow but it is always a fateful event, and girls should be ready
to meet and salute it.
As soon as Thora had made herself and her room comfortable, she sat
down and closed her eyes. All her life she had noticed that her mother
shut her eyes when she wanted to think. Now she did the same, and then
softly called Ian Macrae to the judgment of her heart and her inner
senses, but she did it as naturally as women equally ignorant have
done it in all ages, taking or refusing their advice or verdict as
directed by their dominant desire, or their reason or unreason.
With almost supernatural clearness she recalled his beautiful, yet
troubled face, his hesitating manner, his restlessness in his chair,
his nervous trifling with his watch chain or his finger ring. She
recalled the fact that his voice had in it a strange tone and that his
eyes reflected a soul fearful and angry. It was an unfamiliar Ian she
called up, but oh! if it could ever become a familiar one.
The first subject that pressed her for consideration was the suspicion
of gambling. Certainly Ian had promptly denied the charge. He had even
said that he never was in the gambling parlours but once, when he went
into them very early with the porter, to assure himself that some new
carpets asked for were really wanted. "Then," he added, "I found out
that the demand was made by one of the club members, who had a friend
who was a carpet manufacturer and expected to supply what was
considered necessary."
It must be recalled here that Norsemen, though sharp and keen in
business matters, have no gambling fever in their blood. To get money
and give nothing for it! That goes too far beyond their idea of fair
business, and as for pleasure, they have never connected it with the
paper kings and queens. They find in the sea and their ships, in
adventure, in music and song, in dancing and story telling, all of
pleasure they require. A common name for a pack of cards is "the
devil's books," and in Orkney they have but few readers.
Thora had partially exonerated Ian from the charge of gambling
when she remembered Jean Hay's assertion that "wherever horses were
racing, there Ian was sure to be and that he had been named in the
newspapers as a winner on the horse Sergius." Ian had passed by
this circumstance, and her father had either intentionally or
unintentionally done the same. Once she had heard Vedder say that
"horse racing produced finer and faster horses"; and she remembered
well, that her father asked in reply, "If it was well to produce
finer and faster horses, at the cost of making horsier men?" And he
had further said that he did not know of any uglier type of man than a
"betting book in breeches." She thought a little on this subject
and then decided Ian ought to be talked to about it.
Her lover's neglect of the Sabbath was the next question, for Thora
was a true and loving daughter of the Church of England. Episcopacy
was the kernel of her faith. She believed all bishops were just like
Bishop Hedley and that the most perfect happiness was found in the
Episcopal Communion. And she said positively to her heart--"It is
through the church door we will reach the Home door, and I am sure Ian
will go with me to keep the Sabbath in the cathedral. Every one goes
to church in Kirkwall. He could not resist such a powerful public
example, and then he would begin to like to go of his own inclination.
I could trust him on this point, I feel sure."
When she took up the next doubt her brow clouded and a shadow of
annoyance blended itself with her anxious, questioning expression.
"His name!" she muttered. "His name! Why did he woo me under a false
name? Mother says my marriage to him under the name of Ian Macrae
would not be lawful. Of course he intended to marry me with his proper
name. He would have been sure to tell us all before the marriage
day--but I saw father was angry and troubled at the circumstance. He
ought to have told us long ago. Why didn't he do so? I should have
loved him under any name. I should have loved him better under John
than Ian. John is a strong, straight name. Great and good men in all
ages have made John honourable. It has no diminutive. It can't be made
less than John. Englishmen and lowland Scotch all say the four
sensible letters with a firm, strong voice; only the Celt turns John
into Ian. I will not call him Ian again. Not once will I do it."
Then she covered her eyes with her hand and a sharp, chagrined catch
of her breath broke the hush of the still room. And her voice, though
little stronger than a whisper, was full of painful wonder. "What will
people say? What shall we say? Oh, the shame! Oh, the mortification!
Who will now live in my pretty home? Who will eat my wedding cake?
What will become of my wedding dress? Oh, Thora! Thora! Love has led
thee a shameful, cruel road! What wilt thou do? What can thou do?"
Then a singular thing happened. A powerful thought from some forgotten
life came with irresistible strength into her mind, and though she did
not speak the words suggested, she prayed them--if prayer be that
hidden, never-dying imploration that goes with the soul from one
incarnation to another--for the words that sprang to her memory must
have been learned centuries before, "Oh, Mary! Mary! Mother of Jesus
Christ! Thou that drank the cup of all a woman's griefs and wrongs,
pray for me!"
And she was still and silent as the words passed through her
consciousness. She thought every one of them, they seemed at the
moment so real and satisfying. Then she began to wonder and ask
herself, "Where did those words come from? When did I hear them? Where
did I say them before? How do they come to be in my memory? From what
strange depth of Life did they come? Did I ever have a Roman Catholic
nurse? Did she whisper them to my soul, when I was sick and suffering?
I must ask mother--oh, how tired and sleepy I feel--I will go to
bed--I have done no good, come to no decision. I will sleep--I will
tell mother in the morning--I wish I had let her stop with me--mother
always knows--what is the best way----" And thus the heart-breaking
session ended in that blessed hostel, The Inn of Dreamless Sleep.
There was, however, little sleep in the House of Ragnor that night,
and very early in the morning Ragnor, fully dressed, spoke to his
wife. "Art thou waking yet, Rahal?" he asked, and Rahal answered, "I
have slept little. I have been long awake."
"Well then, what dost thou think now of Ian Macrae, so-called?"
"I think little amiss of him--some youthful follies--nothing to make a
fuss about."
"Hast thou considered that the follies of youth may become the follies
of manhood, and of age? What then?"
"We are not told to worry about what may be."
"Ian has evidently been living and spending with people far above his
means and his class."
"The Lowland Scotch regard a minister as socially equal to any peer.
Are not the servants of God equal, and more than equal, to the
servants of the queen? No society is above either they or their
children. That I have seen always. And young men of fine appearance
and charming manners, like Ian, are welcome in every home, high or
low. Yes, indeed!"
"Yet girls, as a rule, should not marry handsome men with charming
manners, unless there is something better behind to rely on."
"If thou had not been a handsome man with a charming manner, Rahal
would not have married thee. What then?"
"I would have been a ruined man. I cared for nothing but thee."
"I believe that a girl of moral strength and good intelligence should
be trusted with the choice of her destiny. It is not always that
parents have a right to thrust a destiny they choose upon their
daughter. If a man is not as good and as rich as they think she ought
to marry they can point this out, and if they convince their child,
very well; and if they do not convince her, also very well. Perhaps
the girl's character requires just the treatment it will evolve from a
life of struggle."
"Thou art talking nonsense, Rahal. Thy liking for the young man has
got the better of thy good sense. I cannot trust thee in this
matter."
"Well then, Coll, the road to better counsel than mine, is well known
to thee."
"I think Bishop Hedley arrived about an hour ago. There were moving
lights on the pier, and as soon as the morning breaks I am going to
see him."
"Have thy own way. When a man's wife has not the wisdom wanted, it is
well that he go to his Bishop, for Bishops are full of good counsel,
even for the ruling of seven churches, so I have heard."
"It is not hearsay between thee and Bishop Hedley. Thou art well
acquainted with him."
"Well then, in the end thou wilt take thy own way."
"Dost thou want me to say 'yes' today, and rue it tomorrow? I have no
mind for any such foolishness."
"Coll, this is a time when deeds will be better than words."
"I see that. Well then, the day breaks, and I will go"--he lingered a
minute or two fumbling about his knitted gloves but Rahal was dressing
her hair and took no further notice. So he went away in an affected
hurry and both dissatisfied and uncertain. "What a woman she is!" he
sighed. "She has said only good words, but I feel as if I had broken
every commandment at once."
He went away full of trouble and anxiety, and Rahal watched him down
the garden path and along the first stretch of the road. She knew by
his hurried steps and the nervous play of his walking stick that he
was both angry and troubled and she was not very sorry.
"If it was his business standing and his good name, instead of Thora's
happiness and good repute that was the question, oh, how careful and
conciliatory he would be! How anxious to keep his affairs from public
discussion! It would be anything rather than that! I have the same
feeling about Thora's good name. The marriage ought to go on for
Thora's sake. I do not want the women of Kirkwall wondering who was
to blame. I do not want them coming to see me with solemn looks and
tearful voices. I could not endure their pitying of 'poor Miss Thora!'
They would not dare go to Coll with their sympathetic curiosity, but
there are such women as Astar Gager, and Lala Snackoll, and Thyra
Peterson, and Jorunna Flett. No one can keep them away from a house in
trouble. Thora must marry. I see no endurable way to prevent it."
Then being dressed she went to Thora's room, and gently opened the
door. Thora was standing at her mirror and she turned to her mother
with a smiling face. Rahal was astonished and she said almost with a
tone of disapproval, "I am glad to see thee able to smile. I expected
to find thee weeping, and ill with weeping."
"For a long time, for many hours, I was broken-hearted but there came
to me, Mother, a strange consolation." Then she told her mother about
the prayer she heard her soul say for her. "Not one word did I speak,
Mother. But someone prayed for me. I heard them. And I was made strong
and satisfied, and fell into a sweet sleep, though I had yet not
solved the problem I had proposed to solve before I slept."
"What was that problem?"
"First, whether I should marry John just as he was, and trust the
consequences to my influence over him; or whether I should refuse him
altogether and forever; or whether I should wait and see what he can
do with my father and the good Bishop, to help and strengthen him."
And as Thora talked, Rahal's face grew light and sweet as she
listened, and she answered--"Yes, my dear one, that is the wonderful
way! Some soul that loved thee long, long ago, knew that thou wert in
great trouble. Some woman's soul, perhaps, that had lived and died for
love. The kinship of our souls far exceeds that of our bodies, and
their help is swift and sure. Be patient with Ian. That is what I
say."
"But why that prayer? I never heard it before."
"How little thou knowest of what thou hast heard before! Two hundred
years ago, all sorrowful, unhappy women went to Mary with their
troubles."
"They should not have done so. They could have gone to Christ."
"They thought Mary had suffered just what they were suffering, and
they thought that Christ had never known any of the griefs that break
a woman's heart. Mary knew them, had felt them, had wept and prayed
over them. When my little lad Eric died, I thought of Mary. My family
have only been one hundred years Protestants. All of them must have
loved thee well enough to come and pray for thee. Thou had a great
honour, as well as a great comfort."
"At any rate I did no wrong! I am glad, Mother."
"Wrong! Thou wilt see the Bishop today. Ask him. He will tell thee
that the English Church and the English women gave up very reluctantly
their homage to Mary. Are not their grand churches called after Peter
and Paul and other male saints? Dost thou think that Christ loved
Peter and Paul more than his mother? I know better. Please God thou
wilt know better some day."
"Churches are often called after Mary, as well as the saints."
"Not in Scotland."
"There is one in Glasgow. Vedder told me he used to hear Bishop Hedley
preach there."
"It is an Episcopal Church. Ask him about thy dream. No, I mean thy
soul's experience."
"Thou said _dream_, Mother. It was not a dream. I saw no one. I only
heard a voice. It is what we see in dreams that is important."
"Now wilt thou come to thy breakfast?"
"Is _he_ downstairs yet?"
"I will go and call him."
Rahal, however, came to the table alone. She said, "Ian asked that he
might lie still and sleep an hour or two. He has not slept all night
long, I think," she added. "His voice sounded full of trouble."
So the two women ate their breakfast alone for Ragnor did not return
in time to join them. And Rahal's hopefulness left her, and she was
silent and her face had a grey, fearful expression that Thora could
not help noticing. "You look ill, Mother!" she said, "and you were
looking so well when we came downstairs. What is it?"
"I know not. I feel as if I was going into a black cloud. I wish that
thy father would come home. He is in trouble. I wonder then what is
the matter!"
In about an hour they saw Ragnor and the Bishop coming towards the
house together.
"They are in trouble, Thora, both of them are in trouble."
"About Thora they need not to be in trouble. She will do what they
advise her to do."
"It is not thee."
"What then?"
"I will not name my fear, lest I call it to me."
Then she rose and went to the door and Thora followed her, and by this
time, Ragnor and the Bishop were at the garden gate. Very soon the
Bishop was holding their hands, and Rahal found when he released her
hand that he had left a letter in it. Yet for a moment she hardly
noticed the fact, so shocked was she at the expression of her
husband's face. He looked so much older, his eyes were two wells of
sorrow, his distress had passed beyond words, and when she asked,
"What is thy trouble, Coll?" he looked at her pitifully and pointed to
the letter. Then she took Thora's hand and they went to her room
together.
Sitting on the side of her bed, she broke the seal and looked at the
superscription. "It is from Adam Vedder," she said, as she began to
read it. No other word escaped her lips until she came to the end of
the long epistle. Then she laid it down on the bed beside her and
shivered out the words, "Boris is dying. Perhaps dead. Oh, Boris! My
son Boris! Read for thyself."
So Thora read the letter. It contained a vivid description of the
taking of a certain small battery, which was pouring death and
destruction on the little British company, who had gone as a forlorn
hope to silence its fire. They were picked volunteers and they were
led by Boris Ragnor. He had made a breach in its defences and carried
his men over the cannon to victory. At the last moment he was shot in
the throat and received a deadly wound in the side, as he tore from
the hands of the Ensign the flag of his regiment, wrote Vedder.
I saw the fight between the men. I was carrying water to the
wounded on the hillside. I, and several others, rushed to the side
of Boris. He held the flag so tightly that no hand could remove
it, and we carried it with him to the hospital. For two days he
remained there, then he was carefully removed to my house, not
very far away, and now he has not only one of Miss Nightingale's
nurses always with him but also myself. As for Sunna, she hardly
ever leaves him. He talks constantly of thee and his father and
sister. He sends all his undying love, and if indeed these wounds
mean his death, he is dying gloriously and happily, trusting God
implicitly, and loving even his enemies--a thing Adam Vedder
cannot understand. He found out before he was twenty years old
that loving his enemies was beyond his power and that nothing
could make him forgive them. Our dear Boris! Oh, Rahal! Rahal!
Poor stricken mother! God comfort thee, and tell thyself every
minute "My boy has won a glorious death and he is going the way of
all flesh, honoured and loved by all who ever knew him."
Thy true friend,
ADAM VEDDER.
[Illustration: He made a breach in its defences and carried his men over
cannon to victory.]
This letter upset all other considerations, and when Ian came
downstairs at the dinner hour, he found no one interested enough in
his case to take it up with the proper sense of its importance. Ragnor
was steeped in silent grief. Rahal had shut up her sorrow behind dry
eyes and a closed mouth. The Bishop had taken the seat next to Thora.
He felt as if no one had missed or even thought of him. And such
conversation as there was related entirely to the war. Thora smiled at
him across the table, but he was not pleased at Thora being able to
smile; and he only returned the courtesy with a doleful shake of the
head.
After dinner Ian said something about going to see McLeod, and then
the Bishop interfered--"No, Ian," he replied, "I want you to walk as
far as the cathedral with me. Will you do that?"
"With pleasure, sir."
"Then let us be going, while there is yet a little sunshine."
The cathedral doors stood open, but there was no one present except a
very old woman, who at their approach rose from her knees and
painfully walked away. The Bishop altered his course, so as to greet
her--"Good afternoon, Sister Odd! Art thou suffering yet?"
"Only the pain that comes with many years, sir. God makes it easy for
me. Wilt thou bless me?"
"Thou hast God's blessing. Who can add to it? God be with thee to the
very end!"
"Enough is that. Thy hand a moment, sir."
For a moment they, stood silently hand clasped, then parted, and the
Bishop walked straight to the vestry and taking a key from his pocket,
opened the door. There was a fire laid ready for the match and he
stooped and lit it, and Ian placed his chair near by.
"That is good!" he said. "Bring your own chair near to me, Ian, I have
something to say to you."
"I am glad of that, Bishop. No one seemed to care for my sorrow. I was
made to feel this day the difference between a son and a son-in-law."
"There is a difference, a natural one, but you have been treated as a
son always. Ragnor has told me all about those charges. You may speak
freely to me. It is better that you should do so."
"I explained the charges to the whole family. Do they not believe
me?"
"The explanation was only partial and one-sided. I think the charge of
gambling may be put aside, with your promise to abstain from the
appearance of evil for the future. I understand your position about
the Sabbath. You should have gone on singing in some church. Supposing
you got no spiritual help from it, you were at least lifting the souls
of others on the wings of holy song, and you need not have mocked at
the devout feelings of others by music unfit for the day."
"It was a bit of boyish folly."
"It was something far more than that. I had a letter from Jean Hay
more than two months ago and I investigated every charge she made
against you."
"Well, Bishop?"
"I find that, examined separately, they do not indicate any settled
sinfulness; but taken together they indicate a variable temper, a
perfectly untrained nature, and a weak, unresisting will. Now, Ian, a
weak, good man is a dangerous type of a bad man. They readily become
the tools of wicked men of powerful intellect and determined
character. I have met with many such cases. Your change of name----"
"Oh, sir, I could not endure Calvin tacked on to me! If you knew what
I have suffered!"
"I know it all. Why did you not tell the Ragnors on your first
acquaintance with them?"
"Mrs. Ragnor liked Ian because it is the Highland form for John, and
Thora loved the name and I did not like, while they knew so little of
me, to tell them I had only assumed it. I watched for a good
opportunity to speak concerning it and none came. Then I thought I
would consult you at this time, before the wedding day."
"I could not have married you under the name of Ian. Discard it at
once. Take it as a pet name between Thora and yourself, if you choose.
No doubt you thought Ian was prettier and more romantic and suitable
for your really handsome person."
"Oh, Bishop, do not humiliate me! I----"
"I have no doubt I am correct. I have known young men wreck their
lives for some equally foolish idea."
"I will cast it off today. I will tell Thora the truth tonight. Before
we are married, I will advertise it in next week's _News_."
"Before you are married, I trust you will have made the name of John
Macrae so famous that you will need no such advertising."
"What do you mean, Bishop?"
"I want you to go to the trenches at Redan or to fight your way into
Sebastopol. You have been left too much to your own direction and your
own way. Obedience is the first round of the ladder of Success. You
must learn it. You can only be a subordinate till you manage this
lesson. Your ideas of life are crude and provincial. You need to see
men making their way upward, in some other places than in shops and
offices. Above all, you must learn to conquer yourself and your
indiscreet will. You are not a man, until you are master in your own
house and fear no mutiny against your Will to act nobly. You have had
no opportunities for such education. Now take one year to begin it."
"You mean that I must put off my marriage for a year."
"Exactly. Under present circumstances----"
"Oh, sir, that is not thinkable! It would be too mortifying! I could
not go back to Edinburgh. I could not put off my marriage!"
"You will be obliged to do so. Do you imagine the Ragnors will hold
wedding festivities, while their eldest son is dying, or his broken
body on its way home for burial?"
"I thought the ceremony would be entirely religious and the
festivities could be abandoned."
"Is that what you wish?"
"Yes, Bishop."
"Then you will not get it. A year's strict mourning is due the dead,
and the Ragnors will give every hour of it. Boris is their eldest
son."
"They should remember also their living daughter Thora will suffer as
well as myself."
"You are not putting yourself in a good light, John Macrae. Thora
loves her brother with a great affection. Do you think she can comfort
her grief for his loss, by giving you any loving honour that belongs
to him? You do not know Thora Ragnor. She has her mother's just,
strong character below all her gentle ways, and what her father and
mother say she will endorse, without question or reluctance. Now I
know that Ragnor had resolved on a year's separation and discipline,
before he heard of his son's dangerous condition."
"Boris was not dead when that Vedder letter was written. He may not be
dead now. He may not be going to die."
"It is only his wonderful physical strength that has kept him alive so
long. Vedder said to me, they looked for his death at any hour. He
cannot recover. His wound is a fatal one. It is beyond hope. Vedder
wrote while he was yet alive, so that he might perhaps break the blow
to his family."
"What then do you advise me to do?"
"Ragnor intends to go back with you and myself to Edinburgh. He will
see your father and offer to buy you a commission as ensign in a good
infantry regiment. We will ask your father if he will join in the
plan."
"My father will not join in anything to help me. How much will an
ensign's commission cost?"
"I think four or five hundred pounds. Ragnor would pay half, if your
father would pay half."
Then Ian rose to his feet, and his eyes blazed with a fire no one had
ever seen there before. "Bishop," he said, "I thank you for all you
propose, but if I go to the trenches at Redan or the camp at
Sebastopol, I will go on John Macrae's authority and personality. I
have one hundred pounds, that is sufficient. I can learn all the great
things you expect me to learn there better among the rankers than the
officers. I have known the officers at Edinburgh Castle. They were not
fit candidates for a bishopric."
The good man looked sadly at the angry youth and answered, "Go and
talk the matter over with Thora."
"I will. Surely she will be less cruel."
"What do you wish, considering present circumstances?"
"I want the marriage carried out, devoid of all but its religious
ceremony. I want to spend one month in the home prepared for us, and
then I will submit to the punishment and schooling proposed."
"No, you will not. Do not throw away this opportunity to retrieve your
so far neglected, misguided life. There is a great man in you, if you
will give him space and opportunity to develop, John. This is the wide
open door of Opportunity; go through, and go up to where it will lead
you. At any rate do whatever Thora advises. I can trust you as far as
Thora can." Then he held out his hand, and Ian, too deeply moved to
speak, took it and left the cathedral without a word.
He found Thora alone in the parlour. She had evidently been weeping
but that fact did not much soothe his sense of wrong and injustice. He
felt that he had been put aside in some measure. He was not sure that
even now Thora had been weeping for his loss. He told himself, she was
just as likely to have been mourning for Boris. He felt that he was
unjustly angry but, oh, he was so hopeless! Every one was ready to
give him advice, no one had said to him those little words of loving
sympathy for which his heart was hungry. He had felt it to be his duty
to try and console Thora, and Thora had wept in his arms and he had
kissed her tears away. She was now weary with weeping and suffering
with headache. She knew also that talking against any decision of her
father's was useless. When he had said the word, the man or woman that
could move him did not live. Acceptance of the will of others was a
duty she had learned to observe all her life, it was just the duty
that Ian had thought it right to resist. So amid all his love and
disappointment, there was a cruel sense of being of secondary
interest and importance, just at the very time he had expected to be
first in everyone's love and consideration.
Finally he said, "Dear Thora, I can feel no longer. My heart has
become hopeless. I suffer too much. I will go to my room and try and
submit to this last cruel wrong."
Then Thora was offended. "There is no one to blame for this last cruel
wrong but thyself," she answered. "The death of Boris was a nearer
thing to my father and mother than my marriage. Thy marriage can take
place at some other time, but for my dear brother there is no future
in this life."
"Are you even sure of his death?"
"My mother has seen him."
"That is nonsense."
"To you, I dare say it is. Mother sees more than any one else can see.
She has spiritual vision. We are not yet able for it, nor worthy of
it."
"Then why did she not see our wedding catastrophe? She might have
averted it by changing the date."
"Ask her;" and as Thora said these words and wearily closed her eyes,
Rahal entered the room. She went straight to Ian, put her arms round
him and kissed him tenderly. Then Ian could bear no more. He sobbed
like a boy of seven years old and she wept with him.
"Thou poor unloved laddie!" she said. "If thou had gone wrong, it
would have been little wonder and little blame to thyself. I think
thou did all that could be done, with neither love nor wisdom to help
thee. Rahal does not blame thee. Rahal pities and loves thee. Thou
hast been cowed and frightened and punished for nothing, all the days
of thy sad life. Poor lad! Poor, disappointed laddie! With all my
heart and soul I pity thee!"
For a few moments there was not a word spoken and the sound of Ian's
bitter weeping filled the room. Ian had been flogged many a time when
but a youth, and had then disdained to utter a cry, but no child in
its first great sorrow, ever wept so heart-brokenly as Ian now wept in
Rahal's arms. And a man weeping is a fearsome, pitiful sound. It goes
to a woman's heart like a sword, and Thora rose and went to her lover
and drew him to the sofa and sat down at his side and, with promises
wet with tears, tried to comfort him. A strange silence that the
weeping did not disturb was in the house and room, and in the kitchen
the servants paused in their work and looked at each other with faces
full of pity.
"The Wise One has put trouble on their heads," said a woman who was
dressing a goose to roast for dinner and her helper answered, "And
there is no use striving against it. What must be, is sure to happen.
That is Right."
"All that we have done, is no good. Fate rules in this thing. I see
that."
"The trouble came on them unawares. And if Death is at the beginning,
no course that can be taken is any good."
"What is the Master's will? For in the end, that will orders all
things."
"The mistress said the marriage would be put off for a year. The young
man goes to the war."
"No wonder then he cries out. It is surely a great disappointment."
"Tom Snackoll had the same ill luck. He made no crying about it. He
hoisted sail at midnight and stole his wife Vestein out of her window,
and when her father caught them, they were man and wife. And Snackoll
went out to speak to his father-in-law and he said to him, 'My wife
can not see thee today, for she is weary and I think it best for her
to be still and quiet'; and home the father went and no good of his
journey. Snackoll got praise for his daring."
"Well then," said a young man who had just entered, "it is well known
that Vestein and her father and mother were all fully willing. The
girl could as easily have gone out of the door as the window. Snackoll
is a boaster. He is as great in his talk as a fox in his tail."
Thus the household of Ragnor talked in the kitchen, and in the parlour
Rahal comforted the lovers, and cheered and encouraged Ian so greatly
that she was finally able to say to them:
"The wedding day was not lucky. Let it pass. There is another, only a
year away, that will bring lasting joy. Now we have wept over our
mischance, we will bury it and look to the future. We will go and wash
away sorrow and put on fresh clothes, and look forward to the far
better marriage a year hence."
And her voice and manner were so persuasive, that they willingly
obeyed her advice and, as they passed her, she kissed them both and
told Ian to put his head in cold water and get rid of its aching
fever, for she said, "The Bishop will want thee to sing some of thy
Collects and Hymns and thou wilt like to please him. He is thy good
friend."
"I do not think so."
"He is. Thou may take that, on my word."
The evening brought a braver spirit. They talked of Boris and of his
open-hearted, open-air life, and the Bishop read aloud several letters
from young men then at the front. They were full of enthusiasm. They
might have been read to an accompaniment of fife and drums. Ian was
visibly affected and made no further demur about joining them. One of
them spoke of Boris "leading his volunteers up the hill like a lion";
and another letter described his tenderness to the wounded and
convalescents, saying "he spent his money freely, to procure them
little comforts they could not get for themselves."
They talked plainly and from their hearts, hesitating not to call his
name, and so they brought comfort to their heavy sorrow. For it is a
selfish thing to shut up a sorrow in the heart, far better to look at
it full in the face, speak of it, discuss its why and wherefore and
break up that false sanctity which is very often inspired by purely
selfish sentiments. And when this point was reached, the Bishop took
from his pocket a small copy of the Apocrypha and said, "Now I will
tell you what the wisest of men said of such an early death as that
of our dear Boris:
"'He pleased God, and he was beloved of him, so that living among
sinners, he was translated.
"'Yea speedily was he taken away, lest that wickedness should
alter his understanding, or deceit beguile his soul.
"'He, being made perfect in a short time, fulfilled a long time.
"'For his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted he to take him
away from among the wicked.'"
And these words fell like heavenly dew on every heart. There was no
comfort and honour greater than this to offer even a mother's heart. A
happy sigh greeted the blessed verses, and there was no occasion to
speak. There was no word that could be added to it.
Then Ian had a happy thought for before a spell-breaking word could be
said, he stepped softly to the piano and the next moment the room was
ringing with some noble lines from the "Men of Harlech" set to notes
equally stirring:
"Men of Harlech, young or hoary,
Would you win a name in story,
Strike for home, for life, for glory,
Freedom, God and Right!
"Onward! 'Tis our country needs us,
He is bravest, he who leads us,
Honour's self now proudly leads us,
Freedom! God and Right!
Loose the folds asunder!
Flag we conquer under!
Death is glory now."
The words were splendidly sung and the room was filled with patriotic
fervour. Then the Bishop gave Ragnor and Thora a comforting look, as
he asked, "Who wrote that song, Ian?"
"Ah, sir, it was never written! It sprang from the heart of some old
Druid priest as he was urging on the Welsh to drive the Romans from
their country. It is two verses from 'The Song of the Men of
Harlech.'"
"In olden times, Ian, the bards went to the battlefield with the
soldiers. We ought to send our singers to the trenches. Ian, go and
sing to the men of England and of France 'The Song of the Men of
Harlech.' Your song will be stronger than your sword."
"I will sing it to my sword, sir. It will make it sharper." Then Rahal
said, "You are a brave boy, Ian," and Thora lifted her lovely face and
kissed him.
Every heart was uplifted, and the atmosphere of the room was sensitive
with that exalted feeling which finds no relief in speech. Humanity
soon reacts against such tension. There was a slight movement, every
one breathed heavily, like people awakening from sleep, and the Bishop
said in a slow, soft voice:
"I was thinking of Boris. After all, the dear lad may return to us.
Surgeons are very clever now, they can almost work miracles."
"Boris will not return," said Rahal.
"How can you know that, Rahal?"
"He told me so."
"Have you seen him?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"On the afternoon of the eleventh of this month."
"How?"
"Well, Bishop, I was making the cap I am wearing and I was selecting
from some white roses on my lap the ones I thought best. Suddenly
Boris stood at my side."
"You saw him?"
"Yes, Bishop. I saw him plainly, though I do not remember lifting my
head."
"How did he look?"
"Like one who had just won a victory. He was much taller and grander
in appearance. Oh, he looked like one who had realized God's promise
that we should be satisfied. A kind of radiance was around him and the
air of a conquering soldier. And he was my boy still! He called me
'Mother,' he sent such a wonderful message to his father." And at the
last word, Ragnor uttered just such a sharp, short gasp as might have
come from the rift of a broken heart.
"Did you ask him any question, Rahal?"
"I could not speak, but my soul longed to know what he was doing and
the longing was immediately answered. 'I am doing the will of the Lord
of Hosts,' he said. 'I was needed here.' Then I felt his kiss on my
cheek, and I lifted my head and looked at the clock. It had struck
three just as I was conscious of the presence of Boris. It was only
two minutes past three, but I seemed to have lived hours in that two
minutes."
"Do you think, Bishop, that God loves a soldier? He may employ them
and yet not love them?"
Then the Bishop straightened himself and lifted his head, and his face
glowed and his eyes shone as he answered, "I will give you one
example, it could be multiplied indefinitely. Paul of Tarsus, a pale,
beardless young man, dressed as a Roman soldier, is bringing prisoners
to Damascus. Christ meets him on the road and Paul knows instantly
that he has met the Captain of his soul. Hence forward, he is beloved
and honoured and employed for Christ, and at the end of life he is
joyful because he has fought a good fight and knows that his reward is
waiting for him.
"God has given us the names of many soldiers beloved of Him--Abraham,
Moses, Joshua, Gideon, David, etc. What care he took of them! What a
friend in all extremities he was to them! All men who fight for their
Faith, Home and Country, for Freedom, Justice and Liberty, are God's
armed servants. They do His will on the battlefield, as priests do it
at the altar. So then,
"In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb driven cattle,
Be a hero in the strife!"
"We were speaking of the bards going to the battlefield with the
soldiers, and as I was quoting that verse of Longfellow's a few lines
from the old bard we call Ossian came into my mind."
"Tell us, then," said Thora, "wilt thou not say the words to us, our
dear Bishop?"
"I will do that gladly:
"Father of Heroes, high dweller of eddying winds,
Where the dark, red thunder marks the troubled cloud,
Open Thou thy stormy hall!
Let the bards of old be near.
Father of heroes! the people bend before thee.
Thou turnest the battle in the field of the brave,
Thy terrors pour the blasts of death,
Thy tempests are before thy face,
But thy dwelling is calm above the clouds,
The fields of thy rest are pleasant."
"When I was a young man," he continued, "I used to read Ossian a good
deal. I liked its vast, shadowy images, its visionary incompleteness,
just because we have not yet invented the precise words to describe
the indescribable."
So they talked, until the frugal Orcadian supper of oatmeal and milk,
and bread and cheese, appeared. Then the night closed and sealed what
the day had done, and there was no more speculation about Ian's
future. The idea of a military life as a school for the youth had
sprung up strong and rapidly, and he was now waiting, almost
impatiently, for it to be translated into action.
A few restful, pleasant days followed. Ragnor was preparing to leave
his business for a week, the Bishop was settling some parish
difficulties, and Ian and Thora were permitted to spend their time as
they desired. They paid one farewell visit to their future home and
found an old woman who had nursed Thora in charge of the place.
"Thou wilt find everything just so, when you two come home together,
my baby," she said. "Not a pin will be out of its place, not a speck
of dust on anything. Eva will always be ready, and please God you may
call her far sooner than you think for."
The Sabbath, the last Sabbath of the old year, was to be their last
day together, and the Bishop desired Ian to make it memorable with
song. Ian was delighted to do so and together they chose for his two
solos, "O for the Wings of a Dove," and the heavenly octaves of "He
Hath Ascended Up on High and Led Captivity Captive." The old
cathedral's great spaces were crowded, the Bishop was grandly in the
spirit, and he easily led his people to that solemn line where life
verges on death and death touches Immortality. It was Christ the
beginning, and the end; Christ the victim on the cross, and Christ the
God of the Ascension! And he sent every one home with the promise of
Immortality in their souls and the light of it on their faces. His
theme had touched largely on the Christ of the Resurrection, and the
mystery and beauty of this Christ was made familiar to them in a way
they had not before considered.
Ragnor was afraid it had perhaps been brought too close to their own
conception of a soul, who was seen on earth after the death of the
body. "You told the events of Christ's forty days on earth after His
crucifixion so simply, Bishop," he said, "and yet with much of the air
that our people tell a ghost story."
"Well then, dear Conall, I was telling them the most sacred ghost
story of the world, and yet it is the most literal reality in history.
If it were only a dream, it would be the most dynamic event in human
destiny."
"You see, Bishop, there is so much in your way of preaching. It has
that kind of good comradeship which I think was so remarkable in
Christ. His style was not the ten commandments' style--thou shalt and
thou shalt not--but that reasoning, brotherly way of 'What man is
there among you that would not do the kind and right thing?' You used
it this very morning when you cried out, 'If our dear England needed
your help to save her Liberty and Life, what man is there among you
that would not rise up like lions to save her?' And the men could
hardly sit still. It was so real, so brotherly, so unlike preaching."
"Conall, nothing is so wonderful and beautiful in Christ's life as its
almost incredible approachableness."
This sermon had been preached on the Sabbath morning and it
spiritualized the whole day. Ian's singing also had proved a wonderful
service, for when the young men of that day became old men, they could
be heard leading their crews in the melodious, longing strains of 'O
for the Wings of a Dove,' as they sat casting their lines into the
restless water.
In the evening a cold, northwesterly wind sprang up and Thora and Ian
retreated to the parlour, where a good fire had been built; but the
Bishop and Ragnor and Rahal drew closer round the hearth in the living
room and talked, and were silent, as their hearts moved them. Rahal
had little to say. She was thinking of Ian and of the new life he was
going to, and of the long, lonely days that might be the fate of
Thora. "The woeful laddie!" she whispered, "he has had but small
chances of any kind. What can a lad do for himself and no mother able
to help him!"
The Bishop heard or divined her last words and he said, "Be content,
Rahal. Not one, but many lives we hold, and our hail to every new work
we begin is our farewell to the old work. Ian is going to give a
Future to his Past."
"I fear, Bishop----"
"Fear is from the earthward side, Rahal. Above the clouds of Fear,
there is the certain knowledge of Heaven. Fear is nothing, Faith is
everything!"