PART VII

"Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried.

Asking, 'What Lamp had Destiny to guide

Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?'

And--'A blind Understanding!' Heav'n replied."

*THE PRODIGAL SON*

*PART I*

"_The worldly hope men set their hearts upon_

_Turns ashes--or it prospers; and anon_

_Like Snow upon the desert's dusty face_

_Lighting a little hour or two--is gone._"

*I*

Iceland had never looked more wonderful. The stern old Northland, which

in the daylight bears always and everywhere on its sphinx-like face the

mutilating imprint of the burnt-out fires of ten thousand ages, and

would seem to be dead but for the murmurings of volcanic life in its

sulfurous womb, lay in the autumn moonlight like a great creature

asleep--calm, august, and blue as the night.

The moon was still shining, and everything seemed to swim in the soft

grace of its silvery light, houses, ships, fishing-boats, the fiord in

front, the lake behind, the black moorland around, and the snow-tipped

mountains beyond--when the little wooden capital began to stir in the

morning.

It was the day appointed for the annual sheep-gathering at Thingvellir;

the sheep-fold was thirty odd miles away; there were no railways or

coaches, and few roads in Iceland, and hence the younger townspeople who

intended to make a holiday of the event had to set out early on their

little shaggy ponies.

As the clock struck four in the tower of the cathedral Thora Neilsen,

the daughter of Factor Neilsen, awoke with a start, and leapt out of

bed. She had drawn up her blinds the night before so that the daylight

might waken her in the morning, but before she realized that it was the

moonlight that had been playing upon her eyelids she was standing in the

middle of the floor and crying in the ringing voice of youth and

happiness:

"Aunt Margret! Auntie! I've overslept myself! I'll be late! Auntie!

Auntie!"

Then the measured and sonorous breathing which had been coming through

an open door from the adjoining room was interrupted by an older voice,

a good-natured voice trying to be angry, and saying drowsily:

"Drat the girl, she'll waken the whole house."

This was followed by the creaking of a bed and the thud of bare feet on

the floor, accompanied by a running fire of grumbling, in which the

speaker reminded herself that she was not a cat, capable of sleeping in

the daytime, and if she had to be called up in the dead of night she

might at least be permitted to wash her face.

The girl listened for a moment and laughed--the light and joyous laugh

of the soul that has never known sorrow. She was young and unusually

fair. Her height was under rather than over the average height of

woman, and if her face was not beautiful it produced the effect of

beauty, being one of those soft-featured faces which have a smile always

playing upon them, even when the owner does not know it to be there.

She lit her candles, dropped her Venetians, and began to dress herself,

humming a tune to show she was not concerned. By this time the rumbling

artillery from the next apartment entered the room in the person of an

elderly lady, who looked more than usually grotesque (if it is fair to

take her at such a moment) in abbreviated underwear and small calico

nightcap, with bobs of hair in papers about her forehead like barnacles

on the figurehead of a ship that is fresh from a long service in foreign

waters.

This was Aunt Margret, with goodness written on every line of her old

face, but with a tongue that fell like a fountain on sharp stones and

knew nothing of dry weather. The moment she set eyes on Thora in the

preliminary stages of her toilet she cried:

"Silk? At this time in the morning? And who is to see them under your

big boots, if you please?"

The girl laughed at this, as she laughed at everything, and said: "Very

well, give me the woollen ones then. But what a cross old thing you

are, auntie. You knew I had to get up early, having a six hours' ride

before me."

"But who wants you to have a six hours' ride, I wonder?" said Aunt

Margret, bustling about breathlessly to get the girl ready.

"You know quite well who wants me, auntie--Magnus wants me. When they

elected him mountain-king for the year I promised him faithfully that I

would go to the sheep-gathering, and of course----"

"Don't try to fool an old fox, my dear, but come and wash in this water.

It isn't because Magnus wants you at the sheep-gathering, but because

somebody else is going to take you there."

"Auntie!" cried Thora, lifting a dripping face from the washbasin.

"Oh, you needn't color up like fire, my precious--I know it's the truth

without that."

"How absurd you are, Aunt Margret! You know as well as I do that Magnus

himself asked Oscar to take me. He wrote expressly from the farm, not

having seen Oscar since he came from college, and wanting to kill two

birds with one stone."

"The more fool he!" said Aunt Margret. "The man who expects to marry a

girl and asks another man to look after her while he is away is a fool,

and his friends ought to take care of him. It's only the simpleton who

shuts the door with a bang behind him like that."

"What a nonsensical woman you are, auntie!" said Thora. "Oscar is

Magnus's brother."

"Brother, indeed! So was Jacob the brother of Esau, and Cain was the

brother of Abel, and those ten big beauties were the brothers of Joseph

and Benjamin."

"Good gracious me, Aunt Margret, what a bad disposition you've got!

That's the worst of you--you have got such a bad disposition. You talk

of Oscar Stephenson as if he were a regular reprobate instead of the son

of the Governor, and the idol of everybody."

"It's easy to defend some one whom nobody wants to strike. I don't say

anything against Oscar."

"Of course, you don't, you cross old creature. You're fonder of him

than anybody else, and I believe you want him for yourself, you jealous

thing, because you think he is the brightest and cleverest and

best-looking young man in Iceland."

"Many things glitter in the goldsmith's shop, but a sensible woman

doesn't want to grab the whole of them."

"And do I, you silly?"

"It looks as if you do, my dear; but sit down here before the glass and

let me brush your hair. You are to be married to Magnus, and your

public betrothal is to take place the day after to-morrow in the

presence of both the families, yet you've had Oscar here every day, and

all day, since he came home from England a week ago, and now you are

going to ride with him to Thingvellir. You'll make mischief, I promise

you. Two dogs at the same bone seldom agree."

At that the girl was taken with a violent fit of laughing. "Auntie, what

names you are calling us!"

"Better I should do so than somebody else! The people here are all

ears, and Oscar is all mouth--he is always talking about you."

"Not always, auntie." Thora's pretty face was reddening in the glass in

front of her.

"Always! Only yesterday he said, 'My future sister-in-law----'"

"Not 'future sister-in-law,' auntie."

"Did I speak, or did I not speak, Thora? 'My future sister-in-law is

perfectly charming,' he said----"

"Now, I'm sure it wasn't 'charming,' auntie darling."

"Yes, it was, and hold your silly head quiet, miss--'perfectly

charming,' he said, 'and I'm half jealous of old Magnus already.'"

The blue eyes in the glass were gleaming with delight, but the mouth

said, "Well, of course, I should have been dreadfully vexed if I had

heard him say that, but still it isn't my fault----"

"Fiddlesticks!" said Aunt Margret with a sniff of contempt. "Just take

a cranky old woman's advice, my precious, and don't make trouble between

two brothers."

Then the shining face in the glass became serious and thoughtful, and

Thora said:

"How can you say such uncomfortable things, Aunt Margret? Merely because

I am going to ride with Oscar to the sheep-gathering----"

"Oh, a little brook can start a big river. But what's the use of

talking--a beast can be broken, but not a wilful woman."

Then seeing that the tears were in Thora's eyes Aunt Margret gave the

girl's hair a softer smoothing, and said:

"Magnus may not be as clever as his brother, Thora, but he is twenty

times as solid and steady, and he is just as able to take care of a

girl, and quite as likely to make her happy. Besides, dear, it's all

settled and done, and the made road is easiest to travel, you know.

Your marriage with Magnus has been arranged between your father and the

Governor; they have set their hearts on it, the contract is ready, and

if anything should happen now----"

But Thora, who had been listening with head aslant to sounds outside the

house, suddenly leapt to her feet, saying, "I do believe that's

Silvertop's step."

There was a clatter of hoofs on the cobbles of the street, and at the

next moment a silvery male voice under the window was crying,

"Helloa! Helloa! Helloa!"

Thora ran to the Venetians, parted two blades of them, and said, with an

air of surprise, "It's Oscar!" Then she tapped the window-pane, and

cried "Presently" to the person outside, and stood for a moment to look

down at him.

A young man of three-and-twenty sat on one pony and held another by its

bridle. He was tall and slim, almost as fair as Thora herself, and he

had a cluster of short curls under the Alpine hat which he raised to the

moving blind. The moon had gone by this time; a greyish-pink light--the

pioneer of the sun--was filtering through a vaporous atmosphere; the

ships and fishing boats in the bay were breaking through a veil of mist,

and vague shadows of men and women, muffled up to the throats, but

chattering and laughing like children, were coming and going in the

gloom of the streets.

"Quick, auntie, quick!" cried Thora, lowering her voice, and while the

women in the bedroom hustled about and talked in whispers the young man

waiting outside slapped his leggings with his riding whip, and whistled

and sang alternate lines of a love-song--

"Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine."

"Must I wear these ugly----?"

"Certainly you must. They're warm and comfortable, and it's not as if

anybody could see----"

"Auntie, don't speak so loud, or people will hear."

"Or leave a kiss within the cup,

And I'll not ask for wine."

"What a voice he has! I'm certain he'll make a success some day."

"Maybe so, but people don't feed on voices--not in Iceland,

anyway--here's your over-skirt."

"For goodness sake, Aunt Margret!"

"The thirst that from the soul doth come

Doth ask a draught divine."

"Now for my hat! If I have to wear this old black riding habit I must

have something sweet on my head, at all events. That one with the

feather--no, this one and a veil. There! Do I look nice?"

"Shockingly nice, if you ask me."

The girl laughed gaily, and said in a louder voice, "Then let us go

downstairs--the poor boy must be tired of waiting, and anxious to be

off."

"Not half so anxious as the poor girl, I'm thinking."

Then the smiling face became serious again, and Thora said, "Don't say

those dreadful things any more, there's a dear soul!"

"Then don't forget my warning, and watch over your feelings, my

precious."

The door to the street was being opened by this time, and a rich

barytone voice, mingled with the soft murmur of the sea, came floating

into the hall--

"But might I of Jove's nectar sip

I would not change----."

"Helloa! Good morning, Thora! Is that Aunt Margret?"

From, behind the bulwark of the door ajar, with one eye and two curl

papers visible in three inches of opening, Aunt Margret answered that it

was, and told Oscar, as he lifted Thora to the saddle, to take care of

her child and deliver her safely to Magnus.

Oscar laughed a little jauntily, and answered--not, she thought, with

too much conviction--

"That'll be all right, auntie. Good-by!"

"Good-by!"

"Good-by, Aunt Margret!"

"Good-by, Thora! And remember!"

At the next moment the two young people had disappeared in the mists of

morning, amid a cavalcade of similar shadows dying off in the same

direction. Half an hour afterward the sun had risen and the little

capital was going merrily.

*II*

The father of Oscar Stephenson was Stephen Magnusson (according to his

Icelandic patronymic), and he had been Governor-General of Iceland for

more than twenty years. He was a man of the highest integrity and of the

firmest mind. In his public character he was zealous and incorruptible,

and his private life was without stain. His chief characteristics were

dignity and pride.

The father of Thora was Oscar Neilsen, commonly called Factor Neilsen

(of Icelandic birth, but Danish descent), and he was the chief merchant

and one of the richest citizens of the capital. His business methods

had often been a subject for discussion, and his domestic history a

cause of gossip. He was a man of untiring industry and great frugality,

amounting almost to greed.

These two men had been lifelong friends. Their friendship had not been

founded on any hollow commercial league, but nevertheless it had been

cemented by community of interest, and it was a common saying that the

man who could break it could break the constitution. It was one of

those friendships that are young after fifty years, and are constantly

growing younger because they are always growing older--a peculiarity of

all friendships that are true and constant, and the reason why new

friendships can never take the place of old ones. Half a word explained

a meaning, half a look provoked a laugh. Their friendship was the

unwritten history of their past, a living obituary of memories and ideas

that were dead. It began in boyhood, and notwithstanding varying

fortunes, and some family differences, it had never been darkened by so

much as the shadow of a cloud. But people said that if Stephen

Magnusson and Oscar Neilsen ever ceased to be friends they would become

the bitterest of enemies.

They went through the Latin School together as boys, and were two of

four Icelandic students who were sent with stipends to the University at

Copenhagen. That was in the days when student life was not so regular

as it might have been, but three of them got through without serious

damage, while the fourth made a slip which was perhaps the first cause

of the present story.

When the time came to separate, one of the four went to Oxford as an

assistant in the library, and became a University lecturer, and another

went to London to be clerk in a bank, and rose to be manager. The other

two remained faithful to their nationalities, and Stephen Magnusson

returned to Iceland to practise law, while Oscar Neilsen stayed in

Denmark to follow commerce.

Within ten years the friends had made rapid progress. Stephen had risen

from advocate to assessor, from assessor to deputy-governor, and from

deputy-governor to governor-general, while Neilsen had re-established

himself in Iceland, first as factor for a firm in Copenhagen, and

afterward as a merchant on his own responsibility.

In the meantime both men had married. The Governor married the daughter

and only child of Grim, owner of the farm at Thingvellir, one of the

largest farms in Iceland. The Factor, to everybody's surprise, married

before he returned home, and nobody knew anything of his wife except

that she came from Copenhagen. But scandal seldom loses its way in the

dark, and it was whispered that the Factor's wife had been a little

actress of the lighter sort, and had been compelled to marry.

The wife of the Governor had borne him two sons. He christened the

first of them Magnus, after his father, but the second he called Oscar,

after his friend, who had arrived in time to stand godfather at the

baptism. In like manner the wife of the Factor had borne two daughters.

She brought the eldest in her arms when she arrived in Iceland, and the

Factor called her Thora, after his mother. The second, born soon

afterward, he would have called Anna, after his friend's wife, but his

own wife objected, and it was christened Helga, after herself. There

were not many years between the births of the children, but Magnus was

the eldest and Helga the youngest, while Oscar and Thora were almost of

one age.

The wives of the two friends could hardly have been more unlike each

other. Anna was homely in looks, dress, and habits. In practical

matters she was a typical Iceland housewife, thrifty and economical.

Although the position of Governor-General was one of considerable

dignity it was far from a fat living, and Anna set her sail according to

the draught of her husband's ship. She was shrewd, but not well

educated, and wise, but not enlightened, and she governed the Governor

by obeying him. Stephen found his wife his safest steward and most

faithful counsellor. He had a profound respect for her instinct, but

not too much reverence for her intellect. When in doubt he always

consulted her, and while she told him what he ought to do he sat and

listened attentively, but as soon as she began to explain her reasons he

got up and fled.

The Factor's wife was distinctly comely, volatile, and vain, and her

conduct on coming to Iceland might have been calculated to justify the

scandal that was coupled with her name. She was extravagant in her

dress, unthrifty in her home, restless in her habits, and romantic in

her tastes, and after a while she began to gird at the monotony and

dreariness of the life about her. A light wife makes a heavy husband,

and the Factor, who was not then rich, was made to realize that in

marrying his Danish beauty he had bought a commodity which he could

neither exchange nor return--a housekeeper who neglected his house, and

a mother who cared little for his children.

The children were the first to feel their mother's loss of interest in

Iceland, for while Government House was forever warm and joyous with

some noisy festival--Magnus's first holiday or Oscar's last

birthday--there were no holidays or birthdays in their own home, which

was always quiet and generally cold. But the mother's ear is thin, and

across the gap that opened between the houses of the Governor and the

Factor, Anna heard the hearts of the little girls and concocted schemes

to get at them. The Factor's wife was nothing loth to be rid of her

tiresome charges while she devoured dramatic newspapers and French

novels, and thus it came to pass that Thora and Helga spent half of

their early days with Anna, and that as long as they lived thereafter

hers was the mother's form that stood up in their memory when they

looked back to the blue mountains of childhood and youth.

Gathered together under Anna's wing, what times the four children had of

it! As long as they were little, Government House was like a nest of

song-birds, and if at some moments it resembled more nearly a menagerie

of monkeys, it was always alive and always happy. Except the Governor's

bureau, they took possession of the whole place, including the kitchen,

for there was only one servant in those days, and she was as fond of

them as her mistress. In summer time they ran wild over the home-field,

and in winter they romped through every room in the house. Anna spoiled

the whole of them, for she never knew how to be cross with children, and

at Christmas and New Year she helped them to keep up their noisy

customs--boiling the toffy which they pulled into twisted sticks amid

shrieks of delighted laughter, and lighting the candles with which they

marched in awesome procession from chimney to coal-hole to find the

hidden folk from the hills--and bad fairies who came to steal good

children.

On such high days and holidays the Governor and the Factor, smoking

their long German pipes, would come from the bureau to the door of the

kitchen to look on at the childish revels. And seeing Anna in the midst

of them, like a fairy godmother grown middle-aged and matronly, but with

the loveliness of love still shining over her homely face, the Governor

would say to himself, "God bless her!" And the Factor would mutter, "God

bless my motherless girls!" And then the two old friends would drop

their heads, and go back to talk politics.

*III*

The child grows, but his clothes do not, neither do his characteristics.

What the children of the Governor and the Factor were at the beginning

of their lives they remained to the end. Thora was always a merry

little woman, with a constant smile on her comely face. She was usually

following or clinging to somebody--generally Oscar--but she could sit

for hours coaxing, scolding, and singing to her doll, for the instinct

of motherhood was strong in her from the first.

Helga was at all points the opposite of her sister. She had black hair,

a broad brow, large hazel eyes that were often half closed, a nose that

was very slightly turned up at the tip, and a large mouth with thin, red

lips which were generally a little awry. A witch may be found under a

fair complexion, and an angel under a dark skin, but Helga did not belie

her looks. She was as bright as a pebble of the brook, and just as hard

and self-centered. Sufficient to herself, she clung to no one, but

loved to have the eyes of everybody upon her. She sang like a throstle,

and was fond of dressing herself up in grand disguises of paper crowns

and coronets, being full of make-believe, and never quite able to

distinguish fact from fiction.

The sons of the Governor were not less unlike each other. Magnus was a

big, heavy, black-haired boy, silent and slow, and thought to be rather

stupid. He found it hard to learn, and his face had often a puzzled

expression, sometimes a gloomy and morose one. On the other hand, his

moral character was as sensitive as his intellect was sluggish. If he

borrowed a penny he would never rest until he had paid it back, and if

any one lent him a pencil he would walk a mile to return it. As a

consequence his sense of injustice was keen to the point of agony, and

he suffered more from an unmerited rebuke than from a blow. He liked

best to visit the family farm at Thingvellir, and when asked what he was

going to be he plumped for being a farmer. Always fond of animals he

filled the house with dogs, cats and white mice, and seemed to love

nothing else except his mother. Not a lovable boy, and a rather surly

and unhappy one, he was by no means a general favorite, but Anna was

very fond of him.

Oscar was so totally unlike Magnus in every quality of mind and heart

that it was difficult to believe they could be brothers. The

fair-haired little fellow with the handsome face was as sweet-tempered

as the sunshine, and as full of laughter as a running river. He could

learn anything without an effort, and he had an extraordinary ear for

music. Before he could speak properly he imitated the notes of any

instrument from the organ to the guitar, and before he knew his alphabet

he wrote mysterious musical hieroglyphics on scraps of paper, which the

Governor carried off to his bureau and hoarded up like treasures more

precious than gold. But in giving him something like genius Nature had

taken away character--without which genius is a curse. The merry little

soul did not seem to know right from wrong, or truth from a lie. He was

always glancing from one thing to another like the sun on an April day.

If crying one minute he was laughing the next. Nothing troubled him

long, but, also, nothing seized and held him. He began by announcing

that he intended to be a king; rather later he thought it would be

grander to be a general, but going one evening with the organist of the

cathedral to his weekly rehearsal, he finally concluded that to be

organ-blower would be best of all.

Nobody loved him the less for his infirmities of character, for it is

one of the whims of the human heart that the people who run most

strictly within the laws of life find an irresistible fascination in the

recklessness of those who kick over the traces. Oscar was the

privileged pet of everybody and the idol of his father's eyes.

"Ah, Stephen, you'll never rear that boy," said the Factor.

"Nonsense! Why shouldn't I?"

"Whom the gods love die young, you know."

"That's only because they never grow old," said the Governor.

From the first Oscar was fond of a pageant, and always wanted to be

marching in procession, like a victorious general, with the juvenile

equivalents for banners and bands of music. One day he was doing so,

playing a tune of his own composing on a comb, with Helga as an eager

lieutenant, Thora as a submissive soldier, and Magnus as a subservient

slave behind him, when coming to a river that crossed the home-field a

desire for carnage seized the general, and backing suddenly on the

narrow bridge he toppled his followers into the water. Magnus and Helga

escaped without serious consequences, but, as nobody is anybody's

brother in a game, Thora, being dragged down by her sister, was drenched

to the skin.

The Governor came up at the moment when Magnus was hauling Thora on to

the bank, and he was angry.

"Was it an accident?" he asked, but the children did not answer. "Then

who did it?" he demanded, but Thora, to whom he spoke, looked first at

Oscar and then at Helga and began to cry. "Was it you, Oscar?" Oscar

hesitated for an instant, but Helga touched his sleeve and he shook his

head. "Was it you, Helga?" Helga promptly answered, "No." "Then it

must have been you, Magnus," said the Governor, and Magnus flushed

crimson all over his face and neck, but made no reply. "Was it you?"

Magnus's mouth quivered, but still he did not speak. "So it was you,

sir, and you can go indoors and to bed immediately."

Without a word or a tear, but with a look of defiance, Magnus wagged his

head and turned toward the house. Seeing him go, Oscar wanted to blurt

out the truth, but his melting eyes encountered Helga's, which held them

fast, and he said nothing.

It was one of Anna's many birthdays, and from the upper room where all

was silent and cold Magnus heard the children's voices below stairs, at

first hushed and restrained, but after a while merry enough, with

Oscar's voice amongst the rest, and Helga's above everybody's. The

laughter and joking burnt into his soul, and at last he struck the table

with his fist and burst into a flood of tears.

Then through the sound of his own sobs a thin whimper came from

somewhere, whispering, "Magnus! Magnus!" It was Thora at the keyhole.

"Go away," said Magnus, gruffly, but Thora did not go. "Magnus, shall I

tell?" said Thora, and Magnus blinked several times as the big tears

rained down his cheeks, but still he answered, "Go away, I tell you."

At that Thora fell to kissing the keyhole, and Magnus had stopped his

sobbing to listen, when he heard another voice--Anna's voice--outside

the door, and then the child was taken away.

As soon as the birthday party was over and the girls were gone, Oscar

began to ask for Magnus, but the Governor patted his curly head and said

Magnus had been naughty, and must sleep alone that night. Half an hour

later Anna found him crying with his head under the bedclothes, and she

said, "Hide nothing from your father, my child."

The Governor was sitting alone in his bureau when a little figure in a

dressing gown came in, with swimming eyes and trembling lips, saying,

"It wasn't Magnus, papa. It was----" and then a wild outburst of

weeping.

The Governor was more touched by Oscar's confession than by Magnus's

silence. He patted Oscar's head again and said, "That was very, very

wrong of you, curly pate; but go and beg your brother's pardon and take

him off to bed."

When Anna went upstairs again she found two heads on the pillow side by

side--the dark as well as the fair one--and Magnus was listening and

Oscar was talking, and both were laughing merrily.

As soon as the youngest of the children was fourteen winters old they

were confirmed together. There was only one other candidate, little

Neils, the Sheriff's son, whose mother was dead. In the preliminary

examination it was expected that Oscar would come first, Helga second,

Neils and Thora next, and Magnus last. The Rector examined them, and

when the moment came to declare the order of the candidates he looked

serious and even severe.

Oscar, with a sparkle in his eyes, was carrying himself gaily, and Helga

was at her ease, while Thora and Neils were trembling with anxiety, and

Magnus was nibbling his thumb nail, for he was in dread of not being

accepted at all, and in that case, as his new black suit had been

bought, he would be afraid to go home. But when the Rector had cleared

his throat, and called for silence, he announced a great surprise.

"Magnus is first," he said, "Thora second, Neils third, Helga fourth,

and Oscar--Oscar is last."

Then he turned to Oscar and said, "You are rightly served, my son, for

you might have done better, and you took no trouble. Take an old man's

word for it, Oscar--in the race of life it isn't always the rider who

comes in first that was the last to put on his spurs!"

Oscar was crushed with shame, but he recovered himself in a moment, and

while the others looked at him to see what he would do--Helga, with her

mouth awry, and Thora, with eyes that could not see distinctly, and a

throat that could not swallow--he swung about to where Magnus was

standing with head down, blushing like a baby, and gripped and shook his

hand.

It was a beautiful confirmation service. The cathedral was full of

women, but the Governor was with Anna in their pew in the gallery, and

the Factor, who was alone, sat in his seat below. The children knelt in

a line on the lower step of the communion rail, the girls in muslin

frocks and veils, and the boys in black suits and white gloves. The

morning was bright and warm, and the sun was shining from the chancel

windows on to the five drooping heads as the old Bishop laid his hands

on them one by one.

When the little ones had made their vows the Bishop delivered an

address: "Be true, be strong, be faithful! Think of the covenant you

have made with God, and resist temptation. If Satan tempts you with the

treasures of this life, remember that wealth and power are only for a

day, while a dishonored name is for a thousand years. Love one another,

my children! No one knows how soon the world may separate you, or with

what sorrow and tears you may yet be torn asunder, but keep together as

long as you can, and may God love and bless you all!"

The service ended with the confirmation hymn, which the children sang by

themselves. Anna, the Governor, and the Factor were deeply affected.

Ah! the sweet and happy time of childhood! If the children could only

remain children! But there was nothing to foretell the future--nothing

to be seen there except five innocent boys and girls kneeling side by

side, with their faces toward the altar--nothing to be heard but their

silvery voices floating up over the heads of the congregation to the

blue roof studded with stars.

*IV*

Soon after that the children were separated. Helga was the first to go.

The Factor had become rich, and his wife, who had only been waiting

until she could claim a separate maintenance, parted from her husband

and went back to Denmark, taking their younger daughter with her.

Helga, who was then fifteen years of age, was glad to go, but it was a

condition of the separation that at twenty-one she should return to

Iceland if her father wished her to do so, or forfeit all interest in

his will.

Little Neils Finsen was the next to leave, for his father had married

again, and his stepmother had persuaded the Sheriff that the boy had a

genius for the violin, and ought to be sent to London.

Oscar remained a few winters longer, trying to find out the profession

he wished to follow, and deciding sometimes in favor of the law,

sometimes in favor of the church, but generally in favor of music (which

was vetoed by everybody as a beggarly business), and being finally

despatched to the care of the Governor's college friend at Oxford as a

first stage toward an English degree and the pursuit of a public career

in Iceland.

Thus it happened that within four years of their confirmation only two

of the five children were left at home, and it had come to pass that

these two--Magnus and Thora--were living under the same roof.

Magnus having failed at the Latin School, the Hector had concluded that

it would be waste of time to keep him there any longer, and the Governor

had decided to send him to the farm, when the Factor volunteered to take

him as an apprentice in his business and to receive him into his house.

The Factor's house was greatly changed by this time, the place of his

wife being taken by his sister, a shrewd little body with a kindly heart

but a sharp tongue, which kept everybody in order and reduced everything

to rule. Under Margret's regime Magnus began as one of four apprentices

who ate at the same table with the master and his family, but saw no

more of them than they could see at meals.

He found it difficult to learn his master's business. It was business

of barter, in which the farmers exchanged their wool for foreign

products, and settlements were made on paper. Magnus made many blunders

at the beginning, and was constantly being reproved. As time went on he

grew to be big and powerful, and his fellow-apprentices christened him

"Jumbo." The name stuck, and he was treated as a dullard.

Except twice a day--at dinner and at supper--he saw nothing of Thora

now. Aunt Margret sent her to the Girls' High School, and if he met her

in the street, coming or going, she would drop her head and smile and

then run away. Magnus wanted to run too, and always in an opposite

direction, for the secret of sex had begun to whisper to both of them.

Once a month in winter they met at a dancing class held at the Artisans'

Institute. Why Magnus should go there, seeing he could never learn to

dance, was a mystery to everybody, until one night the truth became

obvious to all, and then nobody thought him a dullard any longer or

dared to say "Jumbo" beneath his breath.

A sprightly young sailor named Hans Thomsen, lately home from a voyage,

was carrying himself with extraordinary freedom. He was quick-witted,

glib, and nimble, and partly for his merit as a dancer, but mainly for

the glory of having "sailed," he was attracting the eyes of the girls.

Seeing this, he did his best to make sport for them, and when other

efforts had been exhausted he looked out for a butt for his ridicule,

and seized upon Magnus. He called him "Jumbo" several times, and when

this jibe began to fail he made a doggerel chorus, which he sung to a

grotesque caricature of Magnus's elephantine steps:

"Slowly goes the cow in calf--

Jog along and do not laugh."

The laughter came in peals, yet Magnus did not speak, and the girls

thought he was stupid. Encouraged by his success Hans wagered a group

of his friends that he would take his pick of all the girls in the room,

and to prove his word he strutted up to Thora--who was reputed to be the

richest heiress in Iceland--and asked her to dance with him. But Thora,

who had flushed up at the previous scene, said quietly, but in a voice

tremulous with anger, "No, thank you," and turning aside she danced with

Magnus.

Hans was at first speechless with amazement, but a man has to be hungry

to eat his words in silence, and after a moment he winked to his friends

and whispered "Wait."

The next dance was a cotillion, and in the first of its figures a girl

had to sit blindfold on a chair placed at one end of the room while the

boys raced from the other end to capture her. The one to reach her

first had to lead her to the middle of the floor and kiss her--still

blindfold--and then dance her round the room.

Hans whispered to the leader, Thora was chosen for the chair, and all

the young men present--Magnus excepted--ran to catch her. Of course,

Hans was the easy victor, and taking possession of his prize he led her

to the appointed place, and then, while all were silent and everybody

waited to see what he would do, he made a mock obeisance before her

blindfolded face, as much as to say he did not wish to kiss her, and

left her where she stood.

At that the girls began to giggle, and Thora, feeling that something was

wrong, uncovered her eyes and found herself standing alone, and the

sailor in his seat. Then the color rushed to her eyes again, but thrice

redder and hotter than before, and, covered with confusion, she crept

back to her place.

A moment afterward Hans was in the middle of the floor kicking his heels

higher than a short man's head, when Magnus, pale as a ghost, stepped

out and took hold of him.

"You must dance with me next," he said, and the sailor, feeling the grip

of a lion about his waist, cried, half in earnest, half in jest:

"But it's no use dancing with a bull. Let go of me, will you?"

"Not till I show you how a bull would dance you," said Magnus, and

before any one could know what was about to happen, the sailor had

kicked the beam of the ceiling, filling the room with dust, and fallen

with a crash to the floor.

Hans never went to sea again, and the Sheriff, who was a life-long rival

of the Governor, fined Magnus a hundred crowns, after reading him a

lecture on bad passions and the duty of parents to check them. The

Factor paid the money and then stopped it, ten crowns a month for ten

months, out of Magnus's salary. The salary was twenty crowns in all at

that time, and Magnus took the other ten in secret to Hans himself. As

long as Hans lived in Iceland Magnus paid him ten crowns a month,

whatever his own earnings might be. Hans became a water-carrier and a

drunkard.

*V*

After that Aunt Margret invited Magnus to spend his evenings with her

and Thora instead of going upstairs with the other apprentices. This

led to the happiest period in his life. Thora played the guitar, while

Aunt Margret knitted interminable stockings, and in order to find an

excuse for his presence, Magnus began to learn the flute. He had no

music in his nature, but he continued to scream and puff through his

instrument like an express train through a ventilated tunnel. And when

he had blown himself out of breath, Thora, who was sweet and patient,

would wait while he wiped his forehead.

Those intervals in the harmony were always the dearest part of the

evenings to Magnus, for then he could talk to Thora. The big silent

fellow who rarely spoke to anybody else would sometimes talk to her with

a force and eloquence which made Aunt Margret's closing eyes wink and

open wide. It was only about business, what he had done to-day or was

going to do to-morrow, but his face would light up, his eyes would

flash, his tongue would flow, and he would become another being.

As time went on and Magnus passed out of his apprenticeship, he began to

develop great schemes and ideas, and he always tried them on Thora

first. The barter business would go to the dogs some day, and the

fortunes of the future would be made in the fishing. He was the richest

man in the world whose estate was in the sea, and if Icelanders had the

sense to see where their wealth was waiting for them they would build

luggers to replace their open boats, and buy quick steamers to run their

fish to England. That required money, but Parliament ought to provide

it, and some day--who could know what might not happen?--Magnus himself

would enter Althing, and tell those talking automatons what they ought

to do.

The Factor heard of this project through Aunt Margret, and he was much

impressed by its foresight and practical wisdom. One day, after smoking

various pipes while turning the leaves of his ledger, he went over to

the Governor and said:

"Upon my soul, Stephen, that son of yours is no fool. He has notions,

and if he had capital as well, I don't know that something mightn't come

of him. But broad thighs want broad breeches, and the question is what

are we going to do?"

"Lend the lad some money, and give him a chance," said the Governor.

"And create a rival to crush me? No, no! Near is my shirt, but nearer

is my skin! But look here, old friend--why shouldn't Magnus marry

Thora?"

"Splendid! It has been the dream of my life to cement our friendship in

the second generation by a still closer bond."

"Let's come down to facts and figures, then," said the Factor, and

within half an hour the marriage of Magnus and Thora was a settled

matter.

Magnus heard of it from the Governor. "I've been talking with the

Factor about you, Magnus, and we think it would be a good thing if you

and Thora made a match. He will make you his partner immediately, and

in due time the heir to half he leaves behind. So if you agree----"

"But Thora?" Magnus's eyes had lit up with a deep glow of delight.

"Does Thora agree?"

"I must leave you to find that out for yourself," said the Governor.

Thora in her turn heard of the arrangement from Aunt Margret.

"Your father is growing old, my precious, and it's time he took a

partner. Pity he hasn't a son for a place like that, but the next best

thing is a son-in-law, and if you or Helga would marry somebody who

could carry on the business somebody like Magnus----"

"But Magnus is like my brother, Aunt Margret."

"So much the easier to make him your husband, my honey."

"But surely it's necessary to love one's husband, auntie."

"Certainly it is necessary to love him, but that's easy enough with

Magnus--such an old friend, and so devoted to the family."

There seemed to be nothing left except that Magnus should speak to Thora

for himself, but that was a task of graver difficulty. The great

creature who had broken the back of the swaggering bully began to

tremble in the mere presence of the soft-voiced little lady, who dropped

her blue eyes whenever he entered the room. The music lasted longer of

an evening now, and the intervals were fewer and more brief.

But one day Magnus, who had been to Thingvellir on the business of the

sheep-gathering, came back with a young pony and called Thora into the

yard of her father's house to look at it. The four-year-old colt, which

was prancing about for sheer joy of being alive, had faultless limbs, a

glossy chestnut coat, and a silvery mane and tail.

"Is it a good one?" said Magnus.

"It's a beauty!" said Thora. "It's perfect! It's the loveliest thing

that ever stepped! Whomever does it belong to?"

"It belongs to you," said Magnus, and when Thora gave him her hand to

thank him he held it for a moment while he looked into her face, and

then drew her to his side and kissed her.

"Is it to be so, Thora?" he whispered, and from somewhere in the depths

of his breast Thora answered "Yes."

The world was going round him in a wild dance of joy when somebody

touched him on the shoulder. It was the Factor, who had seen everything

from the house.

"That's the best day's work you ever did in your life, my lad, and I'll

take care you never rue it. But what's this they tell me--that you are

Mountain-king at Thingvellir this year?"

"That is so," said Magnus.

"Well, well, I'm willing! Take ten days at your sheep-gathering, and

while you are away I'll have the contract written out and ready. Then

we'll sign it the day after you come back, and the wedding can be when

you please."

Thora and Magnus went into the house hand in hand like children, and

Aunt Margret, who had been crying behind the kitchen door, fell on them

and kissed them. Magnus thought he had never been so happy in his life,

and though the sun had set it shone for him all night long. Next day he

went back to Thingvellir, and scarcely two hours after he had gone word

ran through the town that the steamer Laura had arrived in the fiord,

and his brother Oscar had returned in her.

*VI*

Oscar Stephenson carried everything before him. During the six years of

his absence in England he had grown as straight as a poplar and as

handsome as a young god. Both his dress and his manners seemed

faultless in Iceland eyes, and each had a touch of individuality that

was irresistible. His spirits were as buoyant and boyish as before, and

his gaiety captivated everybody.

It counted for nothing that his career abroad had been something like a

failure; that his infirmities of character had followed him; that his

father had forbidden him to return before in order to fix him at his

studies; that he had left Oxford, nevertheless, without taking his

degree, and that, removing to London at his own earnest entreaty, he had

hitherto done nothing at the Academy of Music. He could and he would

was all that anybody thought of this; and when he once began he would

take the world by storm.

On landing from the steamer he ran up the street as light of foot as a

reindeer, shouting salutations on every side, plunged into Government

House, hugged his mother at intervals for five minutes, spoke so fast

that she could not follow him, dashed into the Governor's bureau, kissed

his father just as he used to do when he was a boy, talked for ten

minutes, explained that he had not written to say that he was coming

because he wanted to take everybody unawares; then said, "Now I must

slip off to see my godfather," and vanished like a shaft of April

sunshine, leaving the air of the room tingling like a candelabra, and

the old people smiling into each other's faces with delighted surprise.

"Well! Oscar was always a master of surprise," said the Governor, and

he took up his hat and followed him.

When Oscar reached the Factor's house, he came first upon Aunt Margret,

and throwing his arms about her neck he held her so long that to recover

her breath and to save her ringlets she had to beat him off with her

fists. And then there stood Thora in her laced bodice and turned down

collar, her hufa and tassel, and plaited hair, looking sideways out of

her soft, blue eyes, and smiling with her rows of pure white teeth. He

thought she was a picture of charming simplicity, and took both her

hands in both of his, and so they stood for some moments, while she grew

redder and redder every instant, and tried to get away.

"Can it be possible?" he said. "And this is Thora! When we were

children she used to kiss me, but now----"

"Now she's going to be married, Oscar. Haven't you heard the news?

Thora is to be married to Magnus."

"Then she belongs to the family, and I may kiss her in any case," said

Oscar.

Thora escaped at last, and then the Factor came in, and Oscar had to

turn round and round like a tee-totum, that his godfather might see what

changes the world had made in him. He laughed and laughed again,

inquiring about the business and the crops, and then tramped about the

house asking what had become of this piece of furniture and what they

had done with that.

"Everything seems to speak to me," he said, "and in my den at Oxford I

used to hear that old Bornholme clock ticking away as plainly as I hear

it now."

Then the Governor arrived, and Anna followed him, and while the old men

smoked and Aunt Margret did the honors, Oscar poured out the foreign

news in a stream of galloping words, and then asked what was going on at

home. They told him of Magnus's ideas and schemes, but he did not

approve them.

"Iceland will be Iceland no longer if you turn it into a little

America," he said. "It is the country of song and story, of fire,

frost, volcano, glacier, and of patriarchal methods of government and

trade."

"Oscar is right," said the Factor. "Keep up the old order, I say."

And when Oscar had shot away like a meteor, the Factor said, "That young

fellow has made me feel fifteen years younger. I must keep an eye on

Magnus, though. He is no fool, but he can't reach with his hands where

Oscar has his feet. Oscar's a boy!"

"He's a darling," said Aunt Margret, straightening her ringlets.

Thora hardly knew what she thought of him, except that he had left her

very unhappy. When she went to bed that night she could not help

comparing Magnus unfavorably with his brother--recalling little things

like his hands and his nails and the discolored patches on his cheeks

when he neglected to shave.

Next day Oscar distributed the presents he had brought from England--a

brooch for Anna containing a place for his own portrait, a pin for Aunt

Margret, a silver belt for Thora, and something for nearly everybody.

His unselfishness was a subject of general eulogy, and nobody remembered

for the moment that the Governor had paid for everything.

In the afternoon he came again to the Factor's, and talked for an hour

to Thora and Aunt Margret about London and the glory of its sights and

scenes. "You must see them for yourself some day, Thora," he said.

"But then I suppose old Magnus will never leave Iceland whatever

happens."

Thora was more unhappy than ever when she went to bed that second night,

thinking what a difference it made in a man if he had "sailed," and what

a wondrous life the girl must live who was to marry Oscar. She was

looking at her new belt in the glass, and standing off from it to admire

her glorified waist when Silvertop winnied in the stable, and then she

felt a little ashamed.

Oscar came the next day also, and, Aunt Margret being out on an errand

of charity, he sat with Thora alone until it was quite dark, telling of

the plays he had seen in England. There was a good deal about love in

them, and one was of a girl beloved by two brothers. Her father had

married her to the elder brother while she was still a child, but as

soon as her heart awoke she loved the younger one, and her husband

killed both of them. Thora cried for the two children who tried to be

true, but could not, and she dreamt that night that she was Francesca,

and Oscar was Paolo, and Magnus was Giovanni. The dream was painful,

but the awakening was more painful still.

Oscar came the next day also, and then he played a number of songs he

had composed on subjects in the Sagas. Thora thought she had never heard

such playing; and do what she would she could not help laughing a little

at the thought of Magnus's performances on the flute. "I'm sure he'll

become a great composer," she said when Oscar had gone.

"Perhaps so, but no one can feed on honor," said Aunt Margret.

By this time Thora had begun to look for Oscar every day, and the next

time he came he persuaded her to fetch out her guitar. She played some

Iceland love songs, and sang them in a sweet voice. Thora was like a

flower that had grown under the snow, and was opening its eyes to the

sun.

"I wonder whom Oscar will marry?" she said, and Aunt Margret answered:

"Some English miss with plenty of this world's goods and none of the

next." And then Thora felt a tingling pain in her breast.

One day there came a note from Oscar, saying, "Glorious morning! What

do you say to a few hours on the fiord? Will call for you immediately."

They took a boat belonging to the Factor and turned her head toward

Engey, an island inhabited by ten thousand eider duck. Both were rowing

when they left the jetty and the water foamed under their oars, but as

soon as they were out of sight and hearing they dipped softly and

drifted. The sea and sky were blue and quiet, like two mirrors face to

face, each reflecting the other, and with the boat like a great bumble

bee humming between.

Oscar was like a boy. He laughed and talked continually, telling

stories of what they used to do when they were children. He was not

very chivalrous then, he remembered, but when she pleaded pitifully he

used to allow her to sit on his sledge and they went cracking and

crashing through the crisp snow. They had tiffs, too, in those days,

and people used to say, "Children who make a quarrel often live to make

a match." Wise folks, were they not?

They landed on Engey and rambled about in search of the eider duck, but

all the birds were gone, and there was nothing left in their empty nests

but a few discolored eggs, and these were addled.

"We've come too late," said Oscar. "Haven't we come here too late,

Thora?" he said again, stooping to look sideways into her face. And

then Thora, who had been humming a tune, suddenly flushed as red as

fire. Their eyes were sparkling, and they were quivering with

excitement.

"How I wish we could be children again!" said Oscar. "Don't you, Thora?"

Before she was aware Thora answered "Yes," and then, becoming

embarrassed, she turned back toward the boat. The ground was scored with

narrow ruts which had been riven out of the grass by the frosts of

winter, and Oscar said:

"We can't both walk in one rut, you know."

"You can catch me, then," said Thora, and she ran away laughing.

Oscar ran after her and caught her and held her by the belt, and then

she became serious. After a moment she covered her face and began to

cry.

"Have I hurt you?" asked Oscar.

"No, no! It's nothing. I'm silly! Catch me again!" said Thora, and

snatching his cap off his head she flew over the ruts and had leapt back

into the boat before he came up with her.

When they returned to the Factor's, Aunt Margret, who looked cool and

thoughtful, gave Oscar a letter which his mother had left for him. It

was from Magnus, and it ran:--

"Dear Oscar:--I am glad to hear you have come home, and I wish I had

been there to welcome you. You come in a good hour, for you must have

heard of my good fortune about Thora. It was long before I could bring

myself to grasp my happiness, because she was such a happy little girl,

and it seemed selfish to take her from her father's house and everybody

there so fond of her. But now that I have got her I feel new strength

and am doing the work of three. I am so happy that nothing goes wrong

with me, and I am like the anvil that could not be made angry though it

were to have the heaviest blow. But I am longing to see you, and I

write to ask if you will come to the sheep-gathering and bring Thora

with you. Now I must conclude, for we are camping in the mountains and

it will take this letter all its work to reach you in time.--Your

affectionate brother, Magnus Stephenson."

Oscar read the letter aloud, and when he had finished it Thora could not

see him distinctly for the vapor which floated before her eyes--like the

chilling thaw-cloud that comes down the valley on a bright winter's day

and hides the shining fells. But after a moment Oscar laughed--a little

nervously--and said:

"Let us go by all means. I'll have Silvertop ready and bring him round

at five in the morning."

*VII*

Next day Magnus awoke on the mountains in the paling light of the moon

and the early glimmering of the dawn, and thought of Thora. He always

thought of Thora first on waking in the morning, and her face was the

last he saw at night when he closed his eyes under the stars. Seven

days before, when he had set his face toward the fells, with his forty

shepherds and eighty ponies, he had found it hard to turn his back on

the lowlands, because Thora was there. But when by daybreak the

following morning they reached the ridge of the mountains which divides

the north district from the south; and in the grey light and the running

mist they met the shepherds who had come up from the other side, and

hailed and saluted them, and exchanged snuff and drank healths with

them, and then turned about and parted, and begun to descend the way

they came, his spirits rose rapidly, because every step was taking him

back to Thora.

Five days thereafter Magnus and his men scoured the mountains, gathering

up the sheep that had strayed during the summer; and every night when

they pitched their tents in some sheltered place where there was water

and grass among the lava and screes, and every morning when they rose at

the first glimpse of daylight, he told himself he was one day and one

night nearer to Thora.

When he was midway down some one had brought him news of Oscar's return

to Iceland, and after he had written his letter and despatched it, he

was happy in the prospect of seeing his young brother after a long

separation, but happier still in the thought of seeing Thora one day

sooner than he had expected, because Oscar would bring her to meet him.

And now it was the last day of his duty, and as he and his shepherds

came down the mountains, driving five thousand head of sheep before

them, and the men began to talk of their wives and sweethearts, he

thought surely nobody had ever loved anybody as he loved Thora, because

there was only one Thora in the world.

The morning was bright and calm, and there was no sound in the clear air

except the bleating of sheep, the barking of dogs, and the voices of

shepherds calling to each other as they raced across the fells to keep

their flocks together, but Magnus felt as if everything on earth and in

heaven were talking to him of Thora.

He began to think of how they should meet, and he found it delightful to

imagine what would happen. Oscar would say, "Have I brought her safely,

Magnus?" And then with one arm about Thora he would give his other hand

to young Oscar and thank him for taking such good care of the sweet girl

who was more to him than his own soul.

At eight o'clock they came in sight of the sheep-fold they were going

to, lying in the valley like an inverted honeycomb, and then Magnus

persuaded himself he could see through his field-glass a line of people

like a train of ants coming over the plain beyond. He could hardly

contain himself at the thought that Thora must be among them; and when,

an hour afterward, he could plainly distinguish two riders galloping

ahead, he was happy in the certainty that these were Oscar and Thora,

and that they were hurrying to meet him.

By ten o'clock Magnus and his company had reached the sheep-fold, and

there the farmers of the district were gathered to greet them, with

snuff and health-drinking as before, but above the joy of that meeting

was the delight of seeing a long cavalcade of the townspeople, who had

come to make holiday, and were riding rapidly up the valley.

Half an hour later Magnus saw Oscar and Thora on the outside of the

sheep-fold, but at that moment he was knee-deep in a palpitating and

bleating sea of sheep, and he could only wave his hand and try to shout

his salutations. He found he could not shout, for something had gripped

him by the throat; but Oscar called to him, and he thought, "What a man

he is now, and what a grown-up voice he has got!"

During the next three hours Magnus was kept busy, separating the sheep,

and settling deputes among the farmers; but as he worked he saw the

townspeople pitch their tents and light fires to boil their kettles.

"Thora is there," he thought, and he was content.

By two o'clock in the afternoon the last of the sheep had been

separated; the shepherds were driving away their flocks in different

directions; the bleating, barking, and shouting were dying off in the

distance, and then Magnus--soiled, sunburnt and unshaven--turned his

face toward the tents.

The townspeople had finished eating; their fires were smouldering out in

the sunshine, and they were dancing to a guitar on a level piece of

green, when Magnus went up to them and asked for Oscar, but looked for

Thora. Somebody told him they had gone--gone for a walk somewhere--and

Magnus was glad, because they could meet where they would be more alone.

He shaded his eyes and looked down the valley, and thinking he saw two

figures at the foot of the hills, he leapt on the back of a pony that

was grazing near, and rode off in that direction. He was humming a

tune, for he was very happy. After some minutes he was sure he saw Oscar

and Thora, and began to call to them.

"Helloa!" he cried, but there came no answer.

"Helloa!" he cried again, but still there was no reply, and all was

silent now save for the tinkling of the guitar behind him.

"Helloa! Helloa! Helloa!" but nothing came back to him but his own

voice as it echoed in the hills.

Oscar and Thora were sitting on the sunny side of a rock which rose out

of the foot of the mountain like a mound of black soil, but was really

the mouth of an extinct volcano. Magnus thought he knew what they were

doing--they were dropping stones down the crater and listening for the

sound of their descent. That was why they had not heard him, although

he had called so loud. Very well, he knew what he would do, he would

play a practical joke upon them; he would take them by surprise; he

would creep up on the opposite side of the rock and suddenly appear

before them as if he had risen out of the pit.

With this intention Magnus made a circuit of the crater, and drew up on

the shady side of it. He was then very close to the two who were

sitting above, but still they did not hear him, so slipping from the

saddle and throwing the reins over the pony's head he stole up softly

and began to climb the rock as quietly as he could in his big boots over

the rolling stones. The greater difficulty was to keep himself from

laughing aloud at the thought of what their faces would be like when he

stood up between them like a ghost that had sprung out of the earth.

Scrambling on hands and knees Magnus had climbed half way up the rock

when he heard Oscar speaking, and he stopped to listen.

"But why did you consent?" said Oscar's voice.

Thora did not answer, and after a moment the voice of Oscar said again,

"Why did you, Thora?"

There was a low murmur of indistinguishable words, and then the voice of

Oscar said, "Because your father wished it? But surely you have to live

your own life, Thora. However obedient a daughter should be to her

father, she is a separate being, and the time comes when she has to fly

with her own wings, as we say. Then, why did you consent?"

Magnus felt his fingers tighten their hold on the rock he was clinging

to, and he leaned forward to catch Thora's reply. But there was only

the same low murmur of indistinguishable words, and then Oscar's voice

once more,

"Magnus? No doubt! I wouldn't say a word against Magnus--God

forbid!--but love--mutual love--is the only basis of a true marriage,

and if you do not love Magnus--not really and truly, as you say--why did

you consent to marry him?"

Magnus felt the ground to be reeling under his knees. If he had not been

clinging to the rock he must have rolled to the foot of it. All his

soul seemed to listen, but he could hear nothing except the sound of

Thora's voice breaking with sobs.

Then came Oscar's voice again, but lower and tenderer than before, "How

hateful of me to make you cry, Thora! I didn't intend to do that, dear.

But have you never asked yourself what will happen if you marry Magnus,

and then find out when it is too late that you like somebody else?"

At that there came another note into Thora's weeping, a note of joy as

well as sorrow, and Magnus--though he did not know it--clambered higher

up the rock.

"What did you say, Thora? Tell me, dear, tell me--did you say you had

found out already?"

And then at last came Thora's voice in a burst of passionate tears, "You

know I have, Oscar," and after that there was a startled cry.

Thora had risen and was moving toward Oscar, who was already on his feet

and holding out his arms to her, when behind him she saw Magnus with a

terrible face--eyes staring, lips parted, and breath coming and going in

gusts. Oscar turned to see what it was that Thora looked at and, seeing

Magnus, his whole body seemed to shrink in an instant, and he felt like

a little man.

"Is it--you--really?" he faltered, and he smiled a sickly smile, but

Magnus neither saw nor heard him.

Magnus heard nothing, saw nothing, and knew nothing at that first moment

except that he, a man of awful strength and passion, was standing at the

mouth of a pit as deep as hell and as silent as the grave, with two who

had been dearer to him than any others in the world, and they had

deceived and betrayed him. But at the next moment he saw a look in

Thora's face that made him remember Hans, the sailor, for it was the

same look that he had seen there the instant after he had thrown the man

on his back, and then a ghostly hand seemed to touch him on the shoulder

and the fearful impulse passed.

There was silence for some moments, in which nothing was heard but the

quick breathing of the three, and then Magnus found his voice--a choking

utterance--and he fell on Thora with loud reproaches.

"What does this mean?" he said. "It is only six days since I parted

from you, and now I find you like this! Speak! Can't you speak?"

But Thora could only gasp and moan; and Oscar, who had struggled to

recover himself, stepped out to defend her. "It's not Thora's fault,

Magnus. It's mine, if it is anybody's, and if you have anything to say

you must speak to me."

"You!" cried Magnus, wheeling round on him. "What are you, I'd like to

know? A man who betrays his own brother! Is that what you came home to

do--to make mischief and strife and break up everything? In the name of

God why didn't you stay where you came from?"

"Magnus," said Oscar, trying to hold himself in, "you must not speak to

me like that. You must not talk as if I had stolen Thora's affections

away from you, because----"

"Then what have you done? If you haven't done that, what have you

done?"

"Because Thora never loved you--never--though I am sorry to say it--very

sorry----"

"Damn your sorry!" said Magnus.

"And damn your insolence!" cried Oscar. "And if you won't hear the

truth in sorrow, then hear it in scorn--Thora's engagement to you is

nothing but a miserable commercial bargain between her father and our

father by which she has been bought and sold like a slave."

The blow went home; Magnus felt the truth of it; he tried to speak, and

at first he could not do so; at length he stammered:

"I know nothing about that. I only know that I was to marry Thora, and

that in two days' time we were to be betrothed."

Then Thora said nervously, with quivering lips and voice, "It wasn't

altogether my fault, Magnus--you know it was not. It was all done by

other people, and I had nothing to say in the matter. I was never

asked--never consulted."

"But I asked you myself, Thora."

"That was when everything had been settled and arranged, Magnus."

"But if you had told me even then, Thora--if you had told me that you

did not wish it--that you could not care for me----"

"I didn't know at that time, Magnus."

"You didn't know, Thora?"

"I didn't know that the love I felt for you was not the right love--that

there was another kind of love altogether, and that before a girl should

bind herself to any one for better or worse until death parts them, she

ought to love him with all her heart and soul and strength."

"And do you know that kind of love now, Thora?" asked Magnus, and Thora

faltered, "Yes."

That word was like a death-knell to Magnus. He stared blankly before

him and muttered beneath his breath, "My God! My God!" and then Thora

broke down utterly.

No one spoke for some moments. Magnus was going through a terrible

struggle. He was telling himself that, after all, these two had

something to say for themselves. They had their excuse, their

justification. They loved each other, and perhaps they could not avoid

doing what they had done, while he--he who had thought himself the

injured person--was really the one who was in the way.

When Thora's weeping ceased, Magnus looked up and said, in a voice that

was pitifully hoarse and husky,

"So it's all over, it seems, and there's no help for it?"

No one spoke, and Magnus said again, "Well, a man's heart does not

break, I suppose, so I daresay I shall get over it."

Still the others said nothing, and Magnus looked from Oscar to Thora and

said, quite simply, "But what is to be done? If it is all over between

Thora and me, what is to be done now?"

Neither of them answered him, so he turned to Thora and said, "Your

father was to have the contract ready by the time of our return--can you

ask him to destroy it?"

She did not reply. "You can't--I know you can't--your father would

never forgive you--never."

Then he turned to Oscar: "The Governor has plans about the

partnership--can you fulfil them if I should fail?--No? Is it

impossible?"

Oscar gave no sign, and after a moment Magnus said, "Then I must be the

first to move, I suppose. But perhaps that is only right, since I am

the one who has to get out of the way."

"Don't say that, Magnus," cried Thora.

"Why not? Better a sour truth than a sweet lie, Thora."

Thora dropped her eyes; Oscar turned aside; they heard Magnus's foot on

the stones as if he were moving away, but they dared not look lest they

should see his face. After a moment he stopped and spoke again:

"When I was coming down the mountain I thought we might go home

together--all three together--but perhaps we had better not. Besides,

if I have to move first in that matter, I have my work cut out for me,

and I must be alone to think of it."

"What are you going to do?" asked Oscar.

"God knows!" said Magnus. "He has got us into a knot. He must get us

out of it."

They heard his heavy boots on the sliding stones as he stepped down the

rock; they heard him speak cheerfully to his pony as he swung to the

saddle; they heard the crack of his long reins as he slashed them above

the pony's head, and then--as well as they could for the tears that were

blinding them--they saw him bent double and flying across the plain.

*VIII*

Early next day Magnus called at Government House and went up to Oscar's

room. He found Oscar sitting at a desk with a pen in his hand, a blank

sheet of paper before him, and sundry torn scraps lying about, as if he

had been trying in vain to write a letter. The brothers greeted each

other with constraint, and during the greater part of their interview

neither of them looked into the other's face.

"I have come to tell you," said Magnus, sitting by the side of the desk

and fixing his eyes on the carpet at his feet, "I have come to tell you

that I see a way--I think I see a way out of our difficulty."

"What is it?" asked Oscar, looking steadfastly at the blank sheet of

paper before him.

"It is a plan which does not involve Thora at all, or in any way reflect

upon you, therefore you need not ask me what it is. I expect to try it

to-morrow, and if it succeeds the consequences will be mine--mine

only--and nobody else will be blamed or affected."

Oscar bowed his head over the blank sheet of paper and said nothing.

"But before I take the step I am thinking of, I want to be sure it will

be worth taking, and have the results I expect. That's why I am here

now--I am here to ask you certain questions."

"What are they?" said Oscar.

"They are very intimate and personal questions, but I think I have a

right to ask them, seeing what I intend to do," said Magnus, and then,

in a firmer voice, "and a right to have them answered, also."

"Ask them," said Oscar.

"I want to know, first, whether, if I can liberate Thora from her

promise to me, you will marry her?"

"Indeed, yes--if she will have me--yes!"

"You said yesterday, you remember, that love--mutual love--was the only

basis of a true marriage. Perhaps I forgot that in my own case, but I

must not forget it now. So it is not sufficient that Thora should love

you; it is necessary that you should love Thora--you do love her?"

"Indeed I do."

"Your attachment is a brief one--are you sure it is not a passing

fancy?"

"Quite sure."

"It is a solemn thing that two human beings should bind themselves

together, as Thora said, for better or worse, until death parts

them--you are not afraid of that?"

"No."

"You will always love her?"

"Always," said Oscar.

"You have counted the cost, all the consequences?"

"I know nothing of costs and consequences, Magnus. I only know that I

love Thora with all my heart and soul, and that if you will liberate

her, and she will consent to marry me, I will consecrate my whole life

to make her happy."

Magnus shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and began again.

"Thora is a sweet, good girl," he said, "the best and sweetest girl in

the world, but she is a simple Iceland maiden who has never been out of

her own country. She is not like you, and if you take her to England

she will not be like your friends there. Have you thought of that? Are

you ready to make allowances for her upbringing and education? Will

your love bear all the strain of such a marriage?"

It was now Oscar's turn to move restlessly in his seat. "Why should you

ask me a question like that, Magnus?"

"Will it?" repeated Magnus more firmly.

"I certainly think it will."

"But will it?" said Magnus still more firmly.

"It will," said Oscar.

There was a short pause and then Magnus said quietly:

"There are two or three other questions I wish to ask of you, and I ask

them for your sake as much as Thora's."

"Go on," said Oscar.

"Thora is practically her father's only daughter now, and he is old and

very fond of her. If he should wish her to remain in Iceland after her

marriage, you would be willing to live here for the rest of your life?"

"If he made it a condition--yes."

"Naturally the Governor has certain plans for you, having spent so much

on your education, and you have your own aims and ambitions also, but if

these should clash with your love for Thora, if they should tempt you

away from her, you would be ready to give them up?"

"Certainly I would."

"You are sure of that?"

"I am sure of it--that is to say--it would be hard, no doubt--to abandon

the aims and ambitions of one's whole life--but if they ever clashed, as

you say, with my love for Thora, ever tempted me away from her--tempted

me to leave her to go to England for example----"

"Or to any other country, or any other woman?"

"That is not possible, Magnus."

"But if it were possible?"

"I would not go," said Oscar.

"So that if I give Thora up and she consents to marry you, nothing and

nobody will be allowed to disturb her happiness?"

"Nothing and nobody," said Oscar.

"Then write that," said Magnus, tapping the paper on the desk.

"Write it?"

"To her, not to me. If you are sure of all this, you cannot be afraid

to put it in black and white."

"I'm not afraid, but it's of no use writing it to Thora."

"Why not?"

"Because when you left us yesterday she told me that, though her heart

was mine, she had given her word to you, and she would be compelled to

keep it."

"She told you that?"

"She did."

Magnus hesitated for a moment, and then said in the husky voice of

yesterday, "Write it, nevertheless, and let me take the letter."

"You mean that, Magnus?"

"Yes."

"That you will give her back her word, and speak to her for me?"

"Write your letter," said Magnus huskily.

"What a good fellow you are! You make me feel as if I had behaved

odiously and wish to heaven I had never come back from England. I

cannot wish that, though, for Thora's love is everything on earth to me

now, and I would do anything to hold on to it. But if I have done wrong

to you I know of no better way of expressing my regret than by placing

my dearest interests in your hands. I will write the letter at once,

Magnus. I tried to write it twenty times and couldn't, but now I can,

and I will."

While Oscar's pen flew over the blank sheet of paper Magnus sat with

head down, digging at the pattern in the carpet. A fierce fight was

going on in his heart even yet, for the devil seemed to be whispering in

his ear, "What are you doing? Didn't you hear what he said--that Thora

had decided to keep her word to you? Are you going to persuade her not

to do so? You'll never get over it--never!"

When Oscar had finished his letter he gave it to Magnus and said: "Here

it is. I think it says all we talked about, if less than a fraction of

what I feel. She'll listen to you, though, I feel sure of that; but if

she does not--if she sends me the same answer----"

"What will you do then?" asked Magnus, pausing at the door.

"Then I will take the first steamer back to England, and ask you to say

nothing to anybody of what has happened."

A bright light came into Magnus's face, and then slowly died away.

"But I cannot think of that yet, Magnus; not till I hear the result of

your errand. See her, speak to her, tell her she is not responsible for

her father's contract; beg of her not to ruin her own life and mine.

Will you?"

"I will."

"God bless you, old fellow! You are the best brother a man ever had.

Don't be too long away. I shall hardly live until you return. Put me

out of suspense as quickly as you can, Magnus. If you only knew how

awfully I love the little girl and how much her answer means to me----"

But Magnus's tortured face had disappeared behind the door.

At the bottom of the stairs his mother met him, and she said: "So you've

been up with Oscar all the time! Your father and the Factor were

looking for you everywhere. They had the lawyers with them all the

morning, and wanted to consult you about something. It's settled now, I

think, so there's no need to trouble. But, goodness gracious, Magnus,

how white and worn you look! That work on the mountains hasn't suited

you, and you must do no more of it."

Magnus excused himself to Anna and hastened away to the Factor's. As he

passed through the streets with Oscar's letter to Thora in his side

pocket, and his nervous fingers clutching it, the devilish voice that

had tempted him before seemed to speak to him again and say: "Destroy

it! Didn't you hear him say that he would go away? Let him go! Nobody

but yourself will know anything about the letter! Even Thora will never

know! And when Oscar is gone, Thora will fulfil her promise to you!

Let her fulfil it! If she does not love you now, she will come to love

you later on. And if she never comes to love you, she will be yours;

you will have her, and who has a better right? Destroy it! Destroy

it!"

But his good angel seemed to answer and say:

"What's the use of having a woman's body if you cannot have her soul?

That's lust, not love; and it's too late to think of it anyway. The

question you have to decide is simple enough--do you love yourself

better than you love Thora, or Thora better than yourself?"

And then the devil seemed to whisper again and say, "What a fool's

errand you are going upon! If you win you lose; if you lose you win.

If you persuade Thora to preserve her own happiness you destroy your

own! If you do not persuade her to marry Oscar she will marry you! Are

you a man? Is there an ounce of hot blood in you?"

The fight was fierce, but Magnus decided in favor of the girl's

happiness against his own, and he said to himself at every step, "Go on;

you want Thora to be happy, then carry it through; it is hard, but go

on; go on!"

When he reached the Factor's his great limbs could hardly support

themselves and his ashen face was covered with sweat.

*IX*

The Factor's house was full of the sweet smell of the baking of cakes,

and Thora and Aunt Margret were in the kitchen with the fronts of their

gowns tucked up to their waists, their sleeves turned back, and

rolling-pins in their hands, behind a table laden with soft dough and

sprinkled with flour.

"Here's Magnus at last!" said Aunt Margret, "and perhaps he can tell me

how it happened that you came home without him yesterday."

Magnus did his best to laugh it off. "That's a long story, auntie," he

said. "A horse's shoe isn't made at a blow, and I want to speak to

Thora."

"Mind you don't keep her long, then. If we're to be ready for all the

people who are coming to-morrow there's work here to-day for a baker's

dozen."

Magnus went up to the little sitting-room with the Barnholme clock in

it, and Thora followed. There were dark rings under her eyes, and her

manner was nervous and restless.

"I am ashamed of what happened yesterday," she said, "and I ask you to

forgive and forget."

"I cannot do either," said Magnus, "that is to say, not yet, and in the

way you mean."

Thora's eyes began to fill. "Don't be too hard on me, Magnus. I'm

trying to make amends, and it isn't very easy."

"I'm not so hard on you as you are on yourself, Thora, and I'm here to

tell you not to do yourself an injustice."

Thora thought for a moment, and then said, "If you mean that you have

come to say that after all I must fulfil my promise, it is unnecessary,

because I intend to do so."

"Will that be right, Thora?"

"It may not be right to Oscar, perhaps, or to myself----"

"I'm not thinking about Oscar now, and I'm not thinking about you--I'm

thinking about myself--will it be right to me?"

"What more can I do, Magnus? It wasn't altogether my fault that I gave

you my word, but I did give it, and I am trying to keep it."

"Would it be right to marry me--seeing, as you said yourself, you do not

care for me?"

Thora dropped her head.

"You said yesterday that before a girl should marry a man she ought to

love him with all her heart and soul and strength. Wouldn't it be wrong

to marry me while you loved somebody else like that? Is that what you

call making amends, Thora?"

"I was only trying to do what was right, Magnus; but if you think it

would be wrong to marry you, then I will never marry at all. Never!"

"What good will that be to me, Thora? Five years, ten years, twenty

years hence, what good will it be to me that because you had given me

your word, and could not keep it, you are living a lonely life

somewhere?"

Thora covered her face with her hands.

"What sort of a poor whisp of a man do you suppose I am, Thora?"

"I didn't intend to insult you, Magnus. But if I can neither marry you

nor remain unmarried, what am I to do?"

"You know quite well what you are to do, Thora."

Thora uncovered her face; her eyes were shining.

"You mean that I must marry Oscar?"

"That depends upon whether you love him."

The shining eyes were very bright in spite of the tears that swam in

them.

"Do you love him?"

"Don't ask me that, Magnus."

"But I do ask you, Thora. I have a right to ask you. Do you love

Oscar?"

"I admire and esteem him, Magnus."

"But do you love him?"

"Everybody loves Oscar."

"Do you love him, Thora?"

"Yes," said Thora softly, and for some moments after that there was no

sound in the room but the ticking of the clock.

"Then, as he loves you, and wishes to marry you, it is your duty to

marry him," said Magnus.

"But I have given my word to you, Magnus."

"I give you back your word, Thora."

The shining eyes were shedding tears of joy by this time, but while love

fought for Oscar, duty and honor struggled for Magnus.

"But I have told him it is impossible," said Thora.

"He asks you again, Thora. Here is his letter," said Magnus.

"He gave it to you to deliver?"

"I asked for it."

"And you came to speak for him?"

"I came for myself as well."

"How good you are to me, Magnus!"

"Read your letter," said Magnus, and with trembling hands Thora opened

the envelope.

The fight was short but fierce. Magnus watched every expression of

Thora's face. If there had been one ray of love for him in her looks of

gratitude and remorse he would have clung to the hope that the time

would come when all would be well; but love for Oscar shone in her eyes,

broke from her lips, betrayed itself in the very insistence with which

she meant to marry Magnus, and there remained no hope for him anywhere.

Thora looked up from her letter, and said:

"How splendid! How noble! That's what I _do_ call brotherly! Oscar

tells me that you think you can put the contract aside without involving

me or reflecting upon him. You are too good--too generous--too

forgiving--how can I thank you?"

"By giving me Oscar's letter," said Magnus.

"What do you want with it?"

"I want to have it in my pocket when I do my work to-morrow. That's

only fair--that while I am doing my part I hold Oscar's written

assurance that he intends to do his."

"You wouldn't produce it to Oscar's injury?"

"Many a man sharpens his axe who never uses it," said Magnus.

Thora returned the letter to Magnus, and he put it back in his pocket.

"Now you must answer it," said Magnus.

"Not yet, not immediately," said Thora.

"Immediately," said Magnus, and taking pen and paper from a sideboard,

he put them before her.

The power of the man mastered her, and she sat at the table and took up

the pen.

"But why should I write to-day?" she said. "Why not to-morrow?"

"To-morrow is the day fixed for the betrothal, and if I am to do

anything then I must have everything in black and white."

"But let me have one engagement ended before the other is begun,

Magnus."

"If Oscar does not receive your answer within an hour he will take the

first ship back to England, and you will never see him again."

"He said so?"

"Yes."

"You will break my heart, Magnus. I don't know what to say to you."

"Write," said Magnus.

"I cannot. You have driven everything out of my head."

"Then write to my dictation: 'My dear Oscar'----"

"'My dear Oscar'----"

"'I have received the letter you sent by Magnus'----"

"'Sent by Magnus'----"

"'And I reciprocate all you say'----"

"'All you say'----"

"'I believe you love me very dearly, and that you will never allow

anything or anybody to come between us'----"

"'To come between us'----"

"'Magnus has given me back my word because I do not love him'----"

"Must I say that, Magnus?"

"'And because he wishes to make me happy'----"

"I cannot, Magnus, I really cannot----"

"Go on, Thora. 'Therefore, if he can satisfy my father and yours'----"

"'My father and yours'----"

"'I will marry you when and where you please, because'----"

"'Because '----"

"'Because I love you with all my heart and soul and strength.'"

Thora was crying when she came to the end of the letter.

"Sign it," said Magnus, and she signed it.

"Address it," he said, and she addressed it.

"Seal it," he said, and she sealed it.

"Now give it to me," said Magnus, and he took the letter off the table

and put it in his breast pocket.

"What are you going to do with it?" asked Thora.

"Deliver it myself," said Magnus.

"No, no!" cried Thora. "At least let me keep it for half an hour--a

quarter of an hour."

"I cannot trust you, Thora," said Magnus, and he made for the door.

"Give it me back! Give it me! Give it me!"

She threw her arms about him to detain him, and for a moment he stood

trembling in the temptation of her embrace. Then he put her gently aside

and fled out of the house.

While he was hurrying through the streets the warmth of Thora's soft

flesh was still tingling on his neck and cheek, and the devilish voice

was saying in his ear, "What a fool you were! In another moment her

sweet body would have been in your strong arms and she would have been

yours for ever."

He tried not to hear it, but the voice went on: "She may still be yours

if you're half a man! Keep back Thora's letter and return his own to

Oscar! Why not? What better does he deserve of you?"

Magnus walked fast, but the voice followed him. It told him how happy

he had been when he thought Thora loved him; how he had left her for the

mountains with his heart full of joy; how Oscar had come and everything

was at an end.

"Keep it back! Return his own!" said the voice in his ear; and to make

sure of Thora's happiness and to cure himself of all hope, he took

Thora's letter out of his pocket and ran with it in his hand.

Oscar was at the top of the stairs, being too eager to wait in his

bedroom. "So you have brought it! She has sent me an answer! Give it

me!"

"Take it," said Magnus.

But having Thora's letter in his hands at last Oscar was afraid to open

it. "Is it all right?" he asked.

"See for yourself," said Magnus, and he dropped into the seat by the

desk.

As Oscar read the letter the expression of his face changed from fear to

joy, and from joy to rapture. Without looking up from the paper he

cried out like a happy boy, "It's all right! She agrees! God bless

her! Shall I read you what she says? Yet, no! That wouldn't be fair

to Thora! But it's as right as can be! How beautiful! Talk of

education--nobody in the world could have put things better! The

darling!"

He read the letter twice and put it in his pocket; then took it out and

read it again and kissed it, forgetting in his selfish happiness that

anybody else was there.

Magnus sat and watched him. The fight was almost over, but he was

nearly breaking down at last.

"What an age you seemed to be away!" said Oscar. "Yet you have run

hard, for you are still quite breathless. But there is nothing more to

do now except what you promised to do to-morrow. You think you can do

it?"

"I think I can," said Magnus.

"It will be a stiff job, though. To persuade two old men who don't wish

to be persuaded! Nobody wants to see his schemes upset and his

contracts broken, and with all the good-will in the world to me----"

"Wait!" said Magnus, rising--his unshaven, face had suddenly grown hard

and ugly. "We have talked of you and Thora, and of the Factor and the

Governor, but there is somebody who has not been too much

mentioned--myself!"

"Don't suppose I am forgetting you, though," said Oscar. "I can never do

that--and neither can Thora--never!"

"If I am to stand back, and take the consequences, there is something

you owe me--you owe me your silence!"

"Assuredly," said Oscar.

"Whatever I do or say to-morrow," said Magnus, "you must never allow it

to be seen that you know my object. Is it a promise?"

"Certainly!" said Oscar. "Silence is inevitable if I am to save Thora

from her father's anger, and I will save her from that and from every

sorrow."

Magnus walked to the door, and then, for the first time, Oscar looked at

him.

"But what a brute I am--always talking of myself!" said Oscar, following

his brother to the landing. "When everything is satisfactorily settled,

what is to happen to you, Magnus?"

"God knows!" said Magnus, with his foot on the stair. "Everybody has his

own wounds to bandage."

"Well, God bless you in any case, old fellow!" said Oscar, patting

Magnus on the shoulder. And then he returned to his room and took out

Thora's letter and read it over again.

*X*

The betrothal was fixed for five o'clock on the following afternoon.

Aunt Margret had had women in to clean the house down, and everything

was like a new pin. The large sitting-room, looking toward the town,

was prepared for the legal part of the ceremony, with pens and ink on

the round table, and the smaller sitting-room, divided from it by a

plush curtain and overlooking the lake, was laid out with a long dining

table, covered with cakes and cups and saucers and surrounded by

high-backed chairs.

These rooms were standing quiet and solemn when at half-past four Aunt

Margret came down in her best black silk and with ringlets newly curled,

to have a last look round. She was doing a little final dusting when the

first of her guests arrived. This was Anna, also in black silk, and,

being already on her company manners, Aunt Margret kissed her.

"But where's Oscar, and where's the Governor?" asked Aunt Margret.

"Stephen is coming," said Anna, "but far be it from me to say where

Oscar is! The boy is here and there and everywhere."

"That reminds me of something," said Aunt Margret. "Can you tell me how

it came to pass that the young folks missed each other at Thingvellir

yesterday, and Magnus came home alone?"

"Goodness knows! It wouldn't be Magnus's fault, that's certain. Magnus

is like my poor father--as sure to be in his place as a mill-horse on

the tread, but Oscar is as hard to hold as a puff of wind. It's his

nature, he can't help it, but it makes me anxious when I think of it,

Margret."

"Don't be afraid for Oscar, Anna! He'll come out all right. And if he

is restless and unsettled, God is good to such, weak heart. He never

asks more than He gives, you know."

The Factor came downstairs--a tall man, clean-shaven, bald-headed, and a

little hard and angular, wearing evening dress and a skull-cap, and

carrying a long German pipe in his hand.

"No smoking yet!" cried Aunt Margret, and with a grunt and a laugh the

Factor laid his pipe on the mantel-piece.

"And how's Anna to-day?" he said. "No need to ask that though, our Anna

is as fresh and young as ever. Upon my word, Margret, it only seems

like yesterday that we were doing all this for Anna herself."

"She was a different Anna in those days, Oscar," said Anna.

"Not a bit of it! There's a little more Anna now--that's the only

difference."

The Governor came in next--a broad-set man of medium height, with a

beard but no mustache, and wearing his official uniform, bright with

gold braid. He saluted the Factor and said:

"I have taken the liberty to ask the Bishop, the Rector of the Latin

School, and the Sheriff to join us--I trust you don't object?"

"Quite right, old friend," said the Factor. "The most important acts of

life ought always to be done in the presence of witnesses."

"And how's Margret? As busy as usual, I see! All days don't come on

the same date; we must get ready for you next, you know!"

"For Margret!" laughed the Factor. "She'll have to be quick, or she'll

be late then--people don't hatch many chickens at Christmas."

"Late, indeed!" said Aunt Margret, with a toss of her ringlets. "If I

couldn't catch up to you folks with your pair of chicks apiece, I

shouldn't think it worth while to begin."

The men laughed, and Anna said, "Well, two children would be enough for

me if I could only keep them. But that's the worst of having boys--they

marry and leave you. A mother can always keep her girls----"

"Until somebody else's boys come and carry them off, and then she sees

no more of either," said Aunt Margret.

"That depends on circumstances," said the Governor--"the marriage

contract, for example--eh, old friend?"

"Exactly!" said the Factor. "You can generally keep the bull about the

place if you have the cow locked up in the cow-house."

The men laughed again, and then the Bishop and the Rector arrived--the

Bishop a saintly patriarch with a soft face and a white beard, and the

Rector--as became the schoolmaster--sharper, if not more severe.

"I was surprised when I heard it was Magnus," said the Rector. "Oscar

has beaten his brother in most things, and I thought he would beat him

in getting a wife. And then Thora and he are such friends, too, and so

like each other!"

"They get on worst together who are most like each other," said Anna;

and Aunt Margret said:

"Stuff! A dark man's a jewel in a fair woman's eye, and what does Thora

want with a fair one?"

"But where is Thora?" asked the Bishop.

"She's dressing," said Aunt Margret. "Let us go and fetch her down,

Anna," and the two women went up-stairs.

"Magnus ought to be here, too," said the Governor. "Where is he, I

wonder?"

"Were you asking for Magnus?" said a voice from the hall. It was the

Sheriff--a small man with a sly face, wearing a gold-braided uniform

like the Governor's.

"He's at the warehouse, isn't he? Or is he still at the jetty?" asked

the Factor.

"No," said the Sheriff entering. "To tell you the truth, when I passed

the hotel he was sitting in the smoking-room."

"The smoking-room of the hotel?" said the Governor.

The Factor laughed. "Treating his friends in advance of the event, I

suppose! It's bad to let the sledge go ahead of the horse, though."

"No," said the Sheriff again. "To tell you the truth, he was quite

alone."

"Drinking?" asked the Governor.

"Nonsense, Stephen! Magnus does not drink," said the Factor.

"I hope not, but I'm always afraid of it. His grandfather on the

maternal side, you know----"

"Ah, nobody knows what is inside another's coat," said the Bishop.

"Anna's father had some trouble in his head--must have had."

"Even diseases are inherited," said the Governor.

"But the old man drank after he buried his wife, not before he married

her," said the Rector.

And then Aunt Margret and Anna returned to the room saying, "Here she is

at last!" bringing Thora in her simple velvet costume called the kirtle,

with silver belt, bell sleeves, and white lace about the neck.

The Governor took Thora in his arms and kissed her. "But how pale, my

child!" he said.

"You may well say so, Governor," said Aunt Margret. "She has been crying

since early morning."

"Crying?" said the Factor. "Now, I never can understand why a woman

must always cry when she is going to be married; it's such a bad

compliment to her husband."

"But I agree with Thora," said the Governor. "If ever there is a time

to cry, or, at least, to feel grave and anxious, it is just that moment

of life when it is customary to dance and sing as if you were setting

out on a triumphal procession instead of taking a leap into the dark."

"And I agree with the Governor," said the Bishop. "When I see a bride

crying so bitterly at the altar that she can hardly utter the responses,

I generally know she is going to be a happy wife."

"Thora might wait until the wedding, though," said Aunt Margret, and

then Oscar came dashing into the room.

"Out walking--lost count of the time--only six minutes to dress--did it

in five," he said, in breathless gasps.

"He's another pale one," laughed the Rector. "Has there been a frost

overnight that has nipped all our rose-buds?"

"Been running to get here," said Oscar, "but I've raced Magnus it

seems."

"Magnus has raced you in another way, my boy," said the Rector, nodding

his head toward Thora, who was blushing and looking down; whereupon the

Governor muttered:

"Oscar must not dream of marriage yet awhile. He has his career to

think about, and he has not been too earnest about it hitherto."

"Well, my experience in business," said the Factor, "is that when a

woman marries she slackens off, but when a man marries he tightens up."

At that the Sheriff nudged the Rector, who whispered:

"The Factor has still another daughter, Rector."

"What, if he has?" said the Factor. "A man can't have two

sisters-in-law to one brother."

"No, but he can give his brother a sister-in-law, too," said the Rector,

and then everybody laughed.

"That reminds me," said the Factor, "Helga sent us a photograph the

other day. Where is it, Thora?"

"Here it is," said Thora, taking a photograph out of a drawer. Oscar

held out his hand for it, and looked at it long and earnestly.

"How fine! I've scarcely ever seen such a splendid face! Quite grown

up, too! Is Helga coming home soon, Factor?"

"Not very soon," said the Factor.

And then the lawyer came in with a large portfolio of papers and laid

them on the table.

"Ha, ha!" laughed the Hector. "A rich man's child needs a careful

christening, it seems!"

"You're right, Rector, and it has taken my clerk the entire day to

engross the contract, but it was not that which kept me until now--it

was this!"

"The rings!" cried the two elder women, as the lawyer took a small plush

box from his pocket.

"Yes, you may remember that when the rings had to be ordered yesterday

morning, Magnus could not be found anywhere, so I was compelled to order

them myself. Well, I thought I gave careful instructions, but the idea

is abroad in the town, do you know, that it is Oscar, not Magnus, who is

to marry Thora--nobody believes anything else--so what does Olaf, the

silversmith, do but write 'Oscar' on the inside of one of the rings!"

"Never!" said Oscar, trying to laugh with the others.

"Yes, indeed, and the error was not discovered until the very last

moment, and then all I could do, as you see, was to have 'Oscar'

erased--it was too late to have 'Magnus' inscribed instead."

"Where is Magnus, I wonder?" said the Governor, walking restlessly

before the window.

"Don't be anxious about Magnus, Stephen," said Anna. "He grows more and

more like my poor father. If father promised to be somewhere at a

certain time he would turn up to the minute if he had to kill a couple

of ponies in getting there."

The cathedral clock struck five at that moment, and sure enough before

the clang of the last stroke had died away Magnus walked into the room.

He looked slack and almost untidy in his pea jacket and long boots, and

was the only person in the room who had not troubled to dress for the

occasion. The Governor's face darkened at sight of him, and the Factor

said in a tone of vexation:

"Well, let us get to work and have it over--I've been spoiling for a

smoke this half-hour."

The lawyer opened his portfolio, and the company gathered about the

table, whereupon Aunt Margret cried:

"Magnus, do you allow of this? Here's Oscar sitting beside Thora."

"Don't disturb him," said Magnus. "This is good enough for me," and he

took a low seat by the side of his mother.

"Now, come," said the Factor, "let the one who has the best voice start

the singing."

"It must be the lawyer, then," said the Rector, "for every lawyer has a

voice of silver--passes it for silver anyway."

And then, amid the general laughter, the lawyer opened the marriage

contract and began to read.

*XI*

The company listened intently, and at the close of every clause the

Governor, who was resting his head on his hand and his elbow on the

table, said: "Good!" "Very good!" "Generous!" "Most generous!"

When the lawyer had finished, the other old people leaned back and drew

long breaths of satisfaction, but the Governor rose and crossed to the

Factor and shook hands with him, saying: "Just like you, old friend!"

The Factor was gratified by the reception of the document and became

bright and almost humorous. Imitating the manner of the auctioneer, he

cried: "Anybody bid higher? Then going--going--go----"

"Wait!" said the Governor. "Hadn't we better ask the opinion of the

young people themselves? After all, they are the persons ultimately

concerned, and though a cow seldom kicks when you are carrying her

clover----"

There was a general titter, a nodding of many heads and muttered

responses of "Just so!" "Just a matter of form!"

"Very well! Thora, what do you say?" said the Factor, expecting a burst

of rapturous approval, but Thora only answered timidly:

"I don't know. Hadn't you better ask Magnus first?"

"Certainly, my dear--Magnus first, as a matter of course. What do you

say, Magnus? Any suggestion to make? Any little improvement? How do

you like the contract?"

There was an awkward silence which astonished the older people, and then

came a great surprise. Magnus, who had been sitting with his head down,

raised a white and firm-set face and answered:

"I do not like the contract at all, Factor, and I cannot sign it."

At this there were looks of bewilderment among the older people, who

seemed to be uncertain if they had heard aright, while Thora and Oscar,

who partly understood, seemed to be struggling to catch their breath.

The Factor was the first to recover his self-possession, and he said,

with a slightly supercilious accent:

"Is that so? I thought I knew something of these matters; but if you

think you can draw up a better document, Magnus----"

But then the Governor interposed: "Some trifle, no doubt," he said

suavely. "Magnus will explain. What is the point you object to, my

son?"

There was another moment of tense silence, and then Magnus said in a

harsh voice:

"By this contract I am required to live in Iceland all my life--that's

slavery, and I will not submit to it."

"But, my dear Magnus," said Anna, "don't you see the reason for that?

To all intents and purposes Thora is the Factor's only daughter--his

only child--and if she goes away, who is to cheer him up and make home

bright for him? Be reasonable, Magnus!"

"Anna, hadn't we better let the young man finish?" said the Factor. "He

may have other objections. Have you?"

"Yes," said Magnus. "According to this contract I am to be taken into

partnership on marrying Thora, but only on a quarter share. Partnership

is partnership, and where there are two partners it should be half and

half--I must have half."

The company listened in consternation, and the Factor began to laugh.

"Why not?" he said in a cynical tone. "Everything is hay in hard

weather. I'm so hard up for a son-in-law that I shouldn't stick at a

trifle."

"Old friend," said the Governor, "let us not be too hasty. Perhaps

Magnus has not made himself quite plain."

"As plain as a pikestaff. He wants an equal partnership. But perhaps

that is not all. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, there is, sir," said Magnus, in a rather aggressive manner. "By

this deed, when you retire I am to take over the business, but I am only

to have one-third share of the profits. I must have two-thirds."

"In--deed!" said the Factor. "Do you know I thought if I allowed you to

come into the business that I had made, and to work it with my plant and

my capital, one-third was generous."

"Most generous!" said the Governor, mopping his forehead. "But Magnus

is slow--slow both of thought and speech. He must have some

explanation. What do you mean, Magnus? Take your time and speak

plainly."

"I mean, sir," said Magnus, "that the barter business in Iceland will

break up before long. When the Factor retires--perhaps before--his

business will be worth nothing--not even the name, for that will be less

than nothing. A new business will have to be created, and if I am to

create it I must have two-thirds of the profits, leaving one-third for

the use of the Factor's money."

The Factor was losing his temper. "Why any at all?" he said. "Why not

kick me out altogether? No use beating a dog with a cheese when a whip

is handy."

The company were murmuring at Magnus, when the Governor interposed

again. "Magnus," he said, "to say I'm astonished is to say nothing.

The Factor has treated you with boundless liberality, but no well is so

deep that it can't be emptied, and if you go any farther----"

"Go any farther!" said the Factor. "Why shouldn't he go farther? It

isn't fair play between the wind and a straw, but why shouldn't he beat

me about a little more? Anything else to ask, sir?"

"Yes," said Magnus, without the change of a muscle. "By this contract

my wife is to inherit half her father's fortune at his death--she must

inherit the whole of it."

"Good Lord!"

The exclamation seemed to come from everybody in the general chorus of

condemnation which followed.

"Are you dreaming?" cried the Governor. "Do you forget that the Factor

has another daughter?"

"No, sir, I do not forget it," said Magnus. "But the other daughter has

gone away with her mother; she may never come back; and after Thora has

spent her life by her father's side--cheering him up and making his home

bright, as mother says--and, perhaps, nursing him in his last days--is

somebody else, who has done nothing, to sweep off half of all he leaves

behind? No! My wife--if I marry--must have everything!"

The older people, both strangers and members of the family, broke into

loud expressions of dissent, while the Factor looked round at them, and

said, "An eagle isn't displeased with a dead sheep, is it? And so, Mr.

Governor's son," he said, wheeling about on Magnus, "these are the only

terms on which you will do me the honor to marry my daughter?"

Without noticing the sneer, Magnus answered "Yes."

"Well, I must say I'm deceived in Magnus," said Aunt Margret. "I didn't

think he had a selfish thought in his heart."

"I didn't think," said the Factor, who was not laughing any longer, "I

didn't think the son of anybody in Iceland could afford to turn up his

nose at a daughter of mine."

"Neilsen," said the Governor, firmly, "we have been friends since we

were boys, and neither of us knows which will bury the other--don't let

us quarrel now over the conduct of our children."

The company murmured approval, and then the Governor turned once more to

Magnus.

"My son--for you are my son, though I'm at a loss to understand it--you

are making a breach between two families by asking these utterly

impossible terms! Don't you see they are impossible? Have you taken

leave of your senses? Are you quite mad? Or is it true that you have

been drinking--that you are drunk? Good God!"

Magnus made no answer, but the painful silence which followed the

Governor's outburst was broken by a pitiful cry. It came from Thora.

She understood everything at last; she knew what Magnus was doing for

her and the price he was going to pay for it; and she wanted to cry out,

but could not; so she dropped her head on Aunt Margret's shoulder and

wept bitterly.

Anna mistook Thora's tears for shame and humiliation, and turning to

Magnus she said:

"My dear son, you haven't thought of things in the right way or you

couldn't do what you are doing. I don't like these marriage contracts

myself. It seems like a tempting of Providence to talk about money and

business just when two souls who love one another are joining themselves

together and becoming one. But you are making it worse, Magnus--you are

making it a mere bargain. And, then, think of Thora! If you refuse her

father's offer everybody will hear of it, and the poor girl will be

shamed. Do you want to see that, Magnus? I'm sure you do not! So come

now, for Thora's sake--even though you don't quite like the Factor's

conditions, for Thora's sake, Magnus--will you not?"

Everybody waited for Magnus's reply, and even Thora raised her head.

"No," said Magnus, in a voice like a growl, and then he sat with a

stolid face while the condemnation of the company fell upon him in a

chorus of denunciation. "Infamous!" "Hateful!" "Execrable!"

"Damnable!" "The man's heart must be as black as a raven."

Oscar could bear no more. He had been sitting silent, with head down,

as if trying to hide his agitated face, while turning Helga's photograph

over and over in his restless fingers; but now he rose, walked to the

curtains, which divided the front room from the back, parted them with a

trembling hand, and looked out over the lake on which the sun was

setting.

"Don't go away, Oscar," cried the Governor. "I know you are disgusted

with your brother's turpitude; but I want you to speak to him for all

that. It is hardly likely that having refused to pay attention to his

mother or me, he should listen to you or anybody else, but try him. For

the honor of the family, tell him that if he adheres to the attitude he

has taken up, he will be an object of hatred and contempt. As long as

he lives people will despise him, and his family will be ashamed to

acknowledge his name. If he has no love for Thora, see if he has any

respect for himself. Speak to your brother, Oscar, for mercy's sake,

speak to him."

Oscar's hand on the curtain shook visibly, and he said, with an effort,

while all listened without breathing, and Thora's parted lips quivered:

"I cannot do that, father. I do not feel that I have any right. No

doubt Magnus knows as well as we do what he is doing, and has counted

all the consequences. Everybody has to live his own life."

At this there was a murmur of disappointment, and the Governor, turning

away, walked to the window. Then Oscar stepped back to the table, and

said, more firmly, yet with as much emotion:

"But if I cannot appeal to Magnus, there is something I can do--I can

offer to take Magnus's place. If you and the Factor will consent I can

accept the conditions of the contract just as they are, and be only too

proud to marry Thora if she will accept me."

At first there were looks of blank amazement about the table, then a

general sigh of relief, and everybody seemed to be saying at once,

"Good!" "Splendid!" "The very thing!"

"Yes," said the voice of the Governor, husky with emotion, "it is just

like Oscar--always doing the great thing! But in a matter which so

intimately concerns the boy's future welfare I cannot allow a momentary

impulse of generosity----"

"It isn't a momentary impulse, father. Since I came home from England I

have learnt to love Thora. But she was engaged to my brother, and I

couldn't speak until Magnus had spoken----"

"Honorable!" "Most honorable!" said several voices, and it was with

difficulty that Oscar could go on.

"But now--if it is understood that Magnus retires, that is to say,

refuses to marry Thora----"

"He does, undoubtedly he does," said the Factor.

"And if Thora will take me----"

Every eye looked toward Thora; she hesitated for a moment, then rose

from her chair and timidly held out her hand. Oscar grasped it eagerly

and there was a chorus of congratulation.

"But we cannot allow Thora, either, to be carried away by a momentary

impulse," said Aunt Margret, who was vigorously wiping her eyes, "and if

she's only doing this to escape from a shameful position----"

"I'm not, auntie," said Thora. "I only consented to marry Magnus

because my father wished it, but I love Oscar, and if father will

agree----"

The Factor's eyes were sparkling with the light of triumph, and he cried

across to the Governor, "What do _you_ say, Stephen?"

"Well, I must say it's fast ambling--too fast," said the Governor, "but

if the young people are satisfied, and if Oscar is content to give up

his career in England--his music and his studies--and live in Iceland

all his life, it may save a breach between our families and tide us over

an ugly reef----"

"Then so be it, godson," cried the Factor, slapping Oscar on the back,

"and as for England, I'll take care of that!"

This was received with a shout of approval from the strangers, and then

the Factor called to the lawyer to alter the names in the contract and

get it signed without delay.

"As for you, sir," he said, turning to Magnus, and snapping his fingers

in his face, "your ugly chickens have come home to roost. You thought

you could corner me, but your selfishness and worldliness have done the

work that everybody seems to have wanted. Ha, ha, ha! he laughs best

who laughs last! There's nothing I like better than to dish a man who

tries to dish me, and I'll go to bed happy to-night."

Magnus had risen from his low seat and was standing with his head down

and his hands on his hips while the storm beat over him, and thinking he

was still unmoved the Factor burst upon him again in a tone of biting

raillery:

"But if the barter trade is going to the dogs, hadn't you better cut it

before the crash comes? Heavy is the fall, you know, when an old man

tumbles, and I might crush you coming down. I'll trouble you to leave

my house, sir, without a day's delay."

"Father!" cried Thora, and she stepped between them, but the Factor

brushed her aside.

"You get away, Thora. If a daughter of mine had done to me what he has

tried to do to-day she wouldn't have a roof to cover her to-night."