"Will you?"

"Indeed I will. But we are going south, you know."

"I know."

"To England and France--perhaps to Italy."

"It will do you good, Thora. The sun will do you good. And you will see

the fruit and the flowers growing--it will be beautiful."

"Will it not?"

The piano was becoming louder, and there was a sound of shuffling

feet--the people in the sitting-room were beginning to dance.

"And what do you think--Helga is going with us," said Thora.

"Helga!"

"Didn't Anna tell you?"

"Is Helga to go with you to Italy?"

"Oh, yes, and we are delighted to have her. She's so clever and

bright--Oscar can never be dull for a moment while Helga is with us."

The grave face looked sideways for a moment, and then he said, in a

still gentler voice:

"I hope you'll be happy on your journey, Thora."

"I'm sure I shall. We shall all be happy. We sail by the 'Laura'

to-morrow morning."

"So mother told me--I've been taking your baggage aboard and seeing to

your cabin."

"And you have been doing that while we----"

"I wanted to do something for you, Thora."

"But, Magnus, you ought to have been here by rights. Oscar always wished

it. In fact he wanted you to be his best man."

"Oscar did?"

"Indeed he did, but you couldn't be found, because you had gone on your

journey."

Over the sound of the music and the dancing the Governor's voice came

from within, mingled with the Factor's hearty laughter.

"Perhaps it was just as well I was away," said Magnus. "The old people

have never forgiven me for what I did, and if they ever came to suspect

that somebody else was responsible----"

He stopped, and then Thora dropped her eyes and said:

"I was so glad you were in the cathedral."

"It was beautiful," said Magnus.

"You have no feeling against Oscar now?"

"Not now. When I saw you kneeling together at the communion rails I

thought of the day when we all knelt there. And then--then Oscar was my

little brother once again."

"Magnus--won't you--won't you kiss me?"

He hesitated for a moment, but she held her sweet face up to him--pure

as a saint's and wet with tears--and he opened his great arms and

gathered the little white figure to his breast and kissed her on the

forehead under the bridal crown.

"Good-by, little girl, and God bless you and make you very happy. But

if you ever want me say 'Come,' and I'll come to you--if it's to the

farthest corner of the earth."

Thora began to cry audibly and Magnus bustled about and made for the

door. He must be off, he had a long journey before him.

"And then Silvertop is outside--I must not keep him waiting.

"Silvertop?"

"Mother told me to take care of him until you return--so I'm taking him

back to the farm."

"Let me say good-by to him," said Thora.

Magnus covered her from head to foot in the bear's skin and led her down

the steps to the street. It was dark, but the stars were out and the

northern lights were cleaving the sky as with the sweep of a mighty

saber. All was white and silent, save for the deadened beat of the

piano and the thud of the feet of the dancers. Two horses, saddled and

bridled, stood quietly in the snow with their reins hanging over their

heads, and Magnus, mounting one of them, said:

"This is Golden Mane--Silvertop's big brother."

Thora found her own pony, stroked its ears and kissed its nose, and then

fled back to the door out of the frosty air.

"Good brothers go well together; we'll be home by midnight," cried

Magnus.

Thora watched them go. A glittering shaft of the aurora lit up the

three as they turned the corner of the road--Magnus riding Golden Mane,

and Silvertop, with an empty saddle, running briskly beside him.

*XII*

When Thora returned to the sitting-room Oscar and Helga, both with

sparkling eyes and flushed faces, were waltzing vigorously. Then Thora

herself danced with the Governor, the Factor, the Hector, and, of

course, with Oscar. But the room grew hot and stuffy, too full of

excitement, and after a while Thora became pale and faint. Seeing this,

after Aunt Margret had called attention to it, Oscar began to say it was

time to break up. The young men bantered him ("Want to get rid of us,

eh?") and Helga, who grew more and more hysterical, protested that the

evening was still young, but Oscar sent his bride up-stairs to prepare

for the journey to her husband's house.

"Let us all take her home, then," said one of the bridesmaids, and when

Thora reappeared, muffled up for her night walk, with only eyes, nose,

and mouth visible, she was surrounded by a group of merry girls,

similarly bandaged, and chirping over her like linnets in spring.

At last the final moment came when Thora had to leave her father's house

for good, and then Aunt Margret, whose face had become grotesquely long

and watery, broke down altogether.

"It's no use," she said. "I'm losing her, and I don't know what they'll

do with my precious now."

"Nonsense, Margret," said the Factor. "Oscar will take care of her."

"He'd better, or I'll murder him," said Aunt Margret; and the idea of

Aunt Margret murdering anybody was so amusing to the company that they

broke up merrily.

The Factor's family went to the door to see them off, and Helga, who was

hot with dancing and excitement, but wore no wraps, stood on the top of

the steps holding a lamp above her head to light them down the road. It

was a paraffin lamp with a glass reservoir, but she paid no heed to any

warning.

"Take care, Helga, do take care," said Oscar, but she only cried:

"Good night, pleasant dreams!" and continued to wave the flickering lamp

above her head.

"Helga, for mercy's sake, Helga!" shouted Oscar, and Thora said:

"Yes, dear, don't let us have an accident on our wedding-day."

"The better the day the better the deed," cried Helga, and she sent a

ringing, hysterical laugh after them as they disappeared in the

darkness.

The wedding party went off in two batches, Oscar in the midst of the

young men, whose arms were round his shoulders, and Thora in the midst

of the young women, who were holding her by the waist and stopping at

intervals to whisper mischievous messages in her ears. The crisp snow

crackled under their feet, and the starry sky, with its northern lights,

pulsed and throbbed like the hearts in their bosoms.

When they came to the gate of Government House somebody suggested that

Oscar, as a zealous Sagaman, ought to carry out the ancient custom of

lifting his bride across the threshold; and then to Thora's delight,

amid a squealing chorus of laughter, Oscar picked her up in his arms and

carried her into the house, where Anna (who had gone on ahead) smuggled

her up-stairs while the others went into the drawing-room to drink the

last toast before parting.

A bright fire was burning in the bridal chamber, the curtains were

drawn, the bed was laid open, and the room looked like a white nest of

eiderdown when Thora, with a fluttering heart, stepped into it.

"What a day it has been!" she said.

"Hasn't it?" said Anna, closing the door behind them.

"Well, I can always say I had a wonderful wedding-day, can't I?"

"Indeed, you can. A woman has only two days in her life that are her

own--her very own--and her wedding-day is one of them."

"And what is the other day, Anna?"

"The other? Oh, the other day is too far away for you to think about it

yet, but all the days between belong to somebody else--her children or

her husband."

"But how sweet! How beautiful! To live in your husband, to give up

everything to him, your life, yourself, everything! There's happiness

in that, isn't there, Anna?"

"Indeed, there is, my dear, and pain, too, perhaps. But there's

something better in this life than happiness, Thora, and that's

blessedness, you know."

This made Thora think of Magnus, but she heard Oscar laughing in the

room below, and soon forgot everything else in a delicious shuddering

which suddenly came over her. Anna helped her to undress, and when the

crown and the kirtle were laid aside, she moved about for some moments

without speaking. Then she said, softly:

"Will you go to bed now, dearest, or shall I give you your

dressing-gown?"

"Give me my dressing-gown," said Thora faintly.

Anna moved about on tiptoe a moment or two longer, turning the lamp down

and fixing the shade. Then she opened the door and stood for an instant

on the threshold looking back at Thora where she sat combing out her

hair before the stove. All at once her middle-aged, homely face became

young and beautiful by the magic of a memory of her own, and going

softly back she kissed Thora without saying a word, and then crept

silently out of the room.

Left alone, Thora looked timidly around her, and seeing things of

Oscar's lying among her own she felt a new and still more delicious

sense of happiness. During the days preceding the wedding she had

thought that as soon as the service in the cathedral had come to an end

and she was Oscar's wife a mysterious change would come over her, but

that had not been so, and all day long she had felt quite the same. But

now it was different, and in this room she had become another being--not

herself only, but Oscar also. It was very sweet and beautiful, but it

was a little frightening, too, and to ease her fast-beating heart she

got into bed and covered up her face.

She could hear the company breaking up below, and a little later she

heard their footsteps crunching the snow under her window, which fronted

the road. They stood there and sang a bridal song. It was the song of

the "Two Roses."

The winter was cold and the ground was white, but two roses of love

still grew in the garden of God. The frost could not freeze the two

roses of love, for they were warmed by the air of heaven; the sun could

not scorch the two roses of love, for they were watered from the well of

life. Two roses of love on a single stem; two roses of love in two fond

young hearts; two roses of love and joy!

When the song came to an end there was some merry giggling under the

window, followed by shouts of "Good night, Thora!" "Happy dreams!"

Then as the company went off they started the bridal song again, and in

her mind's eye Thora could see them going back to the town, arm in arm,

young girls and young men.

Thora listened to the voices dying down the street, and for a moment all

life seemed to be set to the music of love; Oscar and she would be

children always, never growing older, but rambling hand in hand through

a flowery world where everybody loved them and they loved everybody, and

there could be no real trouble because love was all in all.

But just then the cathedral clock struck eleven, and she remembered

Magnus. She could see him crossing the desolate white heath under the

shooting stream of the northern lights--a lonesome man riding one horse,

while another, with an empty saddle, was running by his side. Poor

Magnus! But there was no help for it!

The voices died away in the distance, and there was a moment of silence

in the cozy nest--a warm, muffled, secret kind of silence, broken by

nothing but the underthrob of the ceaseless sea. Thora closed her eyes

and held her breath. How happy she was! She was trembling like a bird

caught and held in the hand, but even her fear was full of happiness.

At the next moment there was a noiseless footstep on the floor, a sense

of somebody in the room, and then--Oscar was leaning over her and

kissing her on the lips.

*PART III*

_Yet ah, that spring should vanish with the rose!_

_That youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!_

_The nightingale that in the branches sang,_

_Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows?_

*I*

The wedding being over, and the wedding party gone, Anna went on a visit

to Magnus in order to bear him company during the first weeks of his

first winter, and to see that his house was in order.

The farm was thirty-odd miles from the capital, not far from the scene

of the sheep-gathering and in the middle of the great plain of

Thingvellir--an historic spot, formerly the place of the Icelandic

parliament, for the neglected Mount of Laws may still be seen there.

There were only two houses on the plain--the farmhouse and the

parsonage, with its little church beside it. The farmhouse was the

larger of the two, and being on the line of road from the capital to the

chief market of the Northland it had become a resting place for

travelers.

The Inn-farm had belonged to Anna's family for many generations and her

father had been the last to hold it. He was a worthy man, silent and

serious, much like Magnus in personal character, but he left the place

badly embarrassed, having fallen into the hands of a defaulting factor.

After his daughter married he lost his wife and then he died

suddenly--people said of drink. Since then the estate had been twenty

years in the hands of a steward, but the Governor had paid off the

mortgage out of the savings of his salary and the farm was free.

It was an endless delight to Anna to bring the place back to its former

condition. She began with the sleeping accommodation, for sin comes

with a laugh, she said, but goes with a cry. The shepherd and his wife

she put in the upper bedroom (the Badstofa), the maids in the lower one,

and the farm-boys in the loft. Each of the rooms was under its own

roof, and the homestead as a whole was less like a single house than a

group of houses, or like a gipsy encampment, with its peaked tents going

off in different directions. The principal apartment was a large square

hall, with two guest-rooms opening out of it. Magnus was to sleep in

one of these guest rooms, except when both were wanted for travelers,

and then he was to lie on a mattress stretched on the floor.

Anna inspected the kitchen (the Elt House) and the storehouse (the

Skemma)--examined the winter's stock of potted meat and dried and salted

cod and whale, and put a lock on the Bur, for seldom does the

servant-maid starve in the larder, she said. Finally she turned her

attention to the Hall, which was the general living room, and furnished

it afresh with a settle, an armchair, a Bornholme clock, and a big

German stove. As a finishing stroke she hung two large photographs on

the walls, one of the Governor, the other of herself. The Governor was

gorgeous in his gold-braided uniform, but she was homely in her black

hufa, and on second thoughts she would have taken her own picture down

but Magnus said something nice about it and she allowed it to remain.

Anna's visit was a long one, but as often as she prepared to go, saying

home was the best place for the stupid, Magnus answered that in that

case Gudrun must unpack her trunk, for the Governor could not be

expecting her. In this way she stayed at Thingvellir until the snow

began to be honeycombed by the thaw and the ribs of the landscape to be

revealed again.

Meantime her life at the farm was simple and primitive and every day had

its own duty. Before it was light in the morning she rang the bell in

the hall which awakened the household, and sent the maids to the

shippons and the boys to the beasts in their pens. And when the short

day had closed in she rang the bell again for supper, and finally for

prayers, when the house-father (Magnus now) gave out a hymn and read a

lesson.

On Sunday she went to church, and met the fifty-odd people who had

ridden over from the farms that bordered the plain. She sat in the seat

in front of the communion rail, with its picture of Christ in white

robes among warm eastern foliage. Magnus sat in the choir and put up

the figures on the plate that gave the numbers of the hymns. He had

little voice and no music, but Anna listened and was happy.

Though the nights were long the household was never idle. While the

servants had to mend and make blankets in their own quarters, Magnus

would weave on a loom he set up in the hall and his mother would spin or

knit stockings. He was full of great projects again, and though his

former schemes were impossible to him now he had others of equal

consequence.

What Iceland wanted was roads; roads were the landmarks of civilization;

without roads the most productive country in the world could not

prosper, for what was the use of a cow that gave much milk if it kicked

over the pail?

Night after night in the pauses of the loom Anna had to listen to this

story and to assent to the schemes that were tied on to it. Yes, Magnus

was going to be very comfortable and she could go home in content.

"After all, perhaps everything was for the best," she said, "and if

there were only a mistress in the house----"

But Magnus rattled at the loom and nothing more was heard for some

moments.

"John and Gudrun are very well, in their way, but it's thin blood that

isn't thicker than water, and when I go back----"

The loom rattled still louder.

"But a young man who couldn't be satisfied with a girl like Thora isn't

likely to find many to his liking."

And then the loom rattled louder than ever, and nothing more was said

that night.

*II*

At intervals during Anna's visit to the farm there came news of the

wedding party--the letters being sent on by the weekly post from

Government House and from the Factor's. The first to come was from

England, and it was a joint letter to everybody written by all three of

the wanderers. Oscar began it, with a playful review of their journey

from the time of the departure of the "Laura."

"As soon as we set foot on the ship we were told that Captain Zimsen had

given up his own cabin to us, and from that hour to this everybody has

shown us boundless hospitality, especially father's old college friends,

the professor at Oxford and the banker here in London. Naturally we

know we owe everything to the magic of the Governor's name, and

consequently I am cultivating an extraordinary reverence for it, though

I doubt if I shall ever find it more beautiful than I did on the morning

of our wedding at the bottom of that splendid check."

"Ha, ha, the mouse knows where to come back for his cheese," said Anna.

Helga came next, with a glowing account of the London theaters,

opera-houses, and picture-galleries.

"The half had not been told me, as the big Book says, and I wonder more

than ever why a poor girl should be doomed to waste her life in a

wilderness when she might live in a world of so many clever and

beautiful people."

"M'm! It's poor work pouring water on a rock," said Anna.

Thora came last with a rather sad little note. It was all very

wonderful, no doubt, but she was feeling just a wee bit home-sick. Did

not care so very much for operas and picture-galleries, so Oscar had to

take Helga by herself.

"I like best to sit in the window of the hotel and look at the crowds in

the square. Such multitudes! Always going and coming and hardly

anybody ever speaking to anybody else! That's what strikes you at first

as most extraordinary. It is so strange to think that the people in the

streets do not even know each other by sight, and that every young woman

who goes by has her own family somewhere--her own husband and perhaps

her own children--and that she is hurrying away to them. I don't know

why, but it makes me feel so lonely, and then I almost want to be back

in my dear, sweet, homely old Iceland."

Magnus had to read this letter aloud--for Anna was no reader of

handwriting--and when he came to Thora's part his voice thickened and

broke.

The next letter came from Paris, and Helga wrote the whole of it.

"Such sights! Such luxury! Such gaiety! And such dreams of dresses!

And then the opera--Chopin, Verdi, Wagner, Greig! We are at the opera

every night--that is to say, Oscar and I are, Thora not caring very much

for music. Thora's chief pleasure is to walk in the flower market by

the Madeleine and watch the children playing, and look as if she wished

she were one of them."

"Just like our Thora," said Anna.

"Neils is here--Neils Finsen you know. Neils has finished his course at

the Musical College, and is connected in some way with Covent Garden and

has come to Paris on managerial business. He seems to be getting along

wonderfully and it makes me feel almost envious. Oh, to get on in life!

To escape forever from that grey sky and all those freezing

surroundings! What I would give to do it! Nothing should stand between

me and success in life if I only saw the chance of it. And who

knows--perhaps I may some day! Neils declares that my voice has

improved wonderfully and I am practising constantly. But to have any

real opportunity in music one ought to be here or in London or Dresden,

and it is so expensive. I'm nearly penniless as it is, and I am so

shockingly dowdy that if some one does not send me----"

The letter was to the Factor and he had cut away the end of it.

"M'm! M'm!" said Anna. "What the Miss is used to, the Misses keeps

up." And then they ate their supper of smoked mutton and black bread in

silence and rang the bell for prayers.

The third letter from the wedding party came from Italy, and it was

written by Oscar only. The post that brought it had been delayed by a

snow-storm, and had sheltered two nights on the Moss Fell Heath. At the

Inn-farm the cattle-pens had been completely buried, and Magnus and the

men had worked up to their waists from daylight to dark, digging a way

out of the snow that the beasts might be fed and watered.

"The world will be white with you in Iceland, but here in Italy the

roses are in bud, and the sky is blue and the air is balmy. What a time

we have had of it! We came down from Venice, the city of silence and

dream, through Florence, the city of sunshine, and Rome, the mother of

cities, to Naples, the city of song. Italy seems to set all Europe to

music! Lovely and beloved Italy! If only some one could do the same

for Iceland! Rugged, gaunt, grand old Iceland! But wait--only

wait--perhaps somebody will do it yet!"

"Ah, Oscar, Oscar," said Anna, "it's easier to count twelve mountains

than to climb one."

"Helga is enjoying the trip tremendously. Out every minute of the day

and making friends on every side. Thora does not seem so well, poor

child, and she hardly cares to go about. We are going on to the Riviera

next week and thence back to Iceland. I must, of course, be home for

the opening of Althing, but Helga is grudging every day. It is now two

o'clock in the morning and we have just returned from a Veglioni--that

is to say a masque ball--this (yesterday) being the last of Lent.

Flowers, streamers, confetti, and such dresses! Helga looked

magnificent in a pale blue chiffon of the latest model and was, out of

all comparison, the belle of the evening. Poor Thora did not care to

go, so she stayed in the hotel and went to bed early."

Magnus and his mother also went to bed early on the night they read that

letter. Anna rung the bell that hung from the ceiling of the hall, and

the servants in their skin slippers and woolen stockings trooped in for

prayers. The lesson was the story of the widow's cruise and the hymn

was--

"Meek and low, meek and low,

I shall soon my Jesus know."

The last letter they received from the wanderers came on the first day

of spring, when the thaw had set in, and the water was running down the

discolored snow on the mountains like tears on a wrinkled face, and the

sheep were beginning to lamb. It was from Monte Carlo and was written

by Thora to Anna herself.

"This place is so beautiful, Anna, yet I do not think I like it very

much. The houses are all splendid palaces, but they don't seem so

comfortable as the little homes in Iceland. I dare not say this to

Oscar, lest he should think me ungrateful, and certainly there is no fog

or mist here, and no big white waves, because the sea is always blue;

and of course the trees are so wonderful and the blossoms so beautiful!

Sometimes they have a carnival, and then wagon-loads of flowers are

flung about everywhere; but next day it is quite pitiful to see the

lovely roses that have been trampled upon being swept up in the streets.

"In the afternoon a band plays in a garden and you drive in a carriage

round and round it. At night you go to a restaurant--bigger than the

Artisan's Institute--and there another band plays while you eat your

dinner--two or three hundred at once, and all the ladies in low dresses.

After that you go to a Casino, where all is silent and rather dark and

people sit round tables and play cards for money. Everybody plays cards

here because everybody seems to be always taking a holiday."

"Ah, but the devil never does," said Anna.

"It is shocking to hear, though, how much is sometimes lost in a moment.

Last night Oscar pointed out a pale-faced young man who had gambled away

the whole of his estate--larger and more valuable than the Inn-farm

itself. They say he had not intended to play at all when he went into

the room, but the fever mastered him and he could not resist it.

"Ay, ay, we don't see the ruts when the snow covers them," said Anna.

"It made me feel ill and I couldn't stay any longer, but Helga wished to

remain, so Oscar put me in a carriage and I came back to the hotel and

went to bed. I do wish Helga were not so fond of such places. She is,

however, and as a consequence Oscar is compelled to go with her,

although he does not want to, and sometimes he comes back very

depressed. Since we came here his sleep has been much broken, and his

manner very restless. I shall be glad when we leave this place.

"But we have had such a wonderful time altogether, and Oscar has been so

kind to me and I have been so happy. All the same, I shall be glad to

be home again, to see all the dear old faces--yours and Auntie Margret's

and father's and the Governor's. I suppose Magnus does not talk of me

now--does he? How is Silvertop? Tell Magnus to rub his ears for me and

kiss his rough old nose. What a romp we'll have over the Heath some

day! But I suppose I must not romp too much now, must I? It is so

strange, Anna--there are hardly any babies about this place! Not like

Italy, where you see them everywhere, with their poor little legs

wrapped up like a mummy's.

"We are to be back for the first of summer, and I'm counting the days

already. Give our love to everybody and if anybody asks after me in

particular say I am so well and so happy."

The loom in the hall lay idle on the night when Magnus read this letter.

Nobody spoke until Anna lit two candles and gave one of them to Magnus,

saying:

"Here! You're tired, and no wonder, being up before daybreak. How many

lambs this morning, Magnus?"

"Twenty-two, but one of the best of them is dead."

"That's the way of it always. Good night!"

"Good night!"

At the door of his bedroom Magnus paused, candle in hand.

"Mother!"

"Well?"

"Do you think she is so very happy?"

"Our Thora? God knows, my son!" said Anna.

*III*

The snow was gone and the pale ground was green and golden with the

raiment and the jewels of spring when the travelers returned to Iceland.

Rounding the head of the fiord in the early morning, when the little

capital was smoking for breakfast, Captain Zimsen had fired a cannon in

honor of their home-coming, and everybody ran out-of-doors in delight,

thinking the man-of-war had come from Copenhagen, but there was greater

joy still when the "Laura" dropped her anchor and the little boats that

had gone out to meet her came back with the news that the wedding party

had returned.

Half the men of the town went down to the jetty to welcome the

wanderers; among them the Governor in his gala uniform, the Factor in

his best scull-cap, smoking his best German pipe, the Sheriff, the

Rector, and the Bishop.

The Factor's big white boat had been sent off instantly to fetch the

three ashore, and when it was coming back there was a good deal of

curiosity as to how they would look after their long journey. Oscar,

who was standing in the bow, was seen to be sunburnt, and slightly

older-looking, having grown a small, fair mustache, which was curled up

at the ends. It was observed by somebody that he wore the latest

pattern of waistcoat and carried an Italian cloak over his arm. Helga,

who was standing in the middle of the boat, looked a shade more buxom,

and wore a new French hat. She had a kodak swung over her shoulder and

was looking at the people on the jetty through an ivory-framed

field-glass. And Thora, who was sitting in the stern in the costume in

which she went away, with Magnus's white bearskin across her knees,

looked a thought thinner than before, but her face was bright with

smiles, though there were tears in her sparkling eyes.

When the boat came alongside the salutations were lusty and robustious.

Such laughter! Such chaff! Such prolonged handshaking and slapping on

the back! After the Governor and the Factor had kissed Thora they found

their cheeks were wet, but Helga was as bright as the day and Oscar made

everybody happy. He shook hands all round and hailed even the fishermen

and boatmen by name. "He doesn't forget an old friend, eh?" said an old

fellow in bare feet.

Then away they trooped to Government House, where Anna was waiting in

apron and hufa at the door of the porch. Thora cried for joy at sight of

her, and had to be carried off to her bedroom. And when Aunt Margret

came in her oiled ringlets and Oscar would have kissed her she beat him

off with a playful pat on the cheek, and saying, "I must see what you've

done with my child first," ran straight upstairs.

Helga went up also to take off her hat, and the Governor and the Factor

carried Oscar into the drawing-room, where the Bishop, the Sheriff and

the Rector joined them. Maria brought in coffee and chocolate, and the

old men charged their pipes and plied Oscar with questions. The

Governor asked about English politics, the Factor about custom-house

duties, the Bishop about the Vatican, and the Rector about the

excavations in the Roman Forum.

Oscar answered all of them with a dash and emphasis that had the look of

knowledge and the effect of wit, and then glancing off the heavy ground

of fact he went tobogganing down the slippery slopes of fiction, with

amusing tales of their travels and of the ridiculous things that had and

had not happened to them.

All his stories told, every time he pulled the trigger his pistol fired,

and the old men laughed until they cried. "What a boy he is!" "He plays

with every finger." His high spirits affected them like sunshine after

dark days, like a breeze after a calm at sea, like the swing of a boat

after the first dip of the oar. He was the same reckless,

irresponsible, lovable prodigal as before, and it was not until

afterward that anybody remembered there had been a hollow ring in his

hilarity, a false note in his joy.

Helga came down to the drawing-room and the men received her with a

shout.

"How plump she has grown!" said the Governor.

"She has certainly filled out on the trip," said the Factor.

"Hasn't she?" said Oscar. "Just what she wanted--all she wanted."

"Nonsense! Let us talk of something serious," said Helga.

Thora came next, with Anna and Aunt Margret buzzing and humming about

her like bees. She had changed to her old Iceland dress--just for

remembrance--and now that she could be seen without her veil she was

undoubtedly thinner, and she had a pinched look about the nostrils and a

feverish spot in the middle of her cheeks. But her face was shining

with timid smiles and she was overflowing with gratitude.

"Anna has given us such beautiful rooms, Oscar, the big one overlooking

the road and the long one behind it, though I don't know what in the

world we are going to do with two."

"Oh, don't worry yourself about that, dear--we may find a use for them

by and by," said Anna with a knowing nod of the head, and then the color

flew up to Thora's eyes like a flag of distress, and the men began to

smile.

Anna was smiling also and making signals to the Governor and chuckling

to him behind her hand. "Is it so?" "Yes, indeed, I asked her

up-stairs and it's just as I expected." Then the Governor in his turn

began to chuckle and to whisper to the Factor. "No? Is it a fact?"

"So Anna tells me." And then they chuckled together, until everybody

laughed at them, whereupon the Factor said:

"And now, Oscar, you've told us all about London and Paris and Rome, but

not a word about the place where they make money without working for

it."

"Monte Carlo? Haven't I?" said Oscar. "Oh, well--a beautiful place!

In fact an absolute paradise."

"An absolute hell if half one hears is true," said the Governor.

"Well, yes--yes, that's so, too," said Oscar.

"I once heard of a man who made ten pounds in a single night--think of

that," said the Factor.

"Goodness' sake!" cried Aunt Margret.

"But what's the good of having a chest full of gold if the devil keeps

the key?" said the Governor.

Then Helga, who was sitting on the piano-stool, began to play softly,

and Oscar swung round to her.

"Ah, 'Addio Napoli!' We must sing you some of the Neapolitan songs,

father."

This was received with a chorus of approval, and for the next half-hour

Helga played and Oscar sang the gay ditties with which Naples fills the

air of Italy with song. And when at one moment the Factor would have

come back to the man who made ten pounds in a single night, Helga struck

up the tarantella and Oscar danced it.

At length the Governor said, "Everything has a stopping place except

Time. It's late, and Thora is looking tired, so I'm going to turn out

everybody who doesn't live here."

"Quite right, too," said Aunt Margret, "and I'm going to carry Helga off

to her own quarters."

"_I_ will take Helga home," said Oscar, and with further handshaking and

well-wishing the party began to break up.

"After all I suppose you are glad to be back, Thora?" said the Bishop.

"Very, very glad," replied Thora.

"Ha, ha! It isn't easy to hobble a home-sick pony," laughed the Rector.

"And you, Helga?"

"I'm not glad at all, Rector. Who could be glad to leave all that

loveliness for a wilderness like this."

That chilled everybody for a moment, and thinking to come to Helga's

relief, Oscar said:

"There's something in what Helga says, certainly."

"Then you, also, Oscar----"

"No, Rector, no--that is to say--well, I'm glad to be back and I shall

be glad to go away again."

And then everybody was as happy as before.

*IV*

Next day Oscar and Helga spent many hours in a round of return visits,

while Thora, who was still tired, stayed at home and received some of

her old schoolfellows. One of them, who had been the beauty of her day,

had married a farmer fifteen miles away and borne him three children.

It was all work, work, work with her now and the once-bright girl was a

slave.

"Ah, Thora, how lucky you were not to marry Magnus!" she said.

"Do you think so?" said Thora.

"Why, yes, Thora. And then everybody says Oscar is going to be such a

distinguished man."

It was the spring caravan time and Magnus himself, who had brought his

wool to the Factor's, came late in the afternoon. Thora thought he

looked brawnier and bigger than ever, and she could not help seeing that

his hands were coarser and his nails chopped off square. But his voice

was as soft as it used to be, and he was shy and even nervous.

The light was low when he came into the drawing-room, and looking

closely at her face he asked three times over if she was well, until she

laughed as she gave him the same answer again and again. Then he

laughed, too, and after that they got on better, and exchanged all the

"newses."

Silvertop was in good condition; he had got his summer coat and looked

splendid; in fact, he had been too well fed and was getting a little

over himself and would have to be taken down a peg or two before Thora

rode him again. Ah, well, she wouldn't want him just yet--not just

yet--and Magnus had better keep the rascal at the farm a little longer.

"But what a time you've been away!" said Magnus.

"Haven't we?" said Thora. "Five months, nearly six."

"Six months come Tuesday week," said Magnus.

At that they both became confused, and Thora began to show some

photographs taken by Helga on the journey.

"How beautiful! How wonderful!" said Magnus. "But I wonder your ship

wasn't floating on the pumps, as they say, before you got back to

harbor--it must have cost a good deal of money to see all those places."

"It must," said Thora, "traveling is so expensive--especially when there

is more than one to pay for."

"And then there was Helga," said Magnus.

"Yes, indeed, there was Helga. But the check which father and the

Governor gave to Oscar seems to have been sufficient for all."

"Still I can not understand how he made it pay for everything."

"No, it isn't easy to understand that, is it?"

"Venice! Rome! Monte Carlo! How you must have enjoyed your journey!"

"Oscar did--every day of it."

"And you, Thora?"

"I'm not a good traveler--I soon tire of sight-seeing, and if it hadn't

been for Helga----"

"So you are not sorry you took Helga with you?"

Thora faltered a little and then said, "Helga was able to go

sight-seeing with Oscar when I had to stay in the hotel."

"But were you not lonely while they were away?"

"Perhaps--sometimes--just a little--being so much alone, and among so

many strange faces."

Magnus, who seemed to be absorbed in the photographs, said almost

unconsciously, "Poor little thing!"

Then the flag of distress ran up to Thora's eyes and she answered

hurriedly, "Oh, it was my own fault. Oscar always wanted to stay with

me, and if it hadn't been for Helga----"

But a little catch came into her throat, and she had to stop. Whereupon

Magnus said:

"And I hoped you were so happy!"

But then Anna brought in the lamp and the lights relieved the tension,

yet being able to see the photographs plainly Magnus laid them down and

Thora put them away.

He left early, having a long ride before him, and Anna followed him to

the door.

"Is Thora quite well?" he asked in a whisper.

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," said Anna.

"And is Oscar kind to her?"

"Kind? Oscar, kind? Why should you ask that, Magnus?"

"She looks so pale, so depressed."

"Oh, that's often the way with young wives in her condition. Haven't you

noticed anything--anything particular? Our Thora will be a mother before

long."

"And is that all that's the matter with her?" said Magnus.

*V*

The summer session of Parliament was to begin almost immediately and

Oscar plunged straightway into preparations for his campaign. He was to

move a resolution proposing that the Acts of Althing should henceforward

be promulgated on the last day of the session, as in the old times, from

the ancient Mount of Laws at Thingvellir. It was to be his maiden

speech and much depended upon it. Before he wrote it he went over to

the Factor's to discuss with Helga its scheme and argument. After he

had written it he went over to the Factor's again to read it to Helga,

and obtain the benefit of her suggestions. And when he had committed it

to memory he went over to the Factor's a third time to rehearse it

before Helga. It was Helga first and last, all day and every day until

the day of the opening sitting.

"Helga is a great politician, but you care nothing about politics, do

you, Thora?" And Thora would swallow the lump in her throat and answer

"No."

Thora and Helga were both present when Oscar took his seat. They

occupied the Governor's ante-room that opened off the parliamentary

chamber. The galleries were crowded with spectators, and there was much

curiosity when Oscar rose to speak. Thora felt a little faint at the

first sound of his voice, and she would have fled away if she could have

done so, but Helga held her to her chair.

"Hush! For goodness' sake be quiet," she whispered. "You'll make him

still more nervous."

The speech was a great success. It was an appeal for the preservation

of the old order--for all that made Iceland what it was--the land of

Saga and song. Even the party of progress who thought much of its

moonshine were carried away by the fervor and enthusiasm, the poetry and

passion of the young speaker. When Oscar finished there were vollies of

applause; the people in the galleries clapped their hands and Helga

stood up and waved her handkerchief, but Thora covered her face and

cried into her gloves.

The resolution was passed unanimously, and Oscar was made chairman of a

committee to carry out the necessary preparations. This work occupied

all his spare time during the six weeks of the parliamentary session.

It took him to the Factor's every day, for Helga was full of schemes for

the great ceremonial. Being in Parliament every morning and at the

Factor's every afternoon Oscar was nearly always from home and Thora saw

little of him. Every night he returned with a mouthful of apologies and

a torrent of explanations. They had been searching the Sagas for the

exact course taken by the procession in the old days, or they had been

selecting flags to hang over the rocks, or they had been composing a

hymn to celebrate the occasion--Oscar had improvised one in a moment and

Helga had written it down.

"And how has my little baby been going on all day long? Lonely? What a

shame! I'm sorry--very, very sorry," he would say.

And then Thora would answer, "Don't think of me, Oscar. You have your

work to do, and I only wish I could help you, like Helga."

But in the long hours of loneliness, when her head was on her hands and

her feet were in the fender, the poor little soul would sink and the

tender heart grow bitter. Only Anna would be with her then, comforting

and consoling her, and pretending to be blind to what every eye could

see.

"Anna," she said at length, "when Magnus was here he asked me such a

strange question."

"What was that, Thora?"

"He asked if I wasn't sorry that Helga had gone with us on our journey."

"And are you?"

"Sometimes--perhaps it is foolish--but sometimes I think I am."

"I know. I think I know. And it isn't foolish of you at all, dear.

Oscar is doing wrong. I must speak to him--I must speak to him

severely."

"It isn't Oscar's fault. Helga is so selfish."

"Yes, she takes after somebody else in that way, Thora."

"She was always taking Oscar away from me when we were on our journey."

"But your journey is over now, and he must mend his manners."

"Ah, no! That part of our journey isn't over yet, Anna. Sometimes I

think it has only begun."

"You don't mean to say that Helga is trying to----"

"Helga has no pity. When she once gets hold of anybody she will never

give him up."

"You think she is trying to get hold of Oscar?"

"I think she has got hold of him."

"You mustn't say that about your husband, Thora."

"Oh, I don't blame Oscar. Helga is so beautiful, so clever. She has

every advantage over me."

"Now that's just where you are wrong. There is one point in which our

little Thora has an advantage over Helga and every other woman in the

world."

"You mean with Oscar----"

"Yes, with Oscar--you are going to be the mother of his child."

"Will that make any difference?"

"Any difference? I should think it will indeed. My poor mother used to

say, 'When people are married it's the children who keep the pot

boiling.'"

"You mean that when my baby is born Oscar will come back to me?"

"Certainly I do."

"And that he will never go away from me any more?"

"Never! Oscar has always loved children--wait till he has a child of

his own and see."

"Well, you are his mother--you know him best."

"Trust me, Thora! It isn't a good well if water has to be carried to

it, but when the child is born Oscar will begin all over again."

"You think that? Really? You think Oscar will love me again for my

baby's sake?"

"Any man must if he has a good heart--and Oscar's heart is good whatever

his head may be."

"Indeed--indeed it is."

"He must love the mother for the sake of the child, and the child for

the sake of the mother."

"How sweet! How beautiful!"

Thora's own eyes were now like the eyes of a child--so full of wonder

and love. She fell to counting the weeks that must pass before the

fulness of her time.

"Nine weeks--hardly nine--eight--think, mother--only eight. How I wish

it were even less! I used to look forward to that time with anxiety and

dread, but there is nothing to be afraid of if so much good can come out

of a little pain--nothing really--now is there?"

*VI*

In this sweet hope Thora comforted herself for four weeks, and then

something happened which disturbed all her calculations. It was the eve

of the proclamation and the committee of which Oscar was the chief

decided to visit Thingvellir in order to complete their preparations for

the ceremony. On this errand Helga was to go with them, and having so

many things to attend to they were to sleep one night at the Inn-farm

and return the following day. When Oscar announced this program a

sudden change came over Thora's patient and submissive spirit.

"Then I must go, too," she said.

"You? You, Thora?" said Oscar. "Why, what can you be thinking of?

Thirty-three miles away--in that desolate region--without a doctor or a

nurse--and so near your time, too. Impossible! Quite impossible!"

"Then Helga mustn't go either."

"But Helga is so useful, so necessary."

"I don't care. If I can not go with you then Helga shall not do so,

either."

"My dear Thora, this is so unlike you. But as you please. I shall be

ashamed to tell Helga, and explain to the committee, but still, if you

wish it-- No, no, you must not cry. You must not disturb yourself. My

little woman must keep herself very quiet while I am away--very, very

quiet."

Two hours after Oscar had gone Helga came to Government House. Thora

was alone, and the sisters faced each other for some instants without

speaking. At length Helga said:

"Well, I trust you are satisfied. Now that you have shown your foolish

jealousy and made us the talk of the town, I trust you are satisfied."

"Oscar said I was to keep myself quiet, Helga, and you know I ought to

do so."

"Oh, you can excite yourself enough it seems, when you wish to express

your paltry feelings. Because I have sympathized with Oscar and tried

to help and inspire him, you who have never sympathized with him and can

never help him, because you cannot understand him, and he is beyond

you--you must come with your paltry spite----"

"Helga! You have never been kind to me--never since you came home a

year ago--but now you are cruel."

"Am I? Perhaps I am. And perhaps I've gone through enough to make me

so."

"You speak as if your disappointment of this morning in not going with

Oscar were a great and grievous matter, but you don't seem to remember

how often I have been disappointed in the same way."

"Oh, I dare say you think you are much to be pitied."

"I don't say I'm to be pitied, Helga, because I know it was my own fault

at the beginning. But I do say I've never known a moment's peace since

you came home from Denmark. I persuaded father to send for you because

you were my sister, and I wished you to share my happiness, but you have

never shown me any sisterly feeling--never. On the contrary, you found

me happy and you have made me miserable. You have done your best to

render life intolerable to me."

"I thought you said you were not to excite yourself, Thora?"

"It is you that are exciting me, Helga, because you are always

inflicting the sharpest tortures upon me and hurting me where you know I

can bear it least. From the first you tried to take Oscar away from

me--you know you did. You tried to do it before our marriage and you

have tried to do it ever since. You were not even ashamed to try during

our honeymoon and you are trying now, because you have lost all sense of

loyalty or justice or remorse or even shame."

"Oh, yes," said Helga, "you think you have been a great martyr. But

would it surprise you to hear that somebody else has gone through a

still greater martyrdom? You accuse me of having inflicted tortures

upon you--what of the tortures you have inflicted upon me?"

"I, Helga?"

"Yes, you! You speak as if I were the sort of woman who draws a man

into her net, who tears him away from the wife he loves and drags him

down to his death. You would have been nearer right if you had thought

of me as another kind of woman altogether--one who is herself the

sufferer--who is shut out and cut off and must remain unmated because

the man who loves her is married to somebody else."

"Helga!"

"Oh, I should have had mercy on your condition, but you would not let

me. And now if you wish to hear the truth I will tell you."

"And what is the truth, Helga?"

"The truth is that Oscar does not love you at all--perhaps he has never

loved you."

"Helga, how dare you! The falseness of what you say is on the face of

it. If Oscar has never loved me, why am I his wife? What advantage had

he to gain by choosing me instead of you? What compulsion was put upon

him? If he did not love me why did he marry me?"

"He married you out of pity--from a mistaken sense of duty--because he

had contracted to marry you and thought it honorable to go on with his

bargain. But he loved somebody else and so he sacrificed both of them.

"It's false, Helga, it's false, and it's only your vanity that makes you

say so."

"Oh, you must not suppose that I am saying this without a certainty. I

had it from himself----"

"Himself? He, himself?"

"----from his own mouth, on the very eve of your marriage."

"On the eve of his marriage to me, he told you----"

"He told me that he loved me. And since then, if he has not said it in

words he has said it in other ways again and again. He loves me

still----"

"No, no, no, it is not true."

"He will always love me."

"It is not true, it is not true."

"And he loves you no more than a man loves his dog or his horse, or the

man of the Bible days loved the handmaiden of his wife."

"Helga, for shame! Are you without conscience or truth that you can lie

to me like that? If Oscar had never loved me do you think I should not

have found it out long ago? And if he loved you do you think I should

not know it--I who am bearing his child?"

"Oh, you needn't taunt me with that, Thora. Yes, yours are the lips

that kiss him, but it isn't the lips that matter. It is the love behind

the lips, and that love is mine, and every time he kisses you the kiss

is meant for me."

"You lie, Helga, you lie."

"And the child too, it is not your child, because the love that gave it

life was my love."

"You lie, you lie."

"What do I care if you are the bondwoman who bears his child? The child

will be my child, and when he is born he will have my face----"

"No, it is not possible."

"It is, it is--you know it is."

Thora gasped for breath. Then an extraordinary change came over her

that made her almost unrecognizable. The patient and gentle woman

seemed suddenly possessed by a demon. Something strange and horrible

seemed in an instant to enter into her soul. The homicidal impulse

which takes hold of wild animals appeared to assail and conquer her.

One moment she stood facing her sister, convulsed and livid, and then in

a voice that was hoarse with rage and shame she said:

"Very well, if that is so, and if my child is not my own, if it has been

conceived in the love of another woman, and I am only the bondwoman who

bears it, then--then--then--it shall never be born, or if it is born

I--I--I will kill it!"

With that she burst into a peal of laughter, and fell on to the floor.

The noise brought Anna into the room panting.

"What have you done to her? What have you said? Thora! Thora!"

"I will kill the child. I will kill it, I will kill it!"

The wild, shrieking laughter continued and increased until the Governor

came running from his room. He listened for a moment to the mad cries

and then said, "Let us lift her up and carry her to bed. Helga, go for

the doctor and for Margret Neilsen. Tell them to come quickly. She's

in labor--there's no time to lose."

*VII*

All night Thora tossed about in a strong delirium, which expressed

itself in the one wild, homicidal cry. Aunt Margret came and found Anna

in the sick-room. The Factor followed, and sat for hours with the

Governor in his bureau below.

The Doctor (Doctor Olesen) never left Thora's side. He did not conceal

the gravity of her condition. The delirium was due to premature labor.

Such homicidal mania was not unknown in the cases of young mothers. It

generally originated in some startling event, perhaps a great loss, or a

great shock or a grievous disappointment. Doctor Olesen questioned

Anna, but she knew nothing to account for Thora's seizure. He asked

Helga, but she said little.

Helga was obviously in a state of terror. Her face was deathly pale and

her lips quivered. She could not be got to leave the house. When the

Factor returned home at ten o'clock, being powerless to do anything, he

could not tear Helga away. It was observed by all three attendants on

the invalid that Helga did not ask to be admitted to Thora's room. "A

sensible girl," thought the Doctor. "She knows better than ask me,"

thought Anna. But Helga seemed anxious to help in any menial way, no

matter what.

When there was nothing else to do Helga sat in the drawing-room, still

wearing her cloak and hat, and listening in fear to the mad cries from

the chamber overhead. In the long dark hours she was a prey to the most

agonizing thoughts. She was feeling like one who had committed a murder

and asking herself what would happen if Thora died.

Beyond the physical agony of hearing those wild cries from the chamber

overhead, beyond the pangs of a troubled conscience and beyond the pain

of the sisterly love and pity which overcame her and surprised her in

these dark hours, Helga suffered from one overmastering terror--the

terror of what Oscar would say to her when he came back. He had been

sent for; there would be no need to tell him anything.

Oscar arrived at midnight, covered with dust and sweat. Somebody opened

the hall door to him. He did not stop to look who it was--but pushing

through the house came first upon Helga in the drawing-room. For a

moment they stood face to face, like guilty things. She was trembling

from head to foot; he was breathing heavily.

"How is she now?" he asked.

"No better," she answered.

He heard the cries from the room above.

"Is that she?"

"Yes."

"Oh, God!" he muttered, and began to load himself with reproaches. "I

should have taken her with me when she asked me. Why didn't I? I ought

to have known what would happen."

Helga had expected that he would fly out at her, and she could have

borne any insult, but this she could not bear.

"It's all my fault," he said. "I have been a fool--a weak, selfish

fool. Oh, Thora, my sweet, innocent, long-suffering Thora, forgive me,

forgive me!"

Helga could not endure the house any longer. She felt like a criminal

and wanted to escape. Leaving Oscar with his head on his arms over the

cushions of the couch, she slipped out and went home through the dark

and silent streets alone.

Finding Helga gone, Oscar crept up to the door of Thora's room, but he

was not permitted to enter where the mere breath of excitement might

quench the glimmer of life within. His mother came out to him in the

large room at the back and found him with his face down on the table.

She had intended to rate him soundly the moment she set eyes on him, but

the sight of his distress silenced her reproaches and she fell to

comforting him instead.

"No, no," said Anna, "you couldn't have taken her with you. Things are

bad enough as they are, but think how much worse they would have been if

all this had happened there."

"Then I should have stayed at home," said Oscar. "I should have given

up everything."

"Thora couldn't have wished you to do that, my son. None of us had a

right to expect it."

"But you don't know everything, mother. I have behaved shamefully to

Thora. I thought I was doing right by her, but I was doing wrong,

dreadfully wrong. The poor girl has suffered terribly, and this is the

result."

As the first streaks of dawn began to fret the sky above the glaciers of

the Eastern fells, the delirium abated, and there came a period of

conscious pain. Anna ran in to Oscar to tell him of the change, and

then down-stairs on a similar errand to where the Governor lay in his

shirt-sleeves on the sofa in his bureau.

"She's herself at last, thank the Lord, and the doctor says she's going

along as well as can be expected."

Two hours later, when the sun rose on the little town, and the fiord and

the fells were crimson with his glory, the angel of peace came down to

the house of pain, hearing a babe in her arms.

With a smile and an outstretched hand, the doctor entered Oscar's room,

and said:

"I am happy to congratulate you. A girl--a beautiful child."

"But Thora?"

"She is weak, but quite at ease, and as well as can be expected under

the circumstances."

"Thank God!"

"And now go to bed yourself, Oscar, and sleep, if you can, until this

time to-morrow."

"I will--I will. Thank you, doctor, thank you a thousand times."

Meanwhile Anna was in the bureau telling the glad news to the Governor,

and then running about the house to find some one to carry it to the

Factor.

"I'll go, mother," said a voice from the kitchen.

"Goodness! Is that you, Magnus? When did you come?"

"About eleven o'clock last night."

"Then you were here before Oscar?"

"Golden Mane gallops fast, mother."

"And what have you been doing in the kitchen?"

"Carrying the wood and boiling the water for Margret Neilsen."

"Then you must go to bed now--you'll be sleepy."

"Not I--I can lie awake six nights, you know, when the lambs are

coming."

"Well, a lamb has come to-night, Magnus," said Anna.

"God bless it, and the little mother as well," said Magnus.

*VIII*

Thora slept until midday under the combined effects of exhaustion and a

sleeping draught, and when she awoke the evil spirit which had possessed

her had gone, and she was her own sweet simple self once more. But the

struggle had been a terrible one, and if the better part of her soul had

conquered the frail body which had been its battlefield was a waste of

weakness. She was pale and thin and her blue eyes were large and

liquid.

Before opening them she heard from the back room (which had been

transformed into a nursery) the sweetest, most thrilling sound that ever

comes to a woman's ears, a sound which sums up into its joys all the

ecstasy that a human soul can know, a sound which no woman in the world

has ever heard but once--the first cry of her first-born.

Thora opened her eyes, and saw Anna knitting by her side.

"Is that baby?" she asked.

"Ah, I thought you were awake!" said Anna. "Yes, Thora, that is baby.

Margret Neilsen is bathing her."

"Bring her to me. Tell Aunt Margret to bring her immediately."

"By and by, dear, by and by."

"No, now! If she doesn't bring baby this instant, I'll get up and go to

her."

"Hush! You are to be very quiet, and not to excite yourself. And as

for getting up, the doctor says if you stir out of bed within a week

goodness knows what will happen."

"Yes, I know. I am very naughty, and you must forgive me. But I've not

seen baby yet--not really seen her--and if you will bring her to me I

shall be so good. I shall not excite myself at all--not at all. You

will see how quiet I shall be."

"Well, if you promise me, faithfully promise me," said Anna.

"Wait! Sit down again, mother. Sit here by the window. I have

something to ask you first. Does she--does baby resemble anybody?"

"Resemble anybody? I should think she does, indeed. I have never in all

my life seen a child so like its mother."

"Like me? Oh, bring her! Bring her! I can't wait a moment longer."

Anna went into the nursery and told Aunt Margret that Thora was awake

and calling impatiently for the child.

"But she'll want to take her," said Aunt Margret.

"Trust her for that, if she's a mother," said Anna.

"But will it be safe? Is she quite herself again?"

"We'll chance her," said Anna.

Aunt Margret gathered up the baby in its long clothes and with its

feeding-bottle at her breast, and carried it into Thora's room, and

stooping by the bed she said, "There! Look at that now!"

"Give her to me, give her to me," cried Thora, stretching out two

trembling white arms.

"Carefully then, carefully," said Aunt Margret.

There was no need to fear: Thora gathered her child to her breast with

the free and daring but gentle touch that comes to mothers of every

species.

"My baby! My baby!" she whispered, and her pale face overflowed with

joy. "Yes, she is like me. I can see it myself. But why doesn't she

open her eyes? Is she asleep? That can not be, because she is still

sucking. Coo-coo! Isn't she beautiful? How foolish of me to say that!

And yet it's true. Coo! My baby! My bootiful, bootiful baby!"

Through all this broken jargon--the divine foolishness of

motherhood--the two older women stood by, trying to cackle and laugh

behind their black silk aprons, but finding it hard to keep back their

tears.

"Has Oscar seen her yet?"

"Not yet," said Anna.

"But he has come back, hasn't he? Didn't you tell me he had come back?"

"Yes, but he was quite worn out with watching and I sent him off to

bed."

"Poor boy!"

"And Magnus has come, too, but I couldn't get him to go to bed and he

still is working away in the kitchen.

"What a deal of trouble I am to everybody!"

"Trouble? We don't call that trouble."

"You've got a baby for it, haven't you?" said Thora, and she looked down

at the treasure at her breast as if she had brought them the wealth of

the world. All at once she cried, "Oh, oh! Look! Look!"

Aunt Margret, who was at the other side of the room, almost fainted at

Thora's sudden cry.

"What has happened?" she gasped.

"Baby has opened her eyes," said Thora.

Aunt Margret dropped to a chair to breathe.

"They're blue like mine. Oscar's are brown, and Helga's--hers are grey.

But perhaps baby's eyes will change their color! Do children's eyes

change their color, Anna?"

"Sometimes they do," said Anna. "Blue eyes sometimes become brown----"

"Never grey?"

"Not that I know of," said Anna.

"I'm so glad baby is like me," said Thora, and she gazed down at the

child with looks of wonder and love. Then her delicious selfishness

took another turn and she said:

"Mother, do you not think Oscar has slept long enough now?"

"Doctor Olesen said he was to sleep until to-morrow," replied Anna.

"But couldn't you wake him up for a moment--just for a moment, to come

and see us as we are now--baby and me--would it do him much harm?"

"No, but it would do you a great deal. You would over-excite yourself,

and then, my gracious, I should get into trouble."

"Oh, no, I shall be quite calm--I promise you I shall be calm. And

Oscar can come in his dressing-gown and then go back to sleep. Do call

him--do--please do--Anna, Aunt Margret--mother!"

They could not resist the pleading voice, and Anna went off to Oscar's

room. Oscar was awake.

"How is she now?" he asked.

"Still a little weak, but getting stronger every hour," said Anna.

"And the child?"

"She's got it in bed with her, and wishes you to come and see them."

"I'll come at once."

"Dear Thora! She is happy at last. I have never seen anybody so happy.

And nobody ever deserved happiness more. Just now when I left her she

had the eyes of a child. But she is still on the brink of life and

death. It wouldn't need much to make her take flight from this world.

Therefore watch over your words, Oscar, and don't say anything that will

agitate her."

Oscar promised, and then followed his mother into Thora's bedroom. At

the threshold he heard the soft "Boo-oo--coo-coo" of motherly

endearment, and then saw the shining pale face on the pillow with the

tiny red one below it.

"My poor Thora," he said, kissing her forehead, "you are not suffering

now, are you? A little pale, perhaps, and a little thin, but better,

are you not?"

"Look!" she whispered, uncovering the child and having no thoughts to

waste on lesser matters. "Who is she like, Oscar?"

"Like? Do you ask me who she's like, Thora? Why, she's

like--ridiculously like you!"

"Kiss me, Oscar. Put your arms around both of us, dearest. That

way--so."

But at the next moment the baby was crying and the older women were

protesting loudly.

"Come away you great, clumsy creature," said Aunt Margret.

"No, no," cried Thora. "It wasn't Oscar. He never hurts anybody. It

was I, auntie," but auntie, making no terms with such heroics, took the

child out of bed and proceeded to rock it, face downward, across her

knee.

When the baby had been hushed to sleep they fell to the discussion of

its name. Oscar was for "Thora," but Thora herself said no, that was

her own name, the name Oscar knew her by, and therefore she could not

share it even with her child.

"Then what do you say to 'Elin'?" said Oscar.

"Beautiful! Anna, Aunt Margret, listen. Say it again, Oscar."

"'Elin.'"

"Isn't it lovely as Oscar says it?"

So they decided straightway that "Elin" it should be, and next came the

question of the godparents. Thora was for Magnus ("Poor Magnus") and

Oscar assented. But when Oscar in his turn nominated Helga the sunshine

died off Thora's face, whereupon Anna gave him a quick glance, and began

to make a noise.

"Then Magnus for godfather and Aunt Margret for godmother," said Oscar,

and so it was agreed.

"And let us have the baptism to-day," said Thora.

"To-day?" cried Anna. "Why, Thora, a child is never baptised on the day

of its birth except when it is going to die."

It was now Aunt Margret's turn to make a noise, and this she did by

wakening baby in rising suddenly, and protesting that Oscar ought to be

turned out of the room and Thora left to rest.

"Yes, yes, that's true," said Oscar, and kissing Thora again he followed

Aunt Margret and the baby into the nursery. When they were gone, and

the door had closed on them, Anna leaned over the bed and whispered:

"There! Didn't I know what o'clock it was striking? Hasn't Oscar come

back to you? When he kissed you didn't you feel that all his heart was

yours?"

"Yes, it is true," said Thora. "But will it last, think you?"

"Certainly, it will last. Last night he was reproaching himself with

all sorts of things, and to-day he is like a man who is beginning over

again a new life."

"You think so, Anna? You really think so?"

"Indeed I do. Depend upon it he'll not lose sight of that baby for five

minutes in the day. And he'll never look at her but he'll think of

you."

"How happy I am! I have never been so happy before--never, never!" She

took a deep breath and closed her shining eyes to ease the beating of

her heart. There was a moment's silence and then in another voice she

said, "Mother?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Last night--when I was so ill--didn't I say----"

"Hush! That's all over. We'll not speak of it any more."

"All the same if I could die now--now when I am so happy--and baby,

too----"

And then Anna sank into a chair, trembling from head to foot.

*IX*

Anna was right about Oscar and the baby--he could not willingly allow it

to be out of his sight for any five minutes of the day or night. When

it was to be bathed he felt it necessary to superintend the operation,

and when it was fed he was compelled to keep watch and ward. He had a

thousand fears of accidents that might happen to it and became dizzy

when it lay naked on the edge of Aunt Margret's lap. If it cried while

he was in the dining-room he rushed upstairs, and if anything fell on

the floor above he turned pale and trembled. Sleeping in the room next

to the nursery he kept his door open at night, and if the baby was

fretful he walked Aunt Margret to and fro (being afraid to carry the

child himself) as if she had taken too much laudanum.

Two days passed in this way and he was never once out-of-doors. Thora

overheard him in the adjoining room, coaxing and scolding Aunt Margret,

and talking or laughing to the child, and her heart overflowed with

happiness. "But will it last?" she asked herself.

Meantime Helga, sitting at home, shut out from these joys, was feeling

herself neglected. On the third day Oscar had a message from her,

saying she wished to see him on an important matter and asking him to

come round immediately. He could not resist it. The little scented

envelope drew him like a magnet. Going out for a walk, to think of what

he should do, every step took him in the direction of the Factor's.

Within half an hour he found himself in the little sitting-room

overlooking the lake, and Helga was standing before him with head down,

more meek and modest, but also more beautiful and irresistible than ever

before.

"I have a confession to make to you," she said, "and if you are angry

with me I must bear it."

She had been the cause of poor Thora's sudden illness. Stung by the

disappointment of some days ago she had gone across to Government House

to reproach her sister with the humiliation she had put upon her.

Perhaps she had said too much, and more than was true, and she was sorry

and ashamed. She could wish to ask Thora's forgiveness, and if Oscar

would do it for her----

"With pleasure, Helga," said Oscar. "But all's well that ends well, and

why should we say more on this subject?"

"There is another that I wished to speak of," said Helga, and then came

the real burden of her message.

Poor Thora's delirium had been homicidal. She had threatened to take

the life of her unborn child. What a frightful thing it would be if out

of her weakness and hallucination she should attempt to carry out her

threat!

"But that's all over now, Helga," said Oscar. "Since her baby came

Thora had been as gentle as a lamb, and running over with tenderness and

love."

"So I thought until this morning," said Helga. "But father tells me

that your mother sees signs of dementia still."

"Good heavens!" cried Oscar.

"Everybody appears to have heard of it except you. I thought it was

wrong to keep you in the dark, and so I've told you."

"Thanks, Helga, it is good of you, and if poor Thora is still suffering

in that way----"

"There can't be a doubt of it, Oscar. She told your mother she wished

she could die, and baby with her."

"She must be watched--the child, too. There must be nurses night and

day."

"Is that enough, Oscar? You know how cunning people are when they are

suffering from dementia. And then a child is such a frail thing--its

life might be snuffed out in an instant."

"You mean that baby should be removed?"

"It might be safest--for a time at least. It might come here--I should

take the greatest care of it. But it needn't change its nurse--Aunt

Margret must come home soon in any case."

"It must be done, Helga. It would be too awful if anything happened to

the child. I should go mad."

"And then think of Thora. It would be ten thousand times more terrible

for her."

"Poor Thora! It will break her heart," said Oscar. "It seems as if I

am doomed to bring grief and pain and death to her."

"We must be cruel only to be kind, Oscar. But don't act on my advice

only and for mercy's sake don't say I suggested anything. Ask somebody

else."

"I will."

"Ask the Governor."

"The Governor?"

At the mention of that name they paused and looked at each other in

silence, as if a ghost had passed between them.

"Any news from Monte Car--I mean Copenhagen?" asked Helga.

"Nothing yet, but I am in daily fear of something happening."

"Whatever happens I shall never forget that you did that for me, Oscar."

She held out her hand to him, and he took it, kept it for a moment, then

kissed it passionately and fled from the house.

Later the same day a family conference was held at Government House to

consider what ought to be done. The Governor and the Factor were there,

as well as Oscar and Anna. Aunt Margret came down last, having left one

of the maids in charge of the child.

"Magnus is in the nursery too," she said. "He came up with wood for the

stove and Thora heard his voice, so now they are talking through the

open door."

Doctor Olesen had been called into consultation and he gave a guarded

opinion. Such forms of homicidal mania were due to weakness and were

usually transient. Since the night of the confinement he had seen no

signs of it himself, but if Anna had seen them he would not take the

responsibility of opposing the step that was suggested.

Anna rocked herself and moaned and said that after all she could not be

certain. She might have mistaken what had fallen from Thora. Perhaps

the poor child had been thinking of something quite different.

Aunt Margret was now of the same mind, but much more emphatic. "I don't

believe a word of it," she said, "and I'm sorry I ever doubted her.

Thora is a Neilsen, and she wouldn't hurt a hair of the child's head."

"This is no time to indulge sentimental feelings," said the Governor.

"If Thora is suffering from dementia, however transient, we must protect

her from the dangers of her weakness."

"I agree, Stephen," said the Factor. "I'm sorry--I'm sorry for my

daughter--but I agree, I agree."

"That is our duty--our plain duty," continued the Governor, "first to

the child who is the offspring--at present the only probable

offspring--of two families, and next to the poor young mother herself,

than whom no one would have more right to reproach us if we failed to do

it and a disaster occurred."

"No one, Stephen, no one," said the Factor.

"It seems so cruel, so dreadfully cruel," said Anna.

"But it's all for Thora's own good, mother," said Oscar.

"I know, Oscar, I know, yet it's cruel for all that."

"But I should like to know who's going to do it," said Aunt Margret.

"I'm not, I tell you flat."

"Then Anna must do it herself," said the Governor.

"No, no, don't ask me," said Anna.

"Why not? Who so proper to do such an act of mercy and love? And

Oscar, too--Oscar himself if need be must carry the child over to the

Factor's."

Oscar's lips whitened and quivered and his heart clutched at his ribs.

It was decided that the child should be taken from the mother that

night, as soon as she was asleep and the house was quiet.

"But she goes to sleep with the child at her breast and always awakes

when it wants the bottle," said Anna. "I'll give her a draught--she'll

sleep until morning," said the Doctor.

"Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me! I shall feel like a thief," said Anna.

"Or like a murderer," said Aunt Margret.

*X*

Meantime Magnus in the nursery was looking down at the little face in

the cot, sometimes blinking at the light, sometimes digging its little

fist into its face, sometimes gripping with its tiny soft hand his own

coarse finger. Through the open door to the adjoining room there came

the voice that he knew so well, a little weaker, a little thinner, but

more joyous and silvery than before.

"Is that you, Magnus?"

"Yes, Thora."

"Have you seen my little Elin?"

"I'm looking at her now, Thora."

"Isn't she beautiful? Isn't she a darling?"

"She's like a little angel, Thora."

A joyous thrill came from the other room, and then the silvery voice

began again: "She's awake, isn't she? Can't I hear her laughing? She

laughs already, the little rogue! Do you know you are to be her

godfather, Magnus?"

"I am?"

"Yes, Oscar agreed to it immediately, and the baptism is to take place

soon."

"It will be the happiest moment of my life, Thora."

"Oh, she'll give you lots of trouble. She's going to be such a little

mischief. Can't you see her growing up, Magnus?"

"I see her just like her mother when she was a child, Thora."

Another joyous trill came through the open door and then the silvery

voice once more: "She'll be going to stay with you at the farm some day,

and then she'll pull up all the flowers in your garden."

"She shall do whatever she likes, Thora."

"But there are chasms and caves and rifts in the earth there, aren't

there?"

"I'll keep watch on her, Thora."

"If she should slip anywhere----"

"I'll keep watch on her all her life, Thora."

The joyous trill came again, but with a slightly different note: Then:

"Magnus?"

"Yes, Thora?"

"Why don't you marry and have a little Elin of your own, you know?"

"I? Oh, no." And then a gruff laugh and something about "a poor

farmer."

"Don't say that, Magnus."

Then the silvery voice that came to him through the open door became

serious and sweetly patronizing, hoping he would be happy and prosperous

at Thingvellir. It wasn't a great life, certainly, not a distinguished

career like Oscar's--that is to say what Oscar was to be--and it wanted

hard work early and late, yet still----

"But, Magnus, you've been here three days, haven't you? How have you

been able to spare them?"

"I'll make up for them when I get home, Thora."

"But Anna says you haven't been to bed since you came, and now the

Proclamation is near and you'll be kept busy at the Inn with that."

"I'm strong, Thora--fearfully strong," said Magnus.

Thora lay back in her bed and with a blush there was none to see said:

"Magnus, I think--I really think you would do anything in the world for

me."

A gruff laugh came back to her, half smothered as in a man's beard, and

then a choking voice said, "I believe I would, Thora."

"And if I wanted you--or baby wanted you--I think you would follow us to

the ends of the earth."

"Only say 'Come' and I'll come, Thora."

There was a moment's silence, and then a merry laugh came rippling out

to him, and he felt hot to the roots of the hair.

"But of course that can not happen, Magnus. We have Oscar, so we can

never need you."

"No, you can never need me, Thora."

At that moment Anna and Aunt Margret came back, heated and nervous after

the conference, and bundled Magnus out of the room. Then while baby was

being bathed for bed, behind closed doors, to the customary chorus of

screams, Anna combed out Thora's hair for the night, and Thora talked of

Magnus.

"People think him heavy and stupid, but he'll startle them some day,"

she said.

"Is it to be plaited as usual?" asked Anna.

"Just as usual. But how your hands tremble to-night, mother! That's

nursing, you know. Poor Magnus! He hasn't a selfish thought in his

heart. Any girl might love him, and perhaps if I had never known

Oscar----"

"Doctor Olesen says you are to take a powder to-night, child. It will

make you sleep until morning."

"It's you that should take the powder--you and Aunt Margret."

"Ah, if I could take it for you I would, dear," said Anna. "But here it

is--take it quickly or I may."

Thora drank from the glass Anna gave her and said, "There! It's gone!

Now bring me baby."

Aunt Margret came with the child, hushing it to sleep, and put it gently

down into the mother's arms.

"The darling! She needs no sleeping draught. My precious, precious

pet! But I declare--Aunt Margret's hands are trembling, too! I've worn

you out, both of you."

"Nonsense! Go to sleep. I'm going to put down the light," said Aunt

Margret, and she lowered the lamp and put it to stand on a table behind

the bed-curtains.

"How good you are to me! Everybody is good to me," came in a fainter

voice from the shadow of the bed.

"That is because everybody loves you, Thora," said Anna in a husky

murmur. "You must always believe that, whatever happens."

"How sweet it is to be loved! If I could only think that it would

last----"

The baby became fretful, and Thora began to sing it to sleep.

"Sleep, baby, sleep,

Angels bright thy slumbers keep,

Sleep, baby, sleep."

Her drowsy voice ran a line and stopped; then ran another line and

stopped again, and then the faint voice said:

"How sweet it would be to fall asleep like this some day--baby and

I--and awake in heaven!"

"Hush!"

"I should be sorry for Oscar, but still----"

The faint voice lisped, the soft breathing lengthened, the blue eyelids

closed, the pale lips parted, the white arms slackened, and then the two

children, mother and babe, lay together in the lap of sleep.

There was silence for some minutes, wherein the two older women who sat

in the gloom like guilty things heard nothing but the ticking of a

clock. Then Aunt Margret crept over to where Anna sat with her head

covered by her black silk apron and whispered:

"Oscar is waiting at the door. If it has to be done at all let it be

done now."

Anna uncovered her face and saw Oscar on the threshold in his cloak and

hat. She rose on trembling limbs and felt her way to the bedside.

There she stood listening for a moment to Thora's measured breathing.

Then she drew the mother's white arms apart and lifted the baby out of

them.

Aunt Margret wrapped a shawl about the sleeping child and Oscar covered

it with his cloak.

"The night is warm, she will take no harm," he faltered. At the next

moment he had gone and Aunt Margret had followed him. Then Anna

tottered into the outer room and sank into a chair and covered her head

again. "Oh, God forgive me! God forgive me! God forgive me!" she

said.

*XI*

The sun was shining into the bedroom when Thora awoke, with a slight

flush on her pale cheeks and a look of happiness in her eyes, and saw

Anna rocking herself sadly by the bedside.

"Where is baby?" asked Thora.

"Presently, dear, presently," said Anna.

"Where is she?"

"Lie quiet, Thora. You shall hear everything by and by."

"But tell me where is my little Elin, Anna?"

"Promise me not to excite yourself, Thora, and I will tell you all about

her."

Thora raised herself on her elbow and said with quick-coming breath,

"You don't mean that you have taken her away?"

"There now, you are exciting yourself already, Thora."

"Have you stolen my child away from me?" cried Thora.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What things you are saying, Thora."

Thora thought a moment and then she said, "I am sorry I said that, Anna.

It was very, very wrong of me. I know you wouldn't hurt me for worlds.

But why don't you tell me where my little girl is? She's in the

nursery, isn't she? You took her away from me in the night, and now

she's asleep in her cot--isn't that so? Or perhaps Aunt Margret has

taken her down to the door? There! Isn't that she?--that child crying

in the home-field? Or was it somebody else's baby in the road? Speak,

Anna! You are only teasing me, I know. But I'm so weak, so foolish,

and my heart is beating like a drum."

Anna continued to rock herself and to moan, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

Thora watched her for a moment with eyes that filled with fear, and then

called in a shrill voice, "Aunt Margret! Aunt Margret! Aunt Margret!"

"Aunt Margret has gone, Thora," said Anna.

"Gone! And my baby--has she gone too?"

Anna only rocked herself and moaned, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

Thora struggled to raise herself in bed, but her cheeks whitened and her

eyes rolled and with a loud scream she fell back fainting.

The maids came running into the bedroom and opened Thora's clinched

hands while Anna bathed her forehead.

"What have I done? Oh, those doctors! Little they know of a mother's

feelings! It will kill her in any case. My poor child! My poor child!

Come, then; come, then!"

Thora recovered consciousness after a moment, and looked about her with

dazed eyes.

"Oscar!" she said, "I want to see Oscar."

"And so you shall, dear," said Anna, and she sent one of the maids

across to the Factor's to fetch him instantly. Oscar came up-stairs four

steps at a stride and entered the room like a rush of wind.

"My poor Thora!" he said with panting breath, and he leaned over the bed

to kiss her.

Thora's eyes, which had been dry and hard, now melted and grew wet.

"Oscar," she said, "your mother has sent our little Elin away--stolen

her from me in the night--and I am so weak and faint I can not get up to

follow her."

"Ah, no, dear, not mother," said Oscar. "Lie quiet and I will explain."

"Fetch her back to me, Oscar. I love my baby. I can not live without

her."

"I know you love her, Thora, and I promise you that you shall have her

back in due time."

"No, no, dear, now."

"Not just yet, Thora, but I give you my word for it that baby is safe.

They are taking every care of her."

"What _right_ have they to take care of my baby?" cried Thora. "I must

have her back. I _will_ have her back."

In Thora's flashing eyes, which changed the character of her

countenance, and in her voice, which was husky with rage and hatred,

there was something of the fierce animal which has been robbed of its

young. Oscar shuddered at sight of the convulsed and livid face, but he

answered quietly:

"Thora, if you give way to feelings like those you will make yourself

ill again, and then baby will never come back to you. If you will only

listen, I will tell you everything. You were very bad before baby came,

and doctor feared you might even do some harm to her. Therefore to save

you from pain and shame I took her away from you for a little

while--only for a little while--until you were better and more sure of

yourself, Thora."

Then a great silence fell on Thora's bewailing and she said in a husky

whisper:

"So it was you, Oscar?"

"Well--yes, dear, it was I--but what I did was for your own good--yours

and our little Elin's. And if you will only wait, only be patient, your

baby shall be brought back to you and we shall be happy."

Thora's wet eyes dried of themselves, but it was a glassy and smileless

light that came into them.

"Where is my baby now?" she asked.

"Not far away. In fact, only at your father's. Aunt Margret wrapped

her in a shawl and I took her across myself."

"Then you gave my child to Helga?" said Thora.

"Well--yes, I gave her to Helga. But Aunt Margret is there now. And

besides, I intend to go over myself off and on all day long, so you are

not to worry or be anxious about anything--not about any single thing.

You understand everything now, dear, do you not?"

"Yes, I understand everything now," said Thora.

The glassy, smileless eyes continued to look up at him, but he mistook

the light that shone in them.

"That's a dear, good girl," he said. "Everybody will be delighted to

hear you are so reasonable and resigned, because everybody thought you

would be inconsolable--everybody except Helga."

"Helga?"

"Helga said you would be yourself within an hour, and she was right.

Helga knew you better than any of us."

"Yes, Helga knew me better than any of you," said Thora.

Then he sat on the end of the bed and chatted gaily on many subjects,

while Anna, crying for joy of the change in Thora's spirits, called for

her breakfast and coaxed her to swallow some of it. He talked of his

work--of the work he was going to do when he began, which would be soon,

very soon now. Then of his ambitions in Parliament, and finally of the

Proclamation. It was fixed for the day after to-morrow, everybody was

going to it and the town would be empty. As for himself, he had made up

his mind to stay at home with Thora, but seeing that the celebration at

Thingvellir had been his idea and that he had taken such a prominent

part in it, people were saying that it would be a thousand pities if he

could not be present.

"Then there's the hymn, you know," said Oscar. "I've been rehearsing

the choir and they are very shaky, but if I thought the organist could

hold them together I shouldn't go in any case."

"What does Helga say?" asked Thora.

"Helga? Oh, Helga? Helga says I must go," replied Oscar.

"So do I," said Thora.

"You do? Really? What a sweet, unselfish soul it is, to be sure," said

Oscar, and kissing Thora on the forehead he ran back to see Elin.

The glassy, smileless eyes on the pillow followed him out of the room,

but their light was the light of despair.

*XII*

Going out of Government House Oscar came upon Magnus, who was standing

at the foot of the staircase, riding-whip in hand, and with Golden Mane

at the door of the porch. By the dark cloud on Magnus's face Oscar

could see that his brother was in a sullen and rebellious mood, and to

avoid further hostilities he saluted him and tried to run on.

"Wait," said Magnus.

"Another time," said Oscar.

"Now," said Magnus, and laying his big hand on Oscar's arm, he drew him

back into the hall.

Oscar flushed up at the indignity and said sharply, "Well, what is it?"

"Oscar," said Magnus, "I heard what passed in the bedroom."

"Then you were listening?"

"I was."

"You are not ashamed to say you were listening on the stairs--on your

hands and knees perhaps--to my conversation with my wife?"

"I would have listened on my belly if need be," said Magnus, and his

face darkened more and more.

"May I ask why you listened?" said Oscar.

"Because I could not do otherwise."

"How so?"

"I had given my word to be here when wanted."

"To my wife?"

"Yes."

"You will excuse my saying, Magnus, that it would be much better if you

attended to your own business."

"This is my own business. Oscar, you must give the child back to

Thora."

"Really, Magnus, you are taking a most unwarrantable liberty. If you

were not my brother----"

"Shah! Give the mother her child."

"Good Lord, man," said Oscar, breathing hard as if he had been running,

"do you really think that I am going to allow an outsider, even if he is

my brother, to dictate to me what I shall do with my family difficulties

and to travel all the way from Thingvellir to conduct my domestic

affairs? What right have you to mix yourself in my business--the

business of my wife and me?"

The cloud that contracted Magnus's face grew darker every moment, and he

said:

"You ask me what right?"

"I do."

"I loved Thora Neilsen."

"You think it necessary to tell me that?" said Oscar. "To remind me that

she threw you up for me?"

"That's a lie, Oscar Stephenson."

"Strong!" said Oscar, with a laugh, but he was trembling visibly.

"I gave her up when I could have kept her to her word. I decided in

favor of the girl's happiness against my own. I gave her up to you that

you might make her happy. Those were the terms on which I gave her up

to you, and what is the result? What is the result, I ask you? You

have allowed another woman to take her place."

"Another woman?" said Oscar. "Is that the way you talk of her own

sister--of Helga?"

"Sister or not, she has tortured Thora by every art her selfish soul

could think of," said Magnus. "That's what she has done, and you have

helped her, and the treasure I valued more than my life you have flung

away."

Oscar made a cry of protest, but Magnus bore him down with a torrent of

words such as never came from his silent lips before.

"Do you think I don't know what kind of life you led that poor unhappy

child while you were away--you and the girl together? And now that her

baby comes and her husband returns to her, as he must if he is a man,

you let her sister's scheming heart rob her of her only happiness."

Again Oscar with his whitening lips did his best to laugh. "Magnus," he

said, "it is impossible to be angry with you. Apparently you do not know

that it was with the consent of the family and by the advice of the

doctor that the child was taken from its mother!"

"Bah! Do you think I don't know who suggested it? ... Do you think that

I don't see her object? Do you think I don't hear her pitiful

pleas--the same as if I had listened to them! The little innocent is in

danger of its life! It must come to her--she must take charge of it.

Why? To bring you back to her feet--to attach you to her at any cost.

And you like a fool fall into her plans--because you want to--because

you don't know yourself or your wife or the woman that isn't worthy to

tie her shoes."

Oscar winced under Magnus's words, for they cut him to the bone.

"Oscar," said Magnus again, "you will give the child back to the

mother--it will be best, I promise you."

"I have my own opinion of what is best," said Oscar, bridling, "and if I

think that for the time being mother and child are best apart----"

"Oscar Stephenson," interrupted Magnus, "you will give the child back to

the mother."

"And if I refuse, by what right will you command me?" said Oscar.

"By the right I acquired when I gave Thora up to you," replied Magnus.

"And by the right I acquired when she became my wife I will do with her

child as I think proper," said Oscar.

At that Magnus lost all control of himself.

"Is she a dog that you can take her whelps?" he cried.

"The law gives me the right to dispose of her offspring as I think

proper," said Oscar.

"Then damn the law," cried Magnus. "And if you are deaf to my

entreaties I--I will----"

"Go on," said Oscar. "It will not be the first time that you have

threatened to break the law."

"You are breaking that poor girl's heart, yet you talk to me about

breaking the law. But I'll do more than that. If you will not give the

child to its mother I will take it by force and give it back to her

myself. And if any man tries to prevent me, no matter who he is or what

he is, by God I'll break his teeth down his throat."

Flinging down his riding-whip Magnus had taken a step forward and lifted

his clinched fist into Oscar's quivering face when a cry came from the

head of the staircase: "Magnus! Oscar! Magnus! Magnus!"

It was Anna. She ran down and put herself between the two men--the

slight, lithe, figure and fair head of Oscar, and the burly form and

swarthy face of Magnus, both panting hard and livid with rage and hate.

"My sons! My sons! For shame! For shame!" she cried. "Every word

could be heard in the bedroom and Thora is crying her eyes out."

Magnus dropped his arm and fell aside a pace or two, rebuked and

ashamed, but Oscar stood with an unflinching front where his mother had

found him.

"Magnus--Oscar," continued Anna, "if you both love the poor girl who is

lying helpless up-stairs, isn't that a reason why you should be friends

and not enemies? And then think of me, my sons. I am your mother.

Surely the sons of one mother can live at peace. I nursed you both when

you were little ones and if there should be strife between you now, and

blows and perhaps bloodshed, it would kill me--I could never survive

it."

Then she turned toward Magnus and said, as well as she could for the

tears that choked her:

"Magnus, you mustn't be angry with Oscar. He is your younger brother,

remember. You and he slept in the same bed when you were children. And

when he was a boy you used to carry him on your back and fight all his

battles."

Magnus groaned and turned again until he stood sideways to his mother,

and thinking he was not to be moved, she faced about to Oscar.

"Oscar," she said, "you must make peace with Magnus. You must, if only

for Thora's sake. Remember, you have got her, Oscar, and if it is true

that Magnus gave her up to you, although he loved her himself, think of

the sacrifice he must have made for both of you! Perhaps he loves her

still, and has condemned himself to life-long loneliness because he has

lost her. And perhaps he weeps his heart out for her the long nights

through. Love that suffers like that has a great excuse, Oscar.

Doesn't it give him a right to look to Thora's happiness? And if he

thinks she is suffering for want of her little Elin----"

Oscar's throat was hurting him, and in a husky voice he said, "She shall

have the child back, mother. If the doctor says it is safe she shall

have the child back immediately."

"There!" said Anna. "That's fair--nothing could be fairer than that,

Magnus. Come, now, you must shake hands with Oscar."

She put her hand on Magnus's arm, but he did not move.

"Magnus," she said, "your mother's love may be all that is left to you

now, but it will last long, my son. You need not give it up to any one,

and no one can take it away. After all a mother's love is best. It will

cling to you and comfort you whatever you do and whatever the world may

do to you. Magnus, you must make friends with your brother--for your

mother's sake, Magnus----"

Magnus turned about and saw Oscar before him with broken face and

outstretched hand. Then his own hand swung out, drew back, swung out

again, and at the next moment the big, burly fellow had flung his arms

about Oscar's neck and was sobbing over him like a child.

Two minutes later Magnus was on his way home, cracking his long whip

over Golden Mane's flying head and whooping and galloping like a madman.

*PART IV*

"_For some we loved, the loveliest and the best_

_That from his vintage rolling time hath prest,_

_Have drunk their cup a round or two before,_

_And one by one crept silently to rest._"

*I*

The day of the Proclamation of the Laws was to be kept as a general

holiday. A hundred pack horses, carrying tents and provisions, had left

the little capital for Thingvellir the day before. The Danish

man-of-war anchored in the fiord had lent half its flags and the Order

of Good Templars had sent all their insignia. It was to be a great and

gorgeous spectacle.

Before daybreak the town was astir, and elderly people on slow ponies

were setting out on their journey. Everybody was on horseback, for the

way was long and Iceland had few roads and no coaches. Soon after dawn

the Governor started off in his cocked hat, and with his Inverness

belted over the bright gold of his official uniform. Factor Neilsen

rode beside him, and the Bishop, the Chief Justice and most of the

Thingmen followed in his train. The idea of reviving a great ceremony

of ancient days, and clasping hands with the mighty dead over a gulf of

a thousand years, had taken hold of everybody's imagination.

Oscar Stephenson, who had been the first to think of it, was among the

last to go. He had been round to the Factor's house to see the child

and to fetch Helga. The sun was reddening the sky over the eastern

hills when they mounted their fleet young ponies. It was a quiet

morning, with the promise of a radiant day.

Helga wore her woolen helmet and a fur cape over a white jersey. Oscar

was in riding dress, with his new Italian cloak hung loose from his

shoulders. Their way out of the town lay past the end of Government

House, under the windows of Thora's bedroom, and Oscar stopped and

called up to it.

"Helloa! Helloa!" cried Oscar.

"Is it worth while to waken her?" said Helga.

But the window opened and Anna's face appeared at it.

"It's Oscar," she said, facing back into the room.

"Good-by, Thora! We'll be back this evening."

There was an indistinct murmur from within, and then Anna said, "Thora

says 'Good-by' and you are not to hurry home on her account."

Oscar laughed and answered, "We'll see, we'll see." And then the riders

put their heels to their ponies and bounded away. Helga was in high

spirits, but the clouds hung on Oscar and he tried in vain to banish

them.

"All goes well, doesn't it?" asked Helga.

"God knows," said Oscar. "She's quiet certainly, and apparently

resigned. Yet her eyes are so dry, her lips so pale, and her cheeks so

white and thin----"

"But what else can you expect four days after her confinement?" said

Helga.

"True! But I've never seen her quite like this before. It is almost as

if a wall of ice had frozen about her soul."

"You took my advice, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And what did the Governor say?"

"He said Magnus's interference was an impertinence, and he wouldn't hear

of it for a moment."

"So things are to remain as they are?"

"As they are," said Oscar.

"And what about Magnus himself?" asked Helga.

"Magnus is at the farm."

"But if he should come back while everybody is away?"

"He can not come back to-day--his guests will keep him busy."

"But if he should in spite of everything?"

"In that case," said Oscar, dropping his voice and turning his head,

"the Sheriff has orders to deal with him."

By this time they had come to the tail of the train which had started

before them, and the dust and the noise of the clattering caravan were

too much for Helga.

"Let us go round by the hot springs and come out ahead of them," she

said, and they went cantering down a lane to the left where vapor

floated over a flowing stream. Half an hour later they returned to the

main road, forded a river and toited up a hill beyond it. The cavalcade

was now far behind them, and the little wooden capital was a long way

off, with its feet in the grey fiord and the white encircling arms of

the snow-covered hills stretching out to the brightening line of the sea

and sky.

"There!" said Helga, drawing rein and looking at Oscar with a sparkle in

her eyes.

"Poor little Thora! I was sorry to leave her. But I dare say

everything will be well," said Oscar.

"Sure to be," said Helga.

"Is that a steamer out there--out by the head?" asked Oscar.

"Undoubtedly it is a steamer," replied Helga.

"The 'Laura' is a day late--she was due to arrive yesterday."

"Then it's the 'Laura' to a certainty."

The sun had now risen, but Oscar shivered as with cold. "I must be a

miserable coward, Helga, for the sight of a mail-ship frightens me," he

said.

But Helga only laughed and held up a warning hand. "We'll not talk of

that to-day, Oscar--not to-day at all events. Look!" she cried,

pointing to the line of moving forms on the brown streak of road that

ran through the plain of black lava. "Look at your tribe down yonder.

Don't you feel like Mahomet going back to Mecca? Or like Jacob going up

to the Mount of Gilead with his flocks and his herds and----"

"And his wives?" said Oscar.

"Yes, and his wives," laughed Helga, and then both laughed together.

They put heels to their ponies again and Helga sang to herself as they

swung along.

"What a fool I am," thought Oscar. "Why should I meet misfortune before

it comes? And why should I trouble so much about Thora? Isn't Helga as

greatly to be pitied? In the wretched tangle of our fate hers is the

knot that can never be untied. Yet how happy she looks! Why shouldn't

I be happy?"

"Helga!" said Oscar, when they slowed down again, "you wouldn't like to

have lived in those old days I suppose?"

"Certainly I should," said Helga.

"What? And share your husband with another woman?"

"That's nothing. Women do the same in these days, you know."

And then they laughed again, though with a dubious gaiety, and broke

into a canter once more.

"I'm a brute," thought Oscar. "And badly as I have injured Thora the

wrong I have done to Helga is still more terrible. For her there is no

outlook, no prospect, no future. She must go back to Denmark and I must

go on with my duty. But why shouldn't we have one day of happiness

first? One day of delight before the dream is over?"

They drew up at a river that ran by the road to water their ponies and

to take off their cloaks and pack them behind their saddles, for the sun

was now bright and the air was warm.

"There's one curious point about the patriarchs," said Oscar.

"And what's that?" asked Helga.

"Clearly they thought it possible for a man to love more than one

woman."

"And can't he?" said Helga.

"I ask you," said Oscar--"can't a man love more than one woman?"

"Why not? Aren't we all told to love one another?" laughed Helga, and

then Oscar lifted her in his arms and swung her back to her saddle and

they started on their journey afresh.