Fall With Me

A new adult novel from Entangled's Embrace imprint...Love is patient.

Revenge is [Link] the game of love…Dumped by her college boyfriend
for her best friend, th

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 Fall With Me

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.
Thora's side, and Helga was trampling on her train, but Thora herself
was as calm as a trustful child.
At the next moment she was kneeling by Oscar's side on the
communion steps--just where they had knelt as children to be
confirmed--and the Bishop was administering the vows. There was a
breathless hush in the crowded cathedral during this solemn and
beautiful ceremony--a ceremony for ever new, for ever old, for ever
awful--the consecration of the man to the woman, the woman to the
man, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, "till death us
do part."
Oscar was still breathing heavily, but Thora felt too happy to be
agitated, too sure to be afraid. When the Bishop put their hands
together, and laid his own hand on the top of them, she felt Oscar's
hand tremble and his pulse throb, and she wanted to calm and
comfort him. But it was all over in a moment, for they had risen to
their feet, and one of the assistant clergy was giving out a hymn.

"Guide Thy children, Father, guide them,

Through the thorny paths of life."

The choir began it, but the congregation joined in, and all the voices
seemed to quiver with emotion. Thora felt herself carried away, far
away, but still she was holding Oscar's hand. She thought she could
hear Magnus's voice among the voices behind her--the deep voice
she used to hear on those evenings so long ago. Poor Magnus! But
then he could have had no joy of her, so it was better even for him.
 It was something of a descent when the hymn ended and the
Bishop shook hands with her, and the Governor followed his
example, and the bridesmaids came up and kissed her in the
presence of the whole congregation. But Oscar gave her his arm,
and as they moved down the nave the organ and choir began again:

"O Perfect Love, all human thought transcending,

Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne."

She was now sure she could hear Magnus, and looking up at the
organ loft she saw him. Yes, he was there; he was in the choir; he
had come back from the Northlands to sing at her wedding.

"That theirs may be the joy that knows no ending,

Whom Thou for evermore dost join in one--"

She had only one glance at his face, but she saw it plainly. She had
never seen it like that before--so broken up, and so soft, yet so
strong and brave. His eyes were steadfastly fixed on his music book,
and he was swaying a little and singing as with all his might.

"Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow,

Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife--
"
But Magnus was whirled away from her in a moment, for the people
whispered as she was going past. "Dear Thora! God bless our
Thora!"
Oscar was bowing on both sides of the aisle, and the people
were talking to him also. "How handsome he looks!" "He looks as if
he could take care of her, too!" "Take care of her, Oscar!"
They were back in the porch at length, and somebody was
putting her plush cloak over her shoulders. Silvertop was standing
outside, and Hans the sailor (in his new sleeve waistcoat) was giving
him water out of his pail.
Oscar lifted her to the saddle, and they turned their faces
homeward. The bells began to ring again--a merry peal--and then,
at last, Thora's tears began to flow. How good everybody had been
to her! It was all for Oscar's sake! How sweet to think they were
good to her for the sake of Oscar! Thank God for Oscar!

Anna and Aunt Margret were at the door of the Factor's house to
receive them. They kissed Thora, and called her "Mrs. Stephenson,"
and then took her up-stairs to change. When she came down again
the friends invited to the wedding feast were coming in quickly,
taking off their snowshoes, shaking hands with Oscar, and talking all
at once.
The table was laid in the double sitting-room which had been
the scene of the betrothal. The Factor sat at the head with Oscar on
his right (just in the place where he had trodden on Helga's
photograph), and Thora on his left (where Magnus had sat on the
low seat beside his mother), while the Governor faced the Factor,
with Anna and Aunt Margret at either side of him, and the Bishop,
the Sheriff, and the Doctor between. Helga sat midway down the
table, with Neils Finsen on one side of her and the Rector on the
other.
Thora was bashful but bright, reddening a little with maidenly
reserve when pointed remarks were made to her, but filling the room
with musical laughter. During the meal nearly everybody raised his
glass to her, and at the end of it the Governor rose, bowed to her
down the table with a stately grace, and began to speak.
"I rise," said the Governor, "to propose the health of the bride
and bridegroom. We are all happy in the marriage which has just
been celebrated, and no one can be more happy than myself. It had
been for many years the dearest hope of my heart that the life-long
friendship between Factor Neilsen and myself might be cemented in
our children by a still closer bond."
"Your health, old friend," interrupted the Factor, raising his
glass, and the Governor stopped to drink with him.
"Time was, perhaps," he continued, "when I feared lest this
hope might be frustrated."
"No, no!" said the Factor, while Thora dropped her head, Anna
sighed audibly, and there was silence for a moment, as if the spirit of
some one who was not present had passed through the room.
"But sweet is the bliss that follows bale," said the Governor,
"and thank God we are now of one mind and one family."
When the glasses of the company had ceased to jingle, the
Governor went on to speak of Thora. "She has always been like a
daughter in our house, and now she is our daughter indeed. We
have loved her all her life, and to-day we have given her the best we
had to give to any one--our son, our favorite son, the idol of our
hopes and the pride of our hearts. God bless both of them!"
As soon as the Factor had done wiping his eyes with his print
handkerchief he rose with a laugh and said:
"Stem before stern when the sea gets up, and I'm not much
used to pulling backward, but I'm with the Governor in thanking God
that the storm that threatened has blown over and we are sailing in
smooth water. As for Oscar, he has been my godson ever since he
was anything; and to-day he has become my son, and I could not
wish for a better.
"And now," said the Factor, as soon as he was allowed to go on,
"a small promise kept is better than a big one forgotten, and I'm
going to keep a little promise which I made on the day of the
betrothal. Perhaps some of you wouldn't think it, but I believe in
young people enjoying their youth while they've got any. I managed
to miss mine somehow, and it's been work, work, work with me all
my days. The same with the Governor; it's been work, work, work
with him too, and we haven't had a holiday between us. But we are
going to have a holiday now--we're going to travel to the sunny
south lands, where the ground and the sea aren't white like this and
that." (The Factor waved his hands toward the windows front and
back.) "Yes, we're going to see the world in our old age, the
Governor and I, but it's got to be with eyes that are better than ours
are now--the eyes of our children."
"What's more," continued the Factor, when the company were
again quiet, "we're not going to grudge the expense either, and if
Oscar will look under his bottom plate he'll find a little oil that will
grease the wheels on the way."
Oscar lifted his fruit plate and took up two checks, and when
the toast had been honored he rose to reply. Nobody had ever
before seen him so pale, so nervous, or so serious.
"I thank the Governor and the Factor," he said, "for the splendid
present they have given us--so much more than we can possibly
require on our journey. I thank you all for coming to our wedding--it
is so pleasant to be surrounded by the people who have known us
all our lives. 'Find your wife among your friends,' says one of our
Sagas. I have found mine almost in my family, and I trust the two
branches now made one may never be divided as the result of what
we have done this morning."
There was some applause, and when Oscar began again his
voice faltered and broke.
"I thank the Bishop, too," he said, "for the words--the wise and
touching words--he spoke in marrying us. I know that love--love is
the only foundation of a true marriage, and I--I trust my marriage is
a true one. I do not love my wife as much as I ought--as much as
she deserves. I can never do that; it is impossible, but I hope to love
her more and more as time goes on, and to fly from every
temptation to love her less. I know I am not worthy of the dear
good girl who has given herself to me to-day, but I will try so to live
that she may never regret it. Often forgive the woman's faults, says
another of our Sagas, but a truer word in this case would be forgive
the man's, and I pray God my wife may never have too much to
forgive."
 When Oscar sat down the men thought his speech had been a
little affected and far-fetched, but there was not a woman in the
room who did not want to leap up and kiss him. Thora was openly
wiping her eyes, but her face was one high noon of enjoyment, and
in the buzz which followed the silence Aunt Margret called across to
her.
"Mrs. Stephenson, you had better take care of your husband or
some of these young women will run away with him."
There were other toasts, "The Governor," "The Factor," and
finally, "The Bridesmaids," proposed by the Rector in a playful
speech.
"They say a kiss isn't the same thing from all women," he said,
"and being an old bachelor I know nothing about that; but the
young fellow on my left" (the Rector indicated Neils Finsen), "who
has a right to consider himself the best man in Iceland to-day, has
confessed to me in a whisper that he finds one of the bridesmaids so
charming and beautiful that if he had been in Oscar's place, and
compelled by a narrow-minded law to choose between the Factor's
two daughters, he would have cut off to some eastern country
where he could have married both."
Everybody laughed and looked at Helga, who had herself been
laughing rather hysterically, and looking at Oscar all through dinner.
And then Thora, who was overflowing with happiness, glanced down
at her sister, and remembered the great scheme she had conceived
to make amends for mistrusting and suspecting her. Now was the
moment to carry it into effect--now that she was queen in her little
kingdom--and, half bold, half shy, she rose from her seat, put her
arms about her father's neck, and whispered something in his ear.
 The Factor's face straightened for a moment, then broadened
again, and he said, "But what does Oscar say?"
"Oscar will be sure to agree," said Thora, and she whispered in
her father's ear again.
"Well, I'm not going back on my word; I'm willing; but you must
ask Oscar."
Then, laughing and reddening, Thora crept up behind Oscar and
whispered in his ear also, while looking sideways down at Helga. As
Oscar listened his face became serious and he said:
"But you are quite sure that you wish it, Thora?"
"Yes, yes, yes," said Thora, laughing and blushing, for now the
eyes of the whole company were on her.
"Let us talk of it to-morrow," said Oscar.
"No, no, now," said Thora.
"But perhaps Helga herself--" began Oscar, and then he
stopped, whereupon Helga, hearing her own name, said with a
nervous laugh:
"What is that about Helga?"
"Yes, what is it?" said several voices at once, and then the
Factor explained.
"Thora wants to have her sister to accompany them on their
tour, and she is trying to persuade Oscar."
There were some unconvincing cries of "Why not?" and
"Splendid!" and then there was silence, broken only by Thora's voice
saying:
"Please, Oscar, please!"
It was the last thing Oscar could have expected--to have
temptation thrown in his way at the moment when he was trying to
escape from it; to have the flood-gate of passion opened afresh after
he had struggled so hard to dam it--and to have this done by Thora
herself, in her blind unselfishness and innocent joy, as if the powers
of hell were making game of her.
But the company were waiting for Oscar's answer; and, not to
betray himself, he tried to escape by banter. "I'm not like Neils--I
don't want both of you," he said; but still the pleading, coaxing voice
was at his ear, saying:
"Please, Oscar, please, please!" And when Oscar continued to
hesitate the Rector said:
"Tut, tut, Oscar, refusing your wife's first request is a bad
beginning."
"I'm not refusing," said Oscar, "and if Helga herself really and
truly thinks she would like to go with us----"
"Would you like to go, Helga?" asked the Factor, and then there
was another moment's hesitation, in which Helga, biting her lower
lip with a fierceness which betrayed the struggle in her soul, looked
across at Oscar as if trying to read in his face what her answer was
to be.
"Tell her to say yes, Oscar," said Thora.
"Yes," said Helga, and at the next moment Thora was clapping
her hands in triumphant delight and making the room ring with her
laughter.
Neils Finsen had sat down to the piano and the servants were
clearing the table to make way for dancing, when Anna came up
behind Thora and whispered:
"Somebody outside wishes to see you, Thora."
"Is it perhaps----?"
"Yes, dear," said Anna, and Thora followed her out of the room.
 XI

Magnus was waiting in the hall, dressed in snow stockings and a

long cape overcoat, rough and worn and belted about the waist. His
face was stamped with the deep lines which in a strong man stand
for resignation and in a weak one for despair. Thora thought she had
never seen him look so big and brawny, but his voice when he spoke
to her was as soft as a woman's, and he broke into the sunniest of
smiles. She closed the door of the sitting-room to shut out the sound
of the piano, and then came forward and held out her hand, feeling
little and weak in her kirtle and the bridal crown across her
forehead.
"I came to say good-by and to wish you a good voyage," he
said.
"I'm so glad you've come," said Thora. "I heard you had gone
away, and I was afraid I was going to miss you."
"I've brought you this for a wedding present," said Magnus,
taking up from the hall table a large white bear's skin which Thora
had not noticed before.
"What a magnificent rug!" said Thora.
"Is it a good one?" said Magnus.
"It is perfectly beautiful. I have never seen anything like it. It
must have cost you a fortune."
"No, not a great deal. I bought it in the Northlands."
"Then it was to get this that you went there?"
"Yes."
"In the winter, too--such a long, cold journey!"
 "I am strong, Thora--I never feel the cold."
His sad eyes were glistening, and Thora's throat was thick.
"I shall use it on the ship and in the train and everywhere," she
said. "And whenever I use it I will always think of you."
"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?

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