Amelia E. Barr Love, the old, old troubler of the world. Love has reasons, of which reason knows nothing. Alas, how easily things go wrong! A sigh too much, or a kiss too long, And there follows a mist and a weeping rain And life is never the same again.

No sooner was Mrs. Brodie’s intention known, than all her friends were eager to help her. There was truly but little time between Monday morning and Wednesday night; but many hands make light work, and old and young offered their services in arranging for what it pleased all to consider as a kind of national thanksgiving.

The unanimity of this kindness gave Rahal a slight attack of a certain form of jealousy, to which she had been subject for many years, and she asked her husband, as she had done often before, “Why is it, Coll, that every woman in the 99 town is eager to help and encourage Barbara if she only speaks of having a dance or dinner; but if I, thy wife, am the giver of pleasure, I am left to do all without help or any show of interest. It troubles me, Coll.”

And Coll answered as he always did answer––“It is thy superiority, Rahal. Is there any woman we know, who would presume to give thee advice or counsel? And it is well understood by all of them that thou cannot thole an obligation. Thou, and thy daughter, and thy servants are sufficient for all thy social plans; and why should thou be bothered with a lot of old and young women? Thy sister Brodie loves a crowd about her, and she says ‘thank thee’ to all and sundry, as easily as she takes a drink of water. It chokes thee to say ‘thanks’ to any one.”

So Rahal was satisfied, and went with the rest to help Mistress Brodie prepare for her dance. There were women in the kitchen making pies and custards and jellies, and women in her parlours cleaning and decorating them, and women in the great hall taking up carpets because it was a favourite place for reels, and women washing China and trimming lamps. Thora was doing the shopping, Ian was carrying the invitations; and every 100 one who had been favoured with one had not only said “Yes,” but had also asked if there was anything they could loan, or do, to help the impromptu festival. Thus, Mrs. Harold Baikie sent her best service of China, and the Faes sent several extra large lamps, and the bride of Luke Serge loaned her whole supply of glassware, and Rahal took over her stock of table silver; and Mistress Brodie received every loan––useful or not––with the utmost delight and satisfaction.

On Wednesday afternoon, however, she was faced by a condition she did not know how to manage. Ian came to her in a hurry, saying, “My friend, McLeod, is longing for an invitation from you, and he has asked me to request one. Surely you will send him the favour! Yes, I know you will.”

“You are knowing too much, Ian. What can I do? You know well, laddie, he is not popular with the best set here.”

“I would not mind the ‘best set’ if I were you. What makes them ‘the best’? Just their own opinion of themselves. McLeod is of gentle birth, he is handsome and good-hearted, you will like him as soon as you speak to him. There is another ‘best set’ beside the one Adam Vedder 101 leads; I would like some one to take down that old man’s conceit of himself––there is nothing wrong with McLeod! Yes, he is Highland Scotch–––”

“There! that is enough, Ian! Go your ways and bid the young man. Ask him in your own name.”

“No, Mistress, I will not do that. The invitation carries neither honour nor good will without your name.”

“Well then, my name be it. My name has been so much used lately, I think I will change it.”

“Take my name then. I will be proud indeed if you will.”

“You are aye daffing, Ian; I am o’er busy for nonsense the now. Give the Mac a hint that tartans are not necessary.”

“But I cannot do that. I am going to wear the Macrae tartan.”

“You can let that intent go by.”

“No, I can not! A certain ‘yes’ may depend on my wearing the Macrae tartan.”

“Well, checked cloth is bonnier than black broadcloth to some people. I don’t think Thora Ragnor is among that silly crowd. There is not a more quarrelsome dress than a tartan kilt––and 102 I’m thinking the Brodies were ill friends with the Macraes in the old days.”

“The Brodies are not Highlanders.”

“You are a shamefully ignorant man, Ian Macrae. The Brodies came from Moray, and are the only true lineal descendants of Malcolm Thane of Brodie in the reign of Alexander the Third, lawful King of Scotland. What do you think of the Brodies now?”

“The Macrae doffs his bonnet to them; but–––”

“If you say another word, the McLeod will be out of it––sure and final.”

So Ian laughingly left the room, and Mistress Brodie walked to the window and watched him speeding towards the town. “He is a wonderful lad!” she said to herself. “And I wish he was my lad! Oh why were all my bairns lasses? They just married common bodies and left me! Oh for a lad like Ian Macrae!” Then with a great sigh, she added: “It is all right. I would doubtless have spoiled and mismanaged him!”

It is not to be supposed that Sunna Vedder kept away from all this social stir and preparation. She was first and foremost in everything during Monday and Tuesday, but Wednesday she reserved 103 herself altogether for the evening. No one saw her until the noon hour; then she came to the dinner table, for she had an entirely fresh request to make, one which she was sure would require all her personal influence to compass.

She prefaced it with the intelligence that Boris had arrived during the night, and that Elga had met him in the street––“looking more handsome than any man ought to look, except upon his wedding day.”

“And on that day,” said Adam, gloomily, “a man has generally good cause to look ugly.”

“But if he was going to marry me, Grandfather, how then?”

“He would doubtless look handsome. Men usually do when they are on the road of destruction.”

“Grandfather! I have made up my mind to marry Boris, and lead him the way I want him to go. That will always be the way thou chooseth.”

“How comes that?”

“I loved thee first of all. I shall always love thee first. Boris played me false, I must pay him back. I must make him suffer. Those Ragnors––all of them––put on such airs! They make me sick.”

“What art thou after? What favour art thou seeking?”

“Thou knows how the girls will try to outdress each other at this Brodie affair–––”

“It is too late for a new dress––what is it thou wants now?”

“I want thee to go to the bank and get me my mother’s necklace to wear just this one night.”

“I will not. I gave thy dead mother a promise.”

“Break it, for a few hours. My Easter dress is not a dancing dress. I have no dancing dress but the pretty white silk thou gave me last Christmas––and I have no ornaments at all––none whatever, fit to wear with it.”

“There are always flowers–––”

“Flowers! There is not a flower in Kirkwall. Easter and old Mistress Brodie have used up every daisy––besides, white silk ought to have jewels.”

Adam shook his head positively.

“My mother wishes me to have what I want. Thou ought not to keep it from me.”

“She told me to give thee her necklace on thy twenty-first birthday––not before.”

“That is so silly! What better is my twenty-first 105 birthday than any other day? Grandfather, I cannot love thee more, because my love for thee is already a perfect love; but I will be such a good girl if thou wilt give me what I want, O so much I want it! I will be so obedient! I will do everything thou desires! I will even marry Boris Ragnor.” And this urgent request was punctuated with kisses and little fondling strokes of her hand, and Adam finally asked––

“How shall I answer thy mother when she accuses me of breaking my promise to her?”

“I will answer for thee. O dear! It is growing late! If thou dost not hurry, the bank will be closed, and then I shall be sick with disappointment, and it will be thy fault.”

Then Adam rose and left the house and Sunna, having seen that he took the proper turn in the road, called for a cup of tea and having refreshed herself with it, went upstairs to lay out and prepare everything for her toilet. And as she went about this business she continually justified herself:––

“It is only natural I should have my necklace,” she thought. “Norse women have always adored gold and silver and gems, and in the old days their husbands sailed long journeys and fought 106 battles for what their women wanted. My great Aunt Christabelle often told me that many of the old Shetland and Orkney families had gold ornaments and uncut gems, hundreds of years old, hid away. I would not wonder if Grandfather has some! I dare say the bank’s safe is full of them! I do not care for them but I do want my mother’s wedding necklace––and I am going to have it. Right and proper it is, I should have it now. Mother would say so if she were here. Girls are women earlier than they were in her day. Twenty-one, indeed! I expect to be married long before I am twenty-one.”

In less than an hour she began to watch the road for her grandfather’s return. Very soon she saw him coming and he had a small parcel in his hand. Her heart gave a throb of satisfaction and she began to unplait her manifold small braids: “I shall not require to go to bed,” she murmured. “Grandfather has my necklace. He will want to take it back to the bank tomorrow––I shall see about that––I promised––yes, I know! But there are ways––out of a promise.”

She was, of course, delightfully grateful to receive the necklace, and Vedder could not help noticing how beautiful her loosened hair looked. 107 Its length and thickness and waves of light colour gave to her stately, blonde beauty a magical grace, and Vedder was one of those men who admire the charms of his own family as something naturally greater than the same charms in any other family. “The Vedders carry their beauty with an air,” he said, and he was right. The Vedders during the course of a few centuries of social prominence had acquired that air of superiority which impresses, and also frequently offends.

Certainly, Sunna Vedder in white silk and a handsome necklace of rubies and diamonds was an imposing picture; and Adam Vedder, in spite of his sixty-two years, was an imposing escort. It would be difficult to say why, for he was a small man in comparison with the towering Norsemen by whom he was surrounded. Yet he dominated and directed any company he chose to favour with his presence; and every man in Kirkwall either feared or honoured him. Sunna had much of his natural temperament, but she had not the driving power of his cultivated intellect. She relied on her personal beauty and the many natural arts with which Nature has made women a match for any antagonist. Had she not heard her grandfather 108 frequently say “a beautiful woman is the best armed creature that God has made! She is as invincible as a rhinoceros!”

This night he had paid great attention to his own toilet. He was fashionably attired, neat as a new pin, and if not amiable, at least exceedingly polite. He had leaning on his arm what he considered the most beautiful creature in Scotland, and he assumed the manners of her guardian with punctilious courtesy.

There was a large company present when the Vedders reached Mrs. Brodie’s––military men, a couple of naval officers, gentlemen of influence, and traders of wealth and enterprise; with a full complement of women “divinely tall and fair.” Sunna made the sensation among them she expected to make. There was a sudden pause in conversation and every eye filled itself with her beauty. For just a moment, it seemed as if there was no other person present.

Then Mrs. Brodie and Colonel Belton came to meet them, and Sunna was left in the latter’s charge. “Will you now dance, Miss Vedder?” he asked.

“Let us first walk about a little, Colonel. I want to find my friend, Thora Ragnor.”

“I have long desired an introduction to Miss Ragnor. Is she not lovely?”

“Yes, but now only for one man. A stranger came here last week, and she was captured at once.”

“How remarkable! I thought that kind of irresponsible love had gone quite out of favour and fashion.”

“Not so! This youth came, saw, and conquered.”

“Is it the youth I see with Ken McLeod?”

“The same. Look! There they are, together as usual.”

“She is very sweet and attractive.”

Sunna answered this remark by asking Thora to honour Colonel Belton with her company for a short time, saying: “In the interval I will take care of Ian Macrae.” Then Thora stood up in her innocence and loveliness and she was like some creature of more ethereal nature than goes with flesh and blood. For the eye took her in as a whole, and at first noticed neither her face nor her dress in particular. Her dress was only of white tarlatan, a thin, gauze-like material long out of fashion. It is doubtful if any woman yet remembers its airy, fairy sway, and graceful folds. 110 The filmy robe, however, was plentifully trimmed with white satin ribbon, and the waist was entirely of satin trimmed with tarlatan. The whole effect was girlish and simple, and Thora needed no other ornament but the pink and white daisies at her belt.

However, if Sunna expected Thora’s manner and conversation to match the simplicity of her dress, she was disappointed. In Love’s school women learn with marvellous rapidity, and Thora astonished her by falling readily into a conversation of the most up-to-date social character. She had caught the trick from Ian, a little playful fencing round the most alluring of subjects, yet it brought out the simplicity of her character, while it also revealed its purity and intelligence.

Dancing had commenced when Mrs. Ragnor entered the room on the arm of her son Boris. Boris instantly looked around for Sunna and she was dancing with McLeod. All the evening afterwards Boris danced, but never once with Sunna, and Adam Vedder watched the young man with scorn. He was the most desirable party in the room for any girl and he quite neglected the handsome Sunna Vedder. That was not his only annoyance. McLeod was dancing far too often with 111 Sunna, and even the beautiful youth Ian Macrae had only asked her hand once; and Adam was sure that Thora Ragnor had been the suggester of that act of politeness. Girls far inferior to Sunna in every respect had received more attention than his granddaughter. He was greatly offended, but he appeared to turn his back on the whole affair and to be entirely occupied in conversation with Conall Ragnor and Colonel Belton concerning the war with Russia.

Every way the evening was to Sunna a great disappointment, in many respects she felt it to be a great humiliation; and the latter feeling troubled her more for her grandfather than for herself. She knew he was mortified, for he did not speak to her as they walked through the chill, damp midnight to their home. Mrs. Brodie had urged Adam and Sunna to put the night past at her house, but Adam had been proof against all her suggestions, and even against his own desires. So he satisfied his temper by walking home and insisting on Sunna doing likewise.

It was a silent, unhappy walk. Adam said not a word to Sunna and she would not open the way for his anger to relieve itself. When they reached home they found a good fire in the room full of 112 books which Adam called his own, and there they went. Then Sunna let her long dress fall down, and put out her sandalled feet to the warmth of the fire. Adam glanced into her face and saw that it was full of trouble.

“Go to thy bed, Sunna,” he said. “Of this night thou must have had enough.”

“I have had too much, by far. If only thou loved me!”

“Who else do I love? There is none but thee.”

“Then with some one thou ought to be angry.”

“Is it with Boris Ragnor I should be angry?”

“Yes! It is with Boris Ragnor. Not once did he ask me to dance. Watching him and me were all the girls. They saw how he slighted me, and made little nods and laughs about it.”

“It was thy own fault. When Boris came into the room, he looked for thee. With McLeod thou wert dancing. With that Scot thou wert dancing! The black look on his face, I saw it, thou should have seen it and have given him a smile––Pshaw! Women know so much––and do so little. By storm thou ought to have taken the whole affair for thy own. I am disappointed in thee––yes, I am disappointed.”

“Why, Grandfather?”

“An emergency thou had to face, and thou shirked it. When Boris entered the room, straight up to him thou should have gone; with an outstretched hand and a glad smile thou should have said: ‘I am waiting for thee, Boris!’ Then thou had put all straight that was crooked, and carried the evening in thy own hands.”

“I will pay Boris for this insult. Yes, I will, and thou must help me.”

“To quarrel with Boris? To injure him in any way? No! that I will not do. It would be to quarrel also with my old friend Conall. Not thee! Not man or woman living, could make me do that! Sit down and I will tell thee a better way.”

“No, I will not sit down till thou say ‘yes’ to what I ask”; for some womanly instinct told her that while Adam was cowering over the hearth blaze and she stood in all her beauty and splendour above him, she controlled the situation. “Thou must help me!”

“To what or whom?”

“I want to marry Boris.”

“Dost thou love him?”

“Better than might be. When mine he is all mine, then I will love him.”

“That is little to trust to.”

“Thou art wrong. It is of reasons one of the best and surest. Not three months ago, a little dog followed thee home, an ugly, half-starved little mongrel, not worth a shilling; but it was determined to have thee for its master, and thou called it thy dog, and now it is petted and pampered and lies at thy feet, and barks at every other dog, and thou says it is the best dog on the Island. It is the same way with husbands. Thou hast seen how Mary Minorie goes on about her bald, scrimpy husband; yet she burst out crying when he put the ring on her finger. Now she tells all the girls that marriage is ‘Paradise Regained.’ When Boris is my husband it will be well with me, and not bad for him. He will be mine, and we love what is our own.”

“Why wilt thou marry any man? Thou wilt be rich.”

“One must do as the rest of the world does––and the world has the fashion of marrying.”

“Money rules love.”

“No!”

“Yes! Bolon Flett had only scorn for his poor little wife until her uncle left her two thousand pounds. Since then, no word is long enough or good enough for her excellencies. Money opens 115 the eyes as well as the heart. What then, if I make Boris rich?”

“Boris is too proud to take money from thee and I will not be sold to any man!”

“Wilt thou wait until my meaning is given thee––flying off in a temper like a foolish woman!”

“I am sorry––speak thy meaning.”

“Sit down. Thou art not begging anything.”

“Not from thee. I have thy love.”

“And thine is mine. This is my plan. Above all things Boris loves a stirring, money-making business. I am going to ask him to take me as his partner. Tired am I of living on my past. How many boats has Boris?”

“Thou knowest he has but one, but she is large and swift, and does as much business as McLeod’s three little sloops.”

“Schooners.”

“Schooners, then––little ones!”

“Well then, there is a new kind of boat which thou hast never seen. She is driven by steam, not wind, she goes swiftly, all winds are fair to her, and she cares little for storms.”

“I saw a ship like that when I was in Edinburgh. She lay in Leith harbour, and the whole school went to Leith to see her come in.”

“If Boris will be my partner, I will lay my luck to his, and I will buy a steam ship, a large coaster––dost thou see?”

Then with a laugh she cried: “I see, I see! Then thou can easily beat the sloops or schooners, that have nothing but sails. Good is that, very good!”

“Just so. We can make two trips for their one. No one can trade against us.”

“McLeod may buy steam ships.”

“I have learned all about him. His fortune is in real estate, mostly in Edinburgh. It takes a lifetime to sell property in Edinburgh. We shall have got all there is to get before McLeod could compete with Vedder and Ragnor.”

“That scheme would please Boris, I know.”

“A boat could be built on the Clyde in about four months, I think. Shall I speak to Boris?”

“Yes, Boris will not fly in the face of good fortune; but mind this––it is easier to begin that reel than it will be to end it. One thing I do not like––thou wert angry with Boris, now thou wilt take him for a partner.”

“At any time I can put my anger under my purse––but my anger was mostly against thee. Now shall I do as I am minded?”

“That way is more likely than not! I think this affair will grow with thee––but thou may change thy mind–––”

“I do not call my words back. Go now to thy bed and forget everything. This is the time when sleep will be better than either words or deeds. Of my intent speak to no one. In thy thoughts let it be still until its hour arrives.”

“In the morning, very early, I am going to see Thora. When the enlisting ship sails northward, there will be a crowd to see her off. Boris and Thora and Macrae will be among it. I also intend to be there. Dost thou know at what hour she will leave?”

“At ten o’clock the tide is full.”

“Then at ten, she will sail.”

“Likely enough, is that. Our talk is now ended. Let it be, as if it had not been.”

“I have forgotten it.”

Vedder laughed, and added: “Go then to thy bed, I am tired.”

“Not tired of Sunna?”

“Well then, yes, of thee I have had enough at present.”

She went away as he spoke, and then he was worried. “Now I am unhappy!” he ejaculated. 118 “What provokers to the wrong way are women! Her mother was like her––my beloved Adriana!” And his old eyes filled with sorrowful tears as he recalled the daughter he had lost in the first days of her motherhood. Very soon Sunna and Adriana became one and he was fast asleep in his chair.

In the morning Sunna kept her intention. She poured out her grandfather’s coffee, and talked of everything but the thing in her heart and purpose. After breakfast she said: “I shall put the day past with Thora Ragnor. Thy dinner will be served for thee by Elga.”

“Talking thou wilt be–––”

“Of nothing that ought to be kept quiet. Do not come for me if I am late; I intend that Boris shall bring me home.”

Sunna dressed herself in a pretty lilac lawn frock, trimmed with the then new and fashionable Scotch open work, and fresh lilac ribbons. Her hair was arranged as Boris liked it best, and it was shielded by one of those fine, large Tuscan hats that have never, even yet, gone out of fashion.

“Why, Sunna!” cried Thora, as she hastened to meet her friend, “how glad am I to see thee!”

“Thou wert in my heart this morning, and I 119 said to it ‘Be content, in an hour I will take thee to thy desire.’” And they clasped hands, and walked thus into the house. “Art thou not tired after the dance?”

“No,” replied Thora, “I was very happy. Do happy people get tired?”

“Yes––one can only bear so much happiness, then it is weariness––sometimes crossness. Too much of any good thing is a bad thing.”

“How wise thou art, Sunna.”

“I live with wisdom.”

“With Adam Vedder?”

“Yes, and thou hast been living with Love, with Mr. Macrae. Very handsome and good-natured he is. I am sure that thou art in love with him! Is that not the case?”

“Very much in love with me he is, Sunna. It is a great happiness. I do not weary of it, no, indeed! To believe in love, to feel it all around you! It is wonderful! You know, Sunna––surely you know?”

“Yes, I, too, have been in love.”

“With Boris––I know. And also Boris is in love with thee.”

“That is wrong. No longer does Boris love me.”

“But that is impossible. Love for one hour is love forever. He did love thee, then he could not forget. Never could he forget.”

“He did not notice me last night. Thou must have seen?”

“I did not notice––but I heard some talk about it. The first time thou art alone with him, he will tell thee his trouble. It is only a little cloud––it will pass.”

“I suppose the enlisting ship sails northaway first?”

“Yes, to Lerwick, though they may stop at Fair Island on the way. Boris says they could get many men there––and Boris knows.”

“Art thou going to the pier to see them leave? I suppose every one goes. Shall we go together?”

“Why, Sunna! They left this morning about four o’clock. Father went down to the pier with Boris. Boris sailed with them.”

“Thora! Thora! I thought Boris was to remain here until the naval party returned from Shetland?”

“The lieutenant in command thought Boris could help the enlisting, for in Lerwick Boris has many friends. Thou knows my sisters Anna and 121 Nenie live in Lerwick. Boris was fain to go and see them.”

“But they will return here when their business is finished in Lerwick?”

“They spoke of doing so, but mother is not believing they will return. They took with them all the men enlisted here and the men are wanted very much. Boris did not bid us a short ‘good-bye.’ Mother was crying, and when he kissed me his tears wet my cheeks.”

Sunna did not answer. For a few minutes she felt as if her heart had suddenly died. At last she blundered out:

“I suppose the officer was afraid that––Boris might slip off while he was away.”

“Well, then, thou supposes what is wrong. When a fight is the question, Boris needs no one either to watch him or to egg him on.”

“Is that youngster, Macrae, going to join? Or has he already taken the Queen’s shilling? I think I heard such a report.”

“No one could have told that story. Macrae is bound by a contract to McLeod for this year and indeed, just yet, he does not wish to go.”

“He does not wish to leave thee.”

“That is not out of likelihood.”

“Many are saying that England is in great stress, and my grandfather thinks that so she is.”

“My father says ‘not so.’ If indeed it were so, my father would have gone with Boris. Mother is cross about it.”

“About what then is she cross?” asked Sunna.

“People are saying that England is in stress. Mother says such words are nothing but men’s ‘fear talk.’ England’s sons are many, and if few they were, she has millions of daughters who would gladly fight for her!” said Thora.

“Well, then, for heroics there is no present need! I surely thought Boris loved his business and would not leave his money-making.”

“Could thou tell me what incalculable sum of money a man would take for his honour and patriotism?” asked Thora.

“What has honour to do with it?”

“Everything; a man without honour is not a man––he is just ‘a body’; he has no soul. Robert Burns told Andrew Horner how such men were made!” replied Thora.

“How was that? Tell me! A Burns’ anecdote will put grandfather in his finest temper, and I want him in that condition for I have a great favour to ask from him.”

“The tale tells that when Burns was beginning to write, he had a rival in a man called Andrew Horner. One day they met at the same club dinner, and they were challenged to each write a verse within five minutes. The gentlemen guests took out their watches, the poets were furnished with pencils and paper. When time was up Andrew Horner had not written the first line but Burns handed to the chairman his verse complete.”

“Tell me. If you know it, tell me, Thora!”

“Yes, I know it. If you hear it once you do not forget it.”

“Well then?”

“It runs thus:

“That is good! It will delight grandfather.”

“No doubt he already knows it.”

“No, I should have heard it a thousand times, if he knew it.”

“Well, then, I believe it has been suppressed. Many think it too ill-natured for Burns to have written; but my father says it has the true Burns ring and is Robert Burns’ writing without doubt.”

“It will give grandfather a nice long job of investigation. That is one of his favourite amusements, and all Sunna has to do is to be sure he is right and everybody else wrong. Now I will go home.”

“Stay with me today.”

“No. Macrae will be here soon.”

“Uncertain is that.”

“Every hair on thy head, Thora, every article of thy dress, from the lace at thy throat to the sandals on thy feet, say to me that this is a time when my absence will be better than my company.”

“Well, then, do as thou art minded.”

“It is best I do so. A happy morning to thee! What more is in my heart shall lie quiet at this time.”

Sunna went away with the air of a happy, careless girl, but she said many angry words to herself as she hasted on the homeward road. “Most of the tales tell how women are made to suffer by the men they love––but no tale shall be made about Sunna Vedder! No! No! It is Boris 125 Ragnor I shall turn into laughter––he has mocked my very heart––I will never forgive him––that is the foolish way all women take––all but Sunna Vedder––she will neither forgive nor forget––she will follow up this affair––yes!”

By such promises to herself she gradually regained her usual reasonable poise, and with a smiling face sought her grandfather. She found him in his own little room sitting at a table covered with papers. He looked up as she entered and, in spite of his intention, answered her smile and greeting with an equal plentitude of good will and good temper.

“But I thought then, that thou would stay with thy friend all day, and for that reason I took out work not to be chattered over.”

“I will go away now. I came to thee because things have not gone as I wanted them. Thy counsel at such ill times is the best that can happen.”

Then Vedder threw down his pencil and turned to her. “Who has given thee wrong or despite or put thee out of the way thou wanted to take?”

“It is Boris Ragnor. He has sailed north with the recruiting company––without a word to me he has gone. He has thrown my love back in my 126 face. Should thy grandchild forgive him? I am both Vedder and Fae. How can I forgive?”

Vedder took out his watch and looked at the time. “We have an hour before dinner. Sit down and I will talk to thee. First thou shalt tell me the very truth anent thy quarrel with Boris. What did thou do, or say, that has so far grieved him? Now, then, all of it. Then I can judge if it be Boris or Sunna, that is wrong in this matter.”

“Listen then. Boris heard some men talking about me––that made his temper rise––then he heard from these men that I was dancing at McLeod’s and he went there to see, and as it happened I was dancing with McLeod when he entered the room, and he walked up to me in the dance and said thou wanted me, and he made me come home with him and scolded me all the time we were together. I asked him not to tell thee, and he promised he would not––if I went there no more. I have not danced with McLeod since, except at Mrs. Brodie’s. Thou saw me then.”

“Thou should not have entered McLeod’s house––what excuse hast thou for that fault?”

“Many have talked of the fault, none but thou have asked me why or how it came that I was 127 so foolish. I will tell thee the very truth. I went to spend the day with Nana Bork––with thy consent I went––and towards afternoon there came an invitation from McLeod to Nana to join an informal dance that night at eight o’clock. And Nana told me so many pleasant things about these little dances I could not resist her talk and I thought if I stayed with Nana all night thou would never know. I have heard that I stole away out of thy house to go to McLeod’s. I did not! I went with Nana Bork whose guest I was.”

“Why did thou not tell me this before?”

“I knew no one in Kirkwall would dare to say to thee this or that about thy grandchild, and I hoped thou would never know. I am sorry for my disobedience; it has always hurt me––if thou forgive it now, so much happier I will be.”

Then Adam drew her to his side and kissed her, and words would have been of all things the most unnecessary. But he moved a chair close to him, and she sat down in it and laid her hand upon his knee and he clasped and covered it with his own.

“Very unkindly Boris has treated thee.”

“He has mocked at my love before all Kirkwall. Well, then, it is Thora Ragnor’s complacency that affronts me most. If she would put her boasting 128 into words, I could answer her; but who can answer looks?”

“She is in the heaven of her first love. Thou should understand that condition.”

“It is beyond my understanding; nor would I try to understand such a lover as Ian Macrae. I believe that he is a hypocrite––Thora is so easily deceived–––”

“And thou?”

“I am not deceived. I see Boris just as he is, rude and jealous and hateful, but I think him a far finer man than Ian Macrae ever has been, or ever will be.”

“Yes! Thou art right. Now then, let this affair lie still in thy heart. I think that he will come to see thee when the boats return from Shetland––if not, then I shall have something to say in the matter. I shall want my dinner very soon, and some other thing we will talk about. Let it go until there is a word to say or a movement to make.”

“I will be ready for thee at twelve o’clock.” With a feeling of content in her heart, Sunna went away. Had she not the Burns story to tell? Yet she felt quite capable of restraining the incident until she got to a point where its relation would serve her purpose or her desire.