Amelia E. Barr I came not to send peace but a sword. ––Matt. x, 34. For when I note how noble Nature’s form Under the war’s red pain, I deem it true That He who made the earthquake and the storm, Perchance made battles too.

The summer passed rapidly away for it was full of new interests. Thora’s wedding was to take place about Christmas or New Year, and there were no ready-made garments in those days; so all of her girl friends were eager to help her needle. Sunna spent half the day with her and all their small frets and jealousies were forgotten. Early in the morning the work was lifted, and all day long it went happily on, to their light-hearted hopes and dreams. Then in June and September Ian came to Kirkwall to settle his account with McLeod, and at the same time, he remained a week as the Ragnors’ guest. There was also Sunna’s intended visit to Edinburgh to talk about, 165 and there was never a day in which the war and its preparations did not make itself prominent.

One of the pleasantest episodes of this period occurred early and related to Sunna. One morning she received a small box from London, and she was so amazed at the circumstance, that she kept examining the address and wondering “who could have sent it,” instead of opening the box. However, when this necessity had been observed, it revealed to her a square leather case, almost like those used for jewelry, and her heart leaped high with expectation. It was something, however, that pleased her much more than jewelry; it was a likeness of Boris, a daguerreotype––the first that had ever reached Kirkwall. A narrow scrap of paper was within the clasp, on which Boris had written, “I am all thine! Forget me not!”

Sunna usually made a pretense of despising anything sentimental but this example filled her heart with joy and satisfaction. And after it, she took far greater pleasure in all the circumstances relating to Thora’s marriage; for she had gained a personal interest in them. Even the details of the ceremony were now discussed and arranged in accord with Sunna’s taste and suggestions.

“The altar and nave must be decorated with flags and evergreens and all the late flowers we can secure,” she said.

“There will not be many flowers, I fear,” answered Mistress Ragnor.

“The Grants have a large greenhouse. I shall ask them to save all they possibly can. Maximus Grant delights in doing a kindness.”

“Then thou must ask him, Sunna. He is thy friend––perhaps thy lover. So the talk goes.”

“Let them talk! My lover is far away. God save him!”

“Where then?”

“Where all good and fit men are gone––to the trenches. For my lover is much of a man, strong and brave-hearted. He adores his country, his home, and his kindred. He counts honour far above money; and liberty, more than life. My lover will earn the right to marry the girl he loves, and become the father of free men and women!” And Rahal answered proudly and tenderly:

“Thou art surely meaning my son Boris.”

“Indeed, thou art near to the truth.”

Then Rahal put her arm round Sunna and kissed her. “Thou hast made me happy,” she 167 said, and Sunna made her still more happy, when she took out of the little bag fastened to her belt the daguerreotype and showed her the strong, handsome face of her soldier-sailor boy.

During all this summer Sunna was busy and regular. She was at the Ragnors’ every day until the noon hour. Then she ate dinner with her grandfather, who was as eager to discuss the news and gossip Sunna had heard, as any old woman in Kirkwall. He said: “Pooh! Pooh!” and “Nonsense!” but he listened to it, and it often served his purpose better than words of weight and wisdom.

In the afternoons Mistress Brodie was to visit, and the winter in Edinburgh to talk over. Coming home in time to take tea with her grandfather, she devoted the first hour after the meal to practising her best songs, and these lullabyed the old man to a sleep which often lasted until “The Banded Men” were attended to. It might then be ten o’clock and she was ready to sleep.

All through these long summer days, Thora was the natural source of interest and the inciting element of all the work and chatter that turned the Ragnor house upside down and inside out; but Thora was naturally shy and quiet, and Sunna 168 naturally expressive and presuming; and it was difficult for their companions to keep Thora and Sunna in their proper places. Every one found it difficult. Only when Ian was present, did Sunna take her proper secondary place and Ian, though the most faithful and attentive of lovers by mail, had only been able to pay Thora one personal visit. This visit had occurred at the end of June and he was expected again at the end of September. The year was now approaching that time and the Ragnor household was in a state of happy expectation.

It was an unusual condition and Sunna said irritably: “They go on about this stranger as if he were the son of Jupiter––and poor Boris! They never mention him, though there has been a big battle and Boris may have been in it. If Boris were killed, it is easy to see that this Ian Macrae would step into his place!”

“Nothing of that kind could happen! In thy own heart keep such foolish thoughts,” replied Vedder.

So the last days of September were restless and not very happy, for there was a great storm prevailing, and the winds roared and the rain fell in torrents and the sea looked as if it had gone mad. 169 Before the storm there was a report of a big battle, but no details of it had reached them. For the Pentland Firth had been in its worst equinoctial temper and the proviso added to all Orkney sailing notices, “weather permitting,” had been in full force for nearly a week.

But at length the storm was over and everyone was on the lookout for the delayed shipping. Thora was pale with intense excitement but all things were in beautiful readiness for the expected guest. And Ian did not disappoint the happy hopes which called him. He was on the first ship that arrived and it was Conall Ragnor’s hand he clasped as his feet touched the dry land.

Such a home-coming as awaited him––the cheerful room, the bountifully spread table, the warm welcome, the beauty and love, mingling with that sense of peace and rest and warm affection which completely satisfies the heart. Would such a blissful hour ever come again to him in this life?

His pockets were full of newspapers, and they were all shouting over the glorious opening of the war. The battle of Alma had been fought and won; and the troops were ready and waiting for Inkerman. England’s usual calm placidity had 170 vanished in exultant rejoicing. “An English gentleman told me,” said Ian, “that you could not escape the chimes of joyful bells in any part of the ringing island.’”

Vedder had just entered the room and he stood still to listen to these words. Then he said: “Men differ. For the first victory let all the bells of England ring if they want to. We Norsemen like to keep our bell-ringing until the fight is over and they can chime Peace. And how do you suppose, Ian Macrae, that the English and French will like to fight together?”

“Well enough, sir, no doubt. Why not?”

“Of Waterloo I was thinking. Have the French forgotten it? Ian, it is the very first time in all the history we have, that Frenchmen ever fought with Englishmen in a common cause. Natural enemies they have been for centuries, fighting each other with a very good will whenever they got a chance. Have they suddenly become friends? Have they forgot Waterloo?” and he shook his wise old head doubtfully.

“Who can tell, sir, but when the English conquer any nation, they feel kindly to them and usually give them many favours?”

“Well, then, every one knows that the same is 171 both her pleasure and her folly; and dearly she pays for it.”

“Ian,” said Mistress Ragnor, “are the English ships now in the Black Sea? And if so, do you think Boris is with them?”

“About Boris, I do not know. He told me he was carrying ‘material of war.’ The gentleman of whom I spoke went down to Spithead to see them off. Her Majesty, in the royal yacht, Fairy, suddenly appeared. Then the flagship hauled home every rope by the silent ‘all-at-once’ action of one hundred men. Immediately the rigging of the ships was black with sailors, but there was not a sound heard except an occasional command––sharp, short and imperative––or the shrill order of the boatswain’s whistle. The next moment, the Queen’s yacht shot past the fleet and literally led it out to sea. Near the Nab, the royal yacht hove to and the whole fleet sailed past her, carried swiftly out by a fine westerly breeze. Her Majesty waved her handkerchief as they passed and it is said she wept. If she had not wept she would have been less than a woman and a queen.”

While Vedder and Ragnor were discussing this incident, and comparing it with Cleopatra at the 172 head of her fleet and Boadicea at the head of her British army and Queen Elizabeth at Tewksbury reviewing her army, Mrs. Ragnor and Thora left the room. Ian quickly followed. There was a bright fire in the parlour, and the piano was open. Ian naturally drifted there and then Thora’s voice was wanted in the song. When it was finished, Mrs. Ragnor had been called out and they were alone. And though Mrs. Ragnor came back at intervals, they were practically alone during the rest of the evening.

What do lovers talk about when they are alone? Ah! their conversation is not to be written down. How unwritable it is! How wise it is! How foolish when written down! How supremely satisfying to the lovers themselves! Surely it is only the “baby-talk” of the wisdom not yet comprehensible to human hearts! We often say of certain events; “I have no words to describe what I felt”––and who will find out or invent the heavenly syllables that can adequately describe the divine passion of two souls, that suddenly find their real mate––find the soul that halves their soul, created for them, created with them, often lost or missed through diverse reincarnations; but sooner or later found again and known as soon as found 173 to both. No wooing is necessary in such a case––they meet, they look, they love, and naturally and immediately take up their old, but unforgotten love patois. They do not need to learn its sweet, broken syllables, its hand clasps and sighs, its glances and kisses; they are more natural to them than was the grammared language they learned through years of painful study.

Ian and Thora hardly knew how the week went. Every one respected their position and left them very much to their own inclinations. It led them to long, solitary walks, and to the little green skiff on the moonlit bay, and to short visits to Sunna, in order, mainly, that they might afterwards tell each other how far sweeter and happier they were alone.

They never tired of each other, and every day they recounted the number of days that had to pass ere Ian could call himself free from the McLeod contract. They were to marry immediately and Ian would go into Ragnor’s business as bookkeeper. Their future home was growing more beautiful every day. It was going to be the prettiest little home on the island. There was a good garden attached to it and a small greenhouse to save the potted plants in the winter. Ragnor had 174 ordered its furniture from a famous maker in Aberdeen, and Rahal was attending with love and skill to all those incidentals of modern housekeeping, usually included in such words as silver, china, napery, ornaments, and kitchen-utensils. They were much interested in it and went every fine day to observe its progress. Yet their interest in the house was far inferior to their interest in each other, and Sunna may well be excused for saying to her grandfather:

“They are the most conceited couple in the world! In fact, the world belongs to them and all the men and women in it––the sun and the moon are made new for them, and they have the only bit of wisdom going. I hope I may be able to say ‘yes’ to all they claim until Saturday comes.”

“These are the ways of love, Sunna.”

“Then I shall not walk in them.”

“Thou wilt walk in the way appointed thee.”

“Pure Calvinism is that, Grandfather.”

“So be it. I am a Calvinist about birth, death and marriage. They are the events in life about which God interferes. His will and design is generally evident.”

“And quite as evident, Grandfather, is the fact 175 that a great many people interfere with His will and design.”

“Yes, Sunna, because our will is free. Yet if our will crosses God’s will, crucifixion of some kind is sure to follow.”

“Well, then, today is Friday. The week has got itself over nearly; and tomorrow will be partly free, for Ian goes to Edinburgh at ten o’clock. Very proper is that! Such an admirable young man ought only to live in a capitol city.”

“If these are thy opinions, keep them to thyself. Very popular is the young man.”

“Grandfather, dost thou think that I am walking in ankle-tights yet? I can talk as the crowd talks, and I can talk to a sensible man like thee. Tomorrow brings release. I am glad, for Thora has forgotten me. I feel that very much.”

“Thou art jealous.”

Vedder’s assertion was near the truth, for undeniably Ian and Thora had been careless of any one but themselves. Yet their love was so vital and primitive, so unaffected and sincere, that it touched the sympathies of all. In this cold, far-northern island, it had all the glow and warmth of some rose-crowned garden of a tropical paradise. But such special days are like days set 176 apart; they do not fit into ordinary life and cannot be continued long under any circumstances. So the last day came and Thora said:

“Mother, dear, it is a day in a thousand for beauty, and we are going to get Aunt Brodie’s carriage to ride over to Stromness and see the queer, old town, and the Stones of Stenness.”

“Go not near them. If you go into the cathedral you go expecting some good to come to you; for angels may be resting in its holy aisles, ready and glad to bless you. What will you ask of the ghosts among the Stones of Stenness? Is there any favour you would take from the Baal and Moloch worshipped with fire and blood among them?”

“Why, Mother,” said Thora, “I have known many girls who went with their lovers to Stenness purposely to join their hands through the hole in Woden’s Stone and thus take oath to love each other forever.”

“Thou and Ian will take that oath in the holy church of St. Magnus.”

“That is what we wish, Mother,” said Ian. “We wish nothing less than that.”

“Well, then, go and see the queer, old, old town, and go to the Mason’s Arms, and you will 177 get there a good dinner. After it ride slowly back. Father will be home before six and must have his meal at once.”

“That is the thing we shall do, Mother. Ian thought it would be so romantic to take a lunch with us and eat it among the Stones of Stenness. But the Mason’s Arms will be better. The Masons are good men, Mother?”

“In all their generations, good men. Thy father is a Mason in high standing.”

“Yes, that is so! Then the Mason’s Arms may be lucky to us?”

“We make things lucky or unlucky by our willing and doing; but even so, it is not lucky to defy or deny what the dead have once held to be good or bad.”

“Well, then, why, Mother?”

“Not now, will we talk of whys and wherefores. It is easier to believe than to think. Take, in this last day of Love’s seven days, the full joy of your lives and ask not why of anyone.”

So the lovers went off gaily to see the land-locked bay and the strange old town of Stromness; and the house was silent and lonely without them and Rahal wished that her husband would come home and talk with her, for her soul was 178 under a cloud of presentiments and she said to herself after a morning of fretful, inefficient work: “Oh, how much easier it is to love God than it is to trust Him. Are not my dear ones in His care? Yet about them I am constantly worrying; though perfectly well I know that in any deluge that may come, God will find an ark for those who love and trust Him. Boris knows––Boris knows––I have told him.”

About three o’clock she went to the window and looked towards the town. Much to her astonishment she saw her husband coming home at a speed far beyond his ordinary walk. He appeared also to be disturbed, even angry, and she watched him anxiously until he reached the house. Then she was at the open door and his face frightened her.

“Conall! My dear one! Art thou ill?” she asked.

“I am ill with anger and pity and shame!”

“What is thy meaning? Speak to me plainly.”

“Oh, Rahal! the shame and the cruelty of it! I am beside myself!”

“Come to my room, then thou shalt tell thy sorrow and I will halve it with thee.”

“No! I want to cry out! I want to shout the shameful wrong from the house-tops! Indeed, it 179 is flying all over England and Scotland––over all the civilized world! And yet––my God! the guilty ones are still living!”

“Coll, my dear one, what is it thou most needs––cold water?”

“No! No! Get me a pot of hot tea.[*] My brain burns. My heart is like to break! Our poor brave soldiers! They are dying of hunger and of every form of shameful neglect. The barest necessities of life are denied them.”

The Norsemen of Shetland and Orkney drank tea in every kind of need or crisis. No meal without it, no pleasure without it; and it was equally indispensable in every kind of trouble or fatigue.