"Grandfather!" she commented, "No private person has a right to sing as that man sings! After him, non-professionals make a show of themselves."

"Thou sang well—better than usual, I thought."

"I was told he was such a handsome young man! And he has black hair and black eyes! Even his skin is dark. He looks like a Celt. I don't like Celts. None of our people like them. When they come to the fishing they are not respected."

"Thou art much mistaken. Our men like them."

"Boris Ragnor says they are poor traders."

"Well then, it is to fish they come."

"What they come for is no care of mine. Boris is ten times more of a man than the best of them. No notice shall I take of this Celt."

"Through thy scorn he may live, and even enjoy his life. The English officers do that."

"This chicken is better than might be. Wilt thou have a little more of it?"

"Enough is plenty. I have had enough. At Conall Ragnor's there is always good eating and I am going there for my supper. Wilt thou go with me? Then with Thora thou can talk. This beautiful young man is likely at Ragnor's. It was too stormy for Mistress Brodie to go to her own house at the noonday. Dost thou see then, how it will be?"

"I will go with thee, I want to see Thora's new dress. I need not notice the young man."

"His name? Already I have forgotten it."

"Odd was calling him 'Macrae.'"

"Macrae! That is Highland Scotch. The Macraes are a good family. There is a famous minister in Edinburgh of that name. The Calvinists all swear by him."

"This man sang in a full cathedral service. Dost thou believe a Calvinist would do that? He would be sure it was a disguised mass, and nothing better."

Adam laughed as he said, "Well, then, go with me this night to Ragnor's and between us we will find something out. A mystery is not pleasant to thee."

"There is something wrong in a mystery, that is what I feel."

"Thou can ask Thora all about him."

"I shall not ask her. She will tell me."

Adam laughed again. "That is the best way," he said. "It was thy father's way. Well then, five minutes ago, the wind changed. By four o'clock it will be fair."

"Then I will be ready to go with thee. If I am left alone, I am sad; and that is not good for my health."

"But thou must behave well, even to the Celt."

"Unless it is worth my while, I do not quarrel with any one."

"Was it worth thy while to quarrel with Boris Ragnor?"

"Yes—or I had not quarrelled with him."

"Here comes the sunshine! Gleam upon gloom! Cheery and good it is!"

"They say an Easter dress should be christened with a few drops of rain. That is not my opinion. I like the Easter sunshine on it. Now I shall leave thee and go and rest and dress myself. Very good is thy talk and thy company to me, but to thee, I am foolishness. As I shut the door, the big book thou art reading, thou wilt say to it: 'Now, friend of my soul, some sensible talk we will have together, for that foolish girl has gone to her foolishness at her looking glass.'"

"Run away! I am in a hurry for my big book."

Sunna shut the door with a kiss—and as she took the stairs with hurrying steps, the sunshine came dancing through the long window, and her feet trod on it and it fell all over her.

At four o'clock she was ready for her evening's inquest and she found her grandfather waiting for her. He had put on a light vest and a white tie, and he had that clean, healthy, good-tempered look that pleases all women. He smiled and bowed to Sunna and she deserved the compliment; for she was beautiful and had dressed her beauty most becomingly. Her gown was of Saxony cloth, the exact colour of her hair, with a collar, stomacher and high cuffs of pale green velvet. The collar was tied with cord and small tassels of gold braid; the stomacher laced with gold braid over small gilt buttons, and the high cuffs were trimmed to match. Very handsome gilt combs held up her rippled hair, and a large red-riding-hood cloak covered her from the crowning bow of her hair to the little French pattens that protected her black satin slippers. She expected to make a conquest, and her thoughts were usually the factors of success.

A little disappointment awaited her. She was usually shown into the right-hand parlour at once, and she relied on the bit of colour afforded by her scarlet cloak to give life to the modest shades of her spring colours of pale fawn and tender green. But servants were setting the dinner table in the right-hand parlour; and Conall and Rahal and Aunt Barbara had taken themselves to Conall's little business room where there was a bright fire burning. There, in his big chair, Conall was next door to sleeping; and Barbara and Rahal were talking in a sleepy, mysterious way about something that did not appear to interest them.

At the sound of Adam Vedder's voice, Conall became wide awake; and Barbara's face lighted up with a fresh interest. If there was nothing else, there was a chronic quarrel between them, which Barbara was ready to lift at a moment's notice. But Sunna was not dissatisfied. Conall's quick look of admiration, and Rahal's and Barbara's glances of surprise, were excellent in their way. She knew she had given them a subject of interest sufficient to make even the hour before dinner appear short.

"Where is Thora?" she asked, as she turned every way, apparently to look for Thora, but really to allow her admirers to convince themselves that her dress was trimmed as handsomely at the back as the front—that if the stomacher was perfect in front, the sash of green velvet at the back was quite as stylish and elaborate.

"Where is Thora?" she asked again.

"In the drawing room thou wilt find Thora with Ian Macrae," said Rahal. "Go to them. They will be glad of thy company."

"Doubtful is their gladness. Two are company, three are a crowd. Yet so it is! I must run into danger, like the rest of women."

"Is that thy Easter gown, Sunna?" asked Mistress Brodie.

"It is. Dost thou like it?"

"Who would not like it? The rumour goes abroad that thy grandfather sent to Inverness for it. Others say it came to thee from Edinburgh."

"Wrong are both stories. I am happy to say that Sunna Vedder gave herself a dress so pretty and so suitable."

With these smiling words she left the room and the elder women shrugged their shoulders and looked expressively at each other. "What can a sensible man like Boris Ragnor see in such a harum-scarum girl!" was Rahal Ragnor's question, and Barbara Brodie thought it was all Adam Vedder's fault. "He ought to have married some sensible woman who would have brought up the girl as girls ought to be brought up," she answered; adding, "We may as well remember that the management of women, at any age, is a business clean beyond Adam Vedder's capabilities."

"Adam is a clever man, Barbie."

"Book clever! What is the use of book wisdom when you have a live girl, full of her own way, to deal with?"

"Conall chose the husbands for his daughters. They were quite suitable to the girls and they have been very happy with them."

"Thora will choose for herself."

"Perhaps, that may be so. Thora has been spoiled. Her marriage need not yet be thought of. In two or three years, we will consider it. The little one has not yet any dreams of that kind."

"Such dreams come in a moment—when you are not thinking of them."

In fact, at that very moment Thora was learning the mystery of "falling in love"; and there is hardly a more vital thing in life than this act. For it is something taking place in the subconscious self; it is a revolution, and a growth. It happened that after dinner, Conall wished to hear Ian sing again that loveliest of all metrical Collects, "Lord of All Power and Might," and Thora went with Ian to do her part as accompanist on the piano. As they sang Conall appeared to fall asleep, and no more music was asked for.

Then Ian lifted a book full of illustrations of the English lake district, and they sat down on the sofa to examine it. Ian had once been at Keswick and Ambleside, and he began to tell her about Lake Windemere and these lovely villages. He was holding Thora's hand and glancing constantly into her face, and before he recognised what he was saying, Ambleside and Windemere were quite forgotten, and he was telling Thora that he loved her with an everlasting love. He vowed that he had loved her in his past lives, and would love her, and only her, forever. And he looked so handsome and spoke in words of the sweetest tenderness, and indeed was amazed at his own passionate eloquence, but knew in his soul that every word he said was true.

And Thora, the innocent little one, was equally sure of his truth. She blushed and listened, while he drew her closer to his side calling her "his own, his very own!" and begging her to promise that she would "marry him, and no other man, in the whole earth."

And Thora promised him what he wished and for one-half hour they were in Paradise.

Now, how could this love affair have come to perfection so rapidly? Because it was the natural and the proper way. True love dates its birth from the first glance. It is the coming together of two souls, and in their first contact love flashes forth like flame. And then their influence over each other is like that gravitation which one star exerts over another star.

But much that passes for love is not love. It is only a prepossession, pleasant and profitable, promising many every-day advantages. True love is a deep and elemental thing, a secret incredible glory, in a way, it is even a spiritual triumph. And we should have another name for love like this. For it is the long, long love, that has followed us through ages, the healing love, the Comforter! In the soul of a young, innocent girl like Thora, it is a kind of piety, and ought to be taken with a wondering thankfulness.

An emotion so spiritual and profound was beyond Sunna's understanding. She divined that there had been some sort of love-making, but she was unfamiliar with its present indications. Her opinion, however, was that Ian had offered himself to Thora, and been rejected; in no other way could she account for the far-offness of both parties. Thora indeed was inexplicable. She not only refused to show Sunna her Easter dress, she would not enter into any description of it.

"That is a very remarkable thing," she said to her grandfather, as they walked home together. "I think the young man made love to Thora and even asked her to marry him, and Thora was frightened and said 'No!' and she is likely sorry now that she did not say 'Yes.'"

"To say 'No!' would not have frightened thee, I suppose?"

"That is one of the disagreeable things women have to get used to."

"How often must a woman say 'No!' in order to get used to it?"

"That depends on several small things; for instance I am very sympathetic. I have a tender heart! Yes, and so I suffer."

"I am glad to know of thy sympathy. If I asked thee to marry a young man whom I wished thee to marry, would thou do it—just to please me?"

"It would depend—on my mood that day."

"Say, it was thy sympathetic mood?"

"That would be unfavourable. Of the others I should think, and I should feel that I was cruel; if I took all hope from them."

"Thou wilt not be reasonable. I am not joking. Would thou marry Boris to please me?"

"Boris has offended me. He must come to me, and say, 'I am sorry.' He must take what punishment I choose for his rudeness to me. Then, I may forgive him."

"And marry him?"

"Only my angel knows, if it is so written. Men do not like to do as their women say they must do. Is there any man in the Orcades who dares to say 'No,' to his wife's 'Yes?'"

"What of Sandy Stark?"

"Sandy is a Scot! I do not use a Scotch measure for a Norseman. Thou art not a perfect Norseman, but yet, even in Edinburgh, there is no Scot that could be thy measure. I should have to say—'thou art five inches taller than the Scot at thy side, and forty pounds heavier, and nearly twice as strong.' That would not be correct to an ounce, but it is as near as it is possible to come between Norse and Scot."

"Thou art romancing!"

"As for the Norse women——"

"About Norse women there is no need for thee to teach thy grandfather. I know what Norse women are like. If I did not know, I should have married again."

"Well then, Barbara Brodie is a good specimen of a capable Norse woman and I have noticed one thing about them, that I feel ought to be better understood."

"Chut! What hast thou understood? Talk about it, and let thy wisdom be known."

"Well then, it is this thing—Norse women always outlive their husbands. Thou may count by tens and hundreds the widows in this town. The 'maidens of blushing fifteen' have no opportunities; the widow of fifty asks a young man into her beautiful home and makes him acquainted with the burden of her rents and dividends and her share in half a dozen trading boats, and he takes to the golden lure and marries himself like the rest of the world. Thou would have been re-married long ago but for my protection. I have had a very disagreeable day and——"

"Then go to thy bed and put an end to it."

"My new dress is crushed and some way or other I have got a spot on the front breadth. Is it that Darwin book thou art looking for?"

"Yes."

"Would thou like to read a chapter to me?"

"No, I would not."

"Grandfather, I can understand it. I like clever men. Can thou introduce me to him—to Darwin?"

"He would not care to see thee. Clever men do not want clever wives; so if thou art thinking of a clever husband keep thy 'blue stockings' well under thy petticoats."

"And grandfather, do thou keep out of the way of the widows of Orkney or thou wilt find thyself inside of a marriage ring."

"Not while thou remains unmarried. Few women would care to look after thy welfare. I am used to it, long before thou had been short-coated, I had to walk thee to sleep in my arms."

"Yes," laughed Sunna, "I remember that. I felt myself safest with thee."

"Thou remembers nothing of the kind. At six months old, thou could neither compare nor remember."

"But thou art mistaken. I was born with perfect senses. Ere I was twenty-four hours old, I had selected thee as the most suitable person to walk me to sleep. I think that was a proof of my perfect intelligence. One thing more, and then I will let thee read. I am going to marry Boris Ragnor, and then the widow Brodie would—take charge of thee." She shut the door to these words and Adam heard her laughing all the way to her own room. Then he rubbed his hand slowly over and over his mouth and said to himself—"She shall have her say-so; Boris is the only man on the Islands who can manage her."

After the departure of the Vedders, Rahal and her sister Brodie went upstairs, taking Thora with them. She went cheerfully though a little reluctantly. She liked to hear Ian talk. She had thought of asking him to sing; but she was satisfied with the one straight, long look which flashed between them, as Ian bid her "good night"; for—

He looked at her as a lover can; She looked at him as one who awakes, The past was a sleep and her life began.

Then she went to her room, and thought of Ian until she fell asleep and dreamed of him.

For nearly two hours Ian remained with Conall Ragnor. The Railway Mania was then at its height in England, and the older man was delighted with Ian's daring stories of its mad excitement. Ian had seen and talked with Hudson, the draper's clerk, who had just purchased a fine ducal residence and estate from the results of his reckless speculations. Ian knew all the Scotch lines, he had even full faith in the Caledonian when it was first proposed and could hardly win any attention. "Every one said a railway between England and Scotland would not pay, Mr. Ragnor," said Ian.

"I would have said very different," replied Conall. "It would be certain to pay. Why not?"

"Because there would be no returns," laughed Ian, and then Conall laughed also, and wished that Boris had been there to learn whatever Ian might teach him.

"Hast thou speculated in railway stock yet," he asked.

"No, sir. I have not had the money to do so."

"How would thou buy if thou had?"

"I would buy when no one else was buying, and when everyone else was buying, I would keep cool, and sell. A very old and clever speculator gave me that advice as a steady rule, saying it was 'his only guide.'"

This was the tenor of the men's conversation until near midnight, and then Ragnor went with Ian to the door of his room and bid him a frank and friendly good night. And as he stood a moment handfast with the youth, his conscience troubled him a little and he said: "Ian, Ian, thou art a wise lad about this world's business, but thou must not be forgetting that there is another world after this."

"I do not forget that, sir."

"Bishop Hedley is a greater and wiser man than all the railway nabobs thou hast spoken of."

"I think so, sir! I do indeed!" and the mutual smile and nod that followed required no further "good night."

It was a lovely, silent night. The very houses looked as if they were asleep; and there was not a sound either in the town on the brown pier or the moonlit sea. It was a night full of the tranquillity of God. Men and women looked into its peace, and carried its charm into their dreams. For most fine spirits that dwell by the sea have an elemental sympathy with strange oracles and dreams and old Night. In the morning, Conall Ragnor was the first to awaken. He went at once to fling open his window. Then he cried out in amazement and wonder, and awakened his wife:—

"Rahal! Rahal!" he shouted. "Come here! Come quick! Look at the town! It is hung with flags. The ships in the harbour—flying are their flags also! And there is a ship just entering the harbour and her colours are flying! And there are the guns! They are saluting her from the garrison! It must be a man-of-war! I wonder if the Queen is coming to see us at last! If thou art ready, call Thora and Barbara. Something is up! Thou may hear the town now, all tip-on-top with excitement!"

"Why did not thou call us sooner, Coll?"

"I slept late and long."

"But thou must have heard the town noises?"

"A confused noise passed through my ears, a noise full of hurry like a morning dream, that was all. Now, I am going for my swim and I will bring the news home with me."

But long before it was within expectation of Ragnor's return, the three women standing at the open door saw Ian coming rapidly to the house from the town. His walk was swift and full of excitement. His head was thrown upward, and he kept striking himself on the right side, just over the place where his ancestors had worn their dirks or broadswords. As soon as he saw the three women he flung his Glengarry skyward and shouted a ringing "Hurrah!"

As he approached them, all were struck with his remarkable beauty, his manly figure, his swift graceful movements and his handsome face suffused with the brightness of fiery youth. Through their long black lashes his eyes were shining and glowing and full of spirit, and indeed his whole personality was instinct with verve and fire. Anyone watching his approach would have said—"Here comes a youth made to lead a rattling charge of cavalry."

"Whatever is the matter with you, Ian?" cried Mistress Brodie. "You are surely gone daft."

"No indeed!" he answered. "I seem at this very hour to have just found myself and my senses."

"What is all the fuss about, Ian?" asked Rahal.

"England has gone to war at the long last with the cruel, crafty black Bear of the North."

"Well then, it is full time she did so, there are none will say different."

"And," continued Ian, "there is a ship now in harbour carrying enlisting officers—you may see her; she is to call at the Orkney and Shetland Islands for recruits for the navy, and Great Scot! she will get them! All she wants! She could take every man out of Kirkwall!"

"The Mayor and Captain Ragnor will not permit her to do so. She will have to leave men to manage the fishing," said Rahal.

"I thought the women could do that," said Ian.

"You do not know what you are talking about. It takes two or three men to lift a net full of fish out of the water, and they are about done up if they manage it. Come in and get your breakfast. If your news be true, there is no saying when Ragnor will get home. He will have some reasoning with his men to do, he cannot spare many of them."

"I have a good idea," said Mistress Brodie. "I will give a dance on Friday night for the enlisting officers, and we will invite all the presentable young men, and all the prettiest girls, to meet them."

"But you will be too late on Friday. The cutter and her crew will leave Thursday morning early," said Ian.

"Then say Wednesday night."

"That might do. I could tell the men freshly enlisted to wear a white ribbon in their coats——"

"No, no, no!" cried Rahal. "What are you saying, Ian? A white favour is a Stuart favour. You would set the men fighting in the very dance room. There is no excuse in the Orkneys for a Stuart memory."

"I was not thinking of the Stuarts. Have they not done bothering yet?"

"In the Scotch heart the Stuart lives forever," said Rahal, with a sigh.

But the dance was decided on and some preparations made for it as soon as breakfast was over. Ian was enthusiastic on the matter and Thora caught his enthusiasm very readily, and before night, all Kirkwall was preparing to feast and rejoice because England was going to make the great Northern Bear—"the Bear that walks like a man"—stay in the North where he belonged.



CHAPTER V

SUNNA AND THORA

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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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. 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 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. 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 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 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 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. "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 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 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:

"'Once on a time The Deil gat stuff to mak' a swine And put it in a corner; But afterward he changed his plan And made it summat like a man, And ca'ed it Andrew Horner.'"

"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 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 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 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 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.



CHAPTER VI

THE OLD, OLD TROUBLE

From reef and rock and skerry, over headland, ness and roe, The coastwise lights of England watch the ships of England go.

... a girl with sudden ebullitions, Flashes of fun, and little bursts of song; Petulant, pains, and fleeting pale contritions, Mute little moods of misery and wrong. Only a girl of Nature's rarest making, Wistful and sweet—and with a heart for breaking.

The following two weeks were a time of anxiety concerning Boris. The recruiting party with whom he had gone away had said positively they must return with whatever luck they had in two weeks; and this interval appeared to Sunna to be of interminable length. She spent a good deal of the time with Thora affecting to console her for the loss of Ian Macrae, who had left Kirkwall for Edinburgh a few days after the departure of Boris.

"We are 'a couple of maidens all forlorn,'" she sang, and though Thora disclaimed the situation, she could not prevent her companion insisting on the fact.

Thora, however, did not feel that she had any reason for being forlorn. Ian's love for her had been confessed, not only to herself, but also to her father and mother, and the marriage agreed to with a few reservations, whose wisdom the lovers fully acknowledged. She was receiving the most ardent love letters by every mail and she had not one doubt of her lover in any respect. Indeed, her happiness so pervaded her whole person and conduct that Sunna felt it sometimes to be both depressing and irritating.

Thora, however, was the sister of Boris, she could not quarrel with her. She had great influence over Boris, and Sunna loved Boris—loved him in spite of her anger and of his neglect. Very slowly went the two weeks the enlisting ships had fixed as the length of their absence, but the news of their great success made their earlier return most likely, and after the tenth day every one was watching for them and planning a great patriotic reception.

Still the two weeks went slowly away and it was a full day past this fixed time, and the ships were not in port nor even in sight, nor had any late news come from them. In the one letter which Rahal had received from her son he said: "The enlistment has been very satisfactory; our return may be even a day earlier than we expected." So Sunna had begun to watch for the party three days before the set time, and when it was two days after it she was very unhappy.

"Why do they not come, Thora?" she asked in a voice trembling with fear. "Do you think they have been wrecked?"

"Oh, no! Nothing of the kind! They may have sailed westward to Harris. My father thinks so." But she appeared so little interested that Sunna turned to Mistress Ragnor and asked her opinion.

"Well, then," answered Rahal, "they are staying longer than was expected, but who can tell what men in a ship will do?"

"They will surely keep their word and promise."

"Perhaps—if it seem a good thing to them. Can thou not see? They are masters on board ship. Once out of Lerwick Bay, the whole world is before them. Know this, they might go East or West, and say to no man 'I ask thy leave.' As changeable as the sea is a sailor's promise."

"But Boris is thy son—he promised thee to be home in two weeks. Men do not break a promise made on their mother's lips. How soon dost thou expect him?"

"At the harbour mouth he might be, even this very minute. I want to see my boy. I love him. May the good God send those together who would fain be loved!"

"Boris is in command of his own ship. He was under no man's orders. He ought not to break his promise."

"With my will, he would never do that."

"Dost thou think he will go to the war with the other men?"

"That he might do. What woman is there who can read a man's heart?"

"His mother!"

"She might, a little way—no further—just as well 'no further.' Only God is wise enough, and patient enough, to read a human heart. This is a great mercy." And Rahal lifted her face from her sewing a moment and then dropped it again.

Almost in a whisper Sunna said "Good-bye!" and then went her way home. She walked rapidly; she was in a passion of grief and mortification, but she sang some lilting song along the highway. As soon, however, as she passed inside the Vedder garden gates, the singing was changed into a scornful, angry monologue:

"These Ragnor women! Oh, their intolerable good sense! So easy it is to talk sweetly and properly when you have no great trouble and all your little troubles are well arranged! Women cannot comfort women. No, they can not! They don't want to, if they could. Like women, I do not! Trust them, I do not! I wish that God had made me a man! I will go to my dear old grandad!—He will do something—so sorry I am that I let Thora see I loved her brother—when I go there again, I shall consider his name as the bringer-on of yawns and boredom!"

An angry woman carries her heart in her mouth; but Sunna had been trained by a wise old man, and no one knew better than Sunna Vedder did, when to speak and when to be silent. She went first to her room in order to repair those disturbances to her appearance which had been induced by her inward heat and by her hurried walk home so near the noontide; and half an hour later she came down to dinner fresh and cool as a rose washed in the dew of the morning. Her frock of muslin was white as snow, there was a bow of blue ribbon at her throat, her whole appearance was delightfully satisfying. She opened her grandfather's parlour and found him sitting at a table covered with papers and little piles of gold and silver coin.

"Suppose I was a thief, Grandfather?" she said.

"Well then, what would thou take first?"

"I would take a kiss!" and she laid her face against his face, and gave him one.

"Now, thou could take all there is. What dost thou want?"

"I want thee! Dinner is ready."

"I will come. In ten minutes, I will come——" and in less than ten minutes he was at the dinner table, and apparently a quite different man from the one Sunna had invited there. He had changed his coat, his face was happy and careless, and he had quite forgotten the papers and the little piles of silver and gold.

Sunna had said some things to Thora she was sorry for saying; she did not intend to repeat this fault with her grandfather. Even the subject of Boris could lie still until a convenient hour. She appeared, indeed, to have thrown off her anger and her disappointment with the unlucky clothing she had worn in her visit to Thora. She had even assured herself of this change, for when it fell to her feet she lifted it reluctantly between her finger and thumb and threw it aside, remarking as she did so, "I will have them all washed over again! Soda and soap may make them more agreeable and more fortunate."

And perhaps if we take the trouble to notice the fact, clothing does seem to have some sort of sympathy or antagonism with its wearers. Also, it appears to take on the mood or feeling predominant, looking at one time crisp and perfectly proper, at another time limp and careless, as if the wearer informed the garment or the garment explained the wearer. It is well known that "Fashions are the external expression of the mental states of a country, and that if its men and women degenerate in their character, their fashions become absurd." Surely then, a sympathy which can affect a nation has some influence upon the individual. Sunna had noticed even in her childhood that her dresses were lucky and unlucky, but the why or the wherefore of the circumstance had never troubled her. She had also noticed that her grandfather liked and disliked certain colours and modes, but she laid all their differences to difference in age.

This day, however, they were in perfect accord. He looked at her and nodded his head, and then smilingly asked: "How did thou find thy friend this morning?"

"So much in love that she had not one regret for Boris."

"Well, then, there is no reason for regret. Boris has taken the path of honour."

"That may be so, but for the time to come I shall put little trust in him. Going such a dubious way, he might well have stopped for a God Bless Thee!"

"Would thou have said that?"

"Why should we ask about things impossible? Dost thou know, Grandfather, at what time the recruiting party passed Kirkwall?"

"Nobody knows. I heard music out at sea three nights ago, just after midnight. There are no Shetland boats carrying music. It is more likely than not to have been the recruiting party saluting us with music as they went by."

"Yes! I think thou art right. Grandfather, I want thee to tell me what we are fighting about."

"Many times thou hast said 'it made no matter to thee.'"

"Now then, it is different. Since Boris and so many of our men went away, Mistress Ragnor and Thora talk of the war and of nothing but the war. They know all about it. They wanted to tell me all about it. I said thou had told me all that was proper for me to know, and now then, thou must make my words true. What is England quarrelling about? It seems to me, that somebody is always looking at her in a way she does not think respectful enough."

"This war is not England's fault. She has done all she could to avoid it. It is the Great Bear of Russia who wants Turkey put out of Europe."

"Well, then, I heard the Bishop say the Turks were a disgrace to Europe, and that the Book of Common Prayer had once contained a petition for delivery from the Devil, the Turks, and the comet, then flaming in the sky and believed to be threatening destruction to the earth."

"Listen, and I will tell thee the truth. The Greek population of Turkey, its Syrians and Armenians, are the oldest Christians in the world. They are also the most numerous and important class of the Sultan's subjects. Russia also has a large number of Russian Christians in Turkey over whom she wants a protectorate, but these two influences would be thorns in the side of Turkey. England has bought favour for the Christians she protects, by immense loans of money and other political advantages, but neither the Turk nor the English want Russia's power inside of Turkey."

"What for?"

"Turkey is in a bad way. A few weeks ago the Czar said to England, 'We have on our hands a sick man, a very sick man. I tell you frankly, it will be a great misfortune if one of these days he should slip away from us, especially if it were before all necessary arrangements were made. The Czar wants Turkey out of his way. He wants Constantinople for his own southern capital, he wants the Black Sea for a Russian lake, and the Danube for a Russian river. He wants many other unreasonable things, which England cannot listen to."

"Well then, I think the Russian would be better than the Turk in Europe."

"One thing is sure; in the hour that England joins Russia, Turkey will slay every Christian in her territories. Dost thou think England will inaugurate a huge massacre of Christians?"

"That is not thinkable. Is there nothing more?"

"Well then, there is India. The safety of our Indian Empire would be endangered over the whole line between East and West if Russia was in Constantinople. Turkey lies across Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor and Armenia, and above all at Constantinople and the Straits. Dost thou think England would ask Russia's permission every time she wished to go to India?"

"No indeed! That, itself, is a good reason for fighting."

"Yes, but the Englishman always wants a moral backbone for his quarrel."

"That is as it should be. The Armenian Christians supply that."

"But, Sunna, try and imagine to thyself a great military despotic Power seating itself at Constantinople, throwing its right hand over Asia Minor, Syria and Egypt; and its left holding in an iron grip the whole north of two continents; keeping the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus closed whenever it was pleased to do so, and building fleets in Egypt; and in Armenia, commanding the desirable road to India by the Euphrates."

"Oh, that could not be suffered! Impossible! All the women in Kirkwall would fight against such a condition."

"Well, so matters stand, and we had been at sword points a year ago but for Lord Aberdeen's cowardly, pernicious love of peace. But he is always whining about 'war destroying wealth and commerce'—as if wealth and commerce were of greater worth than national honour and justice and mercy."

"Yet, one thing is sure, Grandad; war is wasteful and destructive——"

"And one thing is truer still—it is this—that national wealth is created by peace for the very purpose of defending the nation in war. Bear this in mind. Now, it seems to me we have had enough of war. I see Elga coming with a dish of good Scotch collops, and I give thee my word that I will not spoil their savour by any unpleasant talk." Then he poured a little fine Glenlivet into a good deal of water and said: "Here's first to the glory of God! and then to the honour of England!" And Sunna touched his glass with her glass and the little ceremony put both in a very happy mood.

Then Sunna saw that the moment she had waited for had arrived and she said: "I will tell thee a good story of Robert Burns to flavour thy collops. Will that be to thy wish?"

"It is beyond my wish. Thou can not tell me one I do not know."

"I heard one today from Thora Ragnor that I never heard thee tell."

"Then it cannot be fit for thee and Thora Ragnor to repeat."

"Wilt thou hear it?"

"Is it about some girl he loved?"

"No, it is about a man he scorned. Thou must have heard of Andrew Horner?"

"Never heard the creature's name before."

"Then the story will be fresh to thee. Will thou hear it now?"

"As well now, as later." For Adam really had no expectation of hearing anything he had not already heard and judged; and he certainly expected nothing unusual from the proper and commonplace Thora Ragnor. But Sunna exerted all her facial skill and eloquence, and told the clever incident with wonderful spirit and delightful mimicry. Adam was enchanted; he threw down his knife and fork and made the room ring with laughter and triumph so genuine that Sunna—much against her will—was compelled to laugh with him. They heard the happy thunder in the kitchen, and wondered whatever was the matter with the Master.

"It is Robert Burns, his own self, and no other man. It is the best thing I have heard from 'the lad that was born in Kyle!'" Vedder cried. "Ill-natured! Not a bit of it! Just what the Horner man deserved!" Then he took some more collops and a fresh taste of Glenlivet, and anon broke into laughter again.

"Oh! but I wish I was in Edinburgh tonight! There's men there I would go to see and have my laugh out with them."

"Grandfather, why should we not go to Edinburgh next winter? You could board me with Mistress Brodie, and come every day to sort our quarrels and see that I was properly treated. Then you could have your crow over the ignoramuses who did not know such a patent Burns story; and I could take lessons in music and singing, and be learning something or seeing something, every hour of my life."

"And what about Boris?"

"The very name of Boris tires my tongue! I can do without Boris."

"Well, then, that is good! Thou art learning 'the grand habit of doing without.'"

"Wilt thou take me to Edinburgh? My mother would like thee to do that. I think I deserve it, Grandfather; yes, and so I ask thee."

"If I was going, I should have no mind to go without thee. One thing I wish to know—in what way hast thou deserved it?"

"I did not expect thee to ask me a question like that. Have I fretted and pined, and forgot to eat and sleep, and gone dowdy and slovenly, because my lover has been fool enough to desert me? Well, then, that is what any other girl would have done. But because I am of thy blood and stock, I take what comes to me as part of my day's work, and make no more grumble on the matter than one does about bad weather. Is that not the truth?"

"One thing is sure—thou art the finest all round girl in the Orcades."

"Then it seems to me thou should take me to Edinburgh. I want that something, that polish, only great cities can give me."

"Blessings on thee! All Edinburgh can give, thou shalt have! But it is my advice to thee to remain here until Mrs. Brodie goes back, then go thou with her."

"That will be what it should be. Mrs. Brodie, I feel, will be my stepmother; and——"

"She will never step past thee. Fear not!"

"Nor will any one—man or woman—step between thee and me! Doubt me not!"

"Well, then, have thy way. I give thee my word to take thee to Edinburgh in the autumn. Thou shalt either stay with Mrs. Brodie or at the Queen's Hotel on Prince's Street, with old Adam Vedder."

"Best of all is thy last offer. I will stay with thee. I am used to men's society. Women bore me."

"Women bore me also."

"Know this, there are three women who do not bore thee. Shall I speak their names?"

"I will not hinder thee."

"Sunna Vedder?"

"I love her. She cannot bore me."

"Rahal Ragnor?"

"I respect her. She does not bore me—often."

"Yes, that is so; it is but seldom thou sees her. Well, then, Barbara Brodie?"

"I once loved her. She can never be indifferent to me."

"Thou hast told me the truth and I will not follow up this catechism."

"For that favour, I am thy debtor. I might not always have been so truthful. Now, then, be honest with me. What wilt thou do all the summer, with no lover to wait on thy whims and fancies?"

"On thee I shall rely. Where thou goes, I will go, and if thou stay at home, with thee I will stay. Thou can read to me. I have never heard any of our great Sagas and that is a shame. I complain of that neglect in my education! I heard Maximus Grant recite from 'The Banded Men and Haakon the Good,' when I was in Edinburgh, and I said to myself, 'how much finer is this, than opera songs, sung with a Scotch burr, in the Italian; or than English songs, sung by Scotch people who pronounce English after the Scotch fashion!' Then I made up my mind that this coming winter I would let Edinburgh drawing-rooms hear the songs of Norse warriors; the songs in which the armour rattles and the swords shine!"

"That, indeed, will befit thee! Now, then, for the summer, keep thyself well in hand. Say nothing of thy plans, for if but once the wind catches them, they will soon be for every one to talk to death."

Adam was finishing his plate of rice pudding and cream when he gave this advice; and with it, he moved his chair from the table and said: "Come into the garden. I want to smoke. Thou knows a good dinner deserves a pipe, and a bad one demands it."

Then they went into the garden and talked of the flowers and the young vegetables, and said not a word of Edinburgh and the Sagas that the winds could catch and carry round to human folk for clash and gossip. And when the pipe was out, Adam said: "Now I am going into the town. That Burns story is on my lips, my teeth cannot keep my tongue behind them much longer."

"A good time will be thine. I wish that I could go with thee."

"What wilt thou do?"

"Braid my hair and dress myself. Then I shall take out thy Saga of 'The Banded Men' and study the men who were banded, and find them out, in all their clever ways. Then I can show them to others. If I get tired of them—and I do get tired of men very quickly—I will put on my bonnet and tippet, and go and carry Mrs. Brodie thy respectful——"

"Take care, Sunna!"

"Good wishes! I can surely go so far."

"Know this—every step on that road may lead to danger—and thou cannot turn back and tread them the other way. There now, be off! I will talk with thee no longer."

Sunna said something about Burns in reply, but Vedder heard her not. He was satisfying his vocal impatience by whistling softly and very musically "The Garb of Old Gaul," and Sunna watched and listened a moment, and then in something of a hurry went to her room. A new thought had come to her—one which pleased her very much; and she proceeded to dress herself accordingly.

"None too good is my Easter gown," she said pleasantly to herself; "and I can take Eric a basket of the oranges grandfather brought home today. A treat to the dear little lad they will be. Before me is a long afternoon, and I shall find the proper moment to ask the advice of Maximus about 'The Banded Men.'" So with inward smiles she dressed herself, and then took the highway in a direction not very often taken by her.

It led her to a handsome mansion overlooking the Venice of the Orcades, the village and the wonderful Bay of Kirkwall, into which

... by night and day, The great sea water finds its way Through long, long windings of the hills.

The house had a silent look, and its enclosure was strangely quiet, though kept in exquisite order and beauty. As she approached, a lady about fifty years old came to the top of the long, white steps to meet her, appearing to be greatly pleased with her visit.

"Only at dinner time Max was speaking of thee! And Eric said his sweetheart had forgotten him, and wondering we all were, what had kept thee so long away."

"Well, then, thou knowest about the war and the enlisting—everyone, in some way, has been touched by the changes made."

"True is that! Quickly thou must come in, for Eric has both second-sight and hearing, and no doubt he knows already that here thou art——" and talking thus as she went, Mrs. Beaton led the way up a wide, light stairway. Even as Mrs. Beaton was speaking a thin, eager voice called Sunna's name, a door flew open, and a man, beautiful as a dream-man, stood in the entrance to welcome them. And here the word "beautiful" need not to be erased; it was the very word that sprang naturally from the heart to the lips of every one when they met Maximus Grant. No Greek sculptor ever dreamed of a more perfect form and face; the latter illumined by noticeable grey eyes, contemplative and mystical, a face, thoughtful and winning, and constantly breaking into kind smiles.

He took Sunna's hand, and they went quickly forward to a boy of about eleven years old, whom Sunna kissed and petted. The little lad was in a passion of delight. He called her "his sweetheart! his wife! his Queen!" and made her take off her bonnet and cloak and sit down beside him. He was half lying in a softly cushioned chair; there was a large globe at his side, and an equally large atlas, with other books on a small table near by, and Max's chair was close to the whole arrangement. He was a fair, lovely boy, with the seraphic eyes that sufferers from spinal diseases so frequently possess—eyes with the look in them of a Conqueror of Pain. But also, on his young face there was the solemn Trophonean pallor which signs those who daily dare "to look at death in the cave."

"Max and I have been to the Greek islands," he said, "and Sunna, as soon as I am grown up, and am quite well, I shall ask thee to marry me, and then we will go to one of the loveliest of them and live there. Max thinks that would be just right."

"Thou little darling," answered Sunna, "when thou art a man, if thou ask me to marry thee, I shall say 'yes!'"

"Of course thou wilt. Sunna loves Eric?"

"I do, indeed, Eric! I think we should be very happy. We should never quarrel or be cross with each other."

"Oh! I would not like that! If we did not quarrel, there would be no making-up. I remember papa and mamma making-up their little tiffs, and they seemed to be very happy about it—and to love each other ever so much better for the tiff and the make-up. I think we must have little quarrels, Sunna; and then, long, long, happy makings-up."

"Very well, Eric; only, thou must make the quarrel. With thee I could not quarrel."

"I should begin it in this way: 'Sunna, I do not approve of thy dancing with—say—Ken McLeod.' Then thou wilt say: 'I shall dance with whom I like, Eric'; and I will reply: 'thou art my wife and I will not allow thee to dance with McLeod'; and then thou wilt be naughty and saucy and proud, and I shall have to be angry and masterful; and as thou art going out of the room in a terrible temper, I shall say, 'Sunna!' in a sweet voice, and look at thee, and thou wilt look at me, with those heavenly eyes, and then I shall open my arms and thou wilt fly to my embrace, and the making-up will begin."

"Well, then, that will be delightful, Eric, but thou must not accuse me of anything so bad as dancing with Mr. McLeod."

"Would that be bad to thee?"

"Very bad, indeed! I fear I would never try to have a 'make-up' with any one who thought I would dance with him."

"Dost thou dislike him?"

"That is neither here nor there. He is a Scot. I may marry like the rest of the world, but while my life days last, Sunna Vedder will not marry a Scot."

"Yes—but there was some talk that way. My aunt heard it. My aunt hears everything."

"I will tell thee, talk that way was all lies. No one will Sunna Vedder marry, that is not of her race." Then she put her arms round Eric, and kissed his wan face, calling him "her own little Norseman!"

"Tell me, Sunna, what is happening in the town?" said he.

"Well, then, not much now. Men are talking of the war, and going to the war, and empty is the town. About the war, art thou sorry?"

"No, I am glad——

"How glorious the valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land!"

And he raised his small, thin hands, and his face glowed, and he looked like a young St. Michael.

Then Max lifted the globe and books aside and put his chair close to his brother's. "Eric has the soul of a soldier," he said, "and the sound of drums and trumpets stirs him like the cry of fire."

"And so it happens, Mr. Grant, that we have much noise lately from the trumpets and the fife and drums."

"Yes, man is a military animal, he loves parade," answered Max.

"But in this war, there is much more than parade."

"You are right, Miss Vedder. It was prompted by that gigantic heart-throb with which, even across oceans, we feel each other's rights and wrongs. And in this way we learn best that we are men and brothers. Can a man do more for a wrong than give his life to right it?"

Then Eric cried out with hysterical passion: "I wish only that I might have my way with Aberdeen! Oh, the skulking cowards who follow him! Max! Max! If you would mount our father's big war horse and hold me in front of you and ride into the thick of the battle, and let me look on the cold light of the lifted swords! Oh, the shining swords! They shake! They cry out! The lives of men are in them! Max! Max! I want to die—on a—battlefield!"

And Max held the weeping boy in his arms, and bowed his head over him and whispered words too tender and sacred to be written down.

For a while Eric was exhausted; he lay still watching his brother and Sunna, and listening to their conversation. They were talking of the excitement in London, and of the pressure of the clergy putting down the reluctancies and falterings of the peace men.

"Have you heard, Miss Vedder," said Grant, "that one of the bishops decided England's call to war by a wonderful sermon in St. Paul's?"

"I am sorry to be ignorant. Tell me."

"He preached from Jeremiah, Fourth Chapter and Sixth Verse; and his closing cry was from Nahum, Second Chapter and First Verse, 'Set up the standard toward Zion. Stay not, for I will bring evil from the north and a great destruction,' and he closed with Nahum's advice, 'He that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face, keep the munition, watch the way, make thy loins strong, fortify thy power mightily.'"

"Well, then, how went the advice?"

"I know not exactly. It is hard to convince commerce and cowardice that at certain times war is the highest of all duties. Neither of them understand patriotism; and yet every trembling pacifist in time of war is a misfortune to his country."

"And the country will give them—what?" asked Sunna.

"The cold, dead damnation of a disgrace they will never outlive," answered Max.

There was a sharp cry from Eric at these words, and then a passionate childish exclamation—"Not bad enough! Not bad enough!" he screamed. "Oh, if I had a sword and a strong hand! I would cut them up in slices!" Then with an hysterical cry the boy fell backward.

In an instant Max had him in his arms and was whispering words of promise and consolation, and just then, fortunately, Mrs. Beaton entered with a servant who was carrying a service of tea and muffins. It was a welcome diversion and both Max and Sunna were glad of it. Max gently unloosed Eric's hand from Sunna's clasp and then they both looked at the child. He had fallen into a sleep of exhaustion and Max said, "It is well. When he is worn out with feeling, such sleeps alone save his life. I am weary, also. Let us have a cup of tea." So they sat down and talked of everything but the war—"He would hear us in his sleep," said Max, "and he has borne all he is able to bear today." Then Sunna said:

"Right glad am I to put a stop to such a trouble-raising subject. War is a thing by itself, and all that touches it makes people bereft of their senses or some other good thing. Here has come news of Thora Ragnor's hurried marriage, but no one knows or cares about the strange things happening at our doorstep. Such haste is not good I fear."

"Does Ragnor approve of it?" asked Mrs. Beaton.

"Thora's marriage is all right. They fell in love with each other the moment they met. No other marriage is possible for either. It is this, or none at all," answered Sunna.

"I heard the man was the son of a great Edinburgh preacher."

"Yes, the Rev. Dr. Macrae, of St. Mark's."

"That is what I heard. He is a good man, but a very hard one."

"If he is hard, he is not good."

"Thou must not say that, little Miss; it may be the Episcopalian belief, but we Calvinists have a stronger faith—a faith fit for men and soldiers of the Lord."

"There! Mrs. Beaton, you are naming soldiers. That is against our agreement to drop war talk. About Macrae I know nothing. He is not aware that anyone but Thora Ragnor lives; and I was not in the least attracted by him—his black hair and black eyes repelled me—I dislike such men."

"Will they live in Edinburgh?"

"I believe they will live in Kirkwall. Mrs. Ragnor owns a pretty house, which she will give them. She is going to put it in order and furnish it from the roof to the foundation. Thora is busy about her napery—the finest of Irish linen and damask. Now then, I must hurry home. My grandfather will be waiting his tea."

Max rose with her. He looked at his little brother and said: "Aunt, he will sleep now for a few hours, will you watch him till I return?"

"Will I not? You know he is as safe with me as yourself, Max."

So with an acknowledging smile of content, he took Sunna's hand and led her slowly down the stairway. There was a box running all across the sill of the long window, lighting the stairs, and it was full and running over with the delicious muck plant. Sunna laid her face upon its leaves for a moment, and the whole place was thrilled with its heavenly perfume. Then she smiled at Max and his heart trembled with joy; yet he said a little abruptly—"Let us make haste. The night grows cloudy."

Their way took them through the village, and Sunna knew that she would, in all likelihood, be the first woman ever seen in Maximus Grant's company. The circumstance was pleasant to her, and she carried herself with an air and manner that she readily caught and copied from him. She knew that there was a face at every window, but she did not turn her head one way or the other. Max was talking to her about the Sagas and she had a personal interest in the Sagas, and any ambition she had to be socially popular was as yet quite undeveloped.

At the point where the Vedder and Ragnor roads crossed each other, two men were standing, talking. They were Ragnor and Vedder, and Ragnor was at once aware of the identity of the couple approaching; but Vedder appeared so unaware, that Ragnor remarked: "I see Sunna, Vedder, coming up the road, and with her is Colonel Max Grant."

"But why 'Colonel,' Ragnor?"

"When General Grant died his son was a colonel in the Life Guards. He left the army to care for his brother. I heard that the Queen praised him for doing so."

Then the couple were so close, that it was impossible to affect ignorance of their presence any longer; and the old men turned and saluted the young couple. "I thank thee, Colonel," said Vedder, as he "changed hats" with the Colonel, "but now I can relieve thee of the charge thou hast taken. I am going home and Sunna will go with me; but if thou could call on an old man about some business, there is a matter I would like to arrange with thee."

"I could go home with you now, Vedder, if that would be suitable."

"Nay, it would be too much for me tonight. It is concerning that waste land on the Stromness road, near the little bridge. I would like to build a factory there."

"That would be to my pleasure and advantage. I will call on you and talk over the matter, at any time you desire."

"Well and good! Say tomorrow at two o'clock."

"Three o'clock would be better for me."

"So, let it be." Then he took Sunna's hand and she understood that her walk with Grant was over. She thanked Max for his courtesy, sent a message to Eric, and then said her good night with a look into his eyes which dirled in his heart for hours afterwards. Some compliments passed between the men and then she found herself walking home with her grandfather.

"Thou ought not to have seen me, Grandfather," she said a little crossly, "I was having such a lovely walk."

"I did not want to see thee, and have I not arranged for thee something a great deal better on tomorrow's afternoon?"

"One never knows——"

"Listen; he is to come at three o'clock, it will be thy fault if he leaves at four. Thou can make tea for him—thou can walk in the greenhouse and the garden with him, thou can sing for him—no, let him sing for thee—thou can ask him to help thee with 'The Banded Men'—and if he goes away before eight o'clock I will say to thee—'take the first man that asks thee for thou hast no woman-witchery with which to pick and choose!' Grant is a fine man. If thou can win him, thou wins something worth while. He has always held himself apart. His father was much like him. All of them soldiers and proud as men are made, these confounded, democratic days."

"And what of Boris?" asked Sunna.

"May Boris rest wherever he is! Thou could not compare Boris with Maximus Grant."

"That is the truth. In many ways they are not comparable. Boris is a rough, passionate man. Grant is a gentleman. Always I thought there was something common in me; that must be the reason why I prefer Boris."

"To vex me, thou art saying such untruthful words. I know thy contradictions! Go now and inquire after my tea. I am in want of it."

During tea, nothing further was said of Maximus Grant; but Sunna was in a very merry mood, and Adam watched her, and listened to her in a philosophical way;—that is, he tried to make out amid all her persiflage and bantering talk what was her ruling motive and intent—a thing no one could have been sure of, unless they had heard her talking to herself—that mysterious confidence in which we all indulge, and in which we all tell ourselves the truth. Sunna was undressing her hair and folding away her clothing as she visited this confessional, but her revelations were certainly honest, even if fragmentary, and full of doubt and uncertainty.