"Of course she is! Who else would I have left two engagements to serve? But Agnes is dear to me, perhaps dearer than my own sister.

Since she was nine years old, we have studied and played together.

Willie and Agnes were the only loves and only friends of my desolate boyhood. You have doubtless heard how unhappy the deacon's second marriage has been. Both Willie and Agnes refused the stepmother he gave them, and last year Willie went to New York, where he is doing very well. But Agnes has been more and more wretched, and a recent proposal of marriage between herself and the stepmother's nephew has made her life intolerable. Two weeks ago I had a letter from Willie, telling me he had just written her, advising an immediate 'give-up' of the whole situation. He told her to take the first good steamer and come to him. He also urged her to send for me and take my help and advice about the voyage. Two weeks ago last Friday she did so and I went at once to the West End Hotel to see her. She had disguised herself so cleverly that it was difficult to recognise her. I went with her to her sitting room and there I found the woman who had waited on her all her life long. I knew her well for she had often scolded me for leading Agnes into danger.

"I ate lunch with Agnes and during it I told her to transfer all her money not required for travelling expenses to the Bank of New York; and I promised to go at once and secure a pa.s.sage for herself and maid--for seeing that the _Atlantic_ would leave her dock for New York about the noon hour of the next day, haste was necessary. I did not wish to go to Liverpool because of my two engagements, but Agnes was so insistent on my presence I could not refuse her. Well, perhaps I was wrong to yield to her entreaties."

"No, hardly," said Ragnor. "Going on board a big steamer at Liverpool must be a muddling business--not fit for two simple women like Agnes Henderson and her maid."

"I don't remember thinking of that but I could hear my friend Willie telling me, 'See her safe on board, Ian. Don't leave her till she is in the captain's care. Do this for me, Ian!' And I did it for both Agnes' and Willie's sake but mainly for Willie's, for I love him. He is my right-hand friend, always. Perhaps I did wrong."

"It is a pity there was any mystification about it. Was it necessary for Agnes Henderson to disguise herself?"

"Perhaps not, but it prevented trouble and disappointment. Her father supposed her to be at her uncle's home. On Sat.u.r.day afternoon he went to see her and found she had not been there at all. He returned to Edinburgh and could get no trace of her, nor was she located until I returned and informed him that she was on the _Atlantic_."

There was a few moments of silence and then Ian said, "Have I done anything unpardonable? Surely you will not let that jealous, envious letter stand between Thora and myself?"

Then Ragnor answered, "Tonight I will say neither this nor that on the matter. I will sleep over the subject and take counsel of One wiser than myself. Thou had better do likewise. Many things are to consider."

And Ian went away without a word. There was anger in his heart, and as he sat gloomily in his dimly lit room and felt the damp chill of the midnight, he told himself that he had been hardly judged. "I have done nothing wrong," he whispered pa.s.sionately. "Old McLeod collected his own rents and looked after his own property and no one thought he did wrong. He was an elder in one of the largest Edinburgh kirks and the favourite chairman in missionary meetings, but because I did not go to kirk, what was business in him was sin in me.

"As to the gambling houses, I had nothing to do with them but to collect lawful money, due the McLeod estate; and as far as I can see, men who gamble for money are quite respectable if they get what they gamble for. There was that old reprobate Lord Sinclair. He redeemed the Sinclair estates by gambling and he married the beautiful daughter of the n.o.ble Seaforths. n.o.body blamed him. Pshaw! It is all a matter of money--or it is my ill luck." And to such irritating reflections he finally fell asleep.

CHAPTER IX

THE BREAD OF BITTERNESS

Sorrow develops the mind. It seems as if a soul was given us to suffer with--

Dust to dust, but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came A portion of the Eternal which must glow Through time and change unalterably the same.

Our endless need is met by G.o.d's endless help.

At her room door Thora bid her mother good night. Rahal desired to talk with her, but the girl shook her head and said wearily, "I want to think, Mother. I have no heart to speak yet." And Rahal turned sadly away. She knew that hour, that her child had come to a door for which she had no key and she left her alone with the situation she had to face. Nor did Thora just then realize that within the past hour her girlhood had vanished, and that she had suddenly become a woman with a woman's fate upon her and a woman's heart-rending problem to solve.

How it came she did not enquire, yet she did recognise some change in herself. Hitherto, all her troubles had been borne by her father or mother. This trouble was her very own. No one could carry it for her but without any hesitation she accepted it. "I must find out the very root of this matter," she said to herself, "and I will not go to bed until I do. Nor is it half-asleep I will be over the question. I will sit up and be wide awake."

So she put more peat and coal on her fire and lit a fresh candle; removed her day clothing and wrapped herself in a large down cloak.

And the night was not cold for there was a southerly wind, and the gulf stream embraces the Orkneys, giving them an abnormally warm climate for their far-north lat.i.tude. And she had a pa.s.sing wonder at herself for these precautions. A year ago, a week ago, she would have thrown herself upon her bed in pa.s.sionate weeping or clung to her mother and talked her sorrow away in her loving sympathy and advice.

But at this supreme hour of her life, she wanted to be alone. She did not wish to talk about Ian with any one. She was wide awake, quite sensible of the pain and grief at her heart, yet tearless and calm. Never before had she felt that dignity of soul, which looks straight into the face of its sorrow and feels itself equal to the bearing of it. She had as yet no idea that during that evening she had pa.s.sed through that wonderful heart-experience, which suddenly ripens girlhood into womanhood. Indeed, they will be thoughtless girls--whatever their age--who can read this sentence and not pause and recall that marvellous transition in their own lives. To some it comes with a great joy, to others with a great sorrow but it is always a fateful event, and girls should be ready to meet and salute it.

As soon as Thora had made herself and her room comfortable, she sat down and closed her eyes. All her life she had noticed that her mother shut her eyes when she wanted to think. Now she did the same, and then softly called Ian Macrae to the judgment of her heart and her inner senses, but she did it as naturally as women equally ignorant have done it in all ages, taking or refusing their advice or verdict as directed by their dominant desire, or their reason or unreason.

With almost supernatural clearness she recalled his beautiful, yet troubled face, his hesitating manner, his restlessness in his chair, his nervous trifling with his watch chain or his finger ring. She recalled the fact that his voice had in it a strange tone and that his eyes reflected a soul fearful and angry. It was an unfamiliar Ian she called up, but oh! if it could ever become a familiar one.

The first subject that pressed her for consideration was the suspicion of gambling. Certainly Ian had promptly denied the charge. He had even said that he never was in the gambling parlours but once, when he went into them very early with the porter, to a.s.sure himself that some new carpets asked for were really wanted. "Then," he added, "I found out that the demand was made by one of the club members, who had a friend who was a carpet manufacturer and expected to supply what was considered necessary."

It must be recalled here that Nors.e.m.e.n, though sharp and keen in business matters, have no gambling fever in their blood. To get money and give nothing for it! That goes too far beyond their idea of fair business, and as for pleasure, they have never connected it with the paper kings and queens. They find in the sea and their ships, in adventure, in music and song, in dancing and story telling, all of pleasure they require. A common name for a pack of cards is "the devil's books," and in Orkney they have but few readers.

Thora had partially exonerated Ian from the charge of gambling when she remembered Jean Hay's a.s.sertion that "wherever horses were racing, there Ian was sure to be and that he had been named in the newspapers as a winner on the horse Sergius." Ian had pa.s.sed by this circ.u.mstance, and her father had either intentionally or unintentionally done the same. Once she had heard Vedder say that "horse racing produced finer and faster horses"; and she remembered well, that her father asked in reply, "If it was well to produce finer and faster horses, at the cost of making horsier men?" And he had further said that he did not know of any uglier type of man than a "betting book in breeches." She thought a little on this subject and then decided Ian ought to be talked to about it.

Her lover's neglect of the Sabbath was the next question, for Thora was a true and loving daughter of the Church of England. Episcopacy was the kernel of her faith. She believed all bishops were just like Bishop Hedley and that the most perfect happiness was found in the Episcopal Communion. And she said positively to her heart--"It is through the church door we will reach the Home door, and I am sure Ian will go with me to keep the Sabbath in the cathedral. Every one goes to church in Kirkwall. He could not resist such a powerful public example, and then he would begin to like to go of his own inclination.

I could trust him on this point, I feel sure."

When she took up the next doubt her brow clouded and a shadow of annoyance blended itself with her anxious, questioning expression.

"His name!" she muttered. "His name! Why did he woo me under a false name? Mother says my marriage to him under the name of Ian Macrae would not be lawful. Of course he intended to marry me with his proper name. He would have been sure to tell us all before the marriage day--but I saw father was angry and troubled at the circ.u.mstance. He ought to have told us long ago. Why didn't he do so? I should have loved him under any name. I should have loved him better under John than Ian. John is a strong, straight name. Great and good men in all ages have made John honourable. It has no diminutive. It can't be made less than John. Englishmen and lowland Scotch all say the four sensible letters with a firm, strong voice; only the Celt turns John into Ian. I will not call him Ian again. Not once will I do it."

Then she covered her eyes with her hand and a sharp, chagrined catch of her breath broke the hush of the still room. And her voice, though little stronger than a whisper, was full of painful wonder. "What will people say? What shall we say? Oh, the shame! Oh, the mortification!

Who will now live in my pretty home? Who will eat my wedding cake?

What will become of my wedding dress? Oh, Thora! Thora! Love has led thee a shameful, cruel road! What wilt thou do? What can thou do?"

Then a singular thing happened. A powerful thought from some forgotten life came with irresistible strength into her mind, and though she did not speak the words suggested, she prayed them--if prayer be that hidden, never-dying imploration that goes with the soul from one incarnation to another--for the words that sprang to her memory must have been learned centuries before, "Oh, Mary! Mary! Mother of Jesus Christ! Thou that drank the cup of all a woman's griefs and wrongs, pray for me!"

And she was still and silent as the words pa.s.sed through her consciousness. She thought every one of them, they seemed at the moment so real and satisfying. Then she began to wonder and ask herself, "Where did those words come from? When did I hear them? Where did I say them before? How do they come to be in my memory? From what strange depth of Life did they come? Did I ever have a Roman Catholic nurse? Did she whisper them to my soul, when I was sick and suffering?

I must ask mother--oh, how tired and sleepy I feel--I will go to bed--I have done no good, come to no decision. I will sleep--I will tell mother in the morning--I wish I had let her stop with me--mother always knows--what is the best way----" And thus the heart-breaking session ended in that blessed hostel, The Inn of Dreamless Sleep.

There was, however, little sleep in the House of Ragnor that night, and very early in the morning Ragnor, fully dressed, spoke to his wife. "Art thou waking yet, Rahal?" he asked, and Rahal answered, "I have slept little. I have been long awake."

"Well then, what dost thou think now of Ian Macrae, so-called?"

"I think little amiss of him--some youthful follies--nothing to make a fuss about."

"Hast thou considered that the follies of youth may become the follies of manhood, and of age? What then?"

"We are not told to worry about what may be."

"Ian has evidently been living and spending with people far above his means and his cla.s.s."

"The Lowland Scotch regard a minister as socially equal to any peer.

Are not the servants of G.o.d equal, and more than equal, to the servants of the queen? No society is above either they or their children. That I have seen always. And young men of fine appearance and charming manners, like Ian, are welcome in every home, high or low. Yes, indeed!"

"Yet girls, as a rule, should not marry handsome men with charming manners, unless there is something better behind to rely on."

"If thou had not been a handsome man with a charming manner, Rahal would not have married thee. What then?"

"I would have been a ruined man. I cared for nothing but thee."

"I believe that a girl of moral strength and good intelligence should be trusted with the choice of her destiny. It is not always that parents have a right to thrust a destiny they choose upon their daughter. If a man is not as good and as rich as they think she ought to marry they can point this out, and if they convince their child, very well; and if they do not convince her, also very well. Perhaps the girl's character requires just the treatment it will evolve from a life of struggle."

"Thou art talking nonsense, Rahal. Thy liking for the young man has got the better of thy good sense. I cannot trust thee in this matter."

"Well then, Coll, the road to better counsel than mine, is well known to thee."

"I think Bishop Hedley arrived about an hour ago. There were moving lights on the pier, and as soon as the morning breaks I am going to see him."

"Have thy own way. When a man's wife has not the wisdom wanted, it is well that he go to his Bishop, for Bishops are full of good counsel, even for the ruling of seven churches, so I have heard."