"Then why did she not see our wedding catastrophe? She might have averted it by changing the date."

"Ask her;" and as Thora said these words and wearily closed her eyes, Rahal entered the room. She went straight to Ian, put her arms round him and kissed him tenderly. Then Ian could bear no more. He sobbed like a boy of seven years old and she wept with him.

"Thou poor unloved laddie!" she said. "If thou had gone wrong, it would have been little wonder and little blame to thyself. I think thou did all that could be done, with neither love nor wisdom to help thee. Rahal does not blame thee. Rahal pities and loves thee. Thou hast been cowed and frightened and punished for nothing, all the days of thy sad life. Poor lad! Poor, disappointed laddie! With all my heart and soul I pity thee!"

For a few moments there was not a word spoken and the sound of Ian's bitter weeping filled the room. Ian had been flogged many a time when but a youth, and had then disdained to utter a cry, but no child in its first great sorrow, ever wept so heart-brokenly as Ian now wept in Rahal's arms. And a man weeping is a fearsome, pitiful sound. It goes to a woman's heart like a sword, and Thora rose and went to her lover and drew him to the sofa and sat down at his side and, with promises wet with tears, tried to comfort him. A strange silence that the weeping did not disturb was in the house and room, and in the kitchen the servants paused in their work and looked at each other with faces full of pity.

"The Wise One has put trouble on their heads," said a woman who was dressing a goose to roast for dinner and her helper answered, "And there is no use striving against it. What must be, is sure to happen.

That is Right."

"All that we have done, is no good. Fate rules in this thing. I see that."

"The trouble came on them unawares. And if Death is at the beginning, no course that can be taken is any good."

"What is the Master's will? For in the end, that will orders all things."

"The mistress said the marriage would be put off for a year. The young man goes to the war."

"No wonder then he cries out. It is surely a great disappointment."

"Tom Snackoll had the same ill luck. He made no crying about it. He hoisted sail at midnight and stole his wife Vestein out of her window, and when her father caught them, they were man and wife. And Snackoll went out to speak to his father-in-law and he said to him, 'My wife can not see thee today, for she is weary and I think it best for her to be still and quiet'; and home the father went and no good of his journey. Snackoll got praise for his daring."

"Well then," said a young man who had just entered, "it is well known that Vestein and her father and mother were all fully willing. The girl could as easily have gone out of the door as the window. Snackoll is a boaster. He is as great in his talk as a fox in his tail."

Thus the household of Ragnor talked in the kitchen, and in the parlour Rahal comforted the lovers, and cheered and encouraged Ian so greatly that she was finally able to say to them:

"The wedding day was not lucky. Let it pa.s.s. There is another, only a year away, that will bring lasting joy. Now we have wept over our mischance, we will bury it and look to the future. We will go and wash away sorrow and put on fresh clothes, and look forward to the far better marriage a year hence."

And her voice and manner were so persuasive, that they willingly obeyed her advice and, as they pa.s.sed her, she kissed them both and told Ian to put his head in cold water and get rid of its aching fever, for she said, "The Bishop will want thee to sing some of thy Collects and Hymns and thou wilt like to please him. He is thy good friend."

"I do not think so."

"He is. Thou may take that, on my word."

The evening brought a braver spirit. They talked of Boris and of his open-hearted, open-air life, and the Bishop read aloud several letters from young men then at the front. They were full of enthusiasm. They might have been read to an accompaniment of fife and drums. Ian was visibly affected and made no further demur about joining them. One of them spoke of Boris "leading his volunteers up the hill like a lion"; and another letter described his tenderness to the wounded and convalescents, saying "he spent his money freely, to procure them little comforts they could not get for themselves."

They talked plainly and from their hearts, hesitating not to call his name, and so they brought comfort to their heavy sorrow. For it is a selfish thing to shut up a sorrow in the heart, far better to look at it full in the face, speak of it, discuss its why and wherefore and break up that false sanct.i.ty which is very often inspired by purely selfish sentiments. And when this point was reached, the Bishop took from his pocket a small copy of the Apocrypha and said, "Now I will tell you what the wisest of men said of such an early death as that of our dear Boris:

"'He pleased G.o.d, and he was beloved of him, so that living among sinners, he was translated.

"'Yea speedily was he taken away, lest that wickedness should alter his understanding, or deceit beguile his soul.

"'He, being made perfect in a short time, fulfilled a long time.

"'For his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted he to take him away from among the wicked.'"

And these words fell like heavenly dew on every heart. There was no comfort and honour greater than this to offer even a mother's heart. A happy sigh greeted the blessed verses, and there was no occasion to speak. There was no word that could be added to it.

Then Ian had a happy thought for before a spell-breaking word could be said, he stepped softly to the piano and the next moment the room was ringing with some n.o.ble lines from the "Men of Harlech" set to notes equally stirring:

"Men of Harlech, young or h.o.a.ry, Would you win a name in story, Strike for home, for life, for glory, Freedom, G.o.d and Right!

"Onward! 'Tis our country needs us, He is bravest, he who leads us, Honour's self now proudly leads us, Freedom! G.o.d and Right!

Loose the folds asunder!

Flag we conquer under!

Death is glory now."

The words were splendidly sung and the room was filled with patriotic fervour. Then the Bishop gave Ragnor and Thora a comforting look, as he asked, "Who wrote that song, Ian?"

"Ah, sir, it was never written! It sprang from the heart of some old Druid priest as he was urging on the Welsh to drive the Romans from their country. It is two verses from 'The Song of the Men of Harlech.'"

"In olden times, Ian, the bards went to the battlefield with the soldiers. We ought to send our singers to the trenches. Ian, go and sing to the men of England and of France 'The Song of the Men of Harlech.' Your song will be stronger than your sword."

"I will sing it to my sword, sir. It will make it sharper." Then Rahal said, "You are a brave boy, Ian," and Thora lifted her lovely face and kissed him.

Every heart was uplifted, and the atmosphere of the room was sensitive with that exalted feeling which finds no relief in speech. Humanity soon reacts against such tension. There was a slight movement, every one breathed heavily, like people awakening from sleep, and the Bishop said in a slow, soft voice:

"I was thinking of Boris. After all, the dear lad may return to us.

Surgeons are very clever now, they can almost work miracles."

"Boris will not return," said Rahal.

"How can you know that, Rahal?"

"He told me so."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"On the afternoon of the eleventh of this month."

"How?"

"Well, Bishop, I was making the cap I am wearing and I was selecting from some white roses on my lap the ones I thought best. Suddenly Boris stood at my side."

"You saw him?"

"Yes, Bishop. I saw him plainly, though I do not remember lifting my head."

"How did he look?"

"Like one who had just won a victory. He was much taller and grander in appearance. Oh, he looked like one who had realized G.o.d's promise that we should be satisfied. A kind of radiance was around him and the air of a conquering soldier. And he was my boy still! He called me 'Mother,' he sent such a wonderful message to his father." And at the last word, Ragnor uttered just such a sharp, short gasp as might have come from the rift of a broken heart.

"Did you ask him any question, Rahal?"