CHAPTER IV
On leaving Ørlygur, Ormarr went in to see to the preparations for the funeral. Ørlygur went off to a corner of the enclosure where he would be out of sight of the house. There he stood, leaning against the wall, and looking out over the valley.
His tears had ceased, and a strange calm crept over him. “So it was that,” he thought to himself. “It was that I could not understand. But I see it now. I must choose between her and—my mission.”
The idea involved in this last word made him start.
“My mission—but how do I know it is that? Anyhow, whether or no, it does not matter. I have promised—I have given my word to one who is now dead—and that my father. I must either break my word to him, or desert her.”
He gazed thoughtfully up at the mountains.
“Those mountains there—how wonderful they are. Peak after peak rising to heaven, and sweet grassy slopes between. But loveliest looking down, on to the glassy lakes. Borgarfjall, with its great masses of rock, rising steeply up towards the sky. No one has ever set foot there—only the eagles have ever reached those heights.”
The look in his eyes faded, and he stood gazing vacantly before him.
“Desert her,” he thought to himself. “She who leaned towards me, and touched my cheek with her own. How could I think of it! She could never be faithless. How would she look if she learned?... Oh, the sight would kill me. Nothing more terrible to see than the eyes of a creature that has lost what it hoped for and believed in. To see that in her eyes....”
He laughed—a cold, forced laugh.
“What a coward I am, after all. I can think of leaving her, forsaking her, and breaking promises so sacred that they could not even be uttered in words. But I dare not even think of meeting her eyes when she knows. What a cur I must be—and I—I would go out into the world as an apostle.”
He shook his head.
“It is madness. How could I ever bring peace to any soul, when I start my pilgrimage by robbing her who trusted me of her heart’s peace?”
An evil light showed in his eyes.
“I wonder ... would she really suffer so very much after all?...”
He clenched his fists.
“Oh, I deserve to be whipped! And, in any case, I am not worthy of her love. It seems I am growing into a rogue. I dare not look her in the face now. Her eyes—so pure ... and her soul, clean and free from any evil thought. And she—she trusts me—trusts me ... it is horrible!”
He drew a deep breath.
“I might go to her, and tell her everything. She would understand. But—her heart would feel but one thing of it all—that we must part. And that is all that my heart can feel now.”
He sighed, but in a moment his face hardened again.
“This is temptation. And I was nearly giving way. Nearly gave in at the first onset. I am too weak. The first thing to do is to take some decisive step, to cut off all retreat. But how?”
A thought came suddenly to his mind, and he shuddered.
“Today—at the graveside. Say it there, say it for all to hear; swear it ... and then I shall be bound for life, for ever. And then—what then?”
His whole body trembled; his teeth chattered; he cried to God in his agony of doubt. But he felt that his prayer was not sincere. And with faltering step he made his way back to the house.
A voice within him spoke, urging him earnestly, clearly:
“Do not do it. It is more than you can keep. You may say the words, but you will not mean what you say from your heart. What can you do or say?”
He would not listen, but he tried in vain to disregard the voice that would be heard. He staggered like a drunken man; his strength failed him.
Then the first voice died away and another spoke scornfully:
“You will make a fool of yourself, that is all.”
He stopped suddenly, and turned pale. But only for a moment. Then he walked on with a firm step.
“That was vanity,” he murmured. “It was only my fear of what others would think. Now I know what I have to do.”