CHAPTER VII
Night spread its broad, dark wings over the land.
Under the shadow of night the world is changed from what it was while day still reigned. Fear, that the daylight holds in check, is then abroad, and the unseen seems nearer than before. All things are changed, save Love that is unalterable; Love that is constant whether in light or dark.
Guest the One-eyed had long since laid his tired limbs to rest in the hay, the widow’s soul far, far away in the land of dreams, when the outer door of the house opened slowly; only a crack at first, through which the dog silently made its way, followed then by the girl, who stepped with careful, noiseless tread.
Bagga closed the door behind her without a sound, patted the dog, and whispered to it to be silent. And the intelligent beast seemed to understand that this was a business that must be kept secret between it and its mistress.
Off went the pair, in the direction of the stream, the dog hard at Bagga’s heels, and evidently interested in the night’s adventure.
As they neared the flock of sheep, where they lay huddled together for the night, she made the dog lie down, while she called softly, as was her wont, for Ørlygur’s lamb. There was a slight commotion in the flock, and the black-headed lamb came trotting up.
Offering some bread she had brought with her, Bagga gradually enticed it away from the rest. She moved very slowly, to avoid alarming the others, over towards the natural bridge across the stream.
The dog trotted along behind, with its tail down. It was jealous of the lamb, knowing well that, when Bagga had it with her, any other creature must take second place. To approach her now would mean a scolding, and the dog had no desire to be sent back home, just when there was every prospect of something quite unusual happening.
All went well. The lamb gave no trouble, and the dog followed at a safe distance.
But the girl’s heart was sad; it was hard now to have to part with the lamb she had cherished as a link between her lover and herself—a tangible memory of the one she loved so deeply, yet with whom she had never spoken—whom she had only seen now and then at church on Sundays.
Reaching the bridge, she took off her garter and fastened it round the lamb’s neck, to have something to hold by in case the animal should take fright. Then carefully she led it across, the earth underfoot vibrating all the time with the rush of the water below.
After a time, the supply of breadcrumbs having ceased, the lamb grew lazy, and showed signs of becoming rebellious. It seemed to resent having been thus disturbed in the middle of the night. As long as there had been compensation in the way of dainty morsels to nibble, it was perhaps worth it, but now it would prefer to lie down and chew the cud in peace.
Bagga, however, persisted, and with coaxing and scolding urged on her little charge.
It was a long road, but at last they reached Borg.
Quietly as possible she opened the gate of the enclosure. It would never do to rouse the dogs. Then she stroked the lamb sadly in farewell, her tears falling on its woolly fleece, and thrust it through the gate, which she closed after it.
She had forgotten to take her garter from its neck.
As she turned away from the gate, a feeling of loneliness and misery overcame her; it was as if she had lost the one treasure of her life—nothing was left but loneliness and emptiness. Then gradually she grew more composed. The dog marked her trouble, and fawned on her; she came to herself, and realized that it was time to return home.
She stood for a little, gazing with wet eyes at the dark outline of the homestead; there slept her lover, never dreaming she was near. Surely, surely in some mysterious way he must feel that she was there, and come to her? Not to speak to her, no—that he should ever speak seemed to her like a thing so distant as to be almost unreal—an entering into paradise. But come he surely must—if only that they might see each other—that he might realize how she loved him.
But she must go.... With bowed head she turned in the direction of home. The long road was covered, she hardly knew how, and, without once waking to conscious thought of the way, she found herself in the house once more.
Silently she undressed; her head was aching, and it was long before she could sleep. At length she fell into a heavy slumber.
When she woke next morning it seemed as if the journey of the night had been a dream; she had to go out and convince herself that the lamb was really gone.
Once sure, however, she felt an indescribable joy—so near she had been to her heart’s desire that night. And none to know of it but God.... She could not understand now why she had felt sad at parting with the lamb; the night stood out now like a gleam of brightness in her life.
One of her garters was missing—she could not remember what she had done with it. Fallen off somewhere, perhaps, and lying out on the road. It would be hopeless to try and find it now, though, among all the rocks; she might as well give it up for lost.
But it was a pity, for it was a nice one, neatly embroidered, and with her name worked on so prettily....