“We make things lucky or unlucky by our willing and doing; but even so, it is not lucky to defy or deny what the dead have once held to be good or bad.”
“Well, then, why, Mother?”
“Not now, will we talk of whys and wherefores. It is easier to believe than to think. Take, in this last day of Love’s seven days, the full joy of your lives and ask not why of anyone.”
So the lovers went off gaily to see the land-locked bay and the strange old town of Stromness; and the house was silent and lonely without them and Rahal wished that her husband would come home and talk with her, for her soul was 178 under a cloud of presentiments and she said to herself after a morning of fretful, inefficient work: “Oh, how much easier it is to love God than it is to trust Him. Are not my dear ones in His care? Yet about them I am constantly worrying; though perfectly well I know that in any deluge that may come, God will find an ark for those who love and trust Him. Boris knows––Boris knows––I have told him.”
About three o’clock she went to the window and looked towards the town. Much to her astonishment she saw her husband coming home at a speed far beyond his ordinary walk. He appeared also to be disturbed, even angry, and she watched him anxiously until he reached the house. Then she was at the open door and his face frightened her.
“Conall! My dear one! Art thou ill?” she asked.
“I am ill with anger and pity and shame!”
“What is thy meaning? Speak to me plainly.”
“Oh, Rahal! the shame and the cruelty of it! I am beside myself!”
“Come to my room, then thou shalt tell thy sorrow and I will halve it with thee.”