“That is so. Since Peter will do nothing, I must seek help of Magnus. Well, then, I will write the letter.”
When it was finished, Jan said, “Snorro, who told thee I was at Torr’s?”
“Thou wert not at home. I went there, first.”
“Then thou hast made trouble for me, be sure of that. My wife thought that thou wast ill.”
“It is a bad wife a man must lie to. But, oh, Jan! Jan! To think that for any woman thou would tell the lie!”
Then Jan, being in that garrulous mood which often precedes intoxication, would have opened his whole heart to Michael about his domestic troubles; but Michael would not listen to him. “Shut thy mouth tight on that subject,” he said angrily. “I will hear neither good nor bad of Margaret Vedder. Now, then, I will walk home with thee, and then I will see Neil Bork, and give him thy letter.”
Margaret heard their steps at the gate. Her face grew white and cold as ice, and her heart hardened at the sound of Snorro’s voice. She 33 had always despised him; now, for his interference with her, she hated him. She could not tolerate Jan’s attachment to a creature so rude and simple. It was almost an insult to herself; and yet so truthfully did she judge his heart, that she was quite certain Michael Snorro would never tell Jan that she had watched him through Ragon Torr’s window. She blushed a moment at the memory of so mean an action, but instantly and angrily defended it to her own heart.
Jan came in, with the foolish, good-natured smile of alcoholic excitement. But when he saw Margaret’s white, hard face, he instantly became sulky and silent. “Where hast thou been, Jan?” she asked. “It is near the midnight.”
“I have been about my own business. I had some words to send by Neil Bork to my cousin Magnus. Neil sails by the midnight tide.”
She laughed scornfully. “Thy cousin Magnus! Pray, what shall he do for thee? This is some new cousin, surely!”