“When thou says such a thing as that, then thou lies; I tempted him not. I was sorry for 214 him, as was every man and woman in Lerwick. Poor Jan Vedder!”
“I told thee not to speak of my husband.”
“Thy husband!” cried Suneva scornfully. “Where is he? Thou may well turn pale. Good for thee is it that the Troll Rock hasn’t a tongue! Thou cruel woman! I wonder at myself that I have borne with thee so long. Thou ought to be made to tell what thou did with Jan Vedder!”
“What art thou saying? What dost thou mean? I will not listen to thee”—and she lifted the weeping child in her arms, and turned to go.
“But at last thou shalt listen. I have spared thee long enough. Where is Jan Vedder? Thou knows and thou only; and that is what every one says of thee. Is he at the bottom of the Troll Rock? And who pushed him over? Answer that, Margaret Vedder!”
Suneva, in her passion, almost shrieked out these inquiries. Her anger was so violent, that it silenced her opponent. But no words could have interpreted the horror and anguish in Margaret’s face, when she realized the meaning of Suneva’s questions. The sudden storm 215 ended in the lull which follows recrimination. Suneva sat fuming and muttering to herself; Margaret, in her room, paced up and down, the very image of despairing shame and sorrow. When her father returned she knew Suneva would tell him all that had transpired. To face them both was a trial beyond her strength. She looked at her child softly sobbing on the bed beside her, and her heart melted at the injustice she had done him. But she felt that she must take him away from Suneva, or he would be stolen from her; worse than stolen, he would be made to regard her as a terror and a tyrant.
She heard the clatter of the tea-cups and the hum of conversation, and knew that her father was at home. As soon as he had finished his tea, she would probably be summoned to his presence. It had grown dark and a rain-storm was coming; nevertheless she dressed herself and little Jan, and quietly went out of the house. Peter and Suneva were discussing the quarrel over their tea; the servants sat spinning by the kitchen fire, doing the same. She only glanced at them, and then she hastened toward the town as fast as she could.
Snorro was sitting at the store-fire, a little 216 pot of tea, a barley cake, and a broiled herring by his side. He was thinking of Jan, and lo! a knock at the door—just such a knock as Jan always gave. His heart bounded with hope; before he thought of possibilities he had opened it. Not Jan, but Jan’s wife and child, and both of them weeping. He said not a word, but he took Margaret’s hand and led her to the fire. Her cloak and hood were dripping with the rain, and he removed and shook them. Then he lifted the child in his arms and gave him some tea, and soon soothed his trouble and dried his tears.
Margaret sobbed and wept with a passion that alarmed him. He had thought at first that he would not interfere, but his tender heart could not long endure such evident distress without an effort to give comfort.
“What is the matter with thee, Margaret Vedder? and why art thou and thy child here?”