“If you had ever seen him swaggering and rolling from one day into another, if you had ever seen him stroking his bare arms and peering round with wicked eyes for some one to ease him of his temper, you would not say such words.”
“I will not call my words back for much more than that, and I will follow up this quarrel.”
“If you are foolish, you may do so; if you are wise, you will be neither for nor against Nicol Sinclair. There is a wide and a safe way between these two. Let me tell you, Nanna’s life lies in it. I have not yet told you all.”
“Speak the last word, then.”
“Think what cruel things a bad man can always do to a good woman; all of them Nicol Sinclair has done to your cousin Nanna. Yes, it is so. When she was too weak to hold her baby in her arms he bade her ‘die, and make way for a better woman.’ And one night he lured her to the cliff-top, and then and there he quarreled with her; and men think–yes, and women think so too–that he threw the child into the water, and that Nanna leaped after it. That was the story in every one’s mouth.”
“Was it true? Tell me that.”
“There was more than guesswork to go on. Magnus Crawford took them out of the sea, and the child was much hurt, for it has never walked, nor yet spoken a word, and there are those who say it never will.”
“And what said my cousin Nanna?”
“She held her peace both to men and women; but what she said to God on the matter he knows. It is none of thy business. She has grown stronger and quieter with every sorrow; and it is out of a mother’s strength, I tell thee, and not her weakness, that good can come.”
Then David rose to his feet and began to walk furiously about the small room. His face was white as death, and he spoke with a still intensity, dropping each word as if it were a separate oath.