“But it seems strange—not to pay a farewell visit.”
Ketill smiled sarcastically. “I should not expect it,” he said. “It is not the custom in this country.”
CHAPTER III
For the next few days Sera Ketill went about with a preoccupied air. He was trying to weigh the situation and settle his plans.
If his father and Ormarr had thought he would give up the struggle without protest, they were mistaken. He would not allow himself to be crushed. If they asked for war, they should have it. True, everything seemed to favour them at present, but on the other hand, the odds absolved him, he considered, from any obligation to be overscrupulous in his choice of weapons. All’s fair in love and war.
He remembered, with something like regret, the pleasant spring evenings when he had wandered side by side with Runa, enjoying a brief flirtation. Happy days—with nothing but the pleasure of the moment to consider. He had no longings to plague him, having all that he desired. He imagined himself in love with the shy, dreamy child who trusted herself so unreservedly to him. It had cost him something to leave her, but, nevertheless, something within him told him that he must; that he could not go on enjoying one idle, happy phase, but must move forward to a new and more strenuous one, that promised in return greater rewards for greater strife.
And, once he had left her, Runa had passed from his mind entirely; all that was left of her was a vague memory, the recollection of one of his minor adventures, a careless day of sunshine in his past. He had never thought she would cross his path again; it had never once occurred to him to write to her. He regretted his thoughtlessness now. If he had kept up a kind of correspondence with her, he might have used his influence over the girl to some purpose. Anyhow, it was fortunate that the incident had turned out as it had. No scandal—not a soul to fear. He could be quite easy on that score, for it was in the interest of the other party that nothing should leak out. And, with a little deft manipulation on his part, the hushing up of the matter might even prove a most useful weapon in his hand. Again, all was fair in love and war.
On the whole, his position was not so bad. He had made a good match, and his wife had considerable expectations in addition to her present fortune. Yes, he would be able to look after himself. Ormarr might take over the estate—for a time. But he who laughs last, laughs best. When all was said and done, his father and brother had not yet got him into their power; he had his congregation, and his position gave him an excellent opportunity to influence public opinion. Meantime, he would take care to win them over by his powers of persuasion generally, and gradually make them his faithful adherents.
The old man had been furious on Sunday; he had probably been far from appreciating his son’s talents as a preacher. But he would know how to lash the old man’s feelings with his words from the pulpit; he would reach farther and cut deeper than any other had done before. No fanciful theology, but argument backed by chapter and verse from the Scriptures. There could be no question of defence or refutation; it would be pleasant to see Ørlygur à Borg writhing under the interpretations of the Old Testament delivered by his son. Ay, he would show them that a priest was a man to be feared, an enemy not to be lightly challenged.
Sera Ketill was already elated with thoughts of his victory to come. He drew up far-reaching plans, and began at once to con the doctrines of the Church in his mind—as weapons to be used in his campaign against his father and brother.