She bore with resignation the shattering of her dreams of love, and made no attempt to deceive herself with ideas of a future reconciliation. Love, she felt, would play no further part in her life; when she endeavoured to sound her feelings on this point, she found herself coldly indifferent. Her conscience was in no way hurt by her attitude towards her husband; it could not be otherwise, since he on his part seemed to have no longer any pleasure in the possession of her, regarding her merely as a chattel he had acquired.
She even went so far as to imagine that he had never loved her, but only pretended to do so, and had only won her by sheer selfish calculation. In the days of their courtship, such a thought had never entered her mind; but now, disappointment had driven all love away, leaving only a sense of injury.
Chiefly dominant, however, was the sense of indifference; Alma had almost become a fatalist. Sorrows and disappointments were things to be taken as they came, and stacked aside, as a card-player lays aside the tricks he has taken, or a miser packs away his treasures. All unknowingly, she was gradually developing in herself something of the essential character of the country that had so impressed her; so it was that the snow gathered and hung on the mountain-side, ever more and more, until it crashed down in an avalanche, burying houses and men, or sweeping them out to sea. So also in the heart of the volcanoes molten stuff was gathered slowly—to burst forth one day and spread death and desolation abroad. And human beings might do as they, gathering slowly the force that, suddenly loosed, should change their destinies.
Autumn spread its heavy tones over the land, persistent, yet ever changing.
There were grey, wet days, when all things were obliterated under masses of rain. Then violent storms, when window-frames and houses rattled and shook, and the dust was whirled in huge yellow clouds. Haystacks were caught in the whirlwind, tumbledown cottages demolished; even the strongest men were at times obliged to move on all fours over the hills, to avoid being swept over some precipice. Boats along the shore were crushed like egg-shells; there were sad days for the fisherfolk.
Sometimes the elements seemed to be resting, leaving the weather calm and mild; at other times there would be days of shifting light and shade, of scurrying clouds and sudden hailstorms that left white streaks along the hillsides where they passed.
The days were growing shorter; everywhere the advance of darkness made itself felt, like a mighty bass in the autumnal choir, relieved by the clear treble of the stars and the northern lights.
Alma spent the long evenings at home for the most part, busy with her own thoughts. There was little interchange of words between her and her husband. They seemed separated by a gulf of silence; Ketill, apparently, found nothing distressing in the fact. It was convenient to have a wife who was quiet, and did not bother him. But Alma felt as if they lived in different worlds, with but the slightest link between them.
Sometimes the fact that they were married—and the intimacies which alone declared it—seemed to her so tragically humourous that she had to bite her lips lest she should break out into bitter laughter.