“It is a lie!”
Alma was quivering with rage; she had never been so near to losing her self-control.
“I do not say it is true. Until it is proved, we must hope for the best. But you will no doubt agree with me that the matter calls for the strictest investigation. Ormarr and his father have treated the affair with great secrecy—that looks bad, to begin with. Did you not notice last year how Runa was kept out of the way when we were there? And can’t you see now why it was? Has it never struck you that her marriage was arranged with extraordinary haste? The whole thing was settled and done in a couple of days. It is a very awkward business indeed for father; the entire parish is against him. All his workpeople left the place this spring, and he has been there all alone, with but one old woman, until now.”
“Why did they leave him?”
“Probably because they knew what was said about him, and believed it true. Very likely they knew of some little incident that proved it. And after that, of course, they would not wish to have anything more to do with him.”
Alma was at a loss what to reply. She had a keen desire to defend Ørlygur, for she fully believed he was innocent. But her brain was in a whirl, and the one thing uppermost at the moment was an intense hatred of her husband. But she would not give it rein. She was helpless, and suffering bitterly.
“What do you think yourself?” she asked at last, in a low voice.
“I do not allow myself to think. But I have determined to have the matter cleared up. That is all.”
CHAPTER VIII
Sunday came. A glorious spring day with a bright blue cloudless sky and the air a-quiver with heat; a day of smiles without a shadow, breathing peace to all mankind.