Again his thoughts turned to Bagga. He was filled with a sudden desire to go and see her, now, at once. Yet he did not move. Something seemed to hold him back.
He hated himself for his irresolution and want of firmness. But there was something he felt he must do before he sought her; what it was, he knew not.
His gaze wandered, as if seeking a solution. And suddenly his eyes rested on Borgarfjall.
“That was it!” he said to himself. “I told the priest.... But it was only in jest....”
He stood thinking.
“Perhaps the priest will remind me of it some day. Or tell others—and I shall be looked on as a braggart. I could never bear it. Bagga might try to stop me if I made the attempt, but if she heard I had vowed to do it and drawn back she would never think the same of me again. It would pain her; she would feel ashamed. And that must never be.”
He decided to act at once. He would climb Borgarfjall the next day. And the idea of danger crossed his mind; perhaps he would never see her again.
But the mere possibility of this was unendurable—never to see her again. It was too dreadful to be a possibility at all. No; it could not be but that he would come back safely to her after all.
And the more he thought, the more he felt certain of success. Here at last was something real to grapple with, something material, and he felt more confident in himself. No more fighting in the dark against thoughts and fancies, but a trial of physical strength and endurance.
That it was but a caricature of his former lofty project never once occurred to him—he would hardly have understood it in that light. His nature was one that craved real hardships to encounter; he was not of the stuff to fight with figments of the brain.