“I don’t know....” Ormarr gazed thoughtfully before him.
“Well, I will tell you what I have been thinking of today. Sera Daniel tells me that there are men in foreign countries whose whole work in life consists in playing the violin. You understand, of course, that first of all they must learn to master it thoroughly. They are taught at schools, or by private teachers. Would you care to do the same—to learn to play properly—rules and notes and everything?”
“That means—going abroad?”
Ormarr’s voice trembled, and he turned a little pale. The golden bird of fortune and adventure flashed into the vision of his mind.
“Yes. I spoke to Sera Daniel about teaching you English as well as Danish. While you are in Copenhagen, you might find time to study other languages, without neglecting your music. Languages are always useful: if you become a great artist, you may have to travel in many countries, play your violin everywhere. Anyhow, you shall have the chance. Perhaps your liking for it may not last, or you may find you have not talent enough. If so, you can come back to Iceland again—to Borg if you care to. What do you think—would you like to try?”
“Yes, father—if you will let me. It would be wonderful.”
“I pray God I may be allowed to live a few years more. If you come back here, you will still have your birthright to the estate. But if you prefer to give up your claim, I will see that your brother is brought up to take over the place himself. The next few years will show what is best.”
Ormarr could not sleep that night. He lay weaving dreams about his future.
To him, it all appeared one bright, sunny vision. He pictured life as one grand triumphal procession. He knew that the country he was going to abounded in forests of bright-hued beech and dark pine woods; with lovely orchards, where ripe fruit hung on the trees ready for one to pick and eat. He had read of Danish gardens, where roses and lilac filled the air with their scent.