CHAPTER VII
One evening towards the end of summer, two people were seated in the room at Borg which served Ørlygur as bedroom and sitting-room. They were an old man, grey-haired and stooping, and a pale-faced young woman.
The last few years had left their mark on Ørlygur à Borg. The stately bearing and alertness which had distinguished him in days gone by, had given place to a listlessness and an expression of gloom. There was little of the old masterfulness in the man who sat now on the edge of the bed, staring at the ruddy flicker of a tallow candle. His eyes were no longer keen and bright, but dull and spiritless, as at the present moment, or at times wandering anxiously, as if seeking aid against some threatening peril.
The young woman seated near him was finely built, with a wealth of flaxen hair, but seemed in ill-health and troubled in mind. Her whole bearing was one of resignation and despair. Her eyes were red with weeping; dark rings showed up beneath them from the pallor of her cheeks—the signs of restless nights and sad thoughts.
Twelve strokes from the big upright clock broke the silence, and startled Ørlygur from his musings. He glanced at the bowed form of the woman, and then at a letter which lay on the table.
Once more he conned the sentence which had brought such pain to himself and his adopted daughter—as if to make sure there had been no mistake. No, it was right enough: “I am engaged to a girl I met here this summer ... Alma ... daughter of.... Married in a fortnight, just before I leave, so you can expect us both....”
The letter was from his son Ketill.
And there, before him, sat the woman that same Ketill had ruined—and her state would soon be evident to all.
Some time back the girl’s pale face and mournful bearing had moved Ørlygur to question her, and he had learned the cause from her own mouth. Runa, as she was called by all on the place, was at least as deeply attached to Ørlygur as to her real father, Pall à Seyru. And it had not been difficult for her to confide in him. The truth had come as a terrible shock to the old man, but both had consoled themselves with the thought that Ketill at least had no intention of leaving her thus betrayed; that he would behave as an honourable man. If not—why, Ørlygur would see that he did so.
But now, all unexpectedly, that consolation was destroyed, leaving a dark future indeed ahead.