“Yes. That is—or will be—a task for me; something that others could not do as well. You are old now, father, and your last years should be lived in peace. I may be a little strange here, at first, still, I can feel that I have come home.”
Father and son sat in the growing darkness without thought of needing lights. Each wanted to know all about the other’s life during the years since they had last been together. Ormarr also was keenly concerned to learn about matters in the parish, who had died and what newcomers were to be reckoned with; there were a hundred questions to be answered. Ørlygur, on his part, was eager to hear of his son’s doings during those years, for Ormarr had said but little in his letters.
“There is nothing to tell,” he said now. “I have worked hard—slaved at the work—beyond that, nothing.”
“You are yourself again now—or at least recognizable as yourself,” said Ørlygur. “Changes there are, of course, but mostly in your looks only. Voice, and eyes, and expression have not changed. I have noticed sometimes you smile just as you used to do—it is very long ago now. They have been weary years, since your mother and you seemed so far away—sometimes you too seemed as far off as your mother in her grave. But I see you have been true to yourself all the time. And I am glad you have come home. I thank you, Ormarr. And I thank God for sending you back to me.”
It was dark now, but still no lights were lit. The house was silent; nothing heard save when one of the two men spoke.
They talked on, fitfully, springing from one thing to another. But for all their frankness and sincerity, there was evidently something that preyed on both their minds.
At last Ørlygur brought up the matter himself.
“Worst of all is that about poor little Runa.”
Ormarr rose, walked to the window, and stood drumming with his fingers on the panes. Then, as if ashamed of having shown feeling, he returned to his seat.
“Runa?... Yes. No one must know what has happened. We cannot have her dishonoured. For him I have no pity, except for the sake of his wife. She is a good little soul, father, and we must be kind to her. But Runa ... father, I know what I must do.”