Ormarr left her to herself for a while. Then going over to her, he stroked her hair, and tried to comfort her, as one would with a child. And when she looked up, there was a light in her eyes, of gladness, as when a child meets kindness from one it loves and respects.
Tears rose to Ormarr’s eyes; the thought crossed his mind that she might at that moment be wishing the child were his. And a pang of vague longing passed through him, such as he had known at times when life had seemed empty for the lack of one thing.
As if by one accord, the two avoided each other’s eyes.
Then resolutely Ormarr threw off his shyness, as if it were a thing to be ashamed of. He went straight to her, and spoke as calmly as he could—though his voice quivered a little.
“Runa, there is nothing else to be done. You must be my wife.”
“Yes,” she answered. There was nothing of bitterness or regret in her voice. But she fell to crying again.
Then said Ormarr: “You will be mistress of Borg, you know, and that means a big responsibility, and much to look after.”
She had stopped crying now, and was evidently listening, though she still hid her face. Ormarr went on:
“I have finished my work abroad now. When we come back from our journey, we shall take over the management of Borg. Father is old, and needs rest. And then it will be for us to see that our child is so brought up that we can leave the place in good hands after us.”
Runa sat for a while without speaking; she had stopped crying now. Then she rose, and carefully dried her eyes to leave no sign of weeping, and murmured something about it being time for her to go. And then tears came into her eyes again, and she blushed.