“I cannot bid thee go,” she breathed; “my heart will not. Yea, we are poor and hungry here, sometimes, but stay with us thy kindred, who love thee and will stand with thee when dark days come. There thou wilt be alone! A stranger in a land of strangers. Life is a hard thing here—yea—but stay and share it with us—make it not harder. Thou art brave—the bravest on the earth to me. That is why God hath left thee to care for us—of all those who are dead. Seest thou not His hand in this?”
“Yea.”
“Then must thou obey.”
“I see it not as thou. I see and hear God’s will in this longing for another land—in the coming of the travellers to tell me of it.”
Her face grew solemn.
“I did not think of that. How shallow is my thought! And selfish. I fear all selfish. Because I wish for thee to stay, my heart sees in each wish to go a sin against the God. And yet—and yet—it does not seem His will. Oh, husband, if it is, canst thou not make it plain to me who have little thoughts—thou with thy eagle thought?”
“Nay—nay,” and he caressed her fondly. “I have made thee sad. What? A sad bride? Even under the glacier? It shall not be!”
But yet, the while she nestled in his arms, she begged:
“Yet, love, speak to my soul and make all plain to me.”
“We will obey the God, my splendid one. I go now but to find a nest for thee and these when God Himself doth make this land impossible.”