“Can’t ya tell me why she can’t marry me?” asked Olaf, and the’ was a tremble in his voice, almost as though it flowed up from a sob.
“I think I can trust you to keep her secret,” sez the Friar. “She is married already. The man was a beast and deserted her; but he is still alive, and she cannot marry again.”
I heard Olaf make a queer, animal sound with his breath, and then he said: “Yes, you speak true—I can tell by the light; but she loves me—I can tell that also by the light. Will you tell me when she can marry?”
“I will,” sez the Friar, and his voice was a pledge. “There’s my hand on it.”
They brought their hands together with a smack I could hear, and then Olaf turned on the narrow ledge, with the Friar holdin’ him on, an’ started off. The Friar went along with him, and I sneaked after, keepin’ a turn between us. Olaf mounted his hoss and rode away without lookin’ back, which, as a matter o’ fact, was his way o’ doin’ things; and when he was out o’ sight, I joined the Friar.
The’ was still a look of sadness in the Friar’s face; but back of it, and shinin’ through it, was a quiet satisfaction. He was full o’ the scene he had just gone through; and presently he turned an’ said: “That was a glorious victory he gained over himself, Happy. That man has a good heart, and who knows but what he will yet be the means of bringin’ me an’ Tyrrel Jones together.”
“What do you reckon he meant by the light tellin’ him that you were an honest man?” I asked. This was the most curious part of the whole thing to me.
“How can I tell,” he sez. “Life is so crowded with wonders that I have quit wonderin’ about ’em; but I always feel a thrill when I see the stubborn spirit of a strong man melt and run into the mold the Master has prepared for it.”
“I’ll own it was about the weirdest thing I ever saw,” sez I; “but I’m willin’ to bet that whatever else Olaf’s spirit has molded itself into, it’s not a doormat with ‘welcome’ wrote on it; as the first feller ’at fools with that girl is likely to find out.”
“Never doubt the power of the Lord, Happy,” sez he. “The hand that piled up these hills can easy shape even so stubborn a thing as the human will.”