"But Magnus is like my brother, Aunt Margret."
"So much the easier to make him your husband, my honey."
"But surely it's necessary to love one's husband, auntie."
"Certainly it is necessary to love him, but that's easy enough with Magnus--such an old friend, and so devoted to the family."
There seemed to be nothing left except that Magnus should speak to Thora for himself, but that was a task of graver difficulty. The great creature who had broken the back of the swaggering bully began to tremble in the mere presence of the soft-voiced little lady, who dropped her blue eyes whenever he entered the room. The music lasted longer of an evening now, and the intervals were fewer and more brief.
But one day Magnus, who had been to Thingvellir on the business of the sheep-gathering, came back with a young pony and called Thora into the yard of her father's house to look at it. The four-year-old colt, which was prancing about for sheer joy of being alive, had faultless limbs, a glossy chestnut coat, and a silvery mane and tail.
"Is it a good one?" said Magnus.
"It's a beauty!" said Thora. "It's perfect! It's the loveliest thing that ever stepped! Whomever does it belong to?"
"It belongs to you," said Magnus, and when Thora gave him her hand to thank him he held it for a moment while he looked into her face, and then drew her to his side and kissed her.
"Is it to be so, Thora?" he whispered, and from somewhere in the depths of his breast Thora answered "Yes."