The Prodigal Son. Hall Sir Caine
"Does Thora agree?"
"I must leave you to find that out for yourself," said the Governor.
Thora in her turn heard of the arrangement from Aunt Margret.
"Your father is growing old, my precious, and it's time he took a partner. Pity he hasn't a son for a place like that, but the next best thing is a son-in-law, and if you or Helga would marry somebody who could carry on the business somebody like Magnus----"
"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."
The world was going round him in a wild dance of joy when somebody touched him on the shoulder. It was the Factor, who had seen everything from the house.
"That's the best day's work you ever did in your life, my lad, and I'll take care you never rue it. But what's this they tell me--that you are Mountain-king at Thingvellir this year?"
"That is so," said Magnus.
"Well, well, I'm willing! Take ten days at your sheep-gathering, and while you are away I'll have the contract written out and ready. Then we'll sign it the day after you come back, and the wedding can be when you please."
Thora and Magnus went into the house hand in hand like children, and Aunt Margret, who had been crying behind the kitchen door, fell on them and kissed them. Magnus thought he had never been so happy in his life, and though the sun had set it shone for him all night long. Next day he went back to Thingvellir, and scarcely two hours after he had gone word ran through the town that the steamer Laura had arrived in the fiord, and his brother Oscar had returned in her.
VI
Oscar Stephenson carried everything before him. During the six years of his absence in England he had grown as straight as a poplar and as handsome as a young god. Both his dress and his manners seemed faultless in Iceland eyes, and each had a touch of individuality that was irresistible. His spirits were as buoyant and boyish as before, and his gaiety captivated everybody.
It counted for nothing that his career abroad had been something like a failure; that his infirmities of character had followed him; that his father had forbidden him to return before in order to fix him at his studies; that he had left Oxford, nevertheless, without taking his degree, and that, removing to London at his own earnest entreaty, he had hitherto done nothing at the Academy of Music. He could and he would was all that anybody thought of this; and when he once began he would take the world by storm.
On landing from the steamer he ran up the street as light of foot as a reindeer, shouting salutations on every side, plunged into Government House, hugged his mother at intervals for five minutes, spoke so fast that she could not follow him, dashed into the Governor's bureau, kissed his father just as he used to do when he was a boy, talked for ten minutes, explained that he had not written to say that he was coming because he wanted to take everybody unawares; then said, "Now I must slip off to see my godfather," and vanished like a shaft of April sunshine, leaving the air of the room tingling like a candelabra, and the old people smiling into each other's faces with delighted surprise.
"Well! Oscar was always a master of surprise," said the Governor, and he took up his hat and followed him.
When Oscar reached the Factor's house, he came first upon Aunt Margret, and throwing his arms about her neck he held her so long that to recover her breath and to save her ringlets she had to beat him off with her fists. And then there stood Thora in her laced bodice and turned down collar, her hufa and tassel, and plaited hair, looking sideways out of her soft, blue eyes, and smiling with her rows of pure white teeth. He thought she was a picture of charming simplicity, and took both her hands in both of his, and so they stood for some moments, while she grew redder and redder every instant, and tried to get away.
"Can it be possible?" he said. "And this is Thora! When we were children she used to kiss me, but now----"
"Now she's going to be married, Oscar. Haven't you heard the news? Thora is to be married to Magnus."
"Then she belongs to the family, and I may kiss her in any case," said Oscar.
Thora escaped at last, and then the Factor came in, and Oscar had to turn round and round like a tee-totum, that his godfather might see what changes the world had made in him. He laughed and laughed again, inquiring about the business and the crops, and then tramped about the house asking what had become of this piece of furniture and what they had done with that.
"Everything seems to speak to me," he said, "and in my den at Oxford I used to hear that old Bornholme clock ticking away as plainly as I hear it now."
Then the Governor arrived, and Anna followed him, and while the old men smoked and Aunt Margret did the honors, Oscar poured out the foreign news in a stream of galloping words, and then asked what was going on at home. They told him of Magnus's ideas and schemes, but he did not approve them.
"Iceland will be Iceland no longer if you turn it into a little America," he said. "It is the country of song and story, of fire, frost, volcano, glacier, and of patriarchal methods of government and trade."
"Oscar is right," said the Factor. "Keep up the old order, I say."
And when Oscar had shot away like a meteor, the Factor said, "That young fellow has made me feel fifteen years younger. I must keep an eye on Magnus, though. He is no fool, but he can't reach with his hands where Oscar has his feet. Oscar's a boy!"
"He's a darling," said Aunt Margret, straightening her ringlets.
Thora hardly knew what she thought of him, except that he had left her very unhappy. When she went to bed that night she could not help comparing Magnus unfavorably with his brother--recalling little things like his hands and his nails and the discolored patches on his cheeks when he neglected to shave.
Next day Oscar distributed the presents he had brought from England--a brooch for Anna containing a place for his own portrait, a pin for Aunt Margret, a silver belt for Thora, and something for nearly everybody. His unselfishness was a subject of general eulogy, and nobody remembered for the moment that the Governor had paid for everything.
In the afternoon he came again to the Factor's, and talked for an hour to Thora and Aunt Margret about London and the glory of its sights and scenes. "You must see them for yourself some day, Thora," he said. "But then I suppose old Magnus will never leave Iceland whatever happens."
Thora was more unhappy than ever when she went to bed that second night, thinking what a difference it made in a man if he had "sailed," and what a wondrous life the girl must live who was to marry Oscar. She was looking at her new belt in the glass, and standing off from it to admire her glorified waist