slight.”
“Now you must tell me how this is,” Eirik begged her quietly.
“Nay, I know not—maybe it counts for little among folk nowadays, and ’tis only I, a home-bred maid, who deem that the word of a noble damsel is worth so high a price. But he came to me in the women’s house, the evening before he was to ride away. And then he said—ay, he let me know that he would come back together with his kinsmen and sue for me. Then he asked if this was against my will. To that I said no. He also asked leave to kiss me,” she whispered almost inaudibly. “Again I did not refuse him. God knows I would rather have been left unkissed. God knows I had not set my mind on him. But his speech was such that I could but think it was Father’s wish—and yours. And so I would not set myself against it. At that time I thought so well of Jörund that I believed he might be better than most others. Since I can clearly see that Father is little minded to let me have a say in my own marriage. But Jörund, I ween, counts a word and a kiss for little worth.”
With a sudden impulse Eirik bent over his sister and kissed her on her lips. Then he lay down quietly again.
“Maybe Jörund could not decide for himself,” he said, finding an excuse on the spur of the moment. “Maybe his kinsmen had already treated of another marriage for him, without his knowing it.”
“Then he should not have spoken,” replied Cecilia angrily—“if he knew not whether he were bought or sold.”
“That may be so. But—ay, he spoke to me of this matter as though it lay very near his heart—that he got you to wife, I mean. But you know, he had to go home and consult his brothers—”
“Then do they think we are not good enough for Jörund?”
Eirik did not know what to say. His sister had reason to be angry. And now he seemed to remember speaking of this to Jörund, and Jörund had promised him not to say anything of the matter to Cecilia before he came as a suitor. But he could guess that Jörund might easily forget that promise, Cecilia being so fair and sweet. So he took her hand, laid it on his breast, and stroked it, while he fell back upon the first excuse he had tried to offer for his friend:
“They must have designed another marriage for him, without his knowing it.”
Cecilia did not answer. Eirik lay patting her hand—but now he found he was getting very sleepy. She must be already asleep.Once more Eirik bent over her, cautiously kissed his young sister, then stole out of the bed and down. He was already on the ladder when the chilly little voice asked in the darkness above:
“You will say no more prayers tonight, will you?”
“No,” replied Eirik feelingly; “now I will go to rest.”
“Then you will put out the light?”
Eirik did so. He lay in bed feeling angry with Jörund for having shown his sister and all of them so little respect. But at the same time he had in some sort conceived an aversion for the thought of giving Cecilia to Jörund. This one week of his conversion had altered his view of many things. He now thought of his whole life since he had run away from home with repugnance, nay, with sorrow. He repented his sins, that was well enough—but beyond that he wished, now that his life was to be consecrated to God, that it had been less defiled.
But Jörund, to whom no such call had come—of him no man could require that he should be better than other men. And Jörund was no
worse.
But Cecilia—she was so
good.
Olav had not meant very much by it when he hinted that he had no very great esteem for the order of the Minorites. He had grown somewhat tired of them, like many other folk in the neighbourhood, in Sira Hallbjörn’s time—because the priest constantly had them at his house. The Grey Friars had long been at strife with the cathedral chapter and the priests of Oslo, but it was not certain that the brethren had been chiefly to blame for the quarrel. And there had been some ugly talk of one of
“Now you must tell me how this is,” Eirik begged her quietly.
“Nay, I know not—maybe it counts for little among folk nowadays, and ’tis only I, a home-bred maid, who deem that the word of a noble damsel is worth so high a price. But he came to me in the women’s house, the evening before he was to ride away. And then he said—ay, he let me know that he would come back together with his kinsmen and sue for me. Then he asked if this was against my will. To that I said no. He also asked leave to kiss me,” she whispered almost inaudibly. “Again I did not refuse him. God knows I would rather have been left unkissed. God knows I had not set my mind on him. But his speech was such that I could but think it was Father’s wish—and yours. And so I would not set myself against it. At that time I thought so well of Jörund that I believed he might be better than most others. Since I can clearly see that Father is little minded to let me have a say in my own marriage. But Jörund, I ween, counts a word and a kiss for little worth.”
With a sudden impulse Eirik bent over his sister and kissed her on her lips. Then he lay down quietly again.
“Maybe Jörund could not decide for himself,” he said, finding an excuse on the spur of the moment. “Maybe his kinsmen had already treated of another marriage for him, without his knowing it.”
“Then he should not have spoken,” replied Cecilia angrily—“if he knew not whether he were bought or sold.”
“That may be so. But—ay, he spoke to me of this matter as though it lay very near his heart—that he got you to wife, I mean. But you know, he had to go home and consult his brothers—”
“Then do they think we are not good enough for Jörund?”
Eirik did not know what to say. His sister had reason to be angry. And now he seemed to remember speaking of this to Jörund, and Jörund had promised him not to say anything of the matter to Cecilia before he came as a suitor. But he could guess that Jörund might easily forget that promise, Cecilia being so fair and sweet. So he took her hand, laid it on his breast, and stroked it, while he fell back upon the first excuse he had tried to offer for his friend:
“They must have designed another marriage for him, without his knowing it.”
Cecilia did not answer. Eirik lay patting her hand—but now he found he was getting very sleepy. She must be already asleep.Once more Eirik bent over her, cautiously kissed his young sister, then stole out of the bed and down. He was already on the ladder when the chilly little voice asked in the darkness above:
“You will say no more prayers tonight, will you?”
“No,” replied Eirik feelingly; “now I will go to rest.”
“Then you will put out the light?”
Eirik did so. He lay in bed feeling angry with Jörund for having shown his sister and all of them so little respect. But at the same time he had in some sort conceived an aversion for the thought of giving Cecilia to Jörund. This one week of his conversion had altered his view of many things. He now thought of his whole life since he had run away from home with repugnance, nay, with sorrow. He repented his sins, that was well enough—but beyond that he wished, now that his life was to be consecrated to God, that it had been less defiled.
But Jörund, to whom no such call had come—of him no man could require that he should be better than other men. And Jörund was no
worse.
But Cecilia—she was so
good.
Olav had not meant very much by it when he hinted that he had no very great esteem for the order of the Minorites. He had grown somewhat tired of them, like many other folk in the neighbourhood, in Sira Hallbjörn’s time—because the priest constantly had them at his house. The Grey Friars had long been at strife with the cathedral chapter and the priests of Oslo, but it was not certain that the brethren had been chiefly to blame for the quarrel. And there had been some ugly talk of one of
Similar Books
