"Think shame of yourself, to be so soon at the courting again, and, above all, with him!"
Nanna took no notice of the remark, but asked, "Why are you here? I wish to have no dealings with you, for no good can come of them."
"Would I come here for good? There is no good in any of your kind. I came here to tell you that I was glad that there is one Borson less."
"There has been death among your own kin, mistress," said David, "and such death as should make the living fear to bring it to remembrance."
"I know it. You ought to fear. Did you slay Nicol, as your father slew Bele Trenby, by water? or did you poison him with drugs? or is your hand red with his life-blood? And now, before the fish have had time to pick his bones, you are wooing his wife."
"Will you let Nanna alone? She is ill."
"Ill? Babble! Look at her rosy cheeks! She has been listening to your love-words. Who sent you to the _Sea Rover_? What were you doing there? A great plot! A wicked plot against poor Nicol!"
"I went to the _Sea Rover_ because--"
"Very ready you were to go to Nicol"s ship and to do your will there!
Oh, it was a great opportunity! None to see! none to tell tales!
But I know you! I know you! The black drop of murder is in every Borson"s veins."
"Mistress, you are an old woman, and you may say your say. If you were a man it would be different. I would cut out your lying tongue, or make it eat its own words."
With railing and insolence she defied him to the act, and David stood looking at her with his hands in his pockets. As for Nanna, she had thrown off her cloak and seated herself on Vala"s couch. She was trying to control her temper; but the little room was already impregnated with Matilda"s personality, and Nanna could not escape from those indirect but powerful influences that distil from an actively evil life.
"I wish, Matilda Sabiston, that you would leave my house," she said.
"I think that you have brought the devil in with you."
Then Matilda turned in her chair and looked at Nanna. Her face, handsomely prominent in youth, had become with sin and age like that of a bird of prey; it was all nose and two fierce, gleaming eyes.
"Do you talk of the devil?" she screamed. "You, who drove your husband to sin, and sent your baby to h.e.l.l!"
Then Nanna, with a pitiful cry, buried her face in Vala"s pillow; and David, full of anger, said:
"I will take you from this house, mistress. You were not asked to come here, and you cannot stay here."
"I will stay until I have said what you shall listen to. The child of this woman has been taken for your father"s sin. The mother will go next. Then _you_ will bite the last morsel of Kol"s curse. I am living only to see this."
"I fear not the curse of any man," said David, in a pa.s.sion. "There is no power in any mortal"s curse that prayer cannot wither. Keep it to yourself--you, who believe in it. As for me--"
"As for you, I will give you some advice. When the new minister is placed, go and tell him what Liot Borson told you at his death-hour.
For I know well he did not die without boasting of his revenge on Bele Trenby. Death couldn"t shut Liot"s mouth till the words were out of it. Make the confession your father ought to have made, and let me hear it. I have said it, and fools have laughed at me, and wise men have hid the words in their hearts; and I will not die till my words are made true. And if you will not make them true, then the dead will have their satisfaction, and love will go to the grave and not to the bridal. Now, then, do what is before you.
I have set you your task."
She spoke with a rapid pa.s.sion that would not be interrupted, and then, still muttering threats and accusations, tottered out of the cot on her servant"s arm. David was speechless. The truth bound him.
What powers of divination this evil woman had, he knew not, but she at least had driven home the unacknowledged fear in his heart. He sat down by Nanna and tried to comfort her, but she could not listen to him. "Leave me alone to-day," she pleaded. "I have had all I can bear."
So he went back to Lerwick, feeling with every step he took that the task Matilda had set him would have to be accomplished. The humiliation would indeed be great, but if by confession he could ward off punishment from Nanna he must accept the alternative. Himself he took not into consideration. No threat and no fear of personal suffering could have forced him to speak; but if, peradventure, silence was sin, and sin brought sorrow, then his duty to others demanded from him the long-delayed acknowledgment. However, he was not yet certain of the right, and the new minister had not yet come, and there is always some satisfaction in putting off what is dubious and questionable.
The new minister was not finally settled until Christmas. He proved to be a young man with the air of theological schools still around him. David was afraid of him. He thought of the tender, mellowed temper of the old man whose place he was to fill, and wished that his acknowledgment had been made while he was alive. He feared to bring his father"s spiritual case before one who had never known him, who had grown up "southward" under very different influences, who would likely be quite unable to go a step beyond the letter of the law.
He talked to Nanna frequently about the matter, and she was more than inclined to silence. "Let well alone, David," she said. "What good can come of calling back old sins and sorrows? Who has set you this task? One who has always hated you. If G.o.d had sent, would he have sent by _her_? No; but when the devil wants a cruel, wicked messenger, he can get none so fit for his purpose as a bad old woman."
However, while David hesitated Matilda went to the new minister.
She prefaced her story by a gift of ten pounds for the replenishing of the manse, and then told it according to her own wishes and imagination.
"The minister dead and gone would not listen to me," she said. "He was a poor creature, and Liot Borson was one of his pets. The man could do no wrong in his eyes. So I have been sin-bearer for more than twenty years. Now, then, I look to you to clear this matter to the bottom, and let the talk about it come to an end once for all."
"It is a grave matter," said Minister Campbell, "and I am astonished that my predecessor let it rest so long--though doubtless he did it for the best, for there will be two sides to this, as to all other disputes."
"There is not," answered Matilda, angrily. "All is as I have told you."
"But, according to your testimony, Liot Borson"s guilt rests on your dreams. That is a poor foundation."
"I have always been a foresighted woman--a great dreamer--and I dream true."
"But I know not how to call a kirk meeting on a dream."
"Was the Bible written for yesterday or for to-day?"
"It was written for every day, unto the end of time."
"Then look to it. Ask it how many of its great events hang upon dreams. Take the dream life out of the Bible, minister, and where are you?"
"Mistress Sabiston, I am not used to arguing with women, but I will remind you that the dream life of the Bible does not rest on female authority. It was the men of the Bible that saw visions and dreamed dreams. As I remember, only one woman--a pagan, Pilate"s wife--is recorded as being in this way instructed. I should not be inclined to discipline the memory of Liot Borson on the strength of your dream."
"There is, or there was, other evidence; for much of it has now gone away through the door of death. What I want is Liot"s own confession. He made it to his son before he gave up the ghost. Now, then, let David speak for his father."
"That is a different thing. If David has a message to deliver, he must deliver it, or he is recreant to his trust."
"See to it, then. It is all I ask, but I have a right to ask it."
"What right?"
"Bele was my adopted son. I loved him. He was my heir. I was a lone-living woman, and he was all I had. As I have told you, Liot wished to marry my niece Karen, that he might heir my property. He had every reason to get Bele out of his way, and he did it. Ask his son."
"I will."
With these words he became silent, and Matilda saw that there was an end of the conversation for that time. But she was now more eager and pa.s.sionate for the impeachment of Liot"s good name than she had ever been, and she vowed to herself that if Minister Campbell did not give her satisfaction he should have all the petty misery and trouble her money and influence could give him.
The young minister, however, did not hesitate. It was a most unpleasant legacy to his charge, and he was straitened until he had done his duty concerning it. He went to see David at once, and heard from his lips the whole truth. And he was greatly impressed with the story, for the young man told it with such truth and tenderness that every word went heartwise. He could think of nothing better than to call a meeting in the kirk, and summon David to tell the congregation just what he had told him. And as it had been Liot"s intention to do this very thing himself, the minister could not see that David would be guilty of any unkindness to his father"s memory. Quite the contrary. He would be fulfilling his desire and doing for him the duty he had been unable personally to perform.
David had nothing to say against the proposal. It turned him faint, and he wondered if it would be possible for him to stand up in the presence of his fellows, and in the sight of all the women who admired and respected him, and do what was required. A cold sweat covered his face; his large hands felt powerless; he looked at the minister appealingly, but could not utter a word.
"You must speak for your father, David. Perhaps you ought to have spoken before this. We can do so little for the dead that any wish of theirs that is positive ought to be sacredly granted. What do you say?"
"It is hard, minister. But what you say is right, that I will do."
"We will not touch the Sabbath day, David. I will ask the people to come to the kirk next Wednesday afternoon. The men will not be at sea, and the women will be at leisure then. What do you think?"
[Ill.u.s.tration: PEAT-GATHERERS.]