some tea, and broiled mutton and bloaters, and set his
few dishes on the box which served him for a table. Jan had slept
heavily all day, but when Snorro brought the candle near, he opened his
eyes and said, "I am hungry, Snorro."

"I have come to tell thee there is tea and meat waiting. All is
closed, and we can eat and talk, and no one will trouble us."

A Shetlander loves his tea, and it pleased Snorro to see how eagerly
Jan drank cup after cup. And soon his face began to lose its weary,
indifferent look, and he ate with keen relish the simple food before
him. In an hour Jan was nearly like himself once more. Then he
remembered Margaret. In the extremity of his physical weakness and
weariness, he had forgotten every thing in sleep, but now the delay
troubled him. "I ought to have seen my wife to-day, Snorro; why did
thou let me sleep?"

"Sleep was the first thing, and now we will see to thy clothes. They
must be mended, Jan."

Jan looked down at the suit he wore. It was torn and shabby and
weather-stained, and it was all he had. But Snorro was as clever as
any woman with the needle and thread. The poor fellow, indeed, had
never had any woman friend to use a needle for him, and he soon
darned, and patched, and washed clean what the winds and waves had
left of Jan's once handsome suit of blue.

As he worked they talked of the best means of securing an interview
with Margaret, for Jan readily guessed that Peter would forbid it, and
it was finally decided that Snorro should take her a letter, as soon
as Peter was at the store next day. There was a little cave by the
seaside half way between the town and Peter's house, and there Jan
was to wait for Snorro's report.

In the meantime Peter had reached his home. In these days it was a
very quiet, somber place. Thora was in ill health, in much worse
health than any one but herself suspected, and Margaret was very
unhappy. This evening Thora had gone early to bed, and Margaret sat
with her baby in her arms. When her father entered she laid him in the
cradle. Peter did not like to have it in any way forced upon his
notice, and Margaret understood well enough that the child was only
tolerated for her sake. So, without any of those little fond obtrusive
ways so natural to a young mother, she put the child out of the way,
and sat down to serve her father's tea.

His face was dark and angry, his heart felt hard to her at that hour.
She had brought so much sorrow and shame