be sorry. It is best so."

Most fishermen know something of the treatment of a knife wound;
Snorro staunched the blood-flow, as well as he was able, and then with
gigantic strides went to Peter Fae's. Margaret sat spinning beside her
baby's cradle, Peter had gone to bed, Thora dozed at the fireside.

The impatience of his knock and voice alarmed the women, but when
Margaret heard it was Snorro's voice, she quickly unfastened the
door.

"Is the store burning?" she asked angrily, "that thou comest in such
hot haste?"

"Thy husband has been murdered. Take thou water and brandy, and go as
quick as thou canst run to the Troll's Rock. He lies there. I am going
for the doctor."

"Why did thou come here, Michael Snorro? Ever art thou a messenger of
ill. I will not go."

"Go thou at once, or I will give thee a name thou wilt shudder to
hear. I will give it to thee at kirk, or market, or wherever I meet
thee."

Snorro fled to the town, almost in uttering the words, and Thora, who
had at once risen to get the water and the brandy, put them into her
daughter's hands. "There is no time now for talking. I will tell thy
father and send him after thee. Shall we have blood on our souls? All
of us?"

"Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

"Art thou a woman? I tell thee, haste."

"I dare not--oh, my child! I will wake father."

"I command thee to go--this moment."

Then, almost in a passion, Margaret went. The office of mercy had been
forced upon her. She had not been permitted to consider her own or her
child's interest. No one had thought of her feelings in the matter.
When she reached Jan's side she was still indignant at the peremptory
way in which she had been treated.

He felt her there, rather than saw her--"_Margaret!_" he said feebly,
"_Margaret! At last!_"

"Yes," she answered in bitter anger, "at last. Hast thou called me to
see thy shameful end? A name full of disgrace thou leaves to me and to
thy son."

"Forgive me--I am sorry. Forgive!"

"I will not forgive thee. No woman injured as I have been, can
forgive."

His helplessness did not touch her. Her own wrongs and the wrongs of
her child filled her heart. She was determined that at this hour he
should at least understand their full enormity, and she spoke with all
the rapid bitterness of a slow, cold nature, wrought up to an
unnatural passion. In justifying herself she forgot quite that she had
been sent to succor him until help arrived. She was tu