Suneva had indeed taken Thora's place with a full determination to be
just and kind to Thora's daughter. She intended, now that fortune had
placed her above her old rival, to treat her with respect and
consideration. Suneva was capable of great generosities, and if
Margaret had had the prudence and forbearance to accept the peace
offered, she might have won whatever she desired through the influence
of her child, for whom Suneva conceived a very strong attachment.

But this was just the point which Margaret defended with an almost
insane jealousy. She saw that little Jan clung to Suneva, that he
liked to be with her, that he often cried in the solitude of her room
to go down stairs, where he knew he would have sweetmeats, and
petting, and company, and his own way. If ever she was cross to the
boy, it was on this subject. She would not even be bribed by Suneva's
most diplomatic services in his behalf. "Let Jan come where his
grandfather is, Margaret," she pleaded. "It will be for his good; I
tell thee it will. I have already persuaded him that the boy has his
eyes, and his figure, and when he was in a passion the other night,
and thy father was like to be cross with him, I said, 'It is a nice
thing to see Satan correcting sin, for the child has thy own quick
temper, Peter,' and thy father laughed and pulled little Jan to his
side, and gave him the lump of sugar he wanted."

"The boy is all thou hast left me. Would thou take him also?" Margaret
answered with angry eyes. "His mother's company is good enough for
him."

So all winter the hardly-admitted strife went on. Suneva pitied the
child. She waylaid him and gave him sweetmeats and kisses. She
imagined that he daily grew more pale and quiet. And Margaret,
suspicious and watchful, discovered much, and imagined more. She was
determined to go away from Suneva as soon as the spring opened, but
she had come to the conclusion that she must look after her house
herself, for though Snorro had promised to make it habitable,
evidently he had been unable to do so, or he would have contrived to
let her know.

One day in the latter part of April, all nature suddenly seemed to
awake. The winter was nearly over. Margaret heard the larks singing in
the clear sunshine. Little Jan had fallen asleep and might remain so
for a couple of hours. She put on her cloak and bonnet, and went to
see how far Snorro had been able to keep his word. Things were much
better than she had hoped fo