'I suppose,' she said slowly, 'because I do not like it.'
'You must know, Gyda,' said Rollo, smiling, 'that Miss Hazel's notion of goodness is, giving up her own will to somebody else's.'
'And that's just what it is, Dane Olaf,' said the old woman, looking round at him. 'Ye could not have expressed it better. But that is not hard, nor uncomfortable, when ye love somebody?' she added, her sweet eyes going back to Wych Hazel. The girl shook her head.
'I never loved anybody, then. Unless mamma,' she answered.
'Lady, do ye know those words in your Bible--"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty?" Giving up yourself to God will put ye just there! And then--"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust." '
It is one thing to hear these words sonorously read in church, or to run one's eye over them in a perfunctory manner. To see Gyda speak them, with the accent and air of one undeniably proving the truth of them, that was another thing.
'There may be yet a difficulty, Gyda,' said Rollo.
'One may not know just how to get there, even after you have shewed the way.'
Rollo was not speaking lightly; but Gyda as she went back to her seat only answered,
'Whom would you bid me ask, Gyda? I would about as lieve come to you as anybody, if I wanted counsel.'
'Give yourself to God, lad, and ye'll know there's but One to ask of. And there's but One before that, if ye want real help.'
There was a minute's pause; and then Rollo asked what Gyda had for him to do. 'Not yet,' she answered; and with that left the room. Rollo brought his chair to Wych Hazel's side.
'She is going to get you some supper,' he said, with a smile.
'No, it will be all for you,--and you will give me part of it. I should think you would come here very often, Mr. Rollo.'
'Do you?' said he, looking pleased. 'That shews I did right to bring you here. Now you'll have a Norse supper--the first you ever had. Gyda is Norse herself, I told you; she is a Tellemarken woman. If we were in Norway now, there would be in the further end of this room two huge cribs, which would be the sleeping place for the whole family. Overhead would be fishing nets hanging from the rafters, and a rack with a dozen or more rifles and fowling-pieces. On the walls you would see collars for reindeer, powder-horns and daggers. Gyda's spinning-wheel _is_ here, you see; and her stove, besides the fireplace for cooking. Her dairy is a separate building, after Norway fashion, and so is her summer kitchen, where I know she is this minute, making porridge. Can you eat porridge?'