|
Harreld kept hammering long after Ginna had left. He had been thinking about what she had said last: I'll always be here for you. So she did not heed her father's will. This was going to be hard. He broke off hammering.
Why could she not understand? Yes, of course he loved her and wanted her to be his wife, but it was not to be! Could she not see that? He hammered the sword hard three more times; too much. He had bent it, and now he would have to reheat it and start from the beginning. He threw his hammer to the floor; it bounced and clattered against a pile of slag iron before coming to a rest. He shoved the sword blade back in the oven.
He stared at the fire. His face slowly melted from rage at the sword to sadness about Ginna. His hands, which had been at his hips, fell to his side. You fool, he told himself, your words were cruel. She did not deserve them. She had come too soon, before he had had a chance to ready any words that would not have him melting into what she wanted - what they both wanted. How am I to get her to see that she must obey her father's will, no matter how much we love each other?
There was only one way: he would have to behave as if he did not love her any more. The moment he seized upon this plan, he collapsed onto his stool. It broke beneath the force of his fall, and he fell to the stone floor, weeping. He did not notice until later that a sharp point of the wood of the stool gave him a cut along his ribs beneath his right arm. It was more than a minute before he regained control, set the stool aside, and went about his work, his face settled now into grim mourning.
|