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diff --git a/3823.txt b/3823.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e95473 --- /dev/null +++ b/3823.txt @@ -0,0 +1,22695 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thelma, by Marie Corelli + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Thelma + +Author: Marie Corelli + +Release Date: October 13, 2006 [EBook #3823] +[Last updated: March 14, 2014] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THELMA *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. Revised edition and HTML version produced +by Victoria Woosley. + + + + + + + + + +THELMA + +BY MARIE CORELLI + + + +THELMA. + + + + +BOOK I. + +THE LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Dream by dream shot through her eyes, and each + Outshone the last that lighted." + SWINBURNE. + + +Midnight,--without darkness, without stars! Midnight--and the unwearied +sun stood, yet visible in the heavens, like a victorious king throned on +a dais of royal purple bordered with gold. The sky above him,--his +canopy,--gleamed with a cold yet lustrous blue, while across it slowly +flitted a few wandering clouds of palest amber, deepening, as they +sailed along, to a tawny orange. A broad stream of light falling, as it +were, from the centre of the magnificent orb, shot lengthwise across the +Altenfjord, turning its waters to a mass of quivering and shifting color +that alternated from bronze to copper,--from copper to silver and azure. +The surrounding hills glowed with a warm, deep violet tint, flecked here +and there with touches of bright red, as though fairies were lighting +tiny bonfires on their summits. Away in the distance a huge mass of rock +stood out to view, its rugged lines transfigured into ethereal +loveliness by a misty veil of tender rose pink,--a hue curiously +suggestive of some other and smaller sun that might have just set. +Absolute silence prevailed. Not even the cry of a sea-mew or kittiwake +broke the almost deathlike stillness,--no breath of wind stirred a +ripple on the glassy water. The whole scene might well have been the +fantastic dream of some imaginative painter, whose ambition soared +beyond the limits of human skill. Yet it was only one of those million +wonderful effects of sky and sea which are common in Norway, especially +on the Altenfjord, where, though beyond the Arctic circle, the climate +in summer is that of another Italy, and the landscape a living poem +fairer than the visions of Endymion. + +There was one solitary watcher of the splendid spectacle. This was a man +of refined features and aristocratic appearance, who, reclining on a +large rug of skins which he had thrown down on the shore for that +purpose, was gazing at the pageant of the midnight sun and all its +stately surroundings, with an earnest and rapt expression in his clear +hazel eyes. + +"Glorious! beyond all expectation, glorious!" he murmured half aloud, as +he consulted his watch and saw that the hands marked exactly twelve on +the dial. "I believe I'm having the best of it, after all. Even if those +fellows get the _Eulalie_ into good position they will see nothing finer +than this." + +As he spoke he raised his field-glass and swept the horizon in search of +a vessel, his own pleasure yacht,--which had taken three of his friends, +at their special desire, to the opposite island of Seiland,--Seiland, +rising in weird majesty three thousand feet above the sea, and boasting +as its chief glory the great peak of Jedke, the most northern glacier in +all the wild Norwegian land. There was no sign of a returning sail, and +he resumed his study of the sumptuous sky, the colors of which were now +deepening and burning with increasing lustre, while an array of clouds +of the deepest purple hue, swept gorgeously together beneath the sun as +though to form his footstool. + +"One might imagine that the trump of the Resurrection had sounded, and +that all this aerial pomp,--this strange silence,--was just the pause, +the supreme moment before the angels descended," he mused, with a +half-smile at his own fancy, for though something of a poet at heart, he +was much more of a cynic. He was too deeply imbued with modern +fashionable atheism to think seriously about angels or Resurrection +trumps, but there was a certain love of mysticism and romance in his +nature, which not even his Oxford experiences and the chilly dullness of +English materialism had been able to eradicate. And there was something +impressive in the sight of the majestic orb holding such imperial revel +at midnight,--something almost unearthly in the light and life of the +heavens, as compared with the referential and seemingly worshipping +silence of the earth,--that, for a few moments, awed him into a sense of +the spiritual and unseen. Mythical passages from the poets he loved came +into his memory, and stray fragments of old songs and ballads he had +known in his childhood returned to him with haunting persistence. It +was, for him, one of those sudden halts in life which we all +experience,--an instant,--when time and the world seem to stand still, +as though to permit us easy breathing; a brief space,--in which we are +allowed to stop and wonder awhile at the strange unaccountable force +within us, that enables us to stand with such calm, smiling audacity, on +our small pin's point of the present, between the wide dark gaps of past +and future; a small hush,--in which the gigantic engines of the universe +appear to revolve no more, and the immortal Soul of man itself is +subjected and over-ruled by supreme and eternal Thought. Drifting away +on those delicate imperceptible lines that lie between reality and +dreamland, the watcher of the midnight sun gave himself up to the half +painful, half delicious sense of being drawn in, absorbed, and lost in +infinite imaginings, when the intense stillness around him was broken by +the sound of a voice singing, a full, rich contralto, that rang through +the air with the clearness of a golden bell. The sweet liquid notes were +those of an old Norwegian mountain melody, one of those wildly pathetic +_folk-songs_ that seem to hold all the sorrow, wonder, wistfulness, and +indescribable yearning of a heart too full for other speech than music. +He started to his feet and looked around him for the singer. There was +no one visible. The amber streaks in the sky were leaping into crimson +flame; the Fjord glowed like the burning lake of Dante's vision; one +solitary sea-gull winged its graceful, noiseless flight far above, its +white pinions shimmering like jewels as it crossed the radiance of the +heavens. Other sign of animal life there was none. Still the hidden +voice rippled on in a stream of melody, and the listener stood amazed +and enchanted at the roundness and distinctness of every note that fell +from the lips of the unseen vocalist. + +"A woman's voice," he thought; "but where is the woman?" + +Puzzled, he looked to the right and left, then out to the shining Fjord, +half expecting to see some fisher-maiden rowing along, and singing as +she rowed, but there was no sign of any living creature. While he +waited, the voice suddenly ceased, and the song was replaced by the +sharp grating of a keel on the beach. Turning in the direction of this +sound, he perceived a boat being pushed out by invisible hands towards +the water's edge from a rocky cave, that jutted upon the Fjord, and, +full of curiosity, he stepped towards the arched entrance, when,--all +suddenly and unexpectedly,--a girl sprang out from the dark interior, +and standing erect in her boat, faced the intruder. A girl of about +nineteen, she seemed, taller than most women,--with a magnificent +uncovered mass of hair, the color of the midnight sunshine, tumbled over +her shoulders, and flashing against her flushed cheeks and dazzlingly +fair skin. Her deep blue eyes had an astonished and certainly indignant +expression in them, while he, utterly unprepared for such a vision of +loveliness at such a time and in such a place, was for a moment taken +aback and at a loss for words. Recovering his habitual self-possession +quickly, however, he raised his hat, and, pointing to the boat, which +was more than half way out of the cavern, said simply-- + +"May I assist you?" + +She was silent, eyeing him with a keen glance which had something in it +of disfavor and suspicion. + +"I suppose she doesn't understand English," he thought, "and I can't +speak a word of Norwegian. I must talk by signs." + +And forthwith he went through a labored pantomime of gesture, +sufficiently ludicrous in itself, yet at the same time expressive of his +meaning. The girl broke into a laugh--a laugh of sweet amusement which +brought a thousand new sparkles of light into her lovely eyes. + +"That is very well done," she observed graciously, speaking English with +something of a foreign accent. "Even the Lapps would understand you, and +they are very stupid, poor things!" + +Half vexed by her laughter, and feeling that he was somehow an object of +ridicule to this tall, bright-haired maiden, he ceased his pantomimic +gestures abruptly and stood looking at her with a slight flush of +embarrassment on his features. + +"I know your language," she resumed quietly, after a brief pause, in +which she had apparently considered the stranger's appearance and +general bearing. "It was rude of me not to have answered you at once. +You can help me if you will. The keel has caught among the pebbles, but +we can easily move it between us." And, jumping lightly out of her boat, +she grasped its edge firmly with her strong white hands, exclaiming +gaily, as she did so, "Push!" + +Thus adjured, he lost no time in complying with her request, and, using +his great strength and muscular force to good purpose, the light little +craft was soon well in the water, swaying to and fro as though with +impatience to be gone. The girl sprang to her seat, discarding his +eagerly proffered assistance, and, taking both oars, laid them in their +respective rowlocks, and seemed about to start, when she paused and +asked abruptly-- + +"Are you a sailor?" + +He smiled. "Not I! Do I remind you of one?" + +"You are strong, and you manage a boat as though you were accustomed to +the work. Also you look as if you had been at sea." + +"Rightly guessed!" he replied, still smiling; "I certainly _have_ been +at sea; I have been coasting all about your lovely land. My yacht went +across to Seiland this afternoon." + +She regarded him more intently, and observed, with the critical eye of a +woman, the refined taste displayed in his dress, from the very cut of +his loose travelling coat, to the luxurious rug of fine fox-shins, that +lay so carelessly cast on the shore at a little distance from him. Then +she gave a gesture of hauteur and half-contempt. + +"You have a yacht? Oh! then you are a gentleman. You do nothing for your +living?" + +"Nothing, indeed!" and he shrugged his shoulders with a mingled air of +weariness and self-pity, "except one thing--I live!" + +"Is that hard work?" she inquired wonderingly. + +"Very." + +They were silent then, and the girl's face grew serious as she rested on +her oars, and still surveyed him with a straight, candid gaze, that, +though earnest and penetrating, had nothing of boldness in it. It was +the look of one in whose past there were no secrets--the look of a child +who is satisfied with the present and takes no thought for the future. +Few women look so after they have entered their teens. Social artifice, +affectation, and the insatiate vanity that modern life encourages in the +feminine nature--all these things soon do away with the pellucid +clearness and steadfastness of the eye--the beautiful, true, untamed +expression, which, though so rare, is, when seen infinitely more +bewitching than all the bright arrows of coquetry and sparkling +invitation that flash from the glances of well-bred society dames, who +have taken care to educate their eyes if not their hearts. This girl was +evidently not trained properly; had she been so, she would have dropped +a curtain over those wide, bright windows of her soul; she would have +remembered that she was alone with a strange man at midnight--at +midnight, though the sun shone; she would have simpered and feigned +embarrassment, even if she could not feel it. As it happened, she did +nothing of the kind, only her expression softened and became more +wistful and earnest, and when she spoke again her voice was mellow with +a suave gentleness, that had something in it of compassion. + +"If you do not love life itself," she said, "you love the beautiful +things of life, do you not? See yonder! There is what we call the +meeting of night and morning. One is glad to be alive at such a moment. +Look quickly! The light soon fades." + +She pointed towards the east. Her companion gazed in that direction, and +uttered an exclamation,--almost a shout,--of wonder and admiration. +Within the space of the past few minutes the aspect of the heavens had +completely changed. The burning scarlet and violet hues had all melted +into a transparent yet brilliant shade of pale mauve,--as delicate as +the inner tint of a lilac blossom,--and across this stretched two +wing-shaped gossamer clouds of watery green, fringed with soft primrose. +Between these cloud-wings, as opaline in lustre as those of a +dragon-fly, the face of the sun shone like a shield of polished gold, +while his rays, piercing spear-like through the varied tints of emerald, +brought an unearthly radiance over the landscape--a lustre as though the +moon were, in some strange way, battling with the sun for mastery over +the visible universe though, looking southward, she could dimly be +perceived, the ghost of herself--a poor, fainting, pallid goddess,--a +perishing Diana. + +Bringing his glance down from the skies, the young man turned it to the +face of the maiden near him, and was startled at her marvellous +beauty--beauty now heightened by the effect of the changeful colors that +played around her. The very boat in which she sat glittered with a +bronze-like, metallic brightness as it heaved gently to and fro on the +silvery green water; the midnight sunshine bathed the falling glory of +her long hair, till each thick tress, each clustering curl, appeared to +emit an amber spark of light. The strange, weird effect of the sky +seemed to have stolen into her eyes, making them shine with witch-like +brilliancy,--the varied radiance flashing about her brought into strong +relief the pureness of her profile, drawing as with a fine pencil the +outlines of her noble forehead, sweet mouth, and rounded chin. It +touched the scarlet of her bodice, and brightened the quaint old silver +clasps she wore at her waist and throat, till she seemed no longer an +earthly being, but more like some fair wondering sprite from the +legendary Norse kingdom of _Alfheim_, the "abode of the Luminous Genii." + +She was gazing upwards,--heavenwards,--and her expression was one of +rapt and almost devotional intensity. Thus she remained for some +moments, motionless as the picture of an expectant angel painted by +Raffaele or Correggio; then reluctantly and with a deep sigh she turned +her eyes towards earth again. In so doing she met the fixed and too +visibly admiring gaze of her companion. She started, and a wave of vivid +color flushed her cheeks. Quickly recovering her serenity, however, she +saluted him slightly, and, moving her oars in unison, was on the point +of departure. + +Stirred by an impulse he could not resist, he laid one hand detainingly +on the rim of her boat. + +"Are you going now?" he asked. + +She raised her eyebrows in some little surprise and smiled. + +"Going?" she repeated. "Why, yes. I shall be late in getting home as it +is." + +"Stop a moment," he said eagerly, feeling that he could not let this +beautiful creature leave him as utterly as a midsummer night's dream +without some clue as to her origin and destination. "Will you not tell +me your name?" + +She drew herself erect with a look of indignation. + +"Sir, I do not know you. The maidens of Norway do not give their names +to strangers." + +"Pardon me," he replied, somewhat abashed. "I mean no offense. We have +watched the midnight sun together, and--and--I thought--" + +He paused, feeling very foolish, and unable to conclude his sentence. + +She looked at him demurely from under her long, curling lashes. + +"You will often find a peasant girl on the shores of the Altenfjord +watching the midnight sun at the same time as yourself," she said, and +there was a suspicion of laughter in her voice. "It is not unusual. It +is not even necessary that you should remember so little a thing." + +"Necessary or not, I shall never forget it," he said with sudden +impetuosity. "You are no peasant! Come; if I give you my name will you +still deny me yours?" + +Her delicate brows drew together in a frown of haughty and decided +refusal. "No names please my ears save those that are familiar," she +said, with intense coldness. "We shall not meet again. Farewell!" + +And without further word or look, she leaned gracefully to the oars, and +pulling with a long, steady, resolute stroke, the little boat darted +away as lightly and swiftly as a skimming swallow out on the shimmering +water, he stood gazing after it till it became a distant speck sparkling +like a diamond in the light of sky and wave, and when he could no more +watch it with unassisted eyes, he took up his field glass and followed +its course attentively. He saw it cutting along as straightly as an +arrow, then suddenly it dipped round to the westward, apparently making +straight for some shelving rocks, that projected far into the Fjord. It +reached them; it grew less and less--it disappeared. At the same time +the lustre of the heavens gave way to a pale pearl-like uniform grey +tint, that stretched far and wide, folding up as in a mantle all the +regal luxury of the Sun-king's palace. The subtle odor and delicate +chill of the coming dawn stole freshly across the water. A light haze +rose and obscured the opposite islands. Something of the tender +melancholy of autumn, though it was late June, toned down the aspect of +the before brilliant landscape. A lark rose swiftly from its nest in an +adjacent meadow, and, soaring higher and higher, poured from its tiny +throat a cascade of delicious melody. The midnight sun no longer shone +at midnight; his face smiled with a sobered serenity through the faint +early mists of approaching morning. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "Viens donc--je te chanterai des chansons que les esprits des + cimetieres m'ont apprises!" + MATURIN. + + +"Baffled!" he exclaimed, with a slight vexed laugh, as the boat vanished +from his sight. "By a woman, too! Who would have thought it?" + +Who would have thought it, indeed! Sir Philip Bruce-Errington, Baronet, +the wealthy and desirable parti for whom many match-making mothers had +stood knee-deep in the chilly though sparkling waters of society, +ardently plying rod and line with patient persistence, vainly hoping to +secure him as a husband for one of their highly proper and passionless +daughters,--he, the admired, long-sought-after "eligible," was suddenly +rebuffed, flouted--by whom? A stray princess, or a peasant. He vaguely +wondered, as he lit a cigar and strolled up and down on the shore, +meditating, with a puzzled, almost annoyed expression on his handsome +features. He was not accustomed to slights of any kind, however +trifling; his position being commanding and enviable enough to attract +flattery and friendship from most people. He was the only son of a +baronet as renowned for eccentricity as for wealth. He had been the +spoilt darling of his mother; and now, both his parents being dead, he +was alone in the world, heir to his father's revenues, and entire master +of his own actions. And as part of the penalty he had to pay for being +rich and good-looking to boot, he was so much run after by women that he +found it hard to understand the haughty indifference with which he had +just been treated by one of the most fair, if not the fairest of her +sex. He was piqued, and his _amour propre_ was wounded. + +"I'm sure my question was harmless enough," he mused, half crossly, "She +might have answered it." + +He glanced out impatiently over the Fjord. There was no sign of his +returning yacht as yet. + +"What a time those fellows are!" he said to himself. "If the pilot were +not on board, I should begin to think they had run the _Eulalie_ +aground." + +He finished his cigar and threw the end of it into the water; then he +stood moodily watching the ripples as they rolled softly up and caressed +the shining brown shore at his feet, thinking all the while of that +strange girl, so wonderfully lovely in face and form, so graceful and +proud of bearing, with her great blue eyes and masses of dusky gold +hair. + +His meeting with her was a sort of adventure in its way--the first of +the kind he had had for some time. He was subject to fits of weariness +or caprice, and it was in one of these that he had suddenly left London +in the height of the season, and had started for Norway on a yachting +cruise with three chosen companions, one of whom, George Lorimer, once +an Oxford fellow-student, was now his "chum"--the Pythias to his Damon, +the _fidus Achates_ of his closest confidence. Through the unexpected +wakening up of energy in the latter young gentleman, who was usually of +a most sleepy and indolent disposition, he happened to be quite alone on +this particular occasion, though, as a general rule, he was accompanied +in his rambles by one if not all three of his friends. Utter solitude +was with him a rare occurrence, and his present experience of it had +chanced in this wise. Lorimer the languid, Lorimer the lazy, Lorimer who +had remained blandly unmoved and drowsy through all the magnificent +panorama of the Norwegian coast, including the Sogne Fjord and the +toppling peaks of the Justedal glaciers; Lorimer who had slept +peacefully in a hammock on deck, even while the yacht was passing under +the looming splendors of Melsnipa; Lorimer, now that he had arrived at +the Alton Fjord, then at its loveliest in the full glory of the +continuous sunshine, developed a new turn of mind, and began to show +sudden and abnormal interest in the scenery. In this humor he expressed +his desire to "take a sight" of the midnight sun from the island of +Seiland, and also declared his resolve to try the nearly impossible +ascent of the great Jedke glacier. + +Errington laughed at the idea. "Don't tell me," he said, "that you are +going in for climbing. And do you suppose I believe that you are +interested--_you_ of all people--in the heavenly bodies?" + +"Why not?" asked Lorimer, with a candid smile. "I'm not in the least +interested in earthly bodies, except my own. The sun's a jolly fellow. I +sympathize with him in his present condition. He's in his cups--that's +what's the matter--and he can't be persuaded to go to bed. I know his +feelings perfectly; and I want to survey his gloriously inebriated face +from another point of view. Don't laugh, Phil; I'm in earnest! And I +really have quite a curiosity to try my skill in amateur mountaineering. +Jedke's the very place for a first effort. It offers difficulties, +and"--this with a slight yawn--"I like to surmount difficulties; it's +rather amusing." + +His mind was so evidently set upon the excursion, that Sir Philip made +no attempt to dissuade him from it, but excused himself from +accompanying the party on the plea that he wanted to finish a sketch he +had recently begun. So that when the _Eulalie_ got up her steam, weighed +anchor, and swept gracefully away towards the coast of the adjacent +islands, her owner was left, at his desire, to the seclusion of a quiet +nook on the shore of the Altenfjord, where he succeeded in making a bold +and vivid picture of the scene before him. The colors of the sky had, +however, defied his palette, and after one or two futile attempts to +transfer to his canvas a few of the gorgeous tints that illumed the +landscape, he gave up the task in despair, and resigned himself to the +_dolce far niente_ of absolute enjoyment. From his half pleasing, half +melancholy reverie the voice of the unknown maiden had startled him, and +now,--now she had left him to resume it if he chose,--left him, in chill +displeasure, with a cold yet brilliant flash of something like scorn in +her wonderful eyes. + +Since her departure the scenery, in some unaccountable way, seemed less +attractive to him, the songs of the birds, who were all awake, fell on +inattentive ears; he was haunted by her face and voice, and he was, +moreover, a little out of humor with himself for having been such a +blunderer as to give her offense and thus leave an unfavorable +impression on her mind. + +"I suppose I _was_ rude," he considered after a while. "She seemed to +think so, at any rate. By Jove! what a crushing look she gave me! A +peasant? Not she! If she had said she was an empress I shouldn't have +been much surprised. But a mere common peasant, with that regal figure +and those white hands! I don't believe it. Perhaps our pilot, Valdemar, +knows who she is; I must ask him." + +All at once he bethought himself of the cave whence she had emerged. It +was close at hand--a natural grotto, arched and apparently lofty. He +resolved to explore it. Glancing at his watch he saw it was not yet one +o'clock in the morning, yet the voice of the cuckoo called shrilly from +the neighboring hills, and a circling group of swallows flitted around +him, their lovely wings glistening like jewels in the warm light of the +ever-wakeful sun. Going to the entrance of the cave, he looked in. It +was formed of rough rock, hewn out by the silent work of the water, and +its floor was strewn thick with loose pebbles and polished stones. +Entering it, he was able to walk upright for some few paces, then +suddenly it seemed to shrink in size and to become darker. The light +from the opening gradually narrowed into a slender stream too small for +him to see clearly where he was going, thereupon he struck a fusee. At +first he could observe no sign of human habitation, not even a rope, or +chain, or hook, to intimate that it was a customary shelter for a boat. +The fusee went out quickly, and he lit another. Looking more carefully +and closely about him, he perceived on a projecting shelf of rock, a +small antique lamp, Etruscan in shape, made of iron and wrought with +curious letters. There was oil in it, and a half-burnt wick; it had +evidently been recently used. He availed himself at once of this useful +adjunct to his explorations, and lighting it, was able by the clear and +steady flame it emitted, to see everything very distinctly. Right before +him was an uneven flight of steps leading down to a closed door. + +He paused and listened attentively. There was no sound but the slow +lapping of the water near the entrance; within, the thickness of the +cavern walls shut out the gay carolling of the birds, and all the +cheerful noises of awakening nature. Silence, chillness, and partial +obscurity are depressing influences, and the warm blood flowing through +his veins, ran a trifle more slowly and coldly as he felt the sort of +uncomfortable eerie sensation which is experienced by the jolliest and +most careless traveller, when he first goes down to the catacombs in +Rome. A sort of damp, earthy shudder creeps through the system, and a +dreary feeling of general hopelessness benumbs the faculties; a morbid +state of body and mind which is only to be remedied by a speedy return +to the warm sunlight, and a draught of generous wine. + +Sir Philip, however, held the antique lamp aloft, and descended the +clumsy steps cautiously, counting twenty steps in all, at the bottom of +which he found himself face to face with the closed door. It was made of +hard wood, so hard as to be almost like iron. It was black with age, and +covered with quaint carvings and inscriptions; but in the middle, +standing out in bold relief among the numberless Runic figures and +devices, was written in large well-cut letters the word-- + + THELMA + +"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I have it! The girl's name, of course! This is +some private retreat of hers, I suppose,--a kind of boudoir like my Lady +Winsleigh's, only with rather a difference." + +And he laughed aloud, thinking of the dainty gold-satin hangings of a +certain room in a certain great mansion in Park Lane, where an +aristocratic and handsome lady-leader of fashion had as nearly made love +to him as it was possible for her to do without losing her social +dignity. His laugh was echoed back with a weird and hollow sound, as +though a hidden demon of the cave were mocking him, a demon whose +merriment was intense but also horrible. He heard the unpleasant jeering +repetition with a kind of careless admiration. + +"That echo would make a fortune in _Faust_, if it could be persuaded to +back up Mephistopheles with that truly fiendish, '_Ha Ha_!'" he said, +resuming his examination of the name on the door. Then an odd fancy +seized him, and he called loudly-- + +"Thelma!" + +"Thelma!" shouted the echo. + +"Is that her name?" + +"Her name!" replied the echo. + +"I thought so!" And Philip laughed again, while the echo laughed wildly +in answer. "Just the sort of name to suit a Norwegian nymph or goddess. +_Thelma_ is quaint and appropriate, and as far as I can remember there's +no rhyme to it in the English language. _Thelma_!" And he lingered on +the pronunciation of the strange word with a curious sensation of +pleasure. "There is something mysteriously suggestive about the sound of +it; like a chord of music played softly in the distance. Now, can I get +through this door, I wonder?" + +He pushed it gently. It yielded very slightly, and he tried again and +yet again. Finally, he put down the lamp and set his shoulder against +the wooden barrier with all his force. A dull creaking sound rewarded +his efforts, and inch by inch the huge door opened into what at first +appeared immeasurable darkness. Holding up the light he looked in, and +uttered a smothered exclamation. A sudden gust of wind rushed from the +sea through the passage and extinguished the lamp, leaving him in +profound gloom. Nothing daunted he sought his fusee case; there was just +one left in it. This he hastily struck, and shielding the glow carefully +with one hand, relit his lamp, and stepped boldly into the mysterious +grotto. + +The murmur of the wind and waves, like spirit-voices in unison, followed +him as he entered. He found himself in a spacious winding corridor, that +had evidently been hollowed out in the rocks and fashioned by human +hands. Its construction was after the ancient Gothic method; but the +wonder of the place consisted in the walls, which were entirely covered +with shells,--shells of every shape and hue,--some delicate as +rose-leaves, some rough and prickly, others polished as ivory, some +gleaming with a thousand irridescent colors, others pure white as the +foam on high billows. Many of them were turned artistically in such a +position as to show their inner sides glistening with soft tints like +the shades of fine silk or satin,--others glittered with the opaline +sheen of mother-o'-pearl. All were arranged in exquisite patterns, +evidently copied from fixed mathematical designs,--there were stars, +crescents, roses, sunflowers, hearts, crossed daggers, ships and +implements of war, all faithfully depicted with extraordinary neatness +and care, as though each particular emblem had served some special +purpose. + +Sir Philip walked along very slowly, delighted with his discovery, +and,--pausing to examine each panel as he passed,--amused himself with +speculations as to the meaning of this beautiful cavern, so fancifully +yet skillfully decorated. + +"Some old place of worship, I suppose," he thought. "There must be many +such hidden in different parts of Norway. It has nothing to do with the +Christian faith, for among all these devices I don't perceive a single +cross." + +He was right. There were no crosses; but there were many designs of the +sun--the sun rising, the sun setting, the sun in full glory, with all +his rays embroidered round him in tiny shells, some of them no bigger +than a pin's head. "What a waste of time and labor," he mused. "Who +would undertake such a thing nowadays? Fancy the patience and delicacy +of finger required to fit all these shells in their places! and they are +embedded in strong mortar too, as if the work were meant to be +indestructible." + +Full of pleased interest, he pursued his way, winding in and out through +different arches, all more or less richly ornamented, till he came to a +tall, round column, which seemingly supported the whole gallery, for all +the arches converged towards it. It was garlanded from top to bottom +with their roses and their leaves, all worked in pink and lilac shells, +interspersed with small pieces of shining amber and polished malachite. +The flicker of the lamp he carried, made it glisten like a mass of +jewel-work, and, absorbed in his close examination of this unique +specimen of ancient art, Sir Philip did not at once perceive that +another light beside his own glimmered from out the furthest archway a +little beyond him,--an opening that led into some recess he had not as +yet explored. A peculiar lustre sparkling on one side of the shell-work +however, at last attracted his attention, and, glancing up quickly, he +saw, to his surprise, the reflection of a strange radiance, rosily +tinted and brilliant. + +Turning in its direction, he paused, irresolute. Could there be some one +living in that furthest chamber to which the long passage he had +followed evidently led? some one who would perhaps resent his intrusion +as an impertinence? some eccentric artist or hermit who had made the +cave his home? Or was it perhaps a refuge for smugglers? He listened +anxiously. There was no sound. He waited a minute or two, then boldly +advanced, determined to solve the mystery. + +This last archway was lower than any of those he had passed through, and +he was forced to take off his hat and stoop as he went under it. When he +raised his head he remained uncovered, for he saw at a glance that the +place was sacred. He was in the presence, not of Life, but Death. The +chamber in which he stood was square in form, and more richly ornamented +with shell-designs than any other portion of the grotto he had seen, and +facing the east was an altar hewn out of the solid rock and studded +thickly with amber, malachite and mother-o'-pearl. It was covered with +the incomprehensible emblems of a bygone creed worked in most exquisite +shell-patterns, but on it,--as though in solemn protest against the +past,--stood a crucifix of ebony and carved ivory, before which burned +steadily a red lamp. + +The meaning of the mysterious light was thus explained, but what chiefly +interested Errington was the central object of the place,--a coffin,--of +rather a plain granite sarcophagus which was placed on the floor lying +from north to south. Upon it,--in strange contrast to the sombre +coldness of the stone,--reposed a large wreath of poppies freshly +gathered. The vivid scarlet of the flowers, the gleam of the shining +shells on the walls, the mournful figure of the ivory Christ stretched +on the cross among all those pagan emblems,--the intense silence broken +only by the slow drip, drip of water trickling somewhere behind the +cavern,--and more than these outward things,--his own impressive +conviction that he was with the imperial Dead--imperial because past the +sway of empire--all made a powerful impression on his mind. Overcoming +by degrees his first sensations of awe, he approached the sarcophagus +and examined it. It was solidly closed and mortared all round, so that +it might have been one compact coffin-shaped block of stone so far as +its outward appearance testified. Stooping more closely, however, to +look at the brilliant poppy-wreath, he started back with a slight +exclamation. Cut deeply in the hard granite he read for the second time +that odd name-- + + THELMA + +It belonged to some one dead, then--not to the lovely living woman who +had so lately confronted him in the burning glow of the midnight sun? He +felt dismayed at his unthinking precipitation,--he had, in his fancy, +actually associated _her_, so full of radiant health and beauty, with +what was probably a mouldering corpse in that hermetically sealed +tenement of stone! This idea was unpleasant, and jarred upon his +feelings. Surely she, that golden-haired nymph of the Fjord, had nothing +to do with death! He had evidently found his way into some ancient tomb. +"Thelma" might be the name or title of some long-departed queen or +princess of Norway, yet, if so, how came the crucifix there,--the red +lamp, the flowers? + +He lingered, looking curiously about him, as if he fancied the +shell-embroidered walls might whisper some answer to his thoughts. The +silence offered no suggestions. The plaintive figure of the tortured +Christ suspended on the cross maintained an immovable watch over all +things, and there was a subtle, faint odor floating about as of crushed +spices or herbs. While he still stood there absorbed in perplexed +conjectures, he became oppressed by want of air. The red hue of the +poppy-wreath mingled with the softer glow of the lamp on the altar,--the +moist glitter of the shells and polished pebbles, seemed to dazzle and +confuse his eyes. He felt dizzy and faint--and hastily made his way out +of that close death-chamber into the passage, where he leaned for a few +minutes against the great central column to recover himself. A brisk +breath of wind from the Fjord came careering through the gallery, and +blew coldly upon his forehead. Refreshed by it, he rapidly overcame the +sensation of giddiness, and began to retrace his steps through the +winding arches, thinking with some satisfaction as he went, what a +romantic incident he would have to relate to Lorimer and his other +friends, when a sudden glare of light illumined the passage, and he was +brought to an abrupt standstill by the sound of a wild "Halloo!" The +light vanished; it reappeared. It vanished again, and again appeared, +flinging a strong flare upon the shell-worked walls as it approached. +Again the fierce "Halloo!" resounded through the hollow cavities of the +subterranean temple, and he remained motionless, waiting for an +explanation of this unlooked-for turn to the events of the morning. + +He had plenty of physical courage, and the idea of any addition to his +adventure rather pleased him than otherwise. Still, with all his +bravery, he recoiled a little when he first caught sight of the +extraordinary being that emerged from the darkness--a wild, distorted +figure that ran towards him with its head downwards, bearing aloft in +one skinny hand a smoking pine-torch, from which the sparks flew like so +many fireflies. This uncanny personage, wearing the semblance of man, +came within two paces of Errington before perceiving him; then, stopping +short in his headlong career, the creature flourished his torch and +uttered a defiant yell. + +Philip surveyed him coolly and without alarm, though so weird an object +might well have aroused a pardonable distrust, and even timidity. He saw +a misshapen dwarf, not quite four feet high, with large, ungainly limbs +out of all proportion to his head, which was small and compact. His +features were of almost feminine fineness, and from under his shaggy +brows gleamed a restless pair of large, full, wild blue eyes. His thick, +rough flaxen hair was long and curly, and hung in disordered profusion +over his deformed shoulders. His dress was of reindeer skin, very +fancifully cut, and ornamented with beads of different colors,--and +twisted about him as though in an effort to be artistic, was a long +strip of bright scarlet woollen material, which showed up the extreme +pallor and ill-health of the meagre countenance, and the brilliancy of +the eyes that now sparkled with rage as they met those of Errington. He, +from his superior height, glanced down with pity on the unfortunate +creature, whom he at once took to be the actual owner of the cave he had +explored. Uncertain what to do, whether to speak or remain silent, he +moved slightly as though to pass on; but the shock-headed dwarf leaped +lightly in his way, and, planting himself firmly before him, shrieked +some unintelligible threat, of which Errington could only make out the +last words, "Nifleheim" and "Nastrond." + +"I believe he is commending me to the old Norwegian inferno," thought +the young baronet with a smile, amused at the little man's evident +excitement. "Very polite of him, I'm sure! But, after all, I had no +business here. I'd better apologize." And forthwith he began to speak in +the simplest English words he could choose, taking care to pronounce +them very slowly and distinctly. + +"I cannot understand you, my good sir; but I see you are angry. I came +here by accident. I am going away now at once." + +His explanation had a strange effect. The dwarf drew nearer, twirled +himself rapidly round three times as though waltzing; then, holding his +torch a little to one side, turned up his thin, pale countenance, and, +fixing his gaze on Sir Philip, studied every feature of his face with +absorbing interest. Then he burst into a violent fit of laughter. + +"At last--at last?" he cried in fluent English. "Going now? Going, you +say? Never! never! You will never go away any more. No, not without +something stolen! The dead have summoned you here! Their white bony +fingers have dragged you across the deep! Did you not hear their voices, +cold and hollow as the winter wind, calling, calling you, and saying, +'Come, come, proud robber, from over the far seas; come and gather the +beautiful rose of the northern forest'? Yes, Yes! You have obeyed the +dead--the dead who feign sleep, but are ever wakeful;--you have come as +a thief in the golden midnight, and the thing you seek is the life of +Sigurd! Yes--yes! it is true. The spirit cannot lie. You must kill, you +must steal! See how the blood drips, drop by drop, from the heart of +Sigurd! And the jewel you steal--ah, what a jewel!--you shall not find +such another in Norway!" + +His excited voice sank by degrees to a plaintive and forlorn whisper, +and dropping his torch with a gesture of despair on the ground, he +looked at it burning, with an air of mournful and utter desolation. +Profoundly touched, as he immediately understood the condition of his +companion's wandering wits, Errington spoke to him soothingly. + +"You mistake me," he said in gentle accents; "I would not steal anything +from you, nor have I come to kill you. See," and he held out his hand, +"I wouldn't harm you for the world. I didn't know this cave belonged to +you. Forgive me for having entered it. I am going to rejoin my friends. +Good-bye!" + +The strange, half-crazy creature touched his outstretched hand timidly, +and with a sort of appeal. + +"Good-bye, good-bye!" he muttered. "That is what they all say,--even the +dead,--good-bye; but they never go--never, never! You cannot be +different to the rest. And you do not wish to hurt poor Sigurd?" + +"Certainly not, if _you_ are Sigurd," said Philip, half laughing; "I +should be very sorry to hurt you." + +"You are _sure_?" he persisted, with a sort of obstinate eagerness. "You +have eyes which tell truths; but there are other things which are truer +than eyes--things in the air, in the grass, in the waves, and they talk +very strangely of you. I know you, of course! I knew you ages ago--long +before I saw you dead on the field of battle, and the black-haired +Valkyrie galloped with you to Valhalla! Yes; I knew you long before +that, and you knew me; for I was your King, and you were my vassal, wild +and rebellious--not the proud, rich Englishman you are to-day." + +Errington startled. How could this Sigurd, as he called himself, be +aware of either his wealth or nationality? + +The dwarf observed his movement of surprise with a cunning smile. + +"Sigurd is wise,--Sigurd is brave! Who shall deceive him? He knows you +well; he will always know you. The old gods teach Sigurd all his +wisdom--the gods of the sea and the wind--the sleepy gods that lie in +the hearts of the flowers--the small spirits that sit in shells and sing +all day and all night." He paused, and his eyes filled with a wistful +look of attention. He drew closer. + +"Come," he said earnestly, "come, you must listen to my music; perhaps +you can tell me what it means." + +He picked up his smouldering torch and held it aloft again; then, +beckoning Errington to follow him, he led the way to a small grotto, cut +deeply into the wall of the cavern. Here there were no shell patterns. +Little green ferns grew thickly out of the stone crevices, and a minute +runlet of water trickled slowly down from above, freshening the delicate +frondage as it fell. With quick, agile fingers he removed a loose stone +from this aperture, and as he did so, a low shuddering wail resounded +through the arches--a melancholy moan that rose and sank, and rose again +in weird, sorrowful minor echoes. + +"Hear her," murmured Sigurd plaintively. "She is always complaining; it +is a pity she cannot rest! She is a spirit, you know. I have often asked +her what troubles her, but she will not tell me; she only weeps!" + +His companion looked at him compassionately. The sound that so affected +his disordered imagination was nothing but the wind blowing through the +narrow hole formed by the removal of the stone; but it was useless to +explain this simple fact to one in his condition. + +"Tell me," and Sir Philip spoke very gently, "is this your home?" + +The dwarf surveyed him almost scornfully. "_My_ home!" he echoed. "My +home is everywhere--on the mountains, in the forests, on the black rocks +and barren shores! My soul lives between the sun and the sea; my heart +is with Thelma!" + +Thelma! Here was perhaps a clue to the mystery. + +"Who is Thelma?" asked Errington somewhat hurriedly. + +Sigurd broke into violent and derisive laughter. "Do you think I will +tell _you_?" he cried loudly. "_You_,--one of that strong, cruel race +who must conquer all they see; who covet everything fair under heaven, +and will buy it, even at the cost of blood and tears! Do you think I +will unlock the door of my treasure to _you_? No, no; besides," and his +voice sank lower, "what should you do with Thelma? She is dead!" + +And, as if possessed by a sudden access of frenzy, he brandished his +pine-torch wildly above his head till it showered a rain of bright +sparks above him, and exclaimed furiously--"Away, away, and trouble me +not! The days are not yet fulfilled,--the time is not yet ripe. Why seek +to hasten my end? Away, away, I tell you! Leave me in peace! I will die +when Thelma bids me; but not till then!" + +And he rushed down the long gallery and disappeared in the furthest +chamber, where he gave vent to a sort of long, sobbing cry, which rang +dolefully through the cavern and then subsided into utter silence. + +Feeling as if he were in a chaotic dream, Errington pursued his +interrupted course through the winding passages with a bewildered and +wondering mind. What strange place had he inadvertently lighted on? and +who were the still stranger beings in connection with it? First the +beautiful girl herself; next the mysterious coffin, hidden in its +fanciful shell temple; and now this deformed madman, with the pale face +and fine eyes; whose utterances, though incoherent, savored somewhat of +poesy and prophecy. And what spell was attached to that name of Thelma? +The more he thought of his morning's adventure, the more puzzled he +became. As a rule, he believed more in the commonplace than in the +romantic--most people do. But truth to tell, romance is far more common +than the commonplace. There are few who have not, at one time or other +of their lives, had some strange or tragic episode woven into the tissue +of their every-day existence; and it would be difficult to find one +person even among humdrum individuals, who, from birth to death, has +experienced nothing out of the common. + +Errington generally dismissed all tales of adventure as mere +exaggerations of heated fancy; and, had he read in some book, of a +respectable nineteenth-century yachtsman having such an interview with a +madman in a sea-cavern, he would have laughed at the affair as an utter +improbability, though he could not have explained why he considered it +improbable. But now it had occurred to himself, he was both surprised +and amused at the whole circumstance; moreover, he was sufficiently +interested and curious to be desirous of sifting the matter to its +foundation. + +It was, however, somewhat of a relief to him when he again reached the +outer cavern. He replaced the lamp on the shelf where he had found it, +and stepped once more into the brilliant light of the very early dawn, +which then had all the splendor of full morning. There was a deliciously +balmy wind, the blue sky was musical with a chorus of larks, and every +breath of air that waved aside the long grass sent forth a thousand +odors from hidden beds of wild thyme and bog-myrtle. + +He perceived the _Eulalie_ at anchor in her old place on the Fjord; she +had returned while he was absent on his explorations. Gathering together +his rug and painting materials, he blew a whistle sharply three times; +he was answered from the yacht, and presently a boat, manned by a couple +of sailors, came skimming over the water towards him. It soon reached +the shore, and, entering it, he was speedily rowed away from the scene +of his morning's experience back to his floating palace, where, as yet, +none of his friends were stirring. + +"How about Jedke?" he inquired of one of his men. "Did they climb it?" + +A slow grin overspread the sailor's brown face. + +"Lord bless you, no, sir! Mr. Lorimer, he just looked at it and sat down +in the shade; the other gentleman played pitch-and-toss with pebbles. +They was main hungry too, and ate a mighty sight of 'am and pickles. +Then they came on board and all turned in at once." + +Errington laughed. He was amused at the utter failure of Lorimer's +recent sudden energy, but not surprised. His thoughts were, however, +busied with something else, and he next asked--"Where's our pilot?" + +"Valdemar Svensen, sir? He went down to his bunk as soon as we anchored, +for a snooze, he said." + +"All right. If he comes on deck before I do, just tell him not to go +ashore for anything till I see him. I want to speak to him after +breakfast." + +"Ay, ay, sir." + +Whereupon Sir Philip descended to his private cabin. He drew the blind +at the port-hole to shut out the dazzling sunlight, for it was nearly +three o'clock in the morning, and quickly undressing, he flung himself +into his berth with a slight, not altogether unpleasant, feeling of +exhaustion. To the last, as his eyes closed drowsily, he seemed to hear +the slow drip, drip of the water behind the rocky cavern, and the +desolate cry of the incomprehensible Sigurd, while through these sounds +that mingled with the gurgle of little waves lapping against the sides +of the _Eulalie_, the name of "Thelma" murmured itself in his ears till +slumber drowned his senses in oblivion. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Hast any mortal name, + Fit appellation for this dazzling frame, + Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth?" + KEATS. + + +"This is positively absurd," murmured Lorimer, in mildly injured tones, +seven hours later, as he sat on the edge of his berth, surveying +Errington, who, fully dressed, and in the highest spirits, had burst in +to upbraid him for his laziness while he was yet but scantily attired. +"I tell you, my good fellow, there are some things which the utmost +stretch of friendship will _not_ stand. Here am I in shirt and trousers +with only one sock on, and you dare to say you have had an adventure! +Why, if you had cut a piece out of the sun, you ought to wait till a man +is shaved before mentioning it." + +"Don't be snappish, old boy!" laughed Errington gaily. "Put on that +other sock and listen. I don't want to tell those other fellows just +yet, they might go making inquiries about her--" + +"Oh, there is a 'her' in the case, is there?" said Lorimer, opening his +eyes rather widely. "Well, Phil! I thought you had had enough, and +something too much, of women." + +"This is not a woman!" declared Philip with heat and eagerness, "at +least not the sort of woman _I_ have ever known! This is a +forest-empress, sea-goddess, or sun-angel! I don't know _what_ she is, +upon my life!" + +Lorimer regarded him with an air of reproachful offense. + +"Don't go on--please don't!" he implored. "I can't stand it--I really +can't! Incipient verse-mania is too much for me. Forest-empress, +sea-goddess, sun-angel--by Jove! what next? You are evidently in a very +bad way. If I remember rightly, you had a flask of that old green +Chartreuse with you. Ah! that accounts for it! Nice stuff, but a little +too strong." + +Errington laughed, and, unabashed by his friend's raillery, proceeded to +relate with much vivacity and graphic fervor the occurrences of the +morning. Lorimer listened patiently with a forbearing smile on his open, +ruddy countenance. When he had heard everything he looked up and +inquired calmly-- + +"This is not a yarn, is it?" + +"A yarn!" exclaimed Philip. "Do you think I would invent such a thing?" + +"Can't say," returned Lorimer imperturbably. "You are quite capable of +it. It's a very creditable crammer, due to Chartreuse. Might have been +designed by Victor Hugo; it's in his style. Scene, Norway--midnight. +Mysterious maiden steals out of a cave and glides away in a boat over +the water; man, the hero, goes into cave, finds a stone coffin, +says--'Qu'est-ce que c'est? Dieu! C'est la mort!' Spectacle affreux! +Staggers back perspiring; meets mad dwarf with torch; mad dwarf talks a +good deal--mad people always do,--then yells and runs away. Man comes +out of cave and--and--goes home to astonish his friends; one of them +won't be astonished,--that's me!" + +"I don't care," said Errington. "It's a true story for all that. Only, I +say, don't talk of it before the others; let's keep our own counsel--" + +"No poachers allowed on the Sun-Angel Manor!" interrupted Lorimer +gravely. Philip went on without heeding him. + +"I'll question Valdemar Svensen after breakfast. He knows everybody +about here. Come and have a smoke on deck when I give you the sign, and +we'll cross-examine him." + +Lorimer still looked incredulous. "What's the good of it?" he inquired +languidly. "Even if it's all true you had much better leave this +goddess, or whatever you call her, alone, especially if she has any mad +connections. What do _you_ want with her?" + +"Nothing!" declared Errington, though hiss color heightened. "Nothing, I +assure you! It's just a matter of curiosity with me. I should like to +know who she is--that's all! The affair won't go any further." + +"How do you know?" and Lorimer began to brush his stiff curly hair with +a sort of vicious vigor. "How can you tell? I'm not a spiritualist, nor +any sort of a humbug at all, I hope, but I sometimes indulge in +presentiments. Before we started on this cruise, I was haunted by that +dismal old ballad of Sir Patrick Spens--" + + 'The King's daughter of Norroway + 'Tis thou maun bring her hame!' + +"And here you have found her, or so it appears. What's to come of it, I +wonder?" + +"Nothing's to come of it; nothing _will_ come of it!" laughed Philip. +"As I told you, she said she was a peasant. There's the breakfast-bell! +Make haste, old boy, I'm as hungry as a hunter!" + +And he left his friend to finish dressing, and entered the saloon, where +he greeted his two other companions, Alec, or, as he was oftener called, +Sandy Macfarlane, and Pierre Duprez; the former an Oxford student,--the +latter a young fellow whose acquaintance he had made in Paris, and with +whom he had kept up a constant and friendly intercourse. A greater +contrast than these two presented could scarcely be imagined. Macfarlane +was tall and ungainly, with large loose joints that seemed to protrude +angularly out of him in every direction,--Duprez was short, slight and +wiry, with a dapper and by no means ungraceful figure. The one had +formal _gauche_ manners, a never-to-be-eradicated Glasgow accent, and a +slow, infinitely tedious method of expressing himself,--the other was +full of restless movement and pantomimic gesture, and being proud of his +English, plunged into that language recklessly, making it curiously +light and flippant, though picturesque, as he went. Macfarlane was +destined to become a shining light of the established Church of +Scotland, and therefore took life very seriously,--Duprez was the spoilt +only child of an eminent French banker, and had very little to do but +enjoy himself, and that he did most thoroughly, without any calculation +or care for the future. On all points of taste and opinion they differed +widely; but there was no doubt about their both being good-hearted +fellows, without any affectation of abnormal vice or virtue. + +"So you did not climb Jedke after all!" remarked Errington laughingly, +as they seated themselves at the breakfast table. + +"My friend, what would you!" cried Duprez. "I have not said that I will +climb it; no! I never say that I will do anything, because I'm not sure +of myself. How can I be? It is that _cher enfant_, Lorimer, that said +such brave words! See! . . . we arrive; we behold the shore--all black, +great, vast! . . . rocks like needles, and, higher than all, this most +fierce Jedke--bah! what a name!--straight as the spire of a cathedral. +One must be a fly to crawl up it, and we, we are not flies--_ma foi_! +no! Lorimer, he laugh, he yawn--so! He say, 'not for me to-day; I very +much thank you!' And then, we watch the sun. Ah! that was grand, +glorious, beautiful!" And Duprez kissed the tips of his fingers in +ecstacy. + +"What did _you_ think about it, Sandy?" asked Sir Philip. + +"I didna think much," responded Macfarlane, shortly. "It's no sae grand +a sight as a sunset in Skye. And it's an uncanny business to see the sun +losin' a' his poonctooality, and remainin' stock still, as it were, when +it's his plain duty to set below the horizon. Mysel', I think it's been +fair over-rated. It's unnatural an' oot o' the common, say what ye +like." + +"Of course it is," agreed Lorimer, who just then sauntered in from his +cabin. "Nature _is_ most unnatural. I always thought so. Tea for me, +Phil, please; coffee wakes me up too suddenly. I say, what's the +programme to-day?" + +"Fishing in the Alten," answered Errington promptly. + +"That suits me perfectly," said Lorimer, as he leisurely sipped his tea. +"I'm an excellent fisher. I hold the line and generally forget to bait +it. Then,--while it trails harmlessly in the water, I doze; thus both +the fish and I are happy." + +"And this evening," went on Errington, "we must return the minister's +call. He's been to the yacht twice. We're bound to go out of common +politeness." + +"Spare us, good Lord!" groaned Lorimer. + +"What a delightfully fat man is that good religious!" cried Duprez. "A +living proof of the healthiness of Norway!" + +"He's not a native," put in Macfarlane; "he's frae Yorkshire. He's only +been a matter of three months here, filling the place o' the settled +meenister who's awa' for a change of air." + +"He's a precious specimen of a humbug, anyhow," sighed Lorimer drearily. +"However, I'll be civil to him as long as he doesn't ask me to hear him +preach. At that suggestion I'll fight him. He's soft enough to bruise +easily." + +"Ye're just too lazy to fight onybody," declared Macfarlane. + +Lorimer smiled sweetly. "Thanks, awfully! I dare say you're right. I've +never found it worth while as yet to exert myself in any particular +direction. No one has asked me to exert myself; no one wants me to exert +myself; therefore, why should I?" + +"Don't ye want to get on in the world?" asked Macfarlane, almost +brusquely. + +"Dear me, no! What an exhausting idea! Get on in the world--what for? I +have five hundred a year, and when my mother goes over to the majority +(long distant be that day, for I'm very fond of the dear old lady), I +shall have five thousand--more than enough to satisfy any sane man who +doesn't want to speculate on the Stock Exchange. _Your_ case, my good +Mac, is different. You will be a celebrated Scotch divine. You will +preach to a crowd of pious numskulls about predestination, and so forth. +You will be stump-orator for the securing of seats in paradise. Now, +now, keep calm!--don't mind me. It's only a figure of speech! And the +numskulls will call you a 'rare powerful rousin' preacher'--isn't that +the way they go on? and when you die--for die you must, most +unfortunately--they will give you a three-cornered block of granite (if +they can make up their minds to part with the necessary bawbees) with +your name prettily engraved thereon. That's all very nice; it suits some +people. It wouldn't suit me." + +"What _would_ suit you?" queried Errington. "You find everything more or +less of a bore." + +"Ah, my good little boy!" broke in Duprez. "Paris is the place for you. +You should live in Paris. Of that you would never fatigue yourself." + +"Too much absinthe, secret murder and suicidal mania," returned Lorimer, +meditatively. "That was a neat idea about the coffins though. I never +hoped to dine off a coffin." + +"Ah! you mean the Taverne de l'Enfer?" exclaimed Duprez. "Yes; the +divine waitresses wore winding sheets, and the wine was served in +imitation skulls. Excellent! I remember; the tables were shaped like +coffins." + +"Gude Lord Almighty!" piously murmured Macfarlane. "What a fearsome +sicht!" + +As he pronounced these words with an unusually marked accent, Duprez +looked inquiring. + +"What does our Macfarlane say?" + +"He says it must have been a 'fearsome sicht,'" repeated Lorimer, with +even a stronger accent than Sanby's own, "which, _mon cher_ Pierre, +means all the horrors in your language; _affreux_, _epouvantable_, +_navrant_--anything you like, that is sufficiently terrible." + +"_Mais, point du tout_!" cried Duprez energetically. "It was charming! +It made us laugh at death--so much better than to cry! And there was a +delicious child in a winding-sheet; brown curls, laughing eyes and +little mouth; ha ha! but she was well worth kissing!" + +"I'd rather follow ma own funeral, than kiss a lass in a winding-sheet," +said Sandy, in solemn and horrified tones. "It's just awfu' to think +on." + +"But, see, my friend," persisted Duprez, "you would not be permitted to +follow your own funeral, not possible,--_voila_! You _are_ permitted to +kiss the pretty one in the winding-sheet. It _is_ possible. Behold the +difference!" + +"Never mind the Taverne de l'Enfer just now," said Errington, who had +finished his breakfast hurriedly. "It's time for you fellows to get your +fishing toggery on. I'm off to speak to the pilot." + +And away he went, followed more slowly by Lorimer, who, though he +pretended indifference, was rather curious to know more, if possible, +concerning his friend's adventure of the morning. They found the pilot, +Valdemar Svensen, leaning at his ease against the idle wheel, with his +face turned towards the eastern sky. He was a stalwart specimen of Norse +manhood, tall and strongly built, with thoughtful, dignified features, +and keen, clear hazel eyes. His chestnut hair, plentifully sprinkled +with gray, clustered thickly over a broad brow, that was deeply furrowed +with many a line of anxious and speculative thought, and the forcible +brown hand that rested lightly on the spokes of the wheel, told its own +tale of hard and honest labor. Neither wife nor child, nor living +relative had Valdemar; the one passion of his heart was the sea. Sir +Philip Errington had engaged him at Christiansund, hearing of him there +as a man to whom the intricacies of the Fjords, and the dangers of +rock-bound coasts, were more familiar than a straight road on dry lake, +and since then the management of the _Eulalie_ had been entirely +entrusted to him. Though an eminently practical sailor, he was half a +mystic, and believed in the wildest legends of his land with more +implicit faith than many so-called Christians believe in their sacred +doctrines. He doffed his red cap respectfully now as Errington and +Lorimer approached, smilingly wishing them "a fair day." Sir Philip +offered him a cigar, and, coming to the point at once, asked abruptly-- + +"I say, Svensen, are there any pretty girls in Bosekop?" + +The pilot drew the newly lit cigar from his mouth, and passed his rough +hand across his forehead in a sort of grave perplexity. + +"It is a matter in which I am foolish," he said at last, "for my ways +have always gone far from the ways of women. Girls there are plenty, I +suppose, but--" he mused with pondering patience for awhile. Then a +broad smile broke like sunshine over his embrowned countenance, as he +continued, "Now, gentlemen, I do remember well; it is said that at +Bosekop yonder, are to be found some of the homeliest wenches in all +Norway." + +Errington's face fell at this reply. Lorimer turned away to hide the +mischievous smile that came on his lips at his friend's discomfiture. + +"I _know_ it was that Chartreuse," he thought to himself. "That and the +midnight sun-effects. Nothing else!" + +"What!" went on Philip. "No good-looking girls at all about here, eh?" + +Svensen shook his head, still smilingly. + +"Not at Bosekop, sir, that I ever heard of." + +"I say!" broke in Lorimer, "are there any old tombs or sea-caves, or +places of that sort close by, worth exploring?" + +Valdemar Svensen answered this question readily, almost eagerly. + +"No, sir! There are no antiquities of any sort; and as for caves, there +are plenty, but only the natural formations of the sea, and none of +these are curious or beautiful on this side of the Fjord." + +Lorimer poked his friend secretly in the ribs. + +"You've been dreaming, old fellow!" he whispered slyly. "I knew it was a +crammer!" + +Errington shook him off good-humoredly. + +"Can you tell me," he said, addressing Valdemar again in distinct +accents, "whether there is any place, person, or thing near here called +_Thelma_?" + +The pilot started; a look of astonishment and fear came into his eyes; +his hand went instinctively to his red cap, as though in deference to +the name. + +"The Froeken Thelma!" he exclaimed, in low tones. "Is it possible that +you have seen her?" + +"Ah, George, what do you say now?" cried Errington delightedly. "Yes, +yes, Valdemar; the Froeken Thelma, as you call her. Who is she? . . . +What is she?--and how can there be no pretty girls in Bosekop if such a +beautiful creature as she lives there?" + +Valdemar looked troubled and vexed. + +"Truly, I thought not of the maiden," he said gravely. "'Tis not for me +to speak of the daughter of Olaf," here his voice sank a little, and his +face grew more and more sombre. "Pardon me, sir, but how did you meet +her?" + +"By accident," replied Errington promptly, not caring to relate his +morning's adventure for the pilot's benefit. "Is she some great +personage here?" + +Svensen sighed, and smiled somewhat dubiously. + +"Great? Oh, no; not what you would call great. Her father, Olaf Gueldmar, +is a _bonde_,--that is, a farmer in his own right. He has a goodly +house, and a few fair acres well planted and tilled,--also he pays his +men freely,--but those that work for him are all he sees,--neither he +nor his daughter ever visit the town. They dwell apart, and have nothing +in common with their neighbors." + +"And where do they live?" asked Lorimer, becoming as interested as he +had formerly been incredulous. + +The pilot leaned lightly over the rail of the deck and pointed towards +the west. + +"You see that great rock shaped like a giant's helmet, and behind it a +high green knoll, clustered thick with birch and pine?" + +They nodded assent. + +"At the side of the knoll is the _bonde's_ house, a good eight-mile walk +from the outskirts of Bosekop. Should you ever seek to rest there, +gentlemen," and Svensen spoke with quiet resolution, "I doubt whether +you will receive a pleasant welcome." + +And he looked at them both with an inquisitive air, as though seeking to +discover their intentions. + +"Is that so?" drawled Lorimer lazily, giving his friend an expressive +nudge. "Ah! _We_ shan't trouble them! Thanks for your information, +Valdemar! We don't intend to hunt up the--what d'ye call him?--the +_bonde_, if he's at all surly. Hospitality that gives you greeting and a +dinner for nothing,--that's what suits _me_." + +"Our people are not without hospitality," said the pilot, with a touch +of wistful and appealing dignity. "All along your journey, gentlemen, +you have been welcomed gladly, as you know. But Olaf Gueldmar is not like +the rest of us; he has the pride and fierceness of olden days; his +manners and customs are different; and few like him. He is much feared." + +"You know him then?" inquired Errington carelessly. + +"I know him," returned Valdemar quietly. "And his daughter is fair as +the sun and the sea. But it is not my place to speak of them--." He +broke off, and after a slightly embarrassed pause, asked, "Will the +Herren wish to sail to-day?" + +"No Valdemar," answered Errington indifferently. "Not till to-morrow, +when we'll visit the Kaa Fjord if the weather keeps fair." + +"Very good, sir," and the pilot, tacitly avoiding any further converse +with his employer respecting the mysterious Thelma and her equally +mysterious father, turned to examine the wheel and compass as though +something there needed his earnest attention. Errington and Lorimer +strolled up and down the polished white deck arm-in-arm, talking in low +tones. + +"You didn't ask him about the coffin and the dwarf," said Lorimer. + +"No; because I believe he knows nothing of either, and it would be news +to him which I'm not bound to give. If I can manage to see the girl +again the mystery of the cave may explain itself." + +"Well, what are you going to do?" + +Errington looked meditative. "Nothing at present. We'll go fishing with +the others. But, I tell you what, if you're up to it, we'll leave Duprez +and Macfarlane at the minister's house this evening and tell them to +wait for us there,--once they all begin to chatter they never know how +time goes. Meanwhile you and I will take the boat and row over in search +of this farmer's abode. I believe there's a short cut to it by water; at +any rate I know the way _she_ went." + +"'I know the way she went home with her maiden posy!'" quoted Lorimer, +with a laugh. "You are hit Phil, 'a very palpable hit'! Who would have +thought it! Clara Winsleigh needn't poison her husband after all +in-order to marry you, for nothing but a sun-empress will suit you now." + +"Don't be a fool, George," said Errington, half vexedly, as the hot +color mounted to his face in spite of himself. "It is all idle +curiosity, nothing else. After what Svensen told us, I'm quite as +anxious to see this gruff old _bonde_ as his daughter." + +Lorimer held up a reproachful finger. "Now, Phil, don't stoop to +duplicity--not with me, at any rate. Why disguise your feelings? Why, as +the tragedians say, endeavor to crush the noblest and best emotions that +ever warm the _boo-zum_ of man? Chivalrous sentiment and admiration for +beauty,--chivalrous desire to pursue it and catch it and call it your +own,--I understand it all, my dear boy! But my prophetic soul tells me +you will have to strangle the excellent Olaf Gueldmar--heavens! what a +name!--before you will be allowed to make love to his fair _chee-ild_. +Then don't forget the madman with the torch,--he may turn up in the most +unexpected fashion and give you no end of trouble. But, by Jove, it _is_ +a romantic affair, positively quite stagey! Something will come of it, +serious or comic. I wonder which?" + +Errington laughed, but said nothing in reply, as their two companions +ascended from the cabin at that moment, in full attire for the fishing +expedition, followed by the steward bearing a large basket of provisions +for luncheon,--and all private conversation came to an end. Hastening +the rest of their preparations, within twenty minutes they were skimming +across the Fjord in a long boat manned by four sailors, who rowed with a +will and sent the light craft scudding through the water with the +swiftness of an arrow. Landing, they climbed the dewy hills spangled +thick with forget-me-nots and late violets, till they reached a shady +and secluded part of the river, where, surrounded by the songs of +hundreds of sweet-throated birds, they commenced their sport, which kept +them, well employed till a late hour in the afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "Thou art violently carried away from grace; there is a devil + haunts thee in the likeness of a fat old man,--a tun of man is + thy companion." + SHAKESPEARE. + + +The Reverend Charles Dyceworthy sat alone in the small dining-room of +his house at Bosekop, finishing a late tea, and disposing of round after +round of hot buttered toast with that suave alacrity he always displayed +in the consumption of succulent eatables. He was a largely made man, +very much on the wrong side of fifty, with accumulations of unwholesome +fat on every available portion of his body. His round face was cleanly +shaven and shiny, as though its flabby surface were frequently polished +with some sort of luminous grease instead of the customary soap. His +mouth was absurdly small and pursy for so broad a countenance,--his nose +seemed endeavoring to retreat behind his puffy cheeks as though +painfully aware of its own insignificance,--and he had little, sharp, +ferret-like eyes of a dull mahogany brown, which were utterly destitute +of even the faintest attempt at any actual expression. They were more +like glass beads than eyes, and glittered under their scanty fringe of +pale-colored lashes with a sort of shallow cunning which might mean +malice or good-humor,--no one looking at them could precisely determine +which. His hair was of an indefinite shade, neither light nor dark, +somewhat of the tinge of a dusty potato before it is washed clean. It +was neatly brushed and parted in the middle with mathematical precision, +while from the back of his head it was brought forward in two +projections, one on each side, like budding wings behind his ears. It +was impossible for the most fastidious critic to find fault with the +Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy's hands. He had beautiful hands, white, soft, +plump and well-shaped,--his delicate filbert nails were trimmed with +punctilious care, and shone with a pink lustre that was positively +charming. He was evidently an amiable man, for he smiled to himself over +his tea,--he had a trick of smiling,--ill-natured people said he did it +on purpose, in order to widen his mouth and make it more in pro-portion +to the size of his face. Such remarks, however, emanated only from the +spiteful and envious who could not succeed in winning the social +popularity that everywhere attended Mr. Dyceworthy's movements. For he +was undoubtedly popular,--no one could deny that. In the small Yorkshire +town where he usually had his abode, he came little short of being +adored by the women of his own particular sect, who crowded to listen to +his fervent discourses, and came away from them on the verge of +hysteria, so profoundly moved were their sensitive souls by his +damnatory doctrines. The men were more reluctant in their admiration, +yet even they were always ready to admit "that he was an excellent +fellow, with his heart in the right place." + +He had a convenient way of getting ill at the proper seasons, and of +requiring immediate change of air, whereupon his grateful flock were +ready and willing to subscribe the money necessary for their beloved +preacher to take repose and relaxation in any part of the world he +chose. This year, however, they had not been asked to furnish the usual +funds for travelling expenses, for the resident minister of Bosekop, a +frail, gentle old man, had been seriously prostrated during the past +winter with an affection of the lungs, which necessitated his going to a +different climate for change and rest. Knowing Dyceworthy as a zealous +member of the Lutheran persuasion, and, moreover, as one who had in his +youth lived for some years in Christiania,--thereby gaining a knowledge +of the Norwegian tongue,--he invited him to take his place for his +enforced time of absence, offering him his house, his servants, his +pony-carriage and an agreeable pecuniary _douceur_ in exchange for his +services,--proposals which the Reverend Charles eagerly accepted. Though +Norway was not exactly new to him, the region of the Alten Fjord was, +and he at once felt, though he knew not why, that the air there would be +the very thing to benefit his delicate constitution. Besides, it looked +well for at least _one_ occasion, to go away for the summer without +asking his congregation to pay for his trip. It was generous on his +part, almost noble. + +The ladies of his flock wept at his departure and made him socks, +comforters, slippers, and other consoling gear of the like description +to recall their sweet memories to his saintly mind during his absence +from their society. But, truth to tell, Mr. Dyceworthy gave little +thought to these fond and regretful fair ones; he was much too +comfortable at Bosekop to look back with any emotional yearning to the +ugly, precise little provincial town he had left behind him. The +minister's quaint, pretty house suited him perfectly; the minister's +servants were most punctual in their services: the minister's phaeton +conveniently held his cumbrous person, and the minister's pony was a +quiet beast, that trotted good-temperedly wherever it was guided, and +shied at nothing. Yes, he was thoroughly comfortable,--as comfortable as +a truly pious fat man deserves to be, and all the work he had to do was +to preach twice on Sundays, to a quiet, primitive, decently ordered +congregation, who listened to his words respectfully though without +displaying any emotional rapture. Their stolidity, however, did not +affect him,--he preached to please himself,--loving above all things to +hear the sound of his own voice, and never so happy as when thundering +fierce denunciations against the Church of Rome. His thoughts seemed +tending in that direction now, as he poured himself out his third cup of +tea and smilingly shook his head over it, while he stirred the cream and +sugar in,--for he took from his waistcoat pocket a small glittering +object and laid it before him on the table, still shaking his head and +smiling with a patient, yet reproachful air of superior wisdom. It was a +crucifix of mother-o'-pearl and silver, the symbol of the Christian +faith. But it seemed to carry no sacred suggestions to the soul of Mr. +Dyceworthy. On the contrary, he looked at it with an expression of meek +ridicule,--ridicule that bordered on contempt. + +"A Roman," he murmured placidly to himself, between two large bites of +toast. "The girl is a Roman, and thereby hopelessly damned." + +And he smiled again,--more sweetly than before, as though the idea of +hopeless damnation suggested some peculiarly agreeable reflections. +Unfolding his fine cologne-scented cambric handkerchief, he carefully +wiped his fat white fingers free from the greasy marks of the toast, +and, taking up the objectionable cross gingerly, as though it were +red-hot, he examined it closely on all sides. There were some words +engraved on the back of it, and after some trouble Mr. Dyceworthy spelt +them out. They were "_Passio Christi, conforta me. Thelma._" + +He shook his head with a sort of resigned cheerfulness. + +"Hopelessly damned," he murmured again gently, "unless--" + +What alternative suggested itself to his mind was not precisely +apparent, for his thoughts suddenly turned in a more frivolous +direction. Rising from the now exhausted tea-table, he drew out a small +pocket-mirror and surveyed himself therein with a mild approval. With +the extreme end of his handkerchief he tenderly removed two sacrilegious +crumbs that presumed to linger in the corners of his piously pursed +mouth. In the same way he detached a morsel of congealed butter that +clung pertinaciously to the end of his bashfully retreating nose. This +done, he again looked at himself with increased satisfaction, and, +putting by his pocket-mirror, rang the bell. It was answered at once by +a tall, strongly built woman, with a colorless, stolid countenance,--that +might have been carved out of wood for any expression it had in it. + +"Ulrika," said Mr. Dyceworthy blandly, "you can clear the table." + +Ulrika, without answering, began to pack the tea-things together in a +methodical way, without clattering so much as a plate or spoon, and, +piling them compactly on a tray, was about to leave the room, when Mr. +Dyceworthy called to her, "Ulrika!" + +"Sir?" + +"Did you ever see a thing like this before?" and he held up the crucifix +to her gaze. + +The woman shuddered, and her dull eyes lit up with a sudden terror. + +"It is the witch's charm!" she muttered thickly, while her pale face +grew yet paler. "Burn it, sir!--burn it, and the power will leave her." + +Mr. Dyceworthy laughed indulgently. "My good woman, you mistake," he +said suavely. "Your zeal for the true gospel leads you into error. There +are thousands of misguided persons who worship such a thing as this. It +is often all of our dear Lord they know. Sad, very sad! But still, +though they, alas! are not of the elect, and are plainly doomed to +perdition,--they are not precisely what are termed witches, Ulrika." + +"_She_ is," replied the woman with a sort of ferocity; "and, if I had my +way, I would tell her so to her face, and see what would happen to her +then!" + +"Tut, tut!" remarked Mr. Dyceworthy amiably. "The days of witchcraft are +past. You show some little ignorance, Ulrika. You are not acquainted +with the great advancement of recent learning." + +"Maybe, maybe," and Ulrika turned to go; but she muttered sullenly as +she went, "There be them that know and could tell, and them that will +have her yet." + +She shut the door behind her with a sharp clang, and, left to himself, +Mr. Dyceworthy again smiled--such a benignant, fatherly smile! He then +walked to the window and looked out. It was past seven o'clock, an hour +that elsewhere would have been considered evening, but in Bosekop at +that season it still seemed afternoon. + +The sun was shining brilliantly, and in the minister's front garden the +roses were all wide awake. A soft moisture glittered on every tiny leaf +and blade of grass. The penetrating and delicious odor of sweet violets +scented each puff of wind, and now and then the call of the cuckoo +pierced the air with a subdued, far-off shrillness. + +From his position Mr. Dyceworthy could catch a glimpse through the trees +of the principal thoroughfare of Bosekop--a small, primitive street +enough, of little low houses, which, though unpretending from without, +were roomy and comfortable within. The distant, cool sparkle of the +waters of the Fjord, the refreshing breeze, the perfume of the flowers, +and the satisfied impression left on his mind by recent tea and +toast--all these things combined had a soothing effect on Mr. +Dyceworthy, and with a sigh of absolute comfort he settled his large +person in a deep easy chair and composed himself for pious meditation. + +He meditated long,--with fast-closed eyes and open mouth, while the +earnestness of his inward thoughts was clearly demonstrated now and then +by an irrepressible,--almost triumphant,--cornet-blast from that +trifling elevation of his countenance called by courtesy a nose, when +his blissful reverie was suddenly broken in upon by the sound of several +footsteps crunching slowly along the garden path, and, starting up from +his chair, he perceived four individuals clad in white flannel costumes +and wearing light straw hats trimmed with fluttering blue ribbons, who +were leisurely sauntering up to his door, and stopping occasionally to +admire the flowers on their way. Mr. Dyceworthy's face reddened visibly +with excitement. + +"The gentlemen from the yacht," he murmured to himself, hastily settling +his collar and cravat, and pushing up his cherubic wings of hair more +prominently behind his ears. "I never thought they would come. Dear me! +Sir Philip Errington himself, too! I must have refreshments instantly." + +And he hurried from the room, calling his orders to Ulrika as he went, +and before the visitors had time to ring, he had thrown open the door to +them himself, and stood smiling urbanely on the threshold, welcoming +them with enthusiasm,--and assuring Sir Philip especially how much +honored he felt, by his thus visiting, familiarly and unannounced, his +humble dwelling. Errington waved his many compliments good-humoredly +aside, and allowed himself and his friends to be marshalled into the +best parlor, the drawing-room of the house, a pretty little apartment +whose window looked out upon a tangled yet graceful wilderness of +flowers. + +"Nice, cosy place this," remarked Lorimer, as he seated himself +negligently on the arm of the sofa. "You must be pretty comfortable +here?" + +Their perspiring and affable host rubbed his soft white hands together +gently. + +"I thank Heaven it suits my simple needs," he answered meekly. "Luxuries +do not become a poor servant of God." + +"Ah, then you are different to many others who profess to serve the same +Master," said Duprez with a _sourire fin_ that had the devil's own +mockery in it. "_Monsieur le bon Dieu_ is very impartial! Some serve Him +by constant over-feeding, others by constant over-starving; it is all +one to Him apparently! How do you know which among His servants He likes +best, the fat or the lean?" + +Sandy Macfarlane, though slightly a bigot for his own form of doctrine, +broke into a low chuckle of irrepressible laughter at Duprez's levity, +but Mr. Dyceworthy's flabby face betokened the utmost horror. + +"Sir," he said gravely, "there are subjects concerning which it is not +seemly to speak without due reverence. He knoweth His own elect. He hath +chosen them out from the beginning. He summoned forth from the million, +the glorious apostle of reform, Martin Luther--" + +"_Le bon gaillard!_" laughed Duprez. "Tempted by a pretty nun! What man +could resist! Myself, I would try to upset all the creeds of this world +if I saw a pretty nun worth my trouble. Yes, truly! A pity though, that +the poor Luther died of over-eating; his exit from life so undignified!" + +"Shut up, Duprez," said Errington severely. "You displease Mr. +Dyceworthy by your fooling." + +"Oh, pray do not mention it, Sir Philip," murmured the reverend +gentleman with a mild patience. "We must accustom ourselves to hear with +forbearance the opinions of all men, howsoever contradictory, otherwise +our vocation is of no avail. Yet is it sorely grievous to me to consider +that there should be any person or persons existent who lack the +necessary faith requisite for the performance of God's promises." + +"Ye must understand, Mr. Dyceworthy," said Macfarlane in his slow, +deliberate manner, "that ye have before ye a young Frenchman who doesna +believe in onything except himsel'--and even as to whether he himsel' is +a mon or a myth, he has his doots--vera grave doots." + +Duprez nodded delightedly. "That is so!" he exclaimed. "Our dear Sandy +puts it so charmingly! To be a myth seems original,--to be a mere man, +quite ordinary. I believe it is possible to find some good scientific +professor who would prove me to be a myth--the moving shadow of a +dream--imagine!--how perfectly poetical!" + +"You talk too much to be a dream, my boy," laughed Errington, and +turning to Mr. Dyceworthy, he added, "I'm afraid you must think us a +shocking set. We are really none of us very religious, I fear, though," +and he tried to look serious; "if it had not been for Mr. Lorimer, we +should have come to church last Sunday. Mr. Lorimer was, unfortunately, +rather indisposed." + +"Ya-as!" drawled that gentleman, turning from the little window where he +had been gathering a rose for his button-hole. "I was knocked up; had +fits, and all that sort of thing; took these three fellows all their +time on Sunday to hold me down!" + +"Dear me!" and Mr. Dyceworthy was about to make further inquiries +concerning Mr. Lorimer's present state of health, when the door opened, +and Ulrika entered, bearing a large tray laden with wine and other +refreshments. As she set it down, she gave a keen, covert glance round +the room, as though rapidly taking note of the appearance and faces of +all the young men, then, with a sort of stiff curtsey, she departed as +noiselessly as she had come,--not, however, without leaving a +disagreeable impression on Errington's mind. + +"Rather a stern Phyllis, that waiting-maid of yours," he remarked, +watching his host, who was carefully drawing the cork from one of the +bottles of wine. + +Mr. Dyceworthy smiled. "Oh, no, no! not stern at all," he answered +sweetly. "On the contrary, most affable and kind-hearted. Her only fault +is that she is a little zealous,--over-zealous for the purity of the +faith; and she has suffered much; but she is an excellent woman, really +excellent! Sir Philip, will you try this Lacrima Christi?" + +"Lacrima Christi!" exclaimed Duprez. "You do not surely get that in +Norway?" + +"It seems strange, certainly," replied Mr. Dyceworthy, "but it is a fact +that the Italian or Papist wines are often used here. The minister whose +place I humbly endeavor to fill has his cellar stocked with them. The +matter is easy of comprehension when once explained. The benighted +inhabitants of Italy, a land, lost in the darkness of error, still +persist in their fasts, notwithstanding the evident folly of their +ways--and the Norwegian sailors provide them with large quantities of +fish for their idolatrous customs, bringing back their wines in +exchange." + +"A very good idea," said Lorimer, sipping the Lacrima with evident +approval--"Phil, I doubt if your brands on board the _Eulalie_ are +better than this." + +"Hardly so good," replied Errington with some surprise, as he tasted the +wine and noted its delicious flavor. "The minister must be a fine +_connoisseur_. Are there many other families about here, Mr. Dyceworthy, +who know how to choose their wines so well?" + +Mr. Dyceworthy smiled with a dubious air. + +"There is one other household that in the matter of choice liquids is +almost profanely particular," he said. "But they are people who are +ejected with good reason from respectable society, and,--it behooves me +not to speak of their names." + +"Oh, indeed!" said Errington, while a sudden and inexplicable thrill of +indignation fired his blood and sent it in a wave of color up to his +forehead--"May I ask--" + +But he was interrupted by Lorimer, who, nudging him slyly on one side, +muttered, "Keep cool, old fellow! You can't tell whether he's talking +about the Gueldmar folk! Be quiet--you don't want every one to know your +little game." + +Thus adjured, Philip swallowed a large gulp of wine, to keep down his +feelings, and strove to appear interested in the habits and caprices of +bees, a subject into which Mr. Dyceworthy had just inveigled Duprez and +Macfarlane. + +"Come and see my bees," said the Reverend Charles almost pathetically. +"They are emblems of ever-working and patient industry,--storing up +honey for others to partake thereof." + +"They wudna store it up at a', perhaps, if they knew that," observed +Sandy significantly. + +Mr. Dyceworthy positively shone all over with beneficence. + +"They _would_ store it up, sir; yes, they would, even if they knew! It +is God's will that they should store it up; it is God's will that they +should show an example of unselfishness, that they should flit from +flower to flower sucking therefrom the sweetness to impart into strange +palates unlike their own. It is a beautiful lesson; it teaches us who +are the ministers of the Lord to likewise suck the sweetness from the +flowers of the living gospel, and impart it gladly to the unbelievers +who shall find it sweeter than the sweetest honey!" + +And he shook his head piously several times, while the pores of his fat +visage exuded holy oil. Duprez sniggered secretly. Macfarlane looked +preternaturally solemn. + +"Come," repeated the reverend gentleman, with an inviting smile. "Come +and see my bees,--also my strawberries! I shall be delighted to send a +basket of the fruit to the yacht, if Sir Philip will permit me?" + +Errington expressed his thanks with due courtesy, and hastened to seize +the opportunity that presented itself for breaking away from the party. + +"If you will excuse us for twenty minutes or so, Mr. Dyceworthy," he +said, "Lorimer and I want to consult a fellow here in Bosekop about some +new fishing tackle. We shan't be gone long. Mac, you and Duprez wait for +us here. Don't commit too many depredations on Mr. Dyceworthy's +strawberries." + +The reason for their departure was so simply and naturally given, that +it was accepted without any opposing remarks. Duprez was delighted to +have the chance of amusing himself by harassing the Reverend Charles +with open professions of utter atheism, and Macfarlane, who loved an +argument more than he loved whiskey, looked forward to a sharp +discussion presently concerning the superiority of John Knox, morally +and physically, over Martin Luther. So that when the others went their +way, their departure excited no suspicion in the minds of their friends, +and most unsuspecting of all was the placid Mr. Dyceworthy, who, had he +imagined for an instant the direction which they were going, would +certainly not have discoursed on the pleasures of bee-keeping with the +calmness and placid conviction, that always distinguished him when +holding forth on any subject that was attractive to his mind. Leading +the way through his dewy, rose-grown garden, and conversing amicably as +he went, he escorted Macfarlane and Duprez to what he called with a +gentle humor his "Bee-Metropolis," while Errington and Lorimer returned +to the shore of the Fjord, where they had left their boat moored to a +small, clumsily constructed pier,--and entering it, they set themselves +to the oars and pulled away together with the long, steady, sweeping +stroke rendered famous by the exploits of the Oxford and Cambridge men. +After some twenty minutes' rowing, Lorimer looked up and spoke as he +drew his blade swiftly through the bright green water. + +"I feel as though I were aiding and abetting you in some crime, Phil. +You know, my first impression of this business remains the same. You had +much better leave it alone." + +"Why?" asked Errington coolly. + +"Well, 'pon my life I don't know why. Except that, from long experience, +I have proved that it's always dangerous and troublesome to run after a +woman. Leave her to run after you--she'll do it fast enough." + +"Wait till you see her. Besides, I'm not running after any woman," +averred Philip with some heat. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon--I forgot. She's not a woman; she's a Sun-angel. +You are rowing, not running, after a Sun-angel. Is that correct? I say, +don't drive through the water like that; you'll pull the boat round." + +Errington slackened his speed and laughed. "It's only curiosity," he +said, lifting his hat, and pushing back the clustering dark-brown curls +from his brow. "I bet you that sleek Dyceworthy fellow meant the old +_bonde_ and his daughter, when he spoke of persons who were 'ejected' +from the social circles of Bosekop. Fancy Bosekop society presuming to +be particular--what an absurd idea!" + +"My good fellow, don't pretend to be so deplorably ignorant! Surely you +know that a trumpery village or a two-penny town is much more choice and +exclusive in its 'sets' than a great city? I wouldn't live in a small +place for the world. Every inhabitant would know the cut of my clothes +by heart, and the number of buttons on my waistcoat. The grocer would +copy the pattern of my trousers,--the butcher would carry a cane like +mine. It would be simply insufferable. To change the subject, may I ask +you if you know which way you are going, for it seems to me we're bound +straight for a smash on that uncomfortable-looking rock, where there is +certainly no landing-place." + +Errington stopped pulling, and, standing up in the boat, began to +examine the surroundings with keen interest. They were close to the +great crag "shaped like a giant's helmet," as Valdemar Svensen had said. +It rose sheer out of the water, and its sides were almost perpendicular. +Some beautiful star-shaped sea anemones clung to it in a vari-colored +cluster on one projection, and the running ripple of the small waves +broke on its jagged corners with a musical splash, and sparkle of white +foam. Below them, in the emerald mirror of the Fjord, it was so clear +that they could see the fine white sand lying at the bottom, sprinkled +thick with shells and lithe moving creatures of all shapes, while every +now and then, there streamed past them, brilliantly tinted specimens of +the Medusae, with their long feelers or tendrils, looking like torn +skins of crimson and azure floss silk. + +The place was very silent; only the sea-gulls circled round and round +the summit of the great rock, some of them occasionally swooping down on +the unwary fishes, their keen eyes perceived in the waters beneath, then +up again they soared, swaying their graceful wings and uttering at +intervals that peculiar wild cry that in solitary haunts sounds so +intensely mournful. Errington gazed about him in doubt for some minutes, +then suddenly his face brightened. He sat down again in the boat and +resumed his oar. + +"Row quietly, George," he said in a subdued tone "Quietly--round to the +left." + +The oars dipped noiselessly, and the boat shot forward,--then swerved +sharply round in the direction,--and there before them lay a small sandy +creek, white and shining as though sprinkled with powdered silver. From +this, a small but strongly-built wooden pier ran out into the sea. It +was carved all over with fantastic figures, and in it at equal +distances, were fastened iron rings, such as are used for the safe +mooring of boats. One boat was there already, and Errington recognized +it with delight. It was that in which he had seen the mysterious maiden +disappear. High and dry on the sand, out of reach of the tides, was a +neat sailing-vessel; its name was painted round the stern--_The +Valkyrie_. + +As the two friends ran their boat on shore, and fastened it to the +furthest ring of the convenient pier, they caught the distant sound of +the plaintiff "coo-cooing" of turtle doves. + +"You've done it this time, old boy," said Lorimer, speaking in a +whisper, though he knew not why. "This is the old _bonde's_ own private +landing-place evidently, and here's a footpath leading somewhere. Shall +we follow it?" + +Philip emphatically assented, and, treading softly, like the trespassers +they felt themselves to be, they climbed the ascending narrow way that +guided them up from the seashore, round through a close thicket of +pines, where their footsteps fell noiselessly on a thick carpet of +velvety green moss, dotted prettily here and there with the red gleam of +ripening wild strawberries. Everything was intensely still, and as yet +there seemed no sign of human habitation. Suddenly a low whirring sound +broke upon their ears, and Errington, who was a little in advance of his +companion, paused abruptly with a smothered exclamation, and drew back +on tip-toe, catching Lorimer by the arm. + +"By Jove!" he whispered excitedly, "we've come right up to the very +windows of the house. Look!" + +Lorimer obeyed, and for once, the light jest died upon his tips. +Surprise and admiration held him absolutely silent. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Elle filait et souriait--et je crois qu'elle enveloppa mon coeur + avec son fil."--HEINE. + + +Before them, close enough for their outstretched hands to have touched +it, was what appeared to be a framed picture, exquisitely painted,--a +picture perfect in outline matchless in color, faultless in detail,--but +which was in reality nothing but a large latticed window thrown wide +open to admit the air. They could now see distinctly through the shadows +cast by the stately pines, a long, low, rambling house, built roughly, +but strongly, of wooden rafters, all overgrown with green and blossoming +creepers; but they scarcely glanced at the actual building, so strongly +was their attention riveted on the one window before them. It was +surrounded by an unusually broad framework, curiously and elaborately +carved, and black as polished ebony. Flowers grew all about it,--sweet +peas, mignonette, and large purple pansies--while red and white climbing +roses rioted in untrained profusion over its wide sill. Above it was a +quaintly built dovecote, where some of the strutting fan-tailed +inhabitants were perched, swelling out their snowy breasts, and +discoursing of their domestic trials in notes of dulcet melancholy; +while lower down, three or four ring-doves nestled on the roof in a +patch of sunlight, spreading up their pinions like miniature sails, to +catch the warmth and lustre. + +Within the deep, shadowy embrasure, like a jewel placed on dark velvet, +was seated a girl spinning,--no other than the mysterious maiden of the +shell cavern. She was attired in a plain, straight gown, of some soft +white woolen stuff, cut squarely at her throat; her round, graceful arms +were partially bare, and as the wheel turned swiftly, and her slender +hands busied themselves with the flax, she smiled, as though some +pleasing thought had touched her mind. Her smile had the effect of +sudden sunshine in the dark room where she sat and span,--it was radiant +and mirthful as the smile of a happy child. Yet her dark blue eyes +remained pensive and earnest, and the smile soon faded, leaving her fair +face absorbed and almost dreamy. The whirr-whirring of the wheel grew +less and less rapid,--it slackened,--it stopped altogether,--and, as +though startled by some unexpected sound, the girl paused and listened, +pushing away the clustering masses of her rich hair from her brow. Then +rising slowly from her seat, she advanced to the window, put aside the +roses with one hand, and looked out,--thus forming another picture as +beautiful, if not more beautiful, than the first. + +Lorimer drew his breath hard. "I say, old fellow," he whispered; but +Errington pressed his arm with vice-like firmness, as a warning to him +to be silent, while they both stepped farther back into the dusky gloom +of the pine boughs. + +The girl, meanwhile, stood motionless, in a half-expectant attitude, +and, seeing her there, some of the doves on the roof flew down and +strutted on the ground before her, coo-cooing proudly, as though +desirous of attracting her attention. One of them boldly perched on the +window-sill; she glanced at the bird musingly, and softly stroked its +opaline wings and shining head without terrifying it. It seemed +delighted to be noticed, and almost lay down under her hand in order to +be more conveniently caressed. Still gently smoothing its feathers, she +leaned further out among the clambering wealth of blossoms, and called +in a low, penetrating tone, "Father! father! is that you?" + +There was no answer; and, after waited a minute or two, she moved and +resumed her former seat, the stray doves flew back to their customary +promenade on the roof, and the drowsy whirr-whirr of the spinning-wheel +murmured again its monotonous hum upon the air. + +"Come on, Phil," whispered Lorimer, determined not to be checked this +time; "I feel perfectly wretched! It's mean of us to be skulking about +here, as if we were a couple of low thieves waiting to trap some of +those birds for a pigeon-pie. Come away,--you've seen her; that's +enough." + +Errington did not move. Holding back a branch of pine, he watched the +movements of the girl at her wheel with absorbed fascination. + +Suddenly her sweet lips parted, and she sang a weird, wild melody, that +seemed, like a running torrent, to have fallen from the crests of the +mountains, bringing with it echoes from the furthest summits, mingled +with soft wailings of a mournful wind. + +Her voice was pure as the ring of fine crystal--deep, liquid, and +tender, with a restrained passion in it that stirred Errington's heart +and filled it with a strange unrest and feverish yearning,--emotions +which were new to him, and which, while he realized their existence, +moved him to a sort of ashamed impatience. He would have willingly left +his post of observation now, if only for the sake of shaking off his +unwonted sensations; and he took a step or two backwards for that +purpose, when Lorimer, in his turn, laid a detaining hand on his +shoulder. + +"For Heaven's sake, let us hear the song through!" he said in subdued +tones. "What a voice! A positive golden flute!" + +His rapt face betokened his enjoyment, and Errington, nothing loth, +still lingered, his eyes fixed on the white-robed slim figure framed in +the dark old rose-wreathed window--the figure that swayed softly with +the motion of the wheel and the rhythm of the song,--while flickering +sunbeams sparkled now and then on the maiden's dusky gold hair, or +touched up a warmer tint on her tenderly flushed cheeks, and fair neck, +more snowy than the gown she wore. Music poured from her lips as from +the throat of a nightingale. The words she sang were Norwegian, and her +listeners understood nothing of them; but the melody,--the pathetic +appealing melody,--soul-moving as all true melody must be, touched the +very core of their hearts, and entangled them in a web of delicious +reveries. + +"Talk of Ary Scheffer's Gretchen!" murmured Lorimer with a sigh. "What a +miserable, pasty, milk-and-watery young person she is beside that +magnificent, unconscious beauty! I give in, Phil! I admit your taste. +I'm willing to swear that she's a Sun-Angel if you like. Her voice has +convinced me of that." + +At that instant the song ceased. Errington turned and regarded him +steadfastly. + +"Are _you_ hit, George?" he said softly, with a forced smile. + +Lorimer's face flushed, but he met his friend's eyes frankly. + +"I am no poacher, old fellow," he answered in the same quiet accents; "I +think you know that. If that girl's mind is as lovely as her face, I +say, go in and win!" + +Sir Philip smiled. His brow cleared and an expression of relief settled +there. The look of gladness was unconscious; but Lorimer saw it at once +and noted it. + +"Nonsense!" he said in a mirthful undertone. "How can I go in and win, +as you say? What am I to do? I can't go up to that window and speak to +her,--she might take me for a thief." + +"You look like a thief," replied Lorimer, surveying his friend's +athletic figure, clad in its loose but well-cut yachting suit of white +flannel, ornamented with silver anchor buttons, and taking a +comprehensive glance from the easy pose of the fine head and handsome +face, down to the trim foot with the high and well-arched instep, "very +much like a thief? I wonder I haven't noticed it before. Any London +policeman would arrest you on the mere fact of your suspicious +appearance." + +Errington laughed. "Well, my boy, whatever my looks may testify, I am at +this moment an undoubted trespasser on private property,--and so are you +for that matter. What shall we do?" + +"Find the front door and ring the bell," suggested George promptly. "Say +we are benighted travellers and have lost our way. The _bonde_ can but +flay us. The operation, I believe, is painful, but it cannot last long." + +"George, you are incorrigible! Suppose we go back and try the other side +of this pine-wood? That might lead us to the front of the house." + +"I don't see why we shouldn't walk coolly past that window," said +Lorimer. "If any observation is made by the fair 'Marguerite' yonder, we +can boldly say we have come to see the _bonde_." + +Unconsciously they had both raised their voices a little during the +latter part of their hasty dialogue, and at the instant when Lorimer +uttered the last words, a heavy hand was laid on each of their +shoulders,--a hand that turned them round forcibly away from the window +they had been gazing at, and a deep, resonant voice addressed them. + +"The _bonde_? Truly, young men, you need seek no further,--I am Olaf +Gueldmar!" + +Had he said, "I am an Emperor!" he could not have spoken with more +pride. + +Errington and his friend were for a moment speechless,--partly from +displeasure at the summary manner in which they had been seized and +twisted round like young uprooted saplings, and partly from surprise and +involuntary admiration for the personage who had treated them with such +scant courtesy. They saw before them a man somewhat above the middle +height, who might have served an aspiring sculptor as a perfect model +for a chieftain of old Gaul, or a dauntless Viking. His frame was firmly +and powerfully built, and seemed to be exceptionally strong and +muscular; yet an air of almost courtly grace pervaded his movements, +making each attitude he assumed more or less picturesque. He was +broad-shouldered and deep-chested; his face was full and healthily +colored, while his head was truly magnificent. Well-poised and shapely, +it indicated power, will, and wisdom; and was furthermore adorned by a +rough, thick mass of snow-white hair that shone in the sunlight like +spun silver. His beard was short and curly, trimmed after the fashion of +the warriors of old Rome; and, from under his fierce, fuzzy, grey +eyebrows, a pair of sentinel eyes, that were keen, clear, and bold as an +eagle's, looked out with a watchful steadiness--steadiness that like the +sharp edge of a diamond, seemed warranted to cut through the brittle +glass of a lie. Judging by his outward appearance, his age might have +been guessed at as between fifty-eight and sixty, but he was, in truth, +seventy-two, and more strong, active, and daring than many another man +whose years are not counted past the thirties. He was curiously attired, +after something of the fashion of the Highlander, and something yet more +of the ancient Greek, in a tunic, vest, and loose jacket all made of +reindeer skin, thickly embroidered with curious designs worked in coarse +thread and colored beads; while thrown carelessly over his shoulders and +knotted at his waist, was a broad scarf of white woollen stuff, or +_wadmel_, very soft-looking and warm. In his belt he carried a +formidable hunting-knife, and as he faced the two intruders on his +ground, he rested one hand lightly yet suggestively on a weighty staff +of pine, which was notched all over with quaint letters and figures, and +terminated in a curved handle at the top. He waited for the young men to +speak, and finding they remained silent, he glanced at them half angrily +and again repeated his words-- + +"I am the _bonde_,--Olaf Gueldmar. Speak your business and take your +departure; my time is brief!" + +Lorimer looked up with his usual nonchalance,--a faint smile playing +about his lips. He saw at once that the old farmer was not a man to be +trifled with, and he raised his cap with a ready grace as he spoke. + +"Fact is," he said frankly, "we've no business here at all--not the +least in the world. We are perfectly aware of it! We are trespassers, +and we know it. Pray don't be hard on us, Mr.--Mr. Gueldmar!" + +The _bonde_ glanced him over with a quick lightening of the eyes, and +the suspicion of a smile in the depths of his curly beard. He turned to +Errington. + +"Is this true? You came here on purpose, knowing the ground was private +property?" + +Errington, in his turn, lifted his cap from his clustering brown curls +with that serene and stately court manner which was to him second +nature. + +"We did," he confessed, quietly following Lorimer's cue, and seeing also +that it was best to be straightforward. "We heard you spoken of in +Bosekop, and we came to see if you would permit us the honor of your +acquaintance." + +The old man struck his pine-staff violently into the ground, and his +face flushed wrathfully. + +"Bosekop!" he exclaimed. "Talk to me of a wasp's nest! Bosekop! You +shall hear of me there enough to satisfy your appetite for news. +Bosekop! In the days when my race ruled the land, such people as they +that dwell there would have been put to sharpen my sword on the +grindstone, or to wait, hungry and humble, for the refuse of the food +left from my table!" + +He spoke with extraordinary heat and passion,--it was evidently +necessary to soothe him. Lorimer took a covert glance backward over his +shoulder towards the lattice window, and saw that the white figure at +the spinning-wheel had disappeared. + +"My dear Mr. Gueldmar," he then said with polite fervor, "I assure you I +think the Bosekop folk by no means deserve to sharpen your sword on the +grindstone, or to enjoy the remains of your dinner! Myself, I despise +them! My friend here, Sir Philip Errington, despises them--don't you, +Phil?" + +Errington nodded demurely. + +"What my friend said just now is perfectly true," continued Lorimer. "We +desire the honor of your acquaintance,--it will charm and delight us +above all things!" + +And his face beamed with a candid, winning, boyish smile, which was very +captivating in its own way, and which certainly had its effect on the +old _bonde_, for his tone softened, though he said gravely-- + +"My acquaintance, young men, is never sought by any. Those who are wise, +keep away from me. I love not strangers, it is best you should know it. +I freely pardon your trespass; take your leave, and go in peace." + +The two friends exchanged disconsolate looks. There really seemed +nothing for it, but to obey this unpleasing command. Errington made one +more venture. + +"May I hope, Mr. Gueldmar," he said with persuasive courtesy, "that you +will break through your apparent rule of seclusion for once and visit me +on board my yacht? You have no doubt seen her--the _Eulalie_--she lies +at anchor in the Fjord." + +The _bonde_ looked him straight in the eyes. "I have seen her. A fair +toy vessel to amuse an idle young man's leisure! You are he that in that +fool's hole of a Bosekop, is known as the 'rich Englishman,'--an idle +trifler with time,--an aimless wanderer from those dull shores where +they eat gold till they die of surfeit! I have heard of you,--a mushroom +knight, a fungus of nobility,--an ephemeral growth on a grand decaying +old tree, whose roots lie buried in the annals of a far forgotten past." + +The rich, deep voice of the old man quivered as he spoke, and a shadow +of melancholy flitted across his brow. Errington listened with unruffled +patience. He heard himself, his pleasures, his wealth, his rank, thus +made light of, without the least offense. He met the steady gaze of the +_bonde_ quietly, and slightly bent his head as though in deference to +his remarks. + +"You are quite right," he said simply. "We modern men are but pigmies +compared with the giants of old time. Royal blood itself is tainted +nowadays. But, for myself, I attach no importance to the mere +appurtenances of life,--the baggage that accompanies one on that brief +journey. Life itself is quite enough for me." + +"And for me too," averred Lorimer, delighted that his friend had taken +the old farmer's scornful observations so good-naturedly. "But, do you +know, Mr. Gueldmar, you are making life unpleasant for us just now, by +turning us out? The conversation is becoming interesting! Why not +prolong it? We have no friends in Bosekop, and we are to anchor here for +some days. Surely you will allow us to come and see you again?" + +Olaf Gueldmar was silent. He advanced a step nearer, and studied them +both with such earnest and searching scrutiny, that as they remembered +the real attraction that had drawn them thither, the conscious blood +mounted to their faces, flushing Errington's forehead to the very roots +of his curly brown hair. Still the old man gazed as though he sought to +read their very souls. He muttered something to himself in Norwegian, +and, finally, to their utter astonishment, he drew his hunting-knife +from its sheath, and with a rapid, wild gesture, threw it on the ground +and placed his foot upon it. + +"Be it so!" he said briefly. "I cover the blade! You are men; like men +you speak truth. As such, I receive you! Had you told me a lie +concerning your coming here,--had you made pretense of having lost your +way, or other such shifty evasion, your path would never have again +crossed mine. As it is,--welcome!" + +And he held out his hand with a sort of royal dignity, still resting one +foot on the fallen weapon. The young men, struck by his action and +gratified by his change of manner and the genial expression that now +softened his rugged features, were quick to respond to his friendly +greeting, and the _bonde_, picking up and re-sheathing his hunting-knife +as if he had done nothing at all out of the common, motioned them +towards the very window on which their eyes had been so long and so +ardently fixed. + +"Come!" he said. "You must drain a cup of wine with me before you leave. +Your unguided footsteps led you by the wrong path,--I saw your boat +moored to my pier, and wondered who had been venturesome enough to +trample through my woodland. I might have guessed that only a couple of +idle boys like yourselves, knowing no better, would have pushed their +way to a spot that all worthy dwellers in Bosekop, and all true +followers of the Lutheran devilry, avoid as though the plague were +settled in it." + +And the old man laughed, a splendid, mellow laugh, with the ring of true +jollity in it,--a laugh that was infectious, for Errington and Lorimer +joined in it heartily without precisely knowing why. Lorimer, however, +thought it seemly to protest against the appellation "idle boys." + +"What do you take us for, sir?" he said with lazy good-nature. "I carry +upon my shoulders the sorrowful burden of twenty-six years,--Philip, +there, is painfully conscious of being thirty,--may we not therefore +dispute the word 'boys' as being derogatory to our dignity? You called +us 'men' a while ago,--remember that!" + +Olaf Gueldmar laughed again. His suspicious gravity had entirely +disappeared, leaving his face a beaming mirror of beneficence and +good-humor. + +"So you _are_ men," he said cheerily, "men in the bud, like leaves on a +tree. But you seem boys to a tough old stump of humanity such as I am. +That is my way,--my child Thelma, though they tell me she is a woman +grown, is always a babe to me. 'Tis one of the many privileges of the +old, to see the world about them always young and full of children." + +And he led the way past the wide-open lattice, where they could dimly +perceive the spinning-wheel standing alone, as though thinking deeply of +the fair hands that had lately left it idle, and so round to the actual +front of the house, which was exceedingly picturesque, and literally +overgrown with roses from ground to roof. The entrance door stood +open;--it was surrounded by a wide, deep porch richly carved and +grotesquely ornamented, having two comfortable seats within it, one on +each side. Through this they went, involuntarily brushing down as they +passed, a shower of pink and white rose-leaves, and stepped into a wide +passage, where upon walls of dark, polished pine, hung a large +collection of curiously shaped weapons, all of primitive manufacture, +such as stone darts and rough axes, together with bows and arrows and +two-handled swords, huge as the fabled weapon of William Wallace. + +Opening a door to the right the _bonde_ stood courteously aside and bade +them enter, and they found themselves in the very apartment where they +had seen the maiden spinning. + +"Sit down, sit down!" said their host hospitably. "We will have wine +directly, and Thelma shall come hither. Thelma! Thelma! Where is the +child? She wanders hither and thither like a mountain sprite. Wait here, +my lads, I shall return directly." + +And he strode away, leaving Errington and Lorimer delighted at the +success of their plans, yet somewhat abashed too. There was a peace and +gentle simplicity about the little room in which they were, that touched +the chivalrous sentiment in their natures and kept them silent. On one +side of it, half a dozen broad shelves supported a goodly row of +well-bound volumes, among which the time-honored golden names of +Shakespeare and Scott glittered invitingly, together with such works as +Chapman's Homer, Byron's "Childe Harold," the Poems of John Keats, +Gibbon's Rome, and Plutarch; while mingled with these were the +devotional works in French of Alphonse de Liguori, the "Imitation," also +in French,--and a number of books with titles in Norwegian,--altogether +an heterogenous collection of literature, yet not without interest as +displaying taste and culture on the part of those to whom it belonged. +Errington, himself learned in books, was surprised to see so many +standard works in the library of one who professed to be nothing but a +Norwegian farmer, and his respect for the sturdy old _bonde_ increased. +There were no pictures in the room,--the wide lattice window on one +hand, looking out on the roses and pine-wood, and the other smaller one, +close to the entrance door, from which the Fjord was distinctly visible, +were sufficient pictures in themselves, to need no others. The furniture +was roughly made of pine, and seemed to have been carved by hand,--some +of the chairs were very quaint and pretty and would have sold in a +bric-a-brac shop for more than a sovereign apiece. On the wide +mantle-shelf was a quantity of curious old china that seemed to have +been picked up from all parts of the world,--most of it was undoubtedly +valuable. In one dark corner stood an ancient harp; then there was the +spinning-wheel,--itself a curiosity fit for a museum,--testifying dumbly +of the mistress of all these surroundings, and on the floor there was +something else,--something that both the young men were strongly +inclined to take possession of. It was only a bunch of tiny meadow +daisies, fastened together with a bit of blue silk. It had fallen,--they +guessed by whom it had been worn,--but neither made any remark, and +both, by some strange instinct, avoided looking at it, as though the +innocent little blossoms carried within them some terrible temptation. +They were conscious of a certain embarrassment, and making an effort to +break through it, Lorimer remarked softly-- + +"By Jove, Phil, if this old Gueldmar really knew what you are up to, I +believe he would bundle you out of this place like a tramp! Didn't you +feel a sneak when he said we had told the truth like men?" + +Philip smiled dreamily. He was seated in one of the quaintly carved +chairs, half absorbed in what was evidently a pleasing reverie. + +"No; not exactly," he replied. "Because we _did_ tell him the truth; we +did want to know him, and he's worth knowing too! He is a +magnificent-looking fellow; don't you think so?" + +"Rather!" assented Lorimer, with emphasis. "I wish there were any hope +of my becoming such a fine old buffer in my _decadence_,--it would be +worth living for if only to look at myself in the glass now and then. He +rather startled me when he threw down that knife, though. I suppose it +is some old Norwegian custom?" + +"I suppose so," Errington answered, and then was silent, for at that +moment the door opened and the old farmer returned, followed by a girl +bearing a tray glittering with flasks of Italian wine, and long graceful +glasses shaped like round goblets, set on particularly slender stems. +The sight of the girl disappointed the eager visitors, for though she +was undeniably pretty, she was not Thelma. She was short and plump, with +rebellious nut-brown locks, that rippled about her face and from under +her close white cap with persistent untidiness. Her cheeks were as round +and red as lore-apples, and she had dancing blue eyes that appeared for +ever engaged in good-natured efforts to outsparkle each other. She wore +a spotless apron, lavishly trimmed with coquettish little starched +frills,--her hands were, unfortunately, rather large and coarse,--but +her smile, as she set down the tray and curtsied respectfully to the +young men, was charming, disclosing as it did, tiny teeth as even and +white as a double row of small pearls. + +"That is well, Britta," said Gueldmar, speaking in English, and assisting +her to place the glasses. "Now, quick! . . . run after thy mistress to +the shore,--her boat cannot yet have left the creek,--bid her return and +come to me,--tell her there are friends here who will be glad of her +presence." + +Britta hurried away at once, but Errington's heart sank. Thelma had +gone!--gone, most probably, for one of those erratic journeys across the +Fjord to the cave where he had first seen her. She would not come back, +he felt certain; not even at her father's request would that beautiful, +proud maiden consent to alter her plans. What an unlucky destiny was +his! Absorbed in disappointed reflections, he scarcely heard the +enthusiastic praises Lorimer was diplomatically bestowing on the +_bonde's_ wine. He hardly felt its mellow flavor on his own palate, +though it was in truth delicious, and fit for the table of a monarch. +Gueldmar noticed the young baronet's abstraction, and addressed him with +genial kindness. + +"Are you thinking, Sir Philip, of my rough speeches to you yonder? No +offense was meant, no offense! . . ." the old fellow paused, and laughed +over his wine-glass. "Yet I may as well be honest about it! Offense +_was_ meant; but when I found that none was taken, my humor changed." + +A slight, half-weary smile played on Errington's lips. "I assure you, +sir," he said, "I agreed with you then and agree with you now in every +word you uttered. You took my measure very correctly, and allow me to +add that no one can be more conscious of my own insignificance that I am +myself. The days we live in are insignificant; the chronicle of our +paltry doings will be skipped by future readers of the country's +history. Among a society of particularly useless men, I feel myself to +be one of the most useless. If you could show me any way to make my life +valuable--" + +He paused abruptly, and his heart beat with inexplicable rapidity. A +light step and the rustle of a dress was heard coming through the porch; +another perfumed shower of rose-leaves fell softly on the garden path; +the door of the room opened, and a tall, fair, white-robed figure shone +forth from the dark background of the outer passage; a figure that +hesitated on the threshold, and then advanced noiselessly and with a +reluctant shyness. The old _bonde_ turned round in his chair with a +smile. + +"Ah, here she is!" he said fondly. "Where hast thou been, my Thelma?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "And Sigurd the Bishop said, + 'The old gods are not dead, + For the great Thor still reigns, + And among the Jarls and Thanes + The old witchcraft is spread.'" + LONGFELLOW'S _Saga of King Olaf_. + + +The girl stood silent, and a faint blush crimsoned her cheeks. The young +men had risen at her entrance, and in one fleeting glance she recognized +Errington, though she gave no sign to that effect. + +"See, my darling," continued her father, "here are English visitors to +Norway. This is Sir Philip Errington, who travels through our wild +waters in the great steam yacht now at anchor in the Fjord; and this is +his friend, Mr.--Mr.--Lorimer,--have I caught your name rightly, my +lad?" he continued, turning to George Lorimer with a kindly smile. + +"You have, sir," answered that gentleman promptly, and then he was mute, +feeling curiously abashed in the presence of this royal-looking young +lady, who, encircled by her father's arm, raised her deep, dazzling blue +eyes, and serenely bent her stately head to him as his name was +mentioned. + +The old farmer went on, "Welcome them, Thelma mine!--friends are scarce +in these days, and we must not be ungrateful for good company. What! +what! I know honest lads when I see them! Smile on them, my Thelma!--and +then we will warm their hearts with another cup of wine." + +As he spoke, the maiden advanced with a graceful, even noble air, and +extending both her hands to each of the visitors in turn, she said-- + +"I am your servant, friends; in entering this house you do possess it. +Peace and heart's greeting!" + +The words were a literal translation of a salutation perfectly common in +many parts of Norway--a mere ordinary expression of politeness; but, +uttered in the tender, penetrating tones, of the most musical voice they +had ever heard, and accompanied by the warm, frank, double handclasp of +those soft, small, daintily shaped hands, the effect on the minds of the +generally self-possessed, fashionably bred young men of the world, was +to confuse and bewilder them to the last degree. What could they answer +to this poetical, quaint formula of welcome? The usual latitudes, such +as "Delighted, I'm sure;" or, "Most happy--am charmed to meet you?" No; +these remarks, deemed intelligent by the lady rulers of London +drawing-rooms, would, they felt, never do here. As well put a gentleman +in modern evening dress _en face_ with a half-nude scornfully beautiful +statue of Apollo, as trot out threadbare, insincere commonplaces in the +hearing of this clear-eyed child of nature, whose pure, perfect face +seemed to silently repel the very passing shadow of a falsehood. + +Philip's brain whirled round and about in search of some suitable reply, +but could find none; and Lorimer felt himself blushing like a schoolboy, +as he stammered out something incoherent and eminently foolish, though +he had sense enough left to appreciate the pressure of those lovely +hands as long as it lasted. + +Thelma, however, appeared not to notice their deep embarrassment--she +had not yet done with them. Taking the largest goblet on the table, she +filled it to the brim with wine, and touched it with her lips,--then +with a smile in which a thousand radiating sunbeams seemed to quiver and +sparkle, she lifted it towards Errington. The grace of her attitude and +action wakened him out of his state of dreamy bewilderment--in his soul +he devoutly blessed these ancient family customs, and arose to the +occasion like a man. Clasping with a tender reverence the hands that +upheld the goblet, he bent his handsome head and drank a deep draught, +while his dark curls almost touched her fair ones,--and then an insane +jealousy possessed him for a moment, as he watched her go through the +same ceremony with Lorimer. + +She next carried the now more than half-emptied cup to the _bonde_, and +said as she held it, laughing softly-- + +"Drink it all, father!--if you leave a drop, you know these gentlemen +will quarrel with us, or you with them." + +"That is true!" said Olaf Gueldmar with great gravity; "but it will not +be my fault, child, nor the fault of wasted wine." + +And he drained the glass to its dregs and set it upside down on the +table with a deep sigh of satisfaction and refreshment. The ceremony +concluded, it was evident the ice of reserve was considered broken, for +Thelma seated herself like a young queen, and motioned her visitors to +do the same with a gesture of gracious condescension. + +"How did you find your way here?" she asked with sweet, yet direct +abruptness, giving Sir Philip a quick glance, in which there was a +sparkle of mirth, though her long lashes veiled it almost instantly. + +Her entire lack of stiffness and reserve set the young men at their +ease, and they fell into conversation freely, though Errington allowed +Lorimer to tell the story of their trespass in his own fashion without +interference. He instinctively felt that the young lady who listened +with so demure a smile to that plausible narrative, knew well enough the +real motive that had brought them thither though she apparently had her +own reasons for keeping silence on the point, as whatever she may have +thought, she said nothing. + +Lorimer skillfully avoided betraying the fact that they had watched her +through the window, and had listened to her singing. And Thelma heard +all the explanations patiently till Bosekop was mentioned, and then her +fair face grew cold and stern. + +"From whom did you hear of us there?" she inquired. "We do not mix with +the people,--why should they speak of us?" + +"The truth is," interposed Errington, resting his eyes with a sense of +deep delight on the beautiful rounded figure and lovely features that +were turned towards him, "I heard of you first through my pilot--one +Valdemar Svensen." + +"Ha, ha!" cried old Gueldmar with some excitement, "there is a fellow who +cannot hold his tongue! What have I said to thee, child? A bachelor is +no better than a gossiping old woman. He that is always alone must talk, +if it be only to woods and waves. It is the married men who know best +how excellent it is to keep silence!" + +They all laughed, though Thelma's eyes had a way of looking pensive even +when she smiled. + +"You would not blame poor Svensen because he is alone, father?" she +said. "Is he not to be pitied? Surely it is a cruel fate to have none to +love in all the wide world. Nothing can be more cruel!" + +Gueldmar surveyed her humorously. "Hear her!" he said. "She talks as if +she knew all about such things; and if ever a child was ignorant of +sorrow, surely it is my Thelma! Every flower and bird in the place loves +her. Yes; I have thought sometimes the very sea loves her. It must; she +is so much upon it. And as for her old father"--he laughed a little, +though a suspicious moisture softened his keen eyes--"why, he doesn't +love her at all. Ask her! She knows it." + +Thelma rose quickly and kissed him. How deliciously those sweet lips +pouted, thought Errington, and what an unreasonable and extraordinary +grudge he seemed to bear towards the venerable _bonde_ for accepting +that kiss with so little apparent emotion! + +"Hush, father!" she said. "These friends can see too plainly how much +you spoil me. Tell me,"--and she turned with a sudden pretty +imperiousness to Lorimer, who started at her voice as a racehorse starts +at its rider's touch,--"what person in Bosekop spoke of us?" + +Lorimer was rather at a loss, inasmuch as no one in the small town had +actually spoken of them, and Mr. Dyceworthy's remarks concerning those +who were "ejected with good reason from respectable society," might not, +after all, have applied to the Gueldmar family. Indeed, it now seemed an +absurd and improbable supposition. Therefore he replied cautiously-- + +"The Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy, I think, has some knowledge of you. Is he +not a friend of yours?" + +These simple words had a most unexpected effect. Olaf Gueldmar sprang up +from his seat flaming with wrath. It was in vain that his daughter laid +a restraining hand upon his arm. The name of the Lutheran divine had +sufficed to put him in a towering passion, and he turned furiously upon +the astonished Errington. + +"Had I known you came from the devil, sir, you should have returned to +him speedily, with hot words to hasten your departure! I would have +split that glass to atoms before I would have drained it after you! The +friends of a false heart are no friends for me,--the followers of a +pretended sanctity find no welcome under my roof! Why not have told me +at once that you came as spies, hounded on by the liar Dyceworthy? Why +not have confessed it openly? .. . . and not have played the thief's +trick on an old fool, who, for once, misled by your manly and upright +bearing, consented to lay aside the rightful suspicions he at first +entertained of your purpose? Shame on you, young men! shame!" + +The words coursed impetuously from his lips; his face burned with +indignation. He had broken away from his daughter's hold, while she, +pale and very still, stood leaning one hand upon the table. His white +hair was tossed back from his brow; his eyes flashed; his attitude +though vengeful and threatening, was at the same time so bold and +commanding that Lorimer caught himself lazily admiring the contour of +his figure, and wondering how he would look in marble as an infuriated +Viking. + +One excellent thing in the dispositions of both Errington and Lorimer +was that they never lost temper. Either they were too lazy or too +well-bred. Undoubtedly they both considered it "bad form." This +indifference stood them in good stead now. They showed no sign whatever +of offense, though the old farmer's outbreak of wrath was so sudden and +unlooked for, that they remained for a moment silent out of sheer +surprise. Then rising with unruffled serenity, they took up their caps +preparatory to departure. Errington's gentle, refined voice broke the +silence. + +"You are in error, Mr. Gueldmar," he said in chilly but perfectly polite +tones. "I regret you should be so hasty in your judgment of us. If you +accepted us as 'men' when you first met us, I cannot imagine why you +should now take us for spies. The two terms are by no means synonymous. +I know nothing of Mr. Dyceworthy beyond that he called upon me, and that +I, as in duty bound, returned his call. I am ignorant of his character +and disposition. I may add that I have no desire to be enlightened +respecting them. I do not often take a dislike to anybody, but it so +happens that I have done so in the case of Mr. Dyceworthy. I know +Lorimer doesn't care for him, and I don't think my other two friends are +particularly attached to him. I have nothing more to say, except that I +fear we have outstayed our welcome. Permit us now to wish you good +evening. And you,"--he hesitated, and turned with a low bow to Thelma, +who had listened to his words with a gradually dawning brightness on her +face--"you will, I trust, exonerate us from any intentional offense +towards your father or yourself? Our visit has proved unlucky, but--" + +Thelma interrupted him by laying her fair little hand on his arm with a +wistful, detaining gesture, which, though seemingly familiar, was yet +perfectly sweet and natural. The light touch thrilled his blood, and +sent it coursing through his veins at more than customary speed. + +"Ah, then, you also will be foolish!" she said, with a naive protecting +air of superior dignity. "Do you not see my father is sorry? Have we all +kissed the cup for nothing, or was the wine wasted? Not a drop was +spilt; how then, if we are friends should we part in coldness? Father, +it is you to be ashamed,--not these gentleman, who are strangers to the +Altenfjord, and know nothing of Mr. Dyceworthy, or an other person +dwelling here. And when their vessel sails away again over the wide seas +to their own shores, how will you have them think of you? As one whose +heart was all kindness, and who helped to make their days pass +pleasantly? or as one who, in unreasonable anger, forgot the duties of +sworn hospitality?" + +The _bonde_ listened to her full, sweet, reproachful voice as a tough +old lion might listen to the voice of its tamer, uncertain whether to +yield or spring. He wiped his heated brow and stared around him +shamefacedly. Finally, as though swallowing his pride with a gulp, he +drew a long breath, took a couple of determined strides forward, and +held out his hands, one to Errington and the other to Lorimer, by whom +they were warmly grasped. + +"There, my lads," he said rapidly. "I'm sorry I spoke! Forgive and +forget! That is the worst of me--my blood is up in a minute, and old +though I am, I'm not old enough yet to be patient. And when I hear the +name of that sneak Dyceworthy--by the gates of Valhalla, I feel as if my +own house would not hold me! No, no; don't go yet! Nearly ten? Well, no +matter, the night is like the day here, you see--it doesn't matter when +one goes to bed. Come and sit in the porch awhile; I shall get cool out +there. Ah, Thelma, child! I see thee laughing at thy old father's +temper! Never mind, never mind; is it not for thy sake after all?" + +And, holding Errington by the arm, he led the way into the fine old +porch, Lorimer following with rather a flushed face, for he, as he +passed out of the room, had managed to pick up and secrete the neglected +little bunch of daisies, before noticed as having fallen on the floor. +He put them quickly in his breast pocket with a curious sense of +satisfaction, though he had no intention of keeping them, and leaned +idly against the clambering roses, watching Thelma, as she drew a low +stool to her father's feet and sat there. A balmy wind blew in from the +Fjord, and rustled mysteriously among the pines; the sky was flecked +here and there with fleecy clouds, and a number of birds were singing in +full chorus. Old Gueldmar heaved a sigh of relief, as though his recent +outburst of passion had done him good. + +"I will tell you, Sir Philip," he said, ruffling his daughter's curls as +he spoke,--"I will tell you why I detest the villain Dyceworthy. It is +but fair you should know it. Now, Thelma!--why that push to my knee? You +fear I may offend our friends again? Nay, I will take good care. And so, +first of all, I ask you, what is your religion? Though I know you cannot +be Lutherans." + +Errington was somewhat taken aback by the question. He smiled. + +"My dear sir," he replied at last; "to be frank with you, I really do +not think I have any religion. If I had, I suppose I should call myself +a Christian, though, judging from the behavior of Christians in general, +I cannot be one of them after all,--for I belong to no sect, I go to no +church, and I have never read a tract in my life. I have a profound +reverence and admiration for the character and doctrine of Christ, and I +believe if I had had the privilege of knowing and conversing with Him, I +should not have deserted Him in extremity as his timorous disciples did. +I believe in an all-wise Creator; so you see I am not an atheist. My +mother was an Austrian and a Catholic, and I have a notion that, as a +small child, I was brought up in that creed; but I'm afraid I don't know +much about it now." + +The _bonde_ nodded gravely. "Thelma, here," he said, "is a Catholic, as +her mother was--" he stopped abruptly, and a deep shadow of pain +darkened his features. Thelma looked up,--her large blue eyes filled +with sudden tears, and she pressed her father's hand between her own, as +though in sympathy with some undeclared grief; then she looked at +Errington with a sort of wistful appeal. Philip's heart leaped as he met +that soft beseeching glance, which seemed to entreat his patience with +the old man for her sake--he felt himself drawn into a bond of union +with her thoughts, and in his innermost soul he swore as knightly a vow +of chivalry and reverence for the fair maiden, who thus took him into +her silent confidence, as though he were some gallant Crusader of old +time, pledged to defend his lady's honor unto death. Olaf Gueldmar, after +a long and apparently sorrowful pause, resumed his conversation. + +"Yes," he said, "Thelma is a Catholic, though here she has scarcely any +opportunity for performing the duties of her religion. It is a pretty +and a graceful creed,--well fitted for women. As for me, I am made of +sterner stuff, and the maxims of that gentle creature, Christ, find no +echo in my soul. But you, young sir," he added, turning suddenly on +Lorimer, who was engaged in meditatively smoothing out on his palm one +of the fallen rose-petals--"you have not spoken. What faith do you +profess? It is no curiosity that prompts me to ask,--I only seek not to +offend." + +Lorimer laughed languidly. "Upon my life, Mr. Gueldmar, you really ask +too much of me. I haven't any faith at all; not a shred! It's been all +knocked out of me. I tried to hold on to a last remaining bit of +Christian rope in the universal ship-wreck, but that was torn out of my +hands by a scientific professor, who ought to know what he is about, +and--and--now I drift along anyhow!" + +Gueldmar smiled dubiously; but Thelma looked at the speaker with +astonished, regretful eyes. + +"I am sorry," she said simply. "You must be often unhappy." + +Lorimer was not disconcerted, though her evident pity caused an unwanted +flush on his face. + +"Oh no," he said in answer to her, "I am not a miserable sort of fellow +by any means. For instance, I'm not afraid of death,--lots of very +religious people are horribly afraid of it, though they all the time +declare it's the only path to heaven. They're not consistent at all. You +see I believe in nothing,--I came from nothing,--I am nothing,--I shall +be nothing. That being plain, I am all right." + +Gueldmar laughed. "You are an odd lad," he said good-humoredly. "You are +in the morning of life; there are always mists in the morning as there +are in the evening. In the light of your full manhood you will see these +things differently. Your creed of Nothing provides no moral law,--no +hold on the conscience, no restraint on the passions,--don't you see +that?" + +Lorimer smiled with a very winning and boyish candor. "You are +exceedingly good, sir, to credit me with a conscience! I don't think I +have one,--I'm sure I have no passions. I have always been too lazy to +encourage them, and as for moral law,--I adhere to morality with the +greatest strictness, because if a fellow is immoral, he ceases to be a +gentleman. Now, as there are very few gentlemen nowadays, I fancy I'd +like to be one as long as I can." + +Errington here interposed. "You mustn't take him seriously. Mr. +Gueldmar," he said; "he's never serious himself, I'll give you his +character in a few words. He belongs to no religious party, it's +true,--but he's a first-rate fellow,--the best fellow I know!" + +Lorimer glanced at him quietly with a gratified expression on his face. +But he said nothing, for Thelma was regarding him with a most bewitching +smile. + +"Ah!" she said, shaking a reproachful finger at him, "you do love all +nonsense, that I can see! You would make every person laugh, if you +could,--is it not so?" + +"Well, yes," admitted George, "I think I would! But it's a herculean +task sometimes. If you had ever been to London, Miss Gueldmar, you would +understand how difficult it is to make people even smile,--and when they +do, the smile is not a very natural one." + +"Why?" she exclaimed. "Are they all so miserable?" + +"They pretend to be, if they're not," said Lorimer; "it is the fashion +there to find fault with everything and everybody." + +"That is so," said Gueldmar thoughtfully. "I visited London once and +thought I was in hell. Nothing but rows of hard, hideously built houses, +long streets, and dirty alleys, and the people had weary faces all, as +though Nature had refused to bless them. A pitiful city,--doubly pitiful +to the eyes of a man like myself, whose life has been passed among +fjords and mountains such as these. Well, now, as neither of you are +Lutherans,--in fact, as neither of you seem to know what you are," and +he laughed, "I can be frank, and speak out as to my own belief. I am +proud to say I have never deserted the faith of my fathers, the faith +that makes a man's soul strong and fearless, and defiant of evil,--the +faith that is supposed to be crushed out among us, but that is still +alive and rooted in the hearts of many who can trace back their lineage +to the ancient Vikings as I can,--yes!--rooted firm and fast,--and +however much some of the more timorous feign to conceal it, in the tacit +acceptance of another creed, there are those who can never shake it off, +and who never desire to forsake it. I am one of these few. Shame must +fall on the man who willfully deserts the faith of his warrior-ancestry! +Sacred to me for ever be the names of Odin and Thor!" + +He raised his hand aloft with a proud gesture, and his eyes flashed. +Errington was interested, but not surprised: the old _bonde's_ +declaration of his creed seemed eminently fitted to his character. +Lorimer's face brightened,--here was a novelty--a man, who in all the +conflicting storms of modern opinion, sturdily clung to the traditions +of his forefathers. + +"By Jove!" he exclaimed eagerly, "I think the worship of Odin would suit +me perfectly! It's a rousing, fighting sort of religion,--I'm positive +it would make a man of me. Will you initiate me into the mysteries, Mr. +Gueldmar? There's a fellow in London who writes poetry on Indian +subjects, and who, it is said, thinks Buddhism might satisfy his pious +yearnings,--but I think Odin would be a personage to command more +respect than Buddha,--at any rate, I should like to try him. Will you +give me a chance?" + +Olaf Gueldmar smiled gravely, and rising from his seat, pointed to the +western sky. + +"See yonder threads of filmy white," he said, "that stretch across the +wide expanse of blue! They are the lingering, fading marks of light +clouds,--and even while we watch them, they shall pass and be no more. +Such is the emblem of your life, young man--you that would, for an idle +jest or pastime, presume to search into the mysteries of Odin! For you +they are not,--your spirit is not of the stern mould that waits for +death as gladly as the bridegroom waits for the bride! The Christian +heaven is an abode for girls and babes,--Valhalla is the place for men! +I tell you, my creed is as divine in its origin as any that ever existed +on the earth! The Rainbow Bridge is a fairer pathway from death to life +than the doleful Cross,--and better far the dark summoning eyes of a +beauteous Valkyrie, than the grinning skull and cross-bones, the +Christian emblem of mortality. Thelma thinks,--and her mother before her +thought also,--that different as my way of belief is to the accepted new +creeds of to-day, it will be all right with me in the next world--that I +shall have as good a place in heaven as any Christian. It may be so,--I +care not! But see you,--the key-note of all the civilization of to-day +is discontent, while I,--thanks to the gods of my fathers, am happy, and +desire nothing that I have not." + +He paused and seemed absorbed. The young men watched his fine inspired +features with lively interest. Thelma's head was turned away from them +so that her face was hidden. By-and-by he resumed in quieter tones-- + +"Now, my lads, you know what we are--both of us accursed in the opinion +of the Lutheran community. My child belongs to the so-called idolatrous +Church of Rome. I am one of the very last of the 'heathen +barbarians,'"--and the old fellow smiled sarcastically, "though, truth +to tell, for a barbarian, I am not such a fool as some folks would have +you think. If the snuffling Dyceworthy and I competed at a spelling +examination, I'm pretty sure 'tis I would have the prize! But, as I +said,--you know us,--and if our ways are likely to offend you, then let +us part good friends before the swords are fairly drawn." + +"No sword will be drawn on my side, I assure you, sir," said Errington, +advancing and laying one hand on the _bonde's_ shoulder. "I hope you +will believe me when I say I shall esteem it an honor and a privilege to +know more of you." + +"And though you won't accept me as a servant of Odin," added Lorimer, +"you really cannot prevent me from trying to make myself agreeable to +you. I warn you, Mr. Gueldmar, I shall visit you pretty frequently! Such +men as you are not often met with." + +Olaf Gueldmar looked surprised. "You really mean it?" he said. "Nothing +that I have told you affects you? You still seek our friendship?" + +They both earnestly assured him that they did, and as they spoke Thelma +rose from her low seat and faced them with a bright smile. + +"Do you know," she said, "that you are the first people who, on visiting +us once, have ever cared to come again? Ah, you look surprised, but it +is so, is it not, father?" + +Gueldmar nodded a grave assent. + +"Yes," she continued demurely, counting on her little white fingers, "we +are three things--first, we are accursed; secondly, we have the evil +eye; thirdly, we are not respectable!" + +And she broke into a peal of laughter, ringing and sweet as a chime of +bells. The young men joined her in it; and, still with an amused +expression on her lovely face, leaning her head back against a cluster +of pale roses, she went on-- + +"My father dislikes Mr. Dyceworthy so much, because he wants to--to--oh, +what is it they do to savages, father? Yes, I know,--to convert us,--to +make us Lutherans. And when he finds it all no use, he is angry; and, +though he is so religious, if he hears any one telling some untruth +about us in Bosekop, he will add another thing equally untrue, and so it +grows and grows, and--why! what is the matter with you?" she exclaimed +in surprise as Errington scowled and clenched his fist in a peculiarly +threatening manner. + +"I should like to knock him down!" he said briefly under his breath. + +Old Gueldmar laughed and looked at the young baronet approvingly. + +"Who knows, who knows!" he said cheerfully. "You may do it some day! It +will be a good deed! I will do it myself if he troubles me much more. +And now let us make some arrangement with you. When will you come and +see, us again?" + +"You must visit me first," said Sir Philip quickly. "If you and your +daughter will honor me with your company to-morrow, I shall be proud and +pleased. Consider the yacht at your service." + +Thelma, resting among the roses, looked across at him with serious, +questioning eyes--eyes that seemed to be asking his intentions towards +both her and her father. + +Gueldmar accepted the invitation at once, and, the hour for their visit +next day being fixed and agreed upon, the young men began to take their +leave. As Errington clasped Thelma's hand in farewell, he made a bold +venture. He touched a rose that hung just above her head almost dropping +on her hair. + +"May I have it?" he asked in a low tone. + +Their eyes met. The girl flushed deeply, and then grew pale. She broke +off the flower and gave it to him,--then turned to Lorimer to say +good-bye. They left her then, standing under the porch, shading her brow +with one hand from the glittering sunlight, as she watched them +descending the winding path to the shore, accompanied by her lather, who +hospitably insisted on seeing them into their boat. They looked back +once or twice, always to see the slender, tall white figure standing +there like an angel resting in a bower of roses, with the sunshine +flashing on a golden crown of hair. At the last in the pathway Philip +raised his hat and waved it, but whether she condescended to wave her +hand in answer he could not see. + +Left alone, she sighed, and went slowly into the house to resume her +spinning. Hearing the whirr of the wheel, the servant Britta entered. + +"You are not going in the boat, Froeken?" she asked in a tone of mingled +deference and affection. + +Thelma looked up, smiled faintly, and shook her head in the negative. + +"It is late, Britta, and I am tired." + +And the deep blue eyes had an intense dreamy light within them as they +wandered from the wheel to the wide-open window, and rested on the +majestic darkness of the overshadowing, solemn pines. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "In mezzo del mio core c' e una spina; + Non c' e barbier che la possa levare,-- + Solo il mio amore colla sua manina" + _Rime Popolari._ + + +Errington and Lorimer pulled away across the Fjord in a silence that +lasted for many minutes. Old Gueldmar stood on the edge of his little +pier to watch them out of sight. So, till their boat turned the sharp +corner of the protecting rock, that hid the landing-place from view, +they saw his picturesque figure and gleaming silvery hair outlined +clearly against the background of the sky--a sky now tenderly flushed +with pink like the inside of a delicate shell. When they could no longer +perceive him they still rowed on speaking no word,--the measured, +musical plash of the oars through the smooth, dark olive-green water +alone breaking the stillness around them. There was a curious sort of +hushed breathlessness in the air; fantastic, dream-like lights and +shadows played on the little wrinkling waves; sudden flushes of crimson +came and went in the western horizon, and over the high summits of the +surrounding mountains mysterious shapes, formed of purple and grey mist, +rose up and crept softly downwards, winding in and out deep valleys and +dark ravines, like wandering spirits sent on some secret and sorrowful +errand. After a while Errington said almost vexedly-- + +"Are you struck dumb, George? Haven't you a word to say to a fellow?" + +"Just what I was about to ask _you_," replied Lorimer carelessly; "and I +was also going to remark that we hadn't seen your mad friend up at the +Gueldmar residence." + +"No. Yet I can't help thinking he has something to do with them, all the +same," returned Errington meditatively. "I tell you, he swore at me by +some old Norwegian infernal place or other. I dare say he's an Odin +worshipper, too. But never mind him. What do you think of _her_?" + +Lorimer turned lazily round in the boat, so that he faced his companion. + +"Well, old fellow, if you ask me frankly, I think she is the most +beautiful woman I ever saw, or, for that matter, ever heard of. And I am +an impartial critic--perfectly impartial." + +And, resting on his oar, he dipped the blade musingly in and out of the +water, watching the bright drops fall with an oil-like smoothness as +they trickled from the polished wood and glittered in the late sunshine +like vari-colored jewels. Then he glanced curiously at Philip, who sat +silent, but whose face was very grave and earnest,--even noble, with +that shade of profound thought upon it. He looked like one who had +suddenly accepted a high trust, in which there was not only pride, but +tenderness. Lorimer shook himself together, as he himself would have +expressed it, and touched his friend's arm half-playfully. + +"You've met the king's daughter of Norroway after all, Phil;" and his +light accents had a touch of sadness in them; "and you'll have to bring +her home, as the old song says. I believe the 'eligible' is caught at +last. The 'woman' of the piece has turned up, and your chum must play +second fiddle--eh, old boy?" + +Errington flushed hotly, but caught Lorimer's hand and pressed it with +tremendous fervor. + +"By Jove, I'll wring it off your wrist if you talk in that fashion, +George!" he said, with a laugh. "You'll always be the same to me, and +you know it. I tell you," and he pulled his moustache doubtfully, "I +don't know quite what's the matter with me. That girl fascinates me! I +feel a fool in her presence. Is that a sign of being in love I wonder?" + +"Certainly not!" returned George promptly; "for _I_ feel a fool in her +presence, and I'm not in love." + +"How do you know that?" And Errington glanced at him keenly and +inquiringly. + +"How do I know? Come, I like that! Have I studied myself all these years +for nothing? Look here,"--and he carefully drew out the little withering +bunch of daisies he had purloined--"these are for you. I knew you wanted +them, though you hadn't the impudence to pick them up, and I had. I +thought you might like to put them under your pillow, and all that sort +of thing, because if one is resolved to become love-lunatic, one may as +well do the thing properly out and out,--I hate all half-measures. Now, +if the remotest thrill of sentiment were in me, you can understand, I +hope, that wild horses would not have torn this adorable posy from my +possession! I should have kept it, and you would never have known of +it," and he laughed softly. "Take it, old fellow! You're rich now, with +the rose she gave you besides. What is all your wealth compared with the +sacred preciousness of such blossoms! There, don't look so awfully +estactic, or I shall be called upon to ridicule you in the interests of +common sense. So you're in love with the girl at once, and have done +with it. Don't beat about the bush!" + +"I'm not sure about it," said Philip, taking the daisies gratefully, +however, and pressing them in his pocket-book. "I don't believe in love +at first sight!" + +"I do," returned Lorimer decidedly. "Love is electricity. Two telegrams +are enough to settle the business,--one from the eyes of the man, the +other from those of the woman. You and Miss Gueldmar must have exchanged +a dozen such messages at least." + +"And you?" inquired Errington persistently. "You had the same chance as +myself." + +George shrugged his shoulders. "My dear boy, there are no wires of +communication between the Sun-angel and myself; nothing but a blank, +innocent landscape, over which perhaps some day, the mild lustre of +friendship may beam. The girl is beautiful--extraordinarily so; but I'm +not a 'man o' wax,' as Juliet's gabbling old nurse says--not in the +least impressionable." + +And forthwith he resumed his oar, saying briskly as he did so-- + +"Phil, do you know those other fellows must be swearing at us pretty +forcibly for leaving them so long with Dyceworthy. We've been away two +hours!" + +"Not possible!" cried Errington, amazed, and wielding his oar +vigorously. "They'll think me horribly rude. By Jove, they must be bored +to death!" + +And, stimulated by the thought of the penance their friends were +enduring, they sent the boat spinning swiftly through the water, and +rowed as though they were trying for a race, when they were suddenly +pulled up by a loud "Halloo!" and the sight of another boat coming +slowly out from Bosekop, wherein two individuals were standing up, +gesticulating violently. + +"There they are!" exclaimed Lorimer. "I say, Phil, they've hired a +special tub, and are coming out to us." + +So it proved. Duprez and Macfarlane had grown tired of waiting for their +truant companions, and had taken the first clumsy wherry that presented +itself, rowed by an even clumsier Norwegian boatman, whom they had been +compelled to engage also, as he would not let his ugly punt out of his +sight, for fear some harm might chance to befall it. Thus attended, they +were on their way back to the yacht. With a few long, elegant strokes, +Errington and Lorimer soon brought their boat alongside, and their +friends gladly jumped into it, delighted to be free of the company of +the wooden-faced mariner they had so reluctantly hired, and who now, on +receiving his fee, paddled awkwardly away in his ill-constructed craft, +without either a word of thanks or salutation. Errington began to +apologize at once for his long absence, giving as a reason for it, the +necessity he found himself under of making a call on some persons of +importance in the neighborhood, whom he had, till now, forgotten. + +"My good Phil-eep!" cried Duprez, in his cheery sing song accent, "why +apologize? We have amused ourselves! Our dear Sandy has a vein of humor +that is astonishing! We have not wasted our time. No! We have made Mr. +Dyceworthy our slave; we have conquered him; we have abased him! He is +what we please,--he is for all gods or for no god,--just as we pull the +string! In plain words, _mon cher_, that amiable religious is drunk!" + +"Drunk!" cried Errington and Lorimer together. "Jove! you don't mean +it?" + +Macfarlane looked up with a twinkle of satirical humor in his deep-set +grey eyes. + +"Ye see," he said seriously, "the Lacrima, or Papist wine as he calls +it, was strong--we got him to take a good dose o't--a vera feir dose +indeed. Then, doun he sat, an' fell to convairsing vera pheelosophically +o' mony things,--it wad hae done ye gude to hear him,--he was fair lost +in the mazes o' his metapheesics, for twa flies took a bit saunter +through the pleasant dewy lanes o' his forehead, an' he never raised a +finger to send them awa' aboot their beeziness. Then I thoet I wad try +him wi' the whusky--I had ma pocket flask wi' me--an' O mon! he was +sairly glad and gratefu' for the first snack o't! He said it was +deevilish fine stuff, an' so he took ane drappikie, an' anither +drappikie, and yet anither drappikie,"--Sandy's accent got more and more +pronounced as he went on--"an' after a bit, his heed dropt doun, an' he +took a wee snoozle of a minute or twa,--then he woke up in a' his +strength an' just grappit the flask in his twa hands an' took the hale +o't off at a grand, rousin' gulp! Ma certes! after it ye shuld ha' seen +him laughin' like a feckless fule, an' rubbin' an' rubbin' his heed, +till his hair was like the straw kicked roond by a mad coo!" + +Lorimer lay back in the stern of the boat and laughed uproariously at +this extraordinary picture, as did the others. + +"But that is not all," said Duprez, with delighted mischief sparkling in +his wicked little dark eyes; "the dear religious opened his heart to us. +He spoke thickly, but we could understand him. He was very impressive! +He is quite of my opinion. He says all religion is nonsense, fable, +imposture,--Man is the only god, Woman his creature and subject. +Again,--man and woman conjoined, make up divinity, necessity, law. He +was quite clear on that point. Why did he preach what he did not +believe, we asked? He almost wept! He replied that the children of this +world liked fairy-stories and he was paid to tell them. It was his bread +and butter,--would we wish him to have no bread and butter? We assured +him so cruel a thought had no place in our hearts! Then he is +amorous--yes! the good fat man is amorous! He would have become a +priest, but on close examination of the confessionals he saw there was +no possibility of seeing, much less kissing a lady penitent through the +grating. So he gave up that idea! In his form of faith he _can_ kiss, he +says,--he _does_ kiss!--always a holy kiss, of course! He is so +ingenuous,--so delightfully frank, it is quite charming!" + +They laughed again. Sir Philip looked somewhat disgusted. + +"What an old brute he must be!" he said. "Somebody ought to kick him--a +holy kick, of course, and therefore more intense and forcible than other +kicks." + +"You begin, Phil," laughed Lorimer, "and we'll all follow suit. He'll be +like that Indian in 'Vathek' who rolled himself into a ball; no one +could resist kicking as long as the ball bounded before them,--we, +similarly, shall not be able to resist, if Dyceworthy's fat person is +once left at our mercy." + +"That was a grand bit he told us, Errington," resumed Macfarlane. "Ye +should ha' heard him talk aboot his love-affair! . . . the saft jelly of +a man that he is, to be making up to ony woman." + +At that moment they ran alongside of the _Eulalie_ and threw up their +oars. + +"Stop a bit," said Errington. "Tell us the rest on board." + +The ladder was lowered; they mounted it, and their boat was hauled up to +its place. + +"Go on!" said Lorimer, throwing himself lazily into a deck arm-chair and +lighting a cigar, while the others leaned against the yacht rails and +followed his example. "Go on, Sandy--this is fun! Dyceworthy's amours +must be amusing. I suppose he's after that ugly wooden block of a woman +we saw at his house who is so zealous for the 'true gospel'?" + +"Not a bit of it," replied Sandy, with immense gravity. "The auld +Silenus has better taste. He says there's a young lass running after +him, fit to break her heart aboot him,--puir thing, she must have vera +little choice o' men! He hasna quite made up his mind, though he admeets +she's as fine a lass as ony man need require. He's sorely afraid she has +set herself to catch him, as he says she's an eye like a warlock for a +really strong good-looking fellow like himself," and Macfarlane chuckled +audibly. "Maybe he'll take pity on her, maybe he wont; the misguided +lassie will be sairly teazed by him from a' he tauld us in his cups. He +gave us her name,--the oddest in a' the warld for sure,--I canna just +remember it." + +"I can," said Duprez glibly. "It struck me as quaint and pretty--Thelma +Gueldmar." + +Errington started so violently, and flushed so deeply, that Lorimer was +afraid of some rash outbreak of wrath on his part. But he restrained +himself by a strong effort. He merely took his cigar from his mouth and +puffed a light cloud of smoke into the air before replying, then he said +coldly-- + +"I should say Mr. Dyceworthy, besides being a drunkard, is a most +consummate liar. It so happens that the Gueldmars are the very people I +have just visited,--highly superior in every way to anybody we have yet +met in Norway. In fact, Mr. and Miss Gueldmar will come on board +to-morrow. I have invited them to dine with us; you will then be able to +judge for yourselves whether the young lady is at all of the description +Mr. Dyceworthy gives of her." + +Duprez and Macfarlane exchanged astonished looks. + +"Are ye quite sure," the latter ventured to remark cautiously, "that +ye're prudent in what ye have done? Remember ye have asked no pairson at +a' to dine with ye as yet,--it's a vera sudden an' exceptional freak o' +hospitality." + +Errington smoked on peacefully and made no answer. Duprez hummed a verse +of a French _chansonnette_ under his breath and smiled. Lorimer glanced +at him with a lazy amusement. + +"Unburden yourself, Pierre, for heaven's sake!" he said. "Your mind is +as uncomfortable as a loaded camel. Let it lie down, while you take off +its packages, one by one, and reveal their contents. In short, what's +up?" + +Duprez made a rapid, expressive gesture with his hands. + +"_Mon cher_, I fear to displease Phil-eep! He has invited these people; +they are coming,--_bien_! there is no more to say." + +"I disagree with ye," interposed Macfarlane "I think Errington should +hear what _we_ ha' heard; it's fair an' just to a mon that he should +understand what sort o' folk are gaun to pairtake wi' him at his table. +Ye see, Errington, ye should ha' thought a wee, before inviting pairsons +o' unsettled an' dootful chairacter--" + +"Who says they are?" demanded Errington half-angrily. "The drunken +Dyceworthy?" + +"He was no sae drunk at the time he tauld us." persisted Macfarlane in +his most obstinate, most dictatorial manner. "Ye see, it's just this +way--" + +"Ah, _pardon_!" interrupted Duprez briskly. "Our dear Sandy is an +excellent talker, but he is a little slow. Thus it is, _mon cher_ +Errington. This gentleman named Gueldmar had a most lovely wife--a +mysterious lady, with an evident secret. The beautiful one was never +seen in the church or in any town or village; she was met sometimes on +hills, by rivers, in valleys, carrying her child in her arms. The people +grew afraid of her; but, now, see what happens! Suddenly, she appears no +more; some one ventures to ask this Monsieur Gueldmar, 'What has become +of Madame?' His answer is brief. 'She is dead!' Satisfactory so far, yet +not quite; for, Madame being dead, then what has become of the corpse of +Madame? It was never seen,--no coffin was ever ordered,--and apparently +it was never buried! _Bien!_ What follows? The good people of Bosekop +draw the only conclusion possible--Monsieur Gueldmar, who is said to have +a terrific temper, killed Madame and made away with her body. _Voila_!" + +And Duprez waved his hand with an air of entire satisfaction. + +Errington's brow grew sombre. "This is the story, is it?" he asked at +last. + +"It is enough, is it not?" laughed Duprez. "But, after all, what matter? +It will be novel to dine with a mur--" + +"Stop!" said Philip fiercely, with so much authority that the sparkling +Pierre was startled. "Call no man by such a name till you know he +deserves it. If Gueldmar was suspected, as you say, why didn't somebody +arrest him on the charge?" + +"Because, ye see," replied Macfarlane, "there was not sufficient proof +to warrant such a proceeding. Moreover, the actual meenister of the +parish declared it was a' richt, an' said this Gueldmar was a mon o' vera +queer notions, an' maybe, had buried his wife wi' certain ceremonies +peculiar to himself--What's wrong wi' ye now?" + +For a light had flashed on Errington's mind, and with the quick +comprehension it gave him, his countenance cleared. He laughed. + +"That's very likely," he said; "Mr. Gueldmar is a character. He follows +the faith of Odin, and not even Dyceworthy can convert him to +Christianity." + +Macfarlane stared with a sort of stupefied solemnity. + +"Mon!" he exclaimed, "ye never mean to say there's an actual puir human +creature that in this blessed, enlightened nineteenth century of ours, +is so far misguidit as to worship the fearfu' gods o' the Scandinavian +meethology?" + +"Ah!" yawned Lorimer, "you may wonder away, Sandy, but it's true enough! +Old Gueldmar is an Odinite. In this blessed, enlightened nineteenth +century of ours, when Christians amuse themselves by despising and +condemning each other, and thus upsetting all the precepts of the Master +they profess to follow, there is actually a man who sticks to the +traditions of his ancestors. Odd, isn't it? In this delightful, +intellectual age, when more than half of us are discontented with life +and yet don't want to die, there is a fine old gentleman, living beyond +the Arctic circle, who is perfectly satisfied with his existence--not +only that, he thinks death the greatest glory that can befall him. +Comfortable state of things altogether! I'm half inclined to be an +Odinite too." + +Sandy still remained lost in astonishment. "Then ye don't believe that +he made awa' wi' his wife?" he inquired slowly. + +"Not in the least!" returned Lorimer decidedly; "neither will you, +to-morrow, when you see him. He's a great deal better up in literature +than you are, my boy, I'd swear, judging from the books he has. And when +he mentioned his wife, as he did once, you could see in his face he had +never done _her_ any harm. Besides, his daughter--" + +"Ah! but I forgot," interposed Duprez again. "The daughter, Thelma, was +the child the mysteriously vanished lady carried in her arms, wandering +with it all about the woods and hills. After her disappearance, another +thing extraordinary happens. The child also disappears, and Monsieur +Gueldmar lives alone, avoided carefully by every respectable person. +Suddenly the child returns, grown to be nearly a woman--and they say, +lovely to an almost impossible extreme. She lives with her father. She, +like her strange mother, never enters a church, town, or +village--nowhere, in fact, where persons are in any numbers. Three years +ago, it appears, she vanished again, but came back at the end of ten +months, lovelier than ever. Since then she has remained +quiet--composed--but always apart,--she may disappear at any moment. +Droll, is it not, Errington? and the reputation she has is natural!" + +"Pray state it," said Philip, with freezing coldness. "The reputation of +a woman is nothing nowadays. Fair game--go on!" + +But his face was pale, and his eyes blazed dangerously. Almost +unconsciously his hand toyed with the rose Thelma had given him, that +still ornamented his button-hole. + +"Mon Dieu!" cried Duprez in amazement. "But look not at me like that! It +seems to displease you, to put you _en fureur_, what I say! It is not my +story,--it is not I,--I know not Mademoiselle Gueldmar. But as her beauty +is considered superhuman, they say it is the devil who is her +_parfumeur_, her _coiffeur_, and who sees after her complexion; in +brief, she is thought to be a witch in full practice, dangerous to life +and limb." + +Errington laughed loudly, he was so much relieved. + +"Is that all?" he said with light contempt. "By Jove! what a pack of +fools there must be about here,--ugly fools too, if they think beauty is +a sign of witchcraft. I wonder Dyceworthy isn't scared out of his skin +if he positively thinks the so-called witch is setting her cap at him." + +"Ah, but he means to convairt her," said Macfarlane seriously. "To draw +the evil oot o' her, as it were. He said he wad do't by fair means or +foul." + +Something in these latter words struck Lorimer, for, raising himself in +his seat, he asked, "Surely Mr. Dyceworthy, with all his stupidity, +doesn't carry it so far as to believe in witchcraft?" + +"Oh, indeed he does," exclaimed Duprez; "he believes in it _a la +lettre_! He has Bible authority for his belief. He is very firm--firmest +when drunk!" And he laughed gaily. + +Errington muttered something not very flattering to Mr. Dyceworthy's +intelligence, which escaped the hearing of his friends; then he said-- + +"Come along, all of you, down into the saloon. We want something to eat. +Let the Gueldmars alone; I'm not a bit sorry I've asked them to come +to-morrow. I believe you'll all like them immensely." + +They all descended the stair-way leading to the lower part of the yacht, +and Macfarlane asked as he followed his host-- + +"Is the lass vera bonnie did ye say?" + +"Bonnie's not the word for it this time," said Lorimer, coolly answering +instead of Errington. "Miss Gueldmar is a magnificent woman. You never +saw such a one, Sandy, my boy; she'll make you sing small with one look; +she'll wither you up into a kippered herring! And as for you, Duprez," +and he regarded the little Frenchman critically, "let me see,--you _may_ +possibly reach up to her shoulder,--certainly not beyond it." + +"_Pas possible!_" cried Duprez. "Mademoiselle is a giantess." + +"She needn't be a giantess to overtop you, _mon ami_," laughed Lorimer +with a lazy shrug. "By Jove, I _am_ sleepy, Errington, old boy; are we +never going to bed? It's no good waiting till it's dark here, you know." + +"Have something first," said Sir Philip, seating himself at the saloon +table, where his steward had laid out a tasty cold collation. "We've had +a good deal of climbing about and rowing; it's taken it out of us a +little." + +Thus hospitably adjured, they took their places, and managed to dispose +of an excellent supper. The meal concluded, Duprez helped himself to a +tiny liqueur glass of Chartreuse, as a wind-up to the exertions of the +day, a mild luxury in which the others joined him, with the exception of +Macfarlane, who was wont to declare that a "mon without his whusky was +nae mon at a'," and who, therefore, persisted in burning up his interior +mechanism with alcohol in spite of the doctrines of hygiene, and was now +absorbed in the work of mixing his lemon, sugar, hot water, and +poison--his usual preparation for a night's rest. + +Lorimer, usually conversational, watched him in abstracted silence. +Rallied on this morose humor, he rose, shook himself like a retriever, +yawned, and sauntered to the piano that occupied a dim corner of the +saloon, and began to play with that delicate, subtle touch, which, +though it does not always mark the brilliant pianist, distinguishes the +true lover of music, to whose ears a rough thump on the instrument, or a +false note would be most exquisite agony. Lorimer had no pretense to +musical talent; asked, he confessed he could "strum a little," and he +seemed to see the evident wonder and admiration he awakened in the minds +of many to whom such "strumming" as his was infinitely more delightful +than more practiced, finished playing. Just now he seemed undecided,--he +commenced a dainty little prelude of Chopin's, then broke suddenly off, +and wandered into another strain, wild, pleading, pitiful, and +passionate,--a melody so weird and dreamy that even the stolid +Macfarlane paused in his toddy-sipping, and Duprez looked round in some +wonderment. + +"_Comme c'est beau, ca!_" he murmured. + +Errington said nothing; he recognized the tune as that which Thelma had +sung at her spinning-wheel, and his bold bright eyes grew pensive and +soft, as the picture of the fair face and form rose up again before his +mind. Absorbed in a reverie, he almost started when Lorimer ceased +playing, and said lightly-- + +"By-bye, boys! I'm off to bed! Phil, don't wake me so abominably early +as you did this morning. If you do, friendship can hold out no +longer--we must part!" + +"All right!" laughed Errington good-humoredly, watching his friend as he +sauntered out of the saloon; then seeing Duprez and Macfarlane rise from +the table, he added courteously, "Don't hurry away on Lorimer's account, +you two. I'm not in the least sleepy,--I'll sit up with you to any +hour." + +"It is droll to go to bed in broad daylight," said Duprez. "But it must +be done. _Cher Philippe_, your eyes are heavy. 'To bed, to bed,' as the +excellent Madame Macbeth says. Ah! _quelle femme!_ What an exciting wife +she was for a man? Come, let us follow our dear Lorimer,--his music was +delicious. Good night or good morning? . . . I know not which it is in +this strange land where the sun shines always! It is confusing!" + +They shook hands and separated. Errington, however, unable to compose +his mind to rest, went into his cabin merely to come out of it again and +betake himself to the deck, where he decided to walk up and down till he +felt sleepy. He wished to be alone with his own thoughts for awhile--to +try and resolve the meaning of this strange new emotion that possessed +him,--a feeling that was half pleasing, half painful, and that certainly +moved him to a sort of shame. A man, if he be strong and healthy, is +always more or less ashamed when Love, with a single effort, proves him +to be weaker than a blade of grass swaying in the wind. What! all his +dignity, all his resoluteness, all his authority swept down by the light +touch of a mere willow wand? for the very sake of his own manhood and +self-respect, he cannot help but be ashamed! It is as though a little +nude, laughing child mocked at a lion's strength, and made him a +helpless prisoner with a fragile daisy chain. So the god Eros begins his +battles, which end in perpetual victory,--first fear and shame,--then +desire and passion,--then conquest and possession. And afterwards? ah! +. . . afterwards the pagan deity is powerless,--a higher God, a grander +force, a nobler creed must carry Love to its supreme and best +fulfillment. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "Le vent qui vient a travers la montagne + M'a rendu fou!" + VICTOR HUGO. + + +It was half an hour past midnight. Sir Philip was left in absolute +solitude to enjoy his meditative stroll on deck, for the full radiance +of light that streamed over the sea and land was too clear and brilliant +to necessitate the attendance of any of the sailors for the purpose of +guarding the _Eulalie_. She was safely anchored and distinctly visible +to all boats or fishing craft crossing the Fjord, so that unless a +sudden gale should blow, which did not seem probable in the present +state of the weather, there was nothing for the men to do that need +deprive them of their lawful repose. Errington paced up and down slowly, +his yachting shoes making no noise, even as they left no scratch on the +spotless white deck, that shone in the night sunshine like polished +silver. The Fjord was very calm,--on one side it gleamed like a pool of +golden oil in which the outline of the _Eulalie_ was precisely traced, +her delicate masts and spars and drooping flag being drawn in black +lines on the yellow water as though with a finely pointed pencil. There +was a curious light in the western sky; a thick bank of clouds, dusky +brown in color, were swept together and piled one above the other in +mountainous ridges, that rose up perpendicularly from the very edge of +the sea-line, while over their dark summits a glimpse of the sun, like a +giant's eye, looked forth, darting dazzling descending rays through the +sullen smoke-like masses, tinging them with metallic green and copper +hues as brilliant and shifting as the bristling points of lifted spears. +Away to the south, a solitary wreath of purple vapor floated slowly as +though lost from some great mountain height; and through its faint, half +disguising veil the pale moon peered sorrowfully, like a dying prisoner +lamenting joy long past, but unforgotten. + +A solemn silence reigned; and Errington, watching sea and sky, grew more +and more absorbed and serious. The scornful words of the proud old Olaf +Gueldmar rankled in his mind and stung him. "An idle trifler with +time--an aimless wanderer!" Bitter, but, after all, true! He looked back +on his life with a feeling kin to contempt. What had he done that was at +all worth doing? He had seen to the proper management of his +estates,--well! any one with a grain of self-respect and love of +independence would do the same. He had travelled and amused himself,--he +had studied languages and literature,--he had made many friends; but +after all said and done, the _bonde's_ cutting observations had +described him correctly enough. The do-nothing, care-nothing tendency, +common to the very wealthy in this age, had crept upon him +unconsciously; the easy, cool, indifferent nonchalance common to men of +his class and breeding was habitual with him, and he had never thought +it worth while to exert his dormant abilities. Why then, should he now +begin to think it was time to reform all this,--to rouse himself to an +effort,--to gain for himself some honor, some distinction, some renown +that should mark him out as different to other men? why was he suddenly +seized with an insatiate desire to be something more than a mere +"mushroom knight, a fungus of nobility"--why? if not to make himself +worthy of--ah! There he had struck a suggestive key-note! Worthy of +what? of whom? There was no one in all the world, excepting perhaps +Lorimer, who cared what became of Sir Philip Errington, Baronet, in the +future, so long as he would, for the present, entertain and feast his +numerous acquaintances and give them all the advantages, social and +political, his wealth could so easily obtain. Then why, in the name of +well-bred indolence, should he muse with such persistent gloom, on his +general unworthiness at this particular moment? Was it because this +Norwegian maiden's grand blue eyes had met his with such beautiful trust +and candor? + +He had known many women, queens of society, titled beauties, brilliant +actresses, sirens of the world with all their witcheries in full play, +and he had never lost his self-possession or his heart; with the +loveliest of them he had always felt himself master of the situation, +knowing that, in their opinion he was always "a catch," "an eligible," +and, therefore, well worth winning. Now, for the first time, he became +aware of his utter insignificance,--this tall, fair goddess knew none of +the social slang--and her fair, pure face, the mirror of a fair, pure +soul, showed that the "eligibility" of a man from a pecuniary point of +view was a consideration that would never present itself to her mind. +What she would look at would be the man himself,--not his pocket. And, +studied from such an exceptional height,--a height seldom climbed by +modern marrying women,--Philip felt himself unworthy. It was a good +sign; there are great hopes of any man who is honestly dissatisfied with +himself. Folding his arms, he leaned idly on the deck-rails, and looked +gravely and musingly down into the motionless water where the varied +lines of the sky were clearly mirrored,--when a slight creaking, +cracking sound was heard, as of some obstacle grazing against or bumping +the side of the yacht. He looked, and saw, to his surprise, a small +rowing boat close under the gunwale, so close indeed that the slow +motion of the tide heaved it every now and then into a jerky collision +with the lower framework of the _Eulalie_--a circumstance which +explained the sound which had attracted his attention. The boat was not +unoccupied--there was some one in it lying straight across the seats, +with face turned upwards to the sky--and, walking noiselessly to a +better post of observation, Errington's heart beat with some excitement +as he recognized the long, fair, unkempt locks, and eccentric attire of +the strange personage who had confronted him in the cave--the crazy +little man who had called himself "Sigurd." There he was, beyond a +doubt, lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. Asleep or dead? He +might have been the latter,--his thin face was so pale and drawn,--his +lips were so set and colorless. Errington, astonished to see him there, +called softly-- + +"Sigurd! Sigurd!" There was no answer; Sigurd's form seemed +inanimate--his eyes remained fast shut. + +"Is he in a trance?" thought Sir Philip wonderingly; "or has he fainted +from some physical exhaustion?" + +He called again, but again received no reply. He now observed in the +stem of the boat a large bunch of pansies, dark as velvet, and evidently +freshly gathered,--proving that Sigurd had been wandering in the deep +valleys and on the sloping sides of the hills, where these flowers may +be frequently found in Norway during the summer. He began to feel rather +uncomfortable, as he watched that straight stiff figure in the boat, and +was just about to swing down the companion-ladder for the purpose of +closer inspection, when a glorious burst of light streamed radiantly +over the Fjord,--the sun conquered the masses of dark cloud that had +striven to conceal his beauty, and now,--like a warrior clad in golden +armor, surmounted and trod down his enemies, shining forth in all his +splendor. With that rush of brilliant effulgence, the apparently +lifeless Sigurd stirred,--he opened his eyes, and as they were turned +upwards, he naturally, from his close vicinity to the side of the +_Eulalie_, met Errington's gaze fixed inquiringly and somewhat anxiously +upon him. He sprang up with such sudden and fierce haste that his frail +boat rocked dangerously and Philip involuntarily cried out-- + +"Take care!" + +Sigurd stood upright in his swaying skiff and laughed scornfully. + +"Take care!" he echoed derisively. "It is you who should take care! +You,--poor miserable moth on the edge of a mad storm! It is you to +fear--not I! See how the light rains over the broad sky. All for me! +Yes, all the light, all the glory for me; all the darkness, all the +shame for you!" + +Errington listened to these ravings with an air of patience and pitying +gentleness, then he said with perfect coolness-- + +"You are quite right, Sigurd! You are always right, I am sure. Come up +here and see me; I won't hurt you! Come along!" + +The friendly tone and gentle manner appeared to soothe the unhappy +dwarf, for he stared doubtfully, then smiled,--and finally, as though +acting under a spell, he took up an oar and propelled himself skillfully +enough to the gangway, where Errington let down the ladder and with his +own hand assisted his visitor to mount, not forgetting to fasten the +boat safely to the steps as he did so. Once on deck, Sigurd gazed about +him perplexedly. He had brought his bunch of pansies with him, and he +fingered their soft leaves thoughtfully. Suddenly his eyes flashed. + +"You are alone here?" he asked abruptly. + +Fearing to scare his strange guest by the mention of his companions, +Errington answered simply--"Yes, quite alone just now, Sigurd." + +Sigurd took a step closer towards him. "Are you not afraid?" he said in +an awe-struck, solemn voice. + +Sir Philip smiled. "I never was afraid of anything in my life!" he +answered. + +The dwarf eyed him keenly. "You are not afraid," he went on, "that I +shall kill you?" + +"Not in the least," returned Errington calmly. "You would not do +anything so foolish, my friend." + +Sigurd laughed. "Ha ha! You call me 'friend.' You think that word a +safeguard! I tell you, no! There are no friends now; the world is a +great field of battle,--each man fights the other. There is no +peace,--none anywhere! The wind fights with the forests; you can hear +them slashing and slaying all night long--when it _is_ night--the long, +long night! The sun fights with the sky, the light with the dark, and +life with death. It is all a bitter quarrel; none are satisfied, none +shall know friendship any more; it is too late! We cannot be friends!" + +"Well, have it your own way," said Philip good-naturedly, wishing that +Lorimer were awake to interview this strange specimen of human wit gone +astray; "we'll fight if you like. Anything to please you!" + +"We _are_ fighting," said Sigurd with intense passion in his voice. "You +may not know it; but I know it! I have felt the thrust of your sword; it +has crossed mine. Stay!" and his eyes grew vague and dreamy. "Why was I +sent to seek you out--let me think--let me think!" + +And he seated himself forlornly on one of the deck chairs and seemed +painfully endeavoring to put his scattered ideas in order. Errington +studied him with a gentle forbearance; inwardly he was very curious to +know whether this Sigurd had any connection with the Gueldmars, but he +refrained from asking too many questions. He simply said in a cheery +tone-- + +"Yes, Sigurd,--why did you come to see me? I'm glad you did; it's very +kind of you, but I don't think you even know my name." + +To his surprise, Sigurd looked up with a more settled and resolved +expression of face, and answered almost as connectedly as any sane man +could have done. + +"I know your name very well," he said in a low composed manner. "You are +Sir Philip Errington, a rich English nobleman. Fate led you to _her_ +grave--a grave that no strange feet have ever passed, save yours--and so +I know you are the man for whom her spirit has waited,--she has brought +you hither. How foolish to think she sleeps under the stone, when she is +always awake and busy,--always at work opposing me! Yes, though I pray +her to lie still, she will not!" + +His voice grew wild again, and Philip asked quietly-- + +"Of whom are you speaking, Sigurd?" + +His steady tone seemed to have some compelling influence on the confused +mind of the half-witted creature, who answered readily and at once-- + +"Of whom should I speak but Thelma? Thelma, the beautiful rose of the +northern forest--Thelma--" + +He broke off abruptly with a long shuddering sigh, and rocking himself +drearily to and fro, gazed wistfully out to the sea. Errington hazarded +a guess as to the purpose of that coffin hidden in the shell cavern. + +"Do you mean Thelma living? . . . or Thelma dead?" + +"Both," answered Sigurd promptly. "They are one and the same,--you +cannot part them. Mother and child,--rose and rosebud! One walks the +earth with the step of a queen, the other floats in the air like a +silvery cloud; but I see them join and embrace and melt into each +other's arms till they unite in one form, fairer than the beauty of +angels! And you--you know this as well as I do--you have seen Thelma, +you have kissed the cup of friendship with her; but remember!--not with +me--not with me!" + +He started from his seat, and, running close up to Errington, laid one +meagre hand on his chest. + +"How strong you are, how broad and brave," he exclaimed with a sort of +childish admiration. "And can you not be generous too?" + +Errington looked down upon him compassionately. He had learned enough +from his incoherent talk to clear up what had seemed a mystery. The +scandalous reports concerning Olaf Gueldmar were incorrect,--he had +evidently laid the remains of his wife in the shell-cavern, for some +reason connected with his religious belief, and Thelma's visits to the +sacred spot were now easy of comprehension. No doubt it was she who +placed fresh flowers there every day, and kept the little lamp burning +before the crucifix as a sign of the faith her departed mother had +professed, and which she herself followed. But who was Sigurd, and what +was he to the Gueldmars? Thinking this, he replied to the dwarf's +question by a counter-inquiry. + +"How shall I be generous, Sigurd? Tell me! What can I do to please you?" + +Sigurd's wild blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. + +"Do!" he cried. "You can go away, swiftly, swiftly, over the seas, and +the Altenfjord need know you no more! Spread your white sails!" and he +pointed excitedly up to the tall tapering masts of the _Eulalie_. "You +are king here. Command and you are obeyed! Go from us, go! What is there +here to delay you? Our mountains are dark and gloomy,--the fields are +wild and desolate,--there are rocks, glaciers and shrieking torrents +that hiss like serpents gliding into the sea! Oh, there must be fairer +lands than this one,--lands where oceans and sky are like twin jewels +set in one ring,--where there are sweet flowers and fruits and bright +eyes to smile on you all day--yes! for you are as a god in your strength +and beauty--no woman will be cruel to _you_! Ah! say you will go away!" +and Sigurd's face was transfigured into a sort of pained beauty as he +made his appeal. "That is what I came to seek you for,--to ask you to +set sail quickly and go, for why should you wish to destroy me? I have +done you no harm as yet. Go!--and Odin himself shall follow your path +with blessings!" + +He paused, almost breathless with his own earnest pleading. Errington +was silent. He considered the request a mere proof of the poor +creature's disorder. The very idea that Sigurd seemed to entertain of +his doing him any harm, showed a reasonless terror and foreboding that +was simply to be set down as caused by his unfortunate mental condition. +To such an appeal there could be no satisfactory reply. To sail away +from the Altenfjord and its now most fascinating attractions, because a +madman asked him to do so, was a proposition impossible of acceptance, +so Sir Philip said nothing. Sigurd, however, watching his face intently, +saw, or thought he saw, a look of resolution in the Englishman's clear, +deep grey eyes,--and with the startling quickness common to many whose +brains, like musical instruments, are jarred, yet not quite unstrung, he +grasped the meaning of that expression instantly. + +"Ah! cruel and traitorous!" he exclaimed fiercely. "You will not go; you +are resolved to tear my heart out for your sport! I have pleaded with +you as one pleads with a king and all in vain--all in vain! You will not +go? Listen, see what you will do," and he held up the bunch of purple +pansies, while his voice sank to an almost feeble faintness. "Look!" and +he fingered the flowers, "look! . . . they are dark and soft as a purple +sky,--cool and dewy and fresh;--they are the thoughts of Thelma; such +thoughts! So wise and earnest, so pure and full of tender shadows!--no +hand has grasped them rudely, no rough touch has spoiled their +smoothness! They open full-faced to the sky, they never droop or +languish; they have no secrets, save the marvel of their beauty. Now you +have come, you will have no pity,--one by one you will gather and play +with her thoughts as though they were these blossoms,--your burning hand +will mar their color,--they will wither and furl up and die, all of +them,--and you,--what will you care? Nothing! no man ever cares for a +flower that is withered,--not even though his own hand slew it." + +The intense melancholy that vibrated through Sigurd's voice touched his +listener profoundly. Dimly he guessed that the stricken soul before him +had formed the erroneous idea that he, Errington, had come to do some +great wrong to Thelma or her belongings, and he pitied the poor creature +for his foolish self-torture. + +"Listen to me, Sigurd," he said, with a certain imperativeness; "I +cannot promise you to go away, but I can promise that I will do no harm +to you or to--to--Thelma. Will that content you?" + +Sigurd smiled vacantly and shook his head. He looked at the pansies +wistfully and laid them down very gently on one of the deck benches. + +"I must go," he said in a faint voice:--"She is calling me." + +"Who is calling you?" demanded Errington astonished. + +"She is," persisted Sigurd, walking steadily to the gangway. "I can hear +her! There are the roses to water, and the doves to feed, and many other +things." He looked steadily at Sir Philip, who, seeing he was bent on +departure, assisted him to descend the companion ladder into his little +boat. "You are sure you will not sail away?" + +Errington balanced himself lightly on the ladder and smiled. + +"I am sure, Sigurd! I have no wish to sail away. Are you all right +there?" + +He spoke cheerily, feeling in his own mind that it was scarcely safe for +a madman to be quite alone in a cockle-shell of a boat on a deep Fjord, +the shores of which were indented with dangerous rocks as sharp as the +bristling teeth of fabled sea-monsters, but Sigurd answered him almost +contemptuously. + +"All right!" he echoed. "That is what the English say always. All right! +As if it were ever wrong with me, and the sea! We know each other,--we +do each other no harm. _You_ may die on the sea, but _I_ shall not! No, +there is another way to Valhalla!" + +"Oh, I dare say there are no end of ways," said Errington +good-temperedly, still poising himself on the ladder, and holding on to +the side of his yacht, as he watched his late visitor take the oars and +move off. "Good-bye, Sigurd! Take care of yourself! Hope I shall see you +again soon." + +But Sigurd replied not. Bending to the oars, he rowed swiftly and +strongly, and Sir Philip, pulling up the ladder and closing the gangway, +saw the little skiff flying over the water like a bird in the direction +of the Gueldmar's landing-place. He wondered again and again what +relationship, if any, this half-crazed being bore to the _bonde_ and his +daughter. That he knew all about them was pretty evident; but how? +Catching sight of the pansies left on the deck bench, Errington took +them, and, descending to the saloon, set them on the table in a tumbler +of water. + +"Thelma's thoughts, the poor little fellow called them," he mused, with +a smile. "A pretty fancy of his, and linked with the crazy imaginings of +Ophelia too. 'There's pansies, that's for thoughts,' _she_ said, but +Sigurd's idea is different; he believes they are Thelma's own thoughts +in flower. 'No rough touch has spoiled their smoothness,' he declared; +he's right there, I'm sure. And shall I ruffle the sweet leaves; shall I +crush the tender petals? or shall I simply transform them, from pansies +into roses,--from the dream of love,--into love itself?" + +His eyes softened as he glanced at the drooping rose he wore, which +Thelma herself had given him, and as he went to his sleeping cabin, he +carefully detached it from his button-hole, and taking down a book,--one +which he greatly prized, because it had belonged to his mother,--he +prepared to press the flower within its leaves. It was the "Imitation of +Christ," bound quaintly and fastened with silver clasps, and as he was +about to lay his fragrant trophy on the first page that opened naturally +of itself, he glanced at the words that there presented themselves to +his eyes. + +"Nothing is sweeter than love, nothing stronger, nothing higher, nothing +wider, nothing more pleasant, nothing fuller or better in heaven or in +earth!" And with a smile and a warmer flush of color than usual on his +handsome face, he touched the rose lightly yet tenderly with his lips +and shut it reverently within its sacred resting-place. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "Our manners are infinitely corrupted, and wonderfully incline to + the worse; of our customs there are many barbarous and + monstrous." + MONTAIGNE. + + +The next day was very warm and bright, and that pious Lutheran divine, +the Reverend Charles Dyceworthy, was seriously encumbered by his own +surplus flesh material as he wearily rowed himself across the Fjord +towards Olaf Gueldmar's private pier. As the perspiration bedewed his +brow, he felt that Heaven had dealt with him somewhat too liberally in +the way of fat--he was provided too amply with it ever to excel as an +oarsman. The sun was burning hot, the water was smooth as oil, and very +weighty--it seemed to resist every stroke of his clumsily wielded +blades. Altogether it was hard, uncongenial work,--and, being rendered +somewhat flabby and nerveless by his previous evening's carouse with +Macfarlane's whisky, Mr. Dyceworthy was in a plaintive and injured frame +of mind, he was bound on a mission--a holy and edifying errand, which +would have elevated any minister of his particular sect. He had found a +crucifix with the name of Thelma engraved thereon,--he was now about to +return it to the evident rightful owner, and in returning it, he +purposed denouncing it as an emblem of the "Scarlet Woman, that sitteth +on the Seven Hills," and threatening all those who dared to hold it +sacred, as doomed to eternal torture, "where the worm dieth not." He had +thought over all he meant to say; he had planned several eloquent and +rounded sentences, some of which he murmured placidly to himself as he +propelled his slow boat along. + +"Yea!" he observed in a mild sotto-voce--"ye shall be cut off root and +branch! Ye shall be scorched even as stubble,--and utterly destroyed." +Here he paused and mopped his streaming forehead with his clean perfumed +handkerchief. "Yea!" he resumed peacefully, "the worshippers of +idolatrous images are accursed; they shall have ashes for food and gall +for drink! Let them turn and repent themselves, lest the wrath of God +consume them as straw whirled on the wind. Repent! . . . or ye shall be +cast into everlasting fire. Beauty shall avail not, learning shall avail +not, meekness shall avail not; for the fire of hell is a searching, +endless, destroying--" here Mr. Dyceworthy, by plunging one oar with too +much determination into the watery depths, caught a crab, as the saying +is, and fell violently backward in a somewhat undignified posture. +Recovering himself slowly, he looked about him in a bewildered way, and +for the first time noticed the vacant, solitary appearance of the Fjord. +Some object was missing; he realized what it was immediately--the +English yacht _Eulalie_ was gone from her point of anchorage. + +"Dear me!" said Mr. Dyceworthy, half aloud, "what a very sudden +departure! I wonder, now, if those young men have gone for good, or +whether they are coming back again? Pleasant fellows, very pleasant! +flippant, perhaps, but pleasant." + +And he smiled benevolently. He had no remembrance of what had occurred, +after he had emptied young Macfarlane's flask of Glenlivet; he had no +idea that he had been almost carried from his garden into his parlor, +and there flung on the sofa and left to sleep off the effects of his +strong tipple; least of all did he dream that he had betrayed any of his +intentions towards Thelma Gueldmar, or given his religious opinions with +such free and undisguised candor. Blissfully ignorant on these points, +he resumed his refractory oars, and after nearly an hour of laborious +effort, succeeded at last in reaching his destination. Arrived at the +little pier, he fastened up his boat, and with the lofty air of a +thoroughly moral man, he walked deliberately up to the door of the +_bonde's_ house. Contrary to custom, it was closed, and the place seemed +strangely silent and deserted. The afternoon heat was so great that the +song-birds were hushed, and in hiding under the cool green leaves,--the +clambering roses round the porch hung down their bright heads for sheer +faintness,--and the only sounds to be heard were the subdued coo-cooing +of the doves on the roof and the soft trickling rush of a little +mountain stream that flowed through the grounds. Some what surprised, +though not abashed, at the evident "not-at-home" look of the farm-house, +Mr. Dyceworthy rapped loudly at the rough oaken door with his knuckles, +there being no such modern convenience as a bell or a knocker. He waited +sometime before he was answered, repeating his summons violently at +frequent intervals, and swearing irreligiously under his breath as he +did so. But at last the door was flung sharply open, and the +tangle-haired, rosy-cheeked Britta confronted him with an aspect which +was by no means encouraging or polite. Her round blue eyes sparkled +saucily, and she placed her bare, plump, red arms, wet with recent +soapsuds, akimbo on her sturdy little hips, with an air that was +decidedly impertinent. + +"Well, what do you want?" she demanded with rude abruptness. + +Mr. Dyceworthy regarded her in speechless dignity. Vouchsafing no reply, +he attempted to pass her and enter the house. But Britta settled her +arms more defiantly than ever, and her voice had a sharper ring as she +said-- + +"It's no use your coming in! There's no one here but me. The master has +gone out for the day." + +"Young woman," returned Mr. Dyceworthy with polite severity, "I regret +to see that your manners stand in sore need of improvement. Your +master's absence is of no importance to me. It is with the Froeken Thelma +I desire to speak." + +Britta laughed and tossed her rough brown curls back from her forehead. +Mischievous dimples came and went at the corners of her +mouth--indications of suppressed fun. + +"The Froeken is out too," she said demurely. "It's time she had a little +amusement; and the gentlemen treat her as if she were a queen!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy started, and his red visage became a trifle paler. + +"Gentlemen? What gentlemen?" he demanded with some impatience. + +Britta's inward delight evidently increased. + +"The gentlemen from the yacht, of course," she said. "What other +_gentlemen_ are there?" This with a contemptuous up-and-down sort of +look at the Lutheran minister's portly form. "Sir Philip Errington was +here with his friend yesterday evening and stayed a long time--and today +a fine boat with four oars came to fetch the master and Froeken Thelma, +and they are all gone for a sail to the Kaa Fjord or some other place +near here--I cannot remember the name. And I am SO glad!" went on +Britta, clasping her plump hands in ecstasy. "They are the grandest, +handsomest _Herren_ I have ever seen, and one can tell they think +wonders of the Froeken--nothing is too good for her!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy's face was the picture of dismay. This was a new turn to +the course of events, and one, more over, that he had never once +contemplated. Britta watched him amusedly. + +"Will you leave any message for them when they return?" she asked. + +"No," said the minister dubiously. "Yet, stay; yes! I will! Tell the +Froeken that I have found something which belongs to her, and that when +she wishes to have it, I will myself bring it." + +Britta looked cross. "If it is hers you have no business to keep it," +she said brusquely. "Why not leave it,--whatever it is,--with me?" + +Mr. Dyceworthy regarded her with a bland and lofty air. + +"I trust no concerns of mine or hers to the keeping of a paid domestic," +he said. "A domestic, moreover, who deserts the ways of her own +people,--who hath dealings with the dwellers in darkness,--who even +bringeth herself to forget much of her own native tongue, and who +devoteth herself to--" + +What he would have said was uncertain, as at that moment he was nearly +thrown down by a something that slipped agilely between his legs, +pinching each fat calf as it passed--a something that looked like a +ball, but proved to be a human creature--no other than the crazy Sigurd, +who, after accomplishing his uncouth gambol successfully, stood up, +shaking back his streaming fair locks and laughing wildly. + +"Ha, ha!" he exclaimed. "That was good; that was clever! If I had upset +you now, you would have said your prayers backward! What are you here +for? This is no place for you! They are all gone out of it. _She_ has +gone--all the world is empty! There is nothing any where but air, air, +air!--no birds, no flowers, no trees, no sunshine! All gone with her on +the sparkling, singing water!" and he swung his arms round violently, +and snapped his fingers in the minister's face. "What an ugly man your +are!" he exclaimed with refreshing candor. "I think you are uglier than +I am! You are straight,--but you are like a load of peat--heavy and +barren and fit to burn. Now, I--I am the crooked bough of a tree, but I +have bright leaves where a bird hides and sings all day! You--you have +no song, no foliage; only ugly and barren and fit to burn!" He laughed +heartily, and, catching sight of Britta, where she stood in the doorway +entirely unconcerned at his eccentric behavior, he went up to her and +took hold of the corner of her apron. "Take me in, Britta dear--pretty +Britta!" he said coaxingly. "Sigurd is hungry! Britta, sweet little +Britta,--come and talk to me and sing! Good-bye, fat man!" he added +suddenly, turning round once more on Dyceworthy. "You will never +overtake the big ship that has gone away with Thelma over the water. +Thelma will come back,--yes! . . . but one day she will go never to come +back." He dropped his voice to a mysterious whisper. "Last night I saw a +little spirit come out of a rose,--he carried a tiny golden hammer and +nail, and a ball of cord like a rolled-up sunbeam. He flew away so +quickly I could not follow him; but I know where he went! He fastened +the nail in the heart of Thelma, deeply, so that the little drops of +blood flowed,--but she felt no pain; and then he tied the golden cord to +the nail and left her, carrying the other end of the string with him--to +whom? Some other heart must be pierced! Whose heart?" Sigurd looked +infinitely cunning as well as melancholy, and sighed deeply. + +The Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy was impatient and disgusted. + +"It is a pity," he said with an air of solemn patience, "that this +hapless creature, accursed of God and man, is not placed in some proper +abode suitable to the treatment of his affliction. You, Britta, as the +favored servant of a--a--well, let us say, of a peculiar mistress, +should persuade her to send this--this--person away, lest his vagaries +become harmful." + +Britta glanced very kindly at Sigurd, who still held her apron with the +air of a trustful child. + +"He's no more harmful than you are," she said promptly, in answer to the +minister's remark. "He's a good fellow and if he talks strangely he can +make himself useful,--which is more than can be said of certain people. +He can saw and chop the wood, make hay, feed the cattle, pull a strong +oar, and sweep and keep the garden,--can't you, Sigurd?" She laid her +hand on Sigurd's shoulder, and he nodded his head emphatically, as she +enumerated his different talents. "And as for climbing,--he can guide +you anywhere over the hills, or up the streams to the big waterfalls--no +one better. And if you mean by peculiar,--that my mistress is different +to other people, why, I know she is, and am glad of it,--at any rate, +she's a great deal too kind-hearted to shut this poor boy up in a house +for madmen! He'd die if he couldn't have the fresh air." She paused, out +of breath with her rapid utterance, and Mr. Dyceworthy held up his hands +in dignified astonishment. + +"You talk too glibly, young woman," he said. "It is necessary that I +should instruct you without loss of time, as to how you should be +sparing of your words in the presence of your superiors and betters--" + +Bang! The door was closed with a decision that sent a sharp echo through +the silent, heated air, and Mr. Dyceworthy was left to contemplate it at +his leisure. Full of wrath, he was about to knock peremptorily and +insist that it should be re-opened; but on second thoughts he decided +that it was beneath his dignity to argue with a servant, much less with +a declared lunatic like Sigurd,--so he made the best of his way back to +his boat, thinking gloomily of the hard labor awaiting him in the long +pull back to Bosekop. + +Other thoughts, too, tortured and harrassed his brain, and as he again +took the oars and plied them wearily through the water, he was in an +exceedingly unchristian humor. Though a specious hypocrite, he was no +fool. He knew the ways of men and women, and he thoroughly realized the +present position of affairs. He was quite aware of Thelma Gueldmar's +exceptional beauty,--and he felt pretty certain that no man could look +upon her without admiration. But up to this time, she had been, as it +were, secluded from all eyes,--a few haymakers and fishermen were the +only persons of the male sex who had ever been within the precincts of +Olaf Gueldmar's dwelling, with the exception of himself, +Dyceworthy,--who, being armed with a letter of introduction from the +actual minister of Bosekop, whose place, he, for the present, filled, +had intruded his company frequently and persistently on the _bonde_ and +his daughter, though he knew himself to be entirely unwelcome. He had +gathered together as much as he could, all the scraps of information +concerning them; how Olaf Gueldmar was credited with having made away +with his wife by foul means; how nobody even knew where his wife had +come from; how Thelma had been mysteriously educated, and had learned +strange things concerning foreign lands, which no one else in the place +understood anything about; how she was reputed to be a witch, and was +believed to have cast her spells on the unhappy Sigurd, to the +destruction of his reason,--and how nobody could tell where Sigurd +himself had come from. + +All this Mr. Dyceworthy had heard with much interest, and as the sensual +part of his nature was always more or less predominant, he had resolved +in his own mind that here was a field of action suitable to his +abilities. To tame and break the evil spirit in the reputed witch; to +convert her to the holy and edifying Lutheran faith; to save her soul +for the Lord, and take her beautiful body for himself; these were Mr. +Dyceworthy's laudable ambitions. There was no rival to oppose him, and +he had plenty of time to mature his plans. So he had thought. He had not +bargained for the appearance of Sir Philip Bruce Errington on the +scene,--a man, young, handsome, and well-bred, with vast wealth to back +up his pretensions, should he make any. + +"How did he find her out?" thought the Reverend Charles, as he dolefully +pulled his craft along. "And that brutal pagan Gueldmar, too, who +pretends he cannot endure strangers!" + +And as he meditated, a flush of righteous indignation crimsoned his +flabby features. + +"Let her take care," he half muttered, with a smile that was not +pleasant; "let her take care! There are more ways than one to bring down +her pride! Sir Philip Errington must be too rich and popular in his own +country to think of wishing to marry a girl who is only a farmer's +daughter after all. He may trifle with her; yes! . . . and he will help +me by so doing. The more mud on her name, the better for me; the more +disgrace, the more need of rescue, and the more grateful she will have +to be. Just a word to Ulrika,--and the scandal will spread. Patience, +patience!" + +And somewhat cheered by his own reflections, though still wearing an air +of offended dignity, he rowed on, glancing up every now and then to see +if the _Eulalie_ had returned, but her place was still empty. + +Meanwhile, as he thought and planned, other thoughts and plans were +being discussed at a meeting which was held in a little ruined stone +hut, situated behind some trees on a dreary hill just outside Bosekop. +It was a miserable place, barren of foliage,--the ground was dry and +yellow, and the hut itself looked as if it had been struck by lightning. +The friends, whose taste had led them to select this dilapidated +dwelling as a place of conference, were two in number, both women,--one +of them no other than the minister's servant, the drear-faced Ulrika. +She was crouched on the earth-floor in an attitude of utter abasement, +at the feet of her companion,--an aged dame of tall and imposing +appearance, who, standing erect, looked down upon her with an air of +mingled contempt and malevolence. The hut was rather dark, for the roof +was not sufficiently destroyed to have the advantage of being open to +the sky. The sunlight fell through holes of different shapes and +sizes,--one specially bright patch of radiance illumining the stately +form, and strongly marked, though withered features of the elder woman, +whose eyes, deeply sunken in her head, glittered with a hawk-like and +evil lustre, as they rested on the prostrate figure before her. When she +spoke, her accents were harsh and commanding. + +"How long?" she said, "how long must I wait? How long must I watch the +work of Satan in the land? The fields are barren and will not bring +forth; the curse of bitter poverty is upon us all: and only he, the +pagan Gueldmar, prospers and gathers in harvest, while all around him +starve! Do I not know the devil's work when I see it,--I, the chosen +servant of the Lord?" And she struck a tall staff she held violently +into the ground to emphasize her words. "Am I not left deserted in my +age? The child Britta,--sole daughter of my sole daughter,--is she not +stolen, and kept from me? Has not her heart been utterly turned away +from mine? All through that vile witch,--accursed of God and man! She it +is who casts the blight on our land; she it is who makes the hands and +hearts of our men heavy and careless, so that even luck has left the +fishing; and yet you hesitate,--you delay, you will not fulfill your +promise! I tell you, there are those in Bosekop who, at my bidding, +would cast her naked into the Fjord, leave her there, to sink or swim +according to her nature!" + +"I know," murmured Ulrika humbly, raising herself slightly from her +kneeling posture; "I know it well! . . . . but, good Lovisa, be patient! +I work for the best! Mr. Dyceworthy will do more for us than we can do +for ourselves; he is wise and cautious--" + +Lovisa interrupted her with a fierce gesture. "Fool!" she cried. "What +need of caution? A witch is a witch, burn her, drown her! There is no +other remedy! But two days since, the child of my neighbor Engla passed +her on the Fjord; and now the boy has sickened of some strange disease, +and 'tis said he will die. Again, the drove of cattle owned by Hildmar +Bjorn were herded home when she passed by. Now they are seized by the +murrain plague! Tell your good saint Dyceworthy these things; if he can +find no cure, _I_ can,--and _will_!" + +Ulrika shuddered slightly as she rose from the ground and stood erect, +drawing her shawl closely about her. + +"You hate her so much, Lovisa?" she asked, almost timidly. + +Lovisa's face darkened, and her yellow, claw-like hand closed round her +strong staff in a cruel and threatening manner. + +"Hate her!" she muttered, "I have hated her ever since she was born! I +hated her mother before her! A nest of devils, every one of them; and +the curse will always be upon us while they dwell here." + +She paused and looked at Ulrika steadily. + +"Remember!" she said, with an evil leer on her lips, "I hold a secret of +yours that is worth the keeping! I give you two weeks more; within that +time you must act! Destroy the witch,--bring back to me my grandchild +Britta, or else--it will be _my_ turn!" + +And she laughed silently. Ulrika's face grew paler, and the hand that +grasped the folds of her shawl trembled violently. She made an effort, +however, to appear composed, as she answered--"I have sworn to obey you, +Lovisa,--and I will. But tell me one thing--how do you know that Thelma +Gueldmar is indeed a witch?" + +"How do I know?" almost yelled Lovisa. "Have I lived all these years for +nothing? Look at her! Am _I_ like her? Are _you_ like her? Are any of +the honest women of the neighborhood like her? Meet her on the hills +with knives and pins,--prick her, and see if the blood will flow! I +swear it will not--not one drop! Her skin is too white; there is no +blood in those veins--only fire! Look at the pink in her cheeks,--the +transparency of her flesh,--the glittering light in her eyes, the gold +of her hair, it is all devil's work, it is not human, it is not natural! +I have watched her,--I used to watch her mother, and curse her every +time I saw her--ay! curse her till I was breathless with cursing--" + +She stopped abruptly. Ulrika gazed at her with as much wonder as her +plain, heavy face was capable of expressing. Lovisa saw the look and +smiled darkly. + +"One would think _you_ had never known what love is!" she said, with a +sort of grim satire in her tone. "Yet even your dull soul was on fire +once! But I--when I was young, I had beauty such as you never had, and I +loved--Olaf Gueldmar." + +Ulrika uttered an exclamation of astonishment. "You! and yet you hate +him now?" + +Lovisa raised her hand with an imperious gesture. + +"I have grown hate like a flower in my breast," she said, with a sort of +stern impressiveness. "I have fostered it year after year, and now,--it +has grown too strong for me! When Olaf Gueldmar was young he told me I +was fair; once he kissed my cheek at parting! For those words,--for that +kiss,--I loved him then--for the same things I hate him now! When I know +he had married, I cursed him; on the day of my own marriage with a man I +despised, I cursed him! I have followed him and all his surroundings +with more curses than there are hours in the day! I have had some little +revenge--yes!"--and she laughed grimly--"but I want more! For Britta has +been caught by his daughter's evil spell. Britta is mine, and I must +have her back. Understand me well!--do what you have to do without +delay! Surely it is an easy thing to ruin a woman!" + +Ulrika stood as though absorbed in meditation, and said nothing for some +moments. At last she murmured as though to herself-- + +"Mr. Dyceworthy could do much--if--" + +"Ask him, then," said Lovisa imperatively. "Tell him the village is in +fear of her. Tell him that if he will do nothing _we_ will. And if all +fails, come to me again; and remember! . . . I shall not only act,--I +shall _speak_!" + +And emphasizing the last word as a sort of threat, she turned and strode +out of the hut. + +Ulrika followed more slowly, taking a different direction to that in +which her late companion was seen rapidly disappearing. On returning to +the minister's dwelling, she found that Mr. Dyceworthy had not yet come +back from his boating excursion. She gave no explanation of her absence +to her two fellow-servants, but went straight up to her own room--a bare +attic in the roof--where she deliberately took off her dress and bared +her shoulders and breast. Then she knelt down on the rough boards, and +clasping her hands, began to writhe and wrestle as though she were +seized with a sudden convulsion. She groaned and tortured the tears from +her eyes; she pinched her own flesh till it was black and blue, and +scratched it with her nails till it bled,--and she prayed inaudibly, but +with evident desperation. Sometimes her gestures were frantic, sometimes +appealing; but she made no noise that was loud enough to attract +attention from any of the dwellers in the house. Her stolid features +were contorted with anguish,--and had she been an erring nun of the +creed she held in such bitter abhorrence, who, for some untold crime, +endured a self-imposed penance, she could not have punished her own +flesh much more severely. + +She remained some quarter of an hour or twenty minutes thus; then rising +from her knees, she wiped the tears from her eyes and re-clothed +herself,--and with her usual calm, immovable aspect--though smarting +from the injuries she had inflicted on herself--she descended to the +kitchen, there to prepare Mr. Dyceworthy's tea with all the punctilious +care and nicety befitting the meal of so good a man and so perfect a +saint. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "She believed that by dealing nobly with all, all would show + themselves noble; so that whatsoever she did became her." + HAFIZ. + + +As the afternoon lengthened, and the sun lowered his glittering shield +towards that part of the horizon where he rested a brief while without +setting, the _Eulalie_,--her white sails spread to the cool, refreshing +breeze,--swept gracefully and swiftly back to her old place on the +Fjord, and her anchor dropped with musical clank and splash, just as Mr. +Dyceworthy entered his house, fatigued, perspiring, and ill-tempered at +the non-success of his day. All on board the yacht were at dinner--a +dinner of the most tasteful and elegant description, such as Sir Philip +Errington well knew how to order and superintend, and Thelma, leaning +against the violet velvet cushions that were piled behind her for her +greater ease, looked,--as she indeed was,--the veritable queen of the +feast. Macfarlane and Duprez had been rendered astonished and bashful by +her excessive beauty. From the moment she came on board with her father, +clad in her simple white gown, with a deep crimson hood drawn over her +fair hair, and tied under her rounded chin, she had taken them all +captive--they were her abject slaves in heart, though they put on very +creditable airs of manly independence and nonchalance. Each man in his +different way strove to amuse or interest her, except, strange to say, +Errington himself, who, though deeply courteous to her, kept somewhat in +the background and appeared more anxious to render himself agreeable to +old Olaf Gueldmar, than to win the good graces of his lovely daughter. +The girl was delighted with everything on board the yacht,--she admired +its elegance and luxury with child-like enthusiasm; she gloried in the +speed with which its glittering prow cleaved the waters; she clapped her +hands at the hiss of the white foam as it split into a creaming pathway +for the rushing vessel; and she was so unaffected and graceful in all +her actions and attitudes, that the slow blood of the cautious +Macfarlane began to warm up by degrees to a most unwonted heat of +admiration. When she had first arrived, Errington, in receiving her, had +seriously apologized for not having some lady to meet her, but she +seemed not to understand his meaning. Her naive smile and frankly +uplifted eyes put all his suddenly conceived notions of social stiffness +to flight. + +"Why should a lady come?" she asked sweetly. "It is not necessary? . . ." + +"Of course it isn't!" said Lorimer promptly and delightedly. "I am sure +we shall be able to amuse you, Miss Gueldmar." + +"Oh,--for that!" she replied, with a little shrug that had something +French about it, "I amuse myself always! I am amused now,--you must not +trouble yourselves!" + +As she was introduced to Duprez and Macfarlane, she gave them each a +quaint, sweeping curtsy, which had the effect of making them feel the +most ungainly lumbersome fellows on the face of the earth. Macfarlane +grew secretly enraged at the length of his legs,--while Pierre Duprez, +though his bow was entirely Parisian, decided in his own mind that it +was jerky, and not good style. She was perfectly unembarrassed with all +the young men; she laughed at their jokes, and turned her glorious eyes +full on them with the unabashed sweetness of innocence; she listened to +the accounts they gave her of their fishing and climbing excursions with +the most eager interest,--and in her turn, she told them of fresh nooks +and streams and waterfalls, of which they had never even heard the +names. Not only were they enchanted with her, but they were thoroughly +delighted with her father, Olaf Gueldmar. The sturdy old pagan was in the +best of humors,--and seemed determined to be pleased with +everything,--he told good stories,--and laughed that rollicking, jovial +laugh of his with such unforced heartiness that it was impossible to be +dull in his company,--and not one of Errington's companions gave a +thought to the reports concerning him and his daughter, which had been +so gratuitously related by Mr. Dyceworthy. + +They had had a glorious day's sail, piloted by Valdemar Svensen, whose +astonishment at seeing the Gueldmars on board the _Eulalie_ was depicted +in his face, but who prudently forebore from making any remarks thereon. +The _bonde_ hailed him good-humoredly as an old acquaintance,--much in +the tone of a master addressing a servant,--and Thelma smiled kindly at +him,--but the boundary line between superior and inferior was in this +case very strongly marked, and neither side showed any intention of +overstepping it. In the course of the day, Duprez had accidentally +lapsed into French, whereupon to his surprise Thelma had answered him in +the same tongue,--though with a different and much softer pronunciation. +Her "_bien zoli_!" had the mellifluous sweetness of the Provencal +dialect, and on his eagerly questioning her, he learned that she had +received her education in a large convent at Arles, where she had +learned French from the nuns. Her father overheard her talking of her +school-days, and he added-- + +"Yes, I sent my girl away for her education, though I know the teaching +is good in Christiania. Yet it did not seem good enough for her. +Besides, your modern 'higher education' is not the thing for a +woman,--it is too heavy and commonplace. Thelma knows nothing about +mathematics or algebra. She can sing and read and write,--and, what is +more, she can spin and sew; but even these things were not the first +consideration with me. I wanted her disposition trained, and her bodily +health attended to. I said to those good women at Arles--'Look +here,--here's a child for you! I don't care how much or how little she +knows about accomplishments. I want her to be sound and sweet from head +to heel--a clean mind in a wholesome body. Teach her self-respect, and +make her prefer death to a lie. Show her the curse of a shrewish temper, +and the blessing of cheerfulness. That will satisfy me!' I dare say, now +I come to think of it, those nuns thought me an odd customer; but, at +any rate, they seemed to understand me. Thelma was very happy with them, +and considering all things"--the old man's eyes twinkled fondly--"she +hasn't turned out so badly!" + +They laughed,--and Thelma blushed as Errington's dreamy eyes rested on +her with a look, which, though he was unconscious of it, spoke +passionate admiration. The day passed too quickly with them all,--and +now, as they sat at dinner in the richly ornamented saloon, there was +not one among them who could contemplate without reluctance the +approaching break-up of so pleasant a party. Dessert was served, and as +Thelma toyed with the fruit on her plate and sipped her glass of +champagne, her face grew serious and absorbed,--even sad,--and she +scarcely seemed to hear the merry chatter of tongues around her, till +Errington's voice asking a question of her father roused her into swift +attention. + +"Do you know any one of the name of Sigurd?" he was saying, "a poor +fellow whose wits are in heaven let us hope,--for they certainly are not +on earth." + +Olaf Gueldmar's fine face softened with pity, and he replied-- + +"Sigurd? Have you met him then? Ah, poor boy, his is a sad fate! He has +wit enough, but it works wrongly; the brain is there, but 'tis twisted. +Yes, we know Sigurd well enough--his home is with us in default of a +better. Ay, ay! we snatched him from death--perhaps unwisely,--yet he +has a good heart, and finds pleasure in his life." + +"He is a kind of poet in his own way," went on Errington, watching +Thelma as she listened intently to their conversation. "Do you know he +actually visited me on board here last night and begged me to go away +from the Altenfjord altogether? He seemed afraid of me, as if he thought +I meant to do him some harm." + +"How strange!" murmured Thelma. "Sigurd never speaks to visitors,--he is +too shy. I cannot understand his motive!" + +"Ah, my dear!" sighed her father. "Has he any motive at all? . . . and +does he ever understand himself? His fancies change with every shifting +breeze! I will tell you," he continued, addressing himself to Errington, +"how he came to be, as it were, a bit of our home. Just before Thelma +was born, I was walking with my wife one day on the shore, when we both +caught sight of something bumping against our little pier, like a large +box or basket. I managed to get hold of it with a boat-hook and drag it +in; it was a sort of creel such as is used to pack fish in, and in it +was the naked body of a half-drowned child. It was an ugly little +creature--a newly born infant deformity--and on its chest there was a +horrible scar in the shape of a cross, as though it had been gashed +deeply with a pen-knife. I thought it was dead, and was for throwing it +back into the Fjord, but my wife,--a tender-hearted angel--took the poor +wretched little wet body in her arms, and found that it breathed. She +warmed it, dried it, and wrapped it in her shawl,--and after awhile the +tiny monster opened its eyes and stared at her. Well! . . . somehow, +neither of us could forget the look it gave us,--such a solemn, warning, +pitiful, appealing sort of expression! There was no resisting it,--so we +took the foundling and did the best we could for him. We gave him the +name of Sigurd,--and when Thelma was born, the two babies used to play +together all day, and we never noticed anything wrong with the boy, +except his natural deformity, till he was about ten or twelve years old. +Then we saw to our sorrow that the gods had chosen to play havoc with +his wits. However, we humored him tenderly, and he was always +manageable. Poor Sigurd! He adored my wife; I have known him listen for +hours to catch the sound of her footstep; he would actually deck the +threshold with flowers in the morning that she might tread on them as +she passed by." The old bonds sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes +with a gesture half of pain, half of impatience--"And now he is Thelma's +slave,--a regular servant to her. She can manage him best of us all,--he +is as docile as a lamb, and will do anything she tells him." + +"I am not surprised at that," said the gallant Duprez; "there is reason +in such obedience!" + +Thelma looked at him inquiringly, ignoring the implied compliment. + +"You think so?" she said simply "I am glad! I always hope that he will +one day be well in mind,--and every little sign of reason in him is +pleasant to me." + +Duprez was silent. It was evidently no use making even an attempt at +flattering this strange girl; surely she must be dense not to understand +compliments that most other women compel from the lips of men as their +right? He was confused--his Paris breeding was no use to him--in fact he +had been at a loss all day, and his conversation had, even to himself, +seemed particularly shallow and frothy. This Mademoiselle Gueldmar, as he +called her, was by no means stupid--she was not a mere moving statue of +lovely flesh and perfect color whose outward beauty was her only +recommendation,--she was, on the contrary, of a most superior +intelligence,--she had read much and thought more,--and the dignified +elegance of her manner, and bearing would have done honor to a queen. +After all, thought Duprez musingly, the social creeds of Paris _might_ +be wrong--it was just possible! There might be women who were +womanly,--there might be beautiful girls who were neither vain nor +frivolous,--there might even be creatures of the feminine sex, besides +whom a trained Parisian coquette would seem nothing more than a painted +fiend of the neuter gender. These were new and startling considerations +to the feather-light mind of the Frenchman,--and unconsciously his fancy +began to busy itself with the old romantic histories of the ancient +French chivalry, when faith, and love, and loyalty, kept white the +lilies of France, and the stately courtesy and unflinching pride of the +_ancien regime_ made its name honored throughout the world. An odd +direction indeed for Pierre Duprez's reflection to wander in--he, who +never reflected on either past or future, but was content to fritter +away the present as pleasantly as might be--and the only reason to which +his unusually serious reverie could be attributed was the presence of +Thelma. She certainly had a strange influence on them all, though she +herself was not aware of it,--and not only Errington, but each one of +his companions had been deeply considering during the day, that +notwithstanding the unheroic tendency of modern living, life itself +might be turned to good and even noble account, if only an effort were +made in the right direction. + +Such was the compelling effect of Thelma's stainless mind reflected in +her pure face, on the different dispositions of all the young men; and +she, perfectly unconscious of it, smiled at them, and conversed +gaily,--little knowing as she talked, in her own sweet and unaffected +way, that the most profound resolutions were being formed, and the most +noble and unselfish deeds, were being planned in the souls of her +listeners,--all forsooth! because one fair, innocent woman had, in the +clear, grave glances of her wondrous sea-blue eyes, suddenly made them +aware of their own utter unworthiness. Macfarlane, meditatively watching +the girl from under his pale eyelashes, thought of Mr. Dyceworthy's +matrimonial pretensions, with a humorous smile hovering on his thin +lips. + +"Ma certes! the fellow has an unco' gude opeenion o' himself," he mused. +"He might as well offer his hand in marriage to the Queen while he's +aboot it,--he wad hae just as muckle chance o' acceptance." + +Meanwhile, Errington, having learned all he wished to know concerning +Sigurd, was skillfully drawing out old Olaf Gueldmar, and getting him to +give his ideas on things in general, a task in which Lorimer joined. + +"So you don't think we're making any progress nowadays?" inquired the +latter with an appearance of interest, and a lazy amusement in his blue +eyes as he put the question. + +"Progress!" exclaimed Gueldmar. "Not a bit of it! It is all a going +backward; it may not seem apparent, but it is so. England, for instance, +is losing the great place she once held in the world's history,--and +these things always happen to all nations when money becomes more +precious to the souls of the people than honesty and honor. I take the +universal wide-spread greed of gain to be one of the worst signs of the +times,--the forewarning of some great upheaval and disaster, the effects +of which no human mind can calculate. I am told that America is destined +to be the dominating power of the future,--but I doubt it! Its politics +are too corrupt,--its people live too fast, and burn their candle at +both ends, which is unnatural and most unwholesome; moreover, it is +almost destitute of Art in its highest forms,--and is not its confessed +watchward 'the almighty Dollar?' And such a country as that expects to +arrogate to itself the absolute sway of the world? I tell you, _no_--ten +thousand times _no_! It is destitute of nearly everything that has made +nations great and all-powerful in historic annals,--and my belief is +that what, has been, will be again,--and that what has never been, will +never be." + +"You mean by that, I suppose, that there is no possibility of doing +anything new,--no way of branching out in some, better and untried +direction?" asked Errington. + +Olaf Gueldmar shook his head emphatically. "You can't do it," he said +decisively. "Everything in every way has been begun and completed and +then forgotten over and over in this world,--to be begun and completed +and forgotten again, and so on to the end of the chapter. No one nation +is better than another in this respect,--there is,--there can be nothing +new. Norway, for example, has had its day; whether it will ever have +another I know not,--at any rate, I shall not live to see it. And yet, +what a past!--" He broke off and his eyes grew meditative. + +Lorimer looked at him. "You would have been a Viking, Mr. Gueldmar, had +you lived in the old days," he said with a smile. + +"I should, indeed!" returned the old man, with an unconsciously haughty +gesture of his head; "and no better fate could have befallen me! To sail +the seas in hot pursuit of one's enemies, or in search of further +conquest,--to feel the very wind and sun beating up the blood in one's +veins,--to live the life of a _man_--a true man! . . . in all the pride +and worth of strength, and invincible vigor!--how much better than the +puling, feeble, sickly existence, led by the majority of men to-day! I +dwell apart from them as much as I can,--I steep my mind and body in the +joys of Nature, and the free fresh air,--but often I feel that the old +days of the heroes must have been best,--when Gorm the Bold and the +fierce Siegfried seized Paris, and stabled their horses in the chapel +where Charlemagne lay buried!" + +Pierre Duprez looked up with a faint smile. "Ah, _pardon_! But that was +surely a very long time ago!" + +"True!" said Gueldmar quietly. "And no doubt you will not believe the +story at this distance of years. But the day is coming when people will +look back on the little chronicle of your Empire,--your commune,--your +republic, all your little affairs, and will say, 'Surely these things +are myths; they occurred--if they occurred at all,--a very long time +ago!" + +"Monsieur is a philosopher!" said Duprez, with a good-humored gesture; +"I would not presume to contradict him." + +"You see, my lad," went on Gueldmar more gently, "there is much in our +ancient Norwegian history that is forgotten or ignored by students of +to-day. The travellers that come hither come to see the glories of our +glaciers and fjords,--but they think little or nothing of the vanished +tribe of heroes who once possessed the land. If you know your Greek +history, you must have heard of Pythias, who lived three hundred and +fifty-six years before Christ, and who was taken captive by a band of +Norseman and carried away to see 'the place where the sun slept in +winter.' Most probably he came to this very spot, the Altenfjord,--at +any rate the ancient Greeks had good words to say for the 'Outside +Northwinders,' as they called us Norwegians, for they reported us to be +'persons living in peace with their gods and themselves.' Again, one of +the oldest tribes in the world came among us in times past,--the +Phoenicians,--there are traces among us still of their customs and +manners. Yes! we have a great deal to look back upon with pride as well +as sorrow,--and much as I hear of the wonders of the New World, the +marvels and the go-ahead speed of American manners and civilization,--I +would rather be a Norseman than a Yankee." And he laughed. + +"There's more dignity in the name, at any rate," said Lorimer. "But I +say, Mr. Gueldmar, you are 'up' in history much better than I am. The +annals of my country were grounded into my tender soul early in life, +but I have a very hazy recollection of them. I know Henry VIII. got rid +of his wives expeditiously and conveniently,--and I distinctly remember +that Queen Elizabeth wore the first pair of silk stockings, and danced a +kind of jig in them with the Earl of Leicester; these things interested +me at the time,--and they now seen firmly impressed on my memory to the +exclusion of everything else that might possibly be more important." + +Old Gueldmar smiled, but Thelma laughed outright and her eyes danced +mirthfully. + +"Ah, I do know you now!" she said, nodding her fair head at him wisely. +"You are not anything that is to be believed! So I shall well understand +you,--that is, you are a very great scholar,--but that it pleases you to +pretend you are a dunce!" + +Lorimer's face brightened into a very gentle and winning softness as he +looked at her. + +"I assure you, Miss Gueldmar, I am not pretending in the least. I'm no +scholar. Errington is, if you like! If it hadn't been for him, I should +never have learned anything at Oxford at all. He used to leap over a +difficulty while I was looking at it. Phil, don't interrupt me,--you +know you did! I tell you he's up to everything: Greek, Latin, and all +the rest of it,--and, what's more, he writes well,--I believe,--though +he'll never forgive me for mentioning it,--that he has even published +some poems." + +"Be quiet, George!" exclaimed Errington, with a vexed laugh. "You are +boring Miss Gueldmar to death!" + +"What is _boring_?" asked Thelma gently, and then turning her eyes full +on the young Baronet, she added, "I like to hear that you will pass your +days sometimes without shooting the birds and killing the fish; it can +hurt nobody for you to write." And she smiled that dreamy pensive smile, +of hers that was so infinitely bewitching. "You must show me all your +sweet poems!" + +Errington colored hotly. "They are all nonsense, Miss Gueldmar," he said +quickly. "There's nothing 'sweet' about them, I tell you frankly! All +rubbish, every line of them!" + +"Then you should not write them," said Thelma quietly. "It is only a +pity and a disappointment." + +"I wish every one were of your opinion," laughed Lorimer, "it would +spare us a lot of indifferent verse." + +"Ah! you have the chief Skald of all the world in your land!" cried +Gueldmar, bringing his fist down with a jovial thump on the table. "He +can teach you all that you need to know." + +"_Skald_?" queried Lorimer dubiously. "Oh, you mean bard. I suppose you +allude to Shakespeare?" + +"I do," said the old _bonde_ enthusiastically, "he is the only glory of +your country I envy! I would give anything to prove him a Norwegian. By +Valhalla! had he but been one of the Bards of Odin, the world might have +followed the grand old creed still! If anything could ever persuade me +to be a Christian, it would be the fact that Shakespeare was one. If +England's name is rendered imperishable, it will be through the fame of +Shakespeare alone,--just as we have a kind of tenderness for degraded +modern Greece, because of Homer. Ay, ay! countries and nations are +worthless enough; it is only the great names of heroes that endure, to +teach the lesson that is never learned sufficiently,--namely, that man +and man alone is fitted to grasp the prize of immortality." + +"Ye believe in immortality?" inquired Macfarlane seriously. + +Gueldmar's keen eyes lighted on him with fiery impetuousness. + +"Believe in it? I possess it! How can it be taken from me? As well make +a bird without wings, a tree without sap, an ocean without depths, as +expect to find a man without an immortal soul! What a question to ask? +Do _you_ not possess heaven's gift? and why should not I?" + +"No offense," said Macfarlane, secretly astonished at the old _bonde's_ +fervor,--for had not he, though himself intending to become a devout +minister of the Word,--had not he now and then felt a creeping doubt as +to whether, after all, there was any truth in the doctrine of another +life than this one. "I only thocht ye might have perhaps questioned the +probabeelity o't, in your own mind?" + +"I never question Divine authority," replied Olaf Gueldmar, "I pity those +that do!" + +"And this Divine authority?" said Duprez suddenly with a delicate +sarcastic smile, "how and where do you perceive it?" + +"In the very Law that compels me to exist, young sir," said +Gueldmar,--"in the mysteries of the universe about me,--the glory of the +heavens,--the wonders of the sea! You have perhaps lived in cities all +your life, and your mind is cramped a bit. No wonder, . . . you can +hardly see the stars above the roofs of a wilderness of houses. Cities +are men's work,--the gods have never had a finger in the building of +them. Dwelling in them, I suppose you cannot help forgetting Divine +authority altogether; but here,--here among the mountains, you would +soon remember it! You should live here,--it would make a man of you!" + +"And you do not consider me a man?" inquired Duprez with imperturbable +good-humor. + +Gueldmar laughed. "Well, not quite!" he admitted candidly, "there's not +enough muscle about you. I confess I like to see strong fellows--fellows +fit to rule the planet on which they are placed. That's my whim!--but +you're a neat little chap enough, and I dare say you can hold your own!" + +And his eyes twinkled good-temperedly as he filled himself another glass +of his host's fine Burgundy, and drank it off, while Duprez, with a +half-plaintive, half-comical shrug of resignation to Gueldmar's verdict +on his personal appearance, asked Thelma if she would favor them with a +song. She rose from her seat instantly, without any affected hesitation, +and went to the piano. She had a delicate touch, and accompanied herself +with great taste,--but her voice, full, penetrating, rich and true,--was +one of the purest and most sympathetic ever possessed by woman, and its +freshness was unspoilt by any of the varied "systems" of torture +invented by singing-masters for the ingenious destruction of the +delicate vocal organ. She sang a Norwegian love-song in the original +tongue, which might be roughly translated as follows:-- + + "Lovest thou me for my beauty's sake? + Love me not then! + Love the victorious, glittering Sun, + The fadeless, deathless, marvellous One!" + + "Lovest thou me for my youth's sake? + Love me not then! + Love the triumphant, unperishing Spring, + Who every year new charms doth bring!" + + "Lovest thou me for treasure's sake? + Oh, love me not then! + Love the deep, the wonderful Sea, + Its jewels are worthier love than me!" + + "Lovest thou me for Love's own sake? + Ah sweet, then love me! + More than the Sun and the Spring and the Sea, + Is the faithful heart I will yield to thee!" + +A silence greeted the close of her song. Though the young men were +ignorant of the meaning of the words still old Gueldmar translated them +for their benefit, they could feel the intensity of the passion +vibrating through her ringing tones,--and Errington sighed +involuntarily. She heard the sigh, and turned round on the music-stool +laughing. + +"Are you so tired, or sad, or what is it?" she asked merrily. "It is too +melancholy a tune? And I was foolish to sing it,--because you cannot +understand the meaning of it. It is all about love,--and of course love +is always sorrowful." + +"Always?" asked Lorimer, with a half-smile. + +"I do not know," she said frankly, with a pretty deprecatory gesture of +her hands,--"but all books say so! It must be a great pain, and also a +great happiness. Let me think what I can sing to you now,--but perhaps +you will yourself sing?" + +"Not one of us have a voice, Miss Gueldmar," said Errington. "I used to +think I had, but Lorimer discouraged my efforts." + +"Men shouldn't sing," observed Lorimer; "if they only knew how awfully +ridiculous they look, standing up in dress-coats and white ties, pouring +forth inane love-ditties that nobody wants to hear, they wouldn't do it. +Only a woman looks pretty while singing." + +"Ah, that is very nice!" said Thelma, with a demure smile. "Then I am +agreeable to you when I sing?" + +Agreeable? This was far too tame a word--they all rose from the table +and came towards her, with many assurances of their delight and +admiration; but she put all their compliments aside with a little +gesture that was both incredulous and peremptory. + +"You must not say so many things in praise of me," she said, with a +swift upward glance at Errington, where he leaned on the piano regarding +her. "It is nothing to be able to sing. It is only like the birds, but +we cannot understand the words they say, just as you cannot understand +Norwegian. Listen,--here is a little ballad you will all know," and she +played a soft prelude, while her voice, subdued to a plaintive murmur, +rippled out in the dainty verses of Sainte-Beuve-- + + "Sur ma lyre, l'autre fois + Dans un bois, + Ma main preludait a peine; + Une colombe descend + En passant, + Blanche sur le luth d'ebene" + + "Mais au lieu d'accords touchants, + De doux chants, + La colombe gemissante + Me demande par pitie + Sa moitie + Sa moitie loin d'elle absente!" + +She sang this seriously and sweetly till she came to the last three +lines, when, catching Errington's earnest gaze, her voice quivered and +her cheeks flushed. She rose from the piano as soon as she had finished, +and said to the _bonde_, who had been watching her with proud and +gratified looks-- + +"It is growing late, father. We must say good-bye to our friends and +return home." + +"Not yet!" eagerly implored Sir Philip. "Come up on deck,--we will have +coffee there, and afterwards you shall leave us when you will." + +Gueldmar acquiesced in this arrangement, before his daughter had time to +raise any objection, and they all went on deck, where a comfortable +lounging chair was placed for Thelma, facing the most gorgeous portion +of the glowing sky, which on this evening was like a moving mass of +molten gold, split asunder here and there by angry ragged-looking rifts +of crimson. The young men grouped themselves together at the prow of the +vessel in order to smoke their cigars without annoyance to Thelma. Old +Gueldmar did not smoke, but he talked,--and Errington after seeing them +all fairly absorbed in an argument on the best methods of spearing +salmon, moved quietly away to where the girl was sitting, her great +pensive eyes fixed on the burning splendors of the heavens. + +"Are you warm enough there?" he asked, and there was an unconscious +tenderness in his voice as he asked the question, "or shall I fetch you +a wrap?" + +She smiled. "I have my hood," she said. "It is the warmest thing I ever +wear, except, of course, in winter." + +Philip looked at the hood as she drew it more closely over her head, and +thought that surely no more becoming article of apparel ever was +designed for woman's wear. He had never seen anything like it either in +color or texture,--it was of a peculiarly warm, rich crimson, like the +heart of a red damask rose, and it suited the bright hair and tender, +thoughtful eyes of its owner to perfection. + +"Tell me," he said, drawing a little nearer and speaking in a lower +tone, "have you forgiven me for my rudeness the first time I saw you?" + +She looked a little troubled. + +"Perhaps also I was rude," she said gently. "I did not know you. I +thought--" + +"You were quite right," he eagerly interrupted her. "It was very +impertinent of me to ask you for your name. I should have found it out +for myself, as I _have_ done." + +And he smiled at her as he said the last words with marked emphasis. She +raised her eyes wistfully. + +"And you are glad?" she asked softly and with a sort of wonder in her +accents. + +"Glad to know your name? glad to know _you_! Of course! Can you ask such +a question?" + +"But why?" persisted Thelma. "It is not as if you were lonely,--you have +friends already. We are nothing to you. Soon you will go away, and you +will think of the Altenfjord as a dream,--and our names will be +forgotten. That is natural!" + +What a foolish rush of passion filled his heart as she spoke in those +mellow, almost plaintive accents,--what wild words leaped to his lips +and what an effort it cost him to keep them hack. The heat and +impetuosity of Romeo,--whom up to the present he had been inclined to +consider a particularly stupid youth,--was now quite comprehensible to +his mind, and he, the cool, self-possessed Englishman, was ready at that +moment to outrival Juliet's lover, in his utmost excesses of amorous +folly. In spite of his self-restraint, his voice quivered a little as he +answered her-- + +"I shall never forget the Altenfjord or you, Miss Gueldmar. Don't you +know there are some things that cannot be forgotten? such as a sudden +glimpse of fine scenery,--a beautiful song, or a pathetic poem?" She +bent her head in assent. "And here there is so much to remember--the +light of the midnight sun,--the glorious mountains, the loveliness of +the whole land!" + +"Is it better than other countries you have seen?" asked the girl with +some interest. + +"Much better!" returned Sir Philip fervently. "In fact, there is no +place like it in my opinion." He paused at the sound of her pretty +laughter. + +"You are--what is it?--ecstatic!" she said mirthfully. "Tell me, have +you been to the south of France and the Pyrenees?" + +"Of course I have," he replied. "I have been all over the +Continent,--travelled about it till I'm tired of it. Do you like the +south of France better than Norway?" + +"No,--not so very much better," she said dubiously. "And yet a little. +It is so warm and bright there, and the people are gay. Here they are +stern and sullen. My father loves to sail the seas, and when I first +went to school at Arles, he took me a long and beautiful voyage. We went +from Christiansund to Holland, and saw all those pretty Dutch cities +with their canals and quaint bridges. Then we went through the English +Channel to Brest,--then by the Bay of Biscay to Bayonne. Bayonne seemed +to me very lovely, but we left it soon, and travelled a long way by +land, seeing all sorts of wonderful things, till we came to Arles. And +though it is such a long route, and not one for many persons to take, I +have travelled to Arles and back twice that way, so all there is +familiar to me,--and in some things I do think it better than Norway." + +"What induced your father to send you so far away from him?" asked +Philip rather curiously. + +The girl's eyes softened tenderly. "Ah, that is easy to understand!" she +said. "My mother came from Arles." + +"She was French, then?" he exclaimed with some surprise. + +"No," she answered gravely. "She was Norwegian, because her father and +mother both were of this land. She was what they call 'born sadly.' You +must not ask me any more about her, please!" + +Errington apologized at once with some embarrassment, and a deeper color +than usual on his face. She looked up at him quite frankly. + +"It is possible I will tell you her history some day," she said, "when +we shall know each other better. I do like to talk to you very much! I +suppose there are many Englishmen like you?" + +Philip laughed. "I don't think I am at all exceptional! why do you ask?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. "I have seen some of them," she said +slowly, "and they are stupid. They shoot, shoot,--fish, fish, all day, +and eat a great deal. . . ." + +"My dear Miss Gueldmar, I also do all these things!" declared Errington +amusedly. "These are only our surface faults. Englishmen are the best +fellows to be found anywhere. You mustn't judge them by their athletic +sports, or their vulgar appetites. You must appeal to their hearts when +you want to know them." + +"Or to their pockets, and you will know them still better!" said Thelma +almost mischievously, as she raised herself in her chair to take a cup +of coffee from the tray that was then being handed to her by the +respectful steward. "Ah, how good this is! It reminds me of our coffee +luncheon at Arles!" + +Errington watched her with a half-smile, but said no more, as the others +now came up to claim their share of her company. + +"I say!" said Lorimer, lazily throwing himself full length on the deck +and looking up at her, "come and see us spear a salmon to-morrow, Miss +Gueldmar. Your father is going to show us how to do it in the proper +Norse style." + +"That is for men," said Thelma loftily. "Women must know nothing about +such things." + +"By Jove!" and Lorimer looked profoundly astonished. "Why, Miss Gueldmar, +women are going in for everything nowadays! Hunting, shooting, +bull-fighting, duelling, horse-whipping, lecturing,--heaven knows what! +They stop at nothing--salmon-spearing is a mere trifle in the list of +modern feminine accomplishments." + +Thelma smiled down upon him benignly. "You will always be the same," she +said with a sort of indulgent air. "It is your delight to say things +upside down? But you shall not make me believe that women do all these +dreadful things. Because, how is it possible? The men would not allow +them!" + +Errington laughed, and Lorimer appeared stupefied with surprise. + +"The men--would--not--allow them?" he repeated slowly. "Oh, Miss +Gueldmar, little do you realize the state of things at the present day! +The glamor of Viking memories clings about you still! Don't you know the +power of man has passed away, and that ladies do exactly as they like? +It is easier to control the thunderbolt than to prevent a woman having +her own way." + +"All that is nonsense!" said Thelma decidedly. "Where there is a man to +rule, he _must_ rule, that is certain." + +"Is that positively your opinion?" and Lorimer looked more astonished +than ever. + +"It is everybody's opinion, of course!" averred Thelma. "How foolish it +would be if women did not obey men! The world would be all confusion! +Ah, you see you cannot make me think your funny thoughts; it is no use!" +And she laughed and rose from her chair, adding with a gentle persuasive +air, "Father dear, is it not time to say good-bye?" + +"Truly I think it is!" returned Gueldmar, giving himself a shake like an +old lion, as he broke off a rather tedious conversation he had been +having with Macfarlane. "We shall have Sigurd coming to look for us, and +poor Britta will think we have left her too long alone. Thank you, my +lad!" this to Sir Philip, who instantly gave orders for the boat to be +lowered. "You have given us a day of thorough, wholesome enjoyment. I +hope I shall be able to return it in some way. You must let me see as +much of you as possible." + +They shook hands cordially, and Errington proposed to escort them back +as far as their own pier, but this offer Gueldmar refused. + +"Nonsense!" he exclaimed cheerily. "With four oarsmen to row us along, +why should we take you away from your friends? I won't hear of such a +thing! And now, regarding the great fall of Njedegorze; Mr. Macfarlane +here says you have not visited it yet. Well the best guide you can have +there is Sigurd. We'll make up a party and go when it is agreeable to +you; it is a grand sight,--well worth seeing. To-morrow we shall meet +again for the salmon-spearing,--I warrant I shall be able to make the +time pass quickly for you! How long do you think of staying here?" + +"As long as possible!" answered Errington absently, his eyes wandering +to Thelma, who was just then shaking hands with his friends and bidding +them farewell. + +Gueldmar laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "That means till you +are tired of the place," he said good-humoredly. "Well you shall not be +dull if I can prevent it! Good-bye, and thanks for your hospitality." + +"Ah, yes!" added Thelma gently, coming up at that moment and laying her +soft hand in his. "I have been so happy all day, and it is all your +kindness! I am very grateful!" + +"It is I who have cause to be grateful," said Errington hurriedly, +clasping her hand warmly, "for your company and that of your father. I +trust we shall have many more pleasant days together." + +"I hope so too!" she answered simply, and then, the boat being ready, +they departed. Errington and Lorimer leaned on the deck-rails, waving +their hats and watching them disappear over the gleaming water, till the +very last glimpse of Thelma's crimson hood had vanished, and then they +turned to rejoin their companions, who were strolling up and down +smoking. + +"_Belle comme un ange!_" said Duprez briefly. "In short, I doubt if the +angels are so good-looking!" + +"The auld pagan's a fine scholar," added Macfarlane meditatively. "He +corrected me in a bit o' Latin." + +"Did he, indeed?" And Lorimer laughed indolently. "I suppose you think +better of him now, Sandy?" + +Sandy made no reply, and as Errington persisted in turning the +conversation away from the merits or demerits of their recent guests, +they soon entered on other topics. But that night, before retiring to +rest, Lorimer laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, and said quietly, +with a keen look-- + +"Well, old man, have you made up your mind? Have I seen the future Lady +Bruce-Errington?" + +Sir Philip smiled,--then, after a brief pause, answered steadily-- + +"Yes, George, you have! That is,--if I can win her!" + +Lorimer laughed a little and sighed. "There's no doubt about that, +Phil." And eyeing Errington's fine figure and noble features musingly, +he repeated again thoughtfully--"No doubt about that, my boy!" Then +after a pause he said, somewhat abruptly, "Time to turn in--good night!" + +"Good night, old fellow!" And Errington wrung his hand warmly, and left +him to repose. + +But Lorimer had rather a bad night,--he tossed and tumbled a good deal, +and had dreams,--unusual visitors with him,--and once or twice he +muttered in his sleep,--"No doubt about it--not the least in the +world--and if there were--" + +But the conclusion of this sentence was inaudible. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + "Tu vas faire un beau reve, + Et t'enivrer d'un plaisir dangereux. + Sur ton chemin l'etoile qui se leve + Longtemps encore eblouira les yeux!" + DE MUSSET. + + +A fortnight passed. The first excursion in the _Eulalie_ had been +followed by others of a similar kind, and Errington's acquaintance with +the Gueldmars was fast ripening into a pleasant intimacy. It had grown +customary for the young men to spend that part of the day which, in +spite of persistent sunshine, they still called evening, in the +comfortable, quaint parlor of the old farmhouse,--looking at the view +through the rose-wreathed windows,--listening to the fantastic legends +of Norway as told by Olaf Gueldmar,--or watching Thelma's picturesque +figure, as she sat pensively apart in her shadowed corner spinning. They +had fraternized with Sigurd too--that is, as far as he would permit +them--for the unhappy dwarf was uncertain of temper, and if at one hour +he were docile and yielding as a child, the next he would be found +excited and furious at some imaginary slight that he fancied had been +inflicted upon him. Sometimes, if good-humored, he would talk almost +rationally,--only allowing his fancy to play with poetical ideas +concerning the sea, the flowers, or the sunlight,--but he was far more +often sullen and silent. He would draw a low chair to Thelma's side, and +sit there with half-closed eyes and compressed lips, and none could tell +whether he listened to the conversation around him, or was utterly +indifferent to it. He had taken a notable fancy to Lorimer, but he +avoided Errington in the most marked and persistent manner. The latter +did his best to overcome this unreasonable dislike, but his efforts were +useless,--and deciding in his own mind that it was best to humor +Sigurd's vagaries, he soon let him alone, and devoted his attention more +entirely to Thelma. + +One evening, after supper at the farmhouse, Lorimer, who for some time +had been watching Philip and Thelma conversing together in low tones +near the open window, rose from his seat quietly, without disturbing the +hilarity of the _bonde_, who was in the middle of a rollicking +sea-story, told for Macfarlane's entertainment,--and slipped out into +the garden, where he strolled along rather absently till he found +himself in the little close thicket of pines,--the very same spot where +he and Philip had stood on the first day of their visit thither. He +threw himself down on the soft emerald moss and lit a cigar, sighing +rather drearily as he did so. + +"Upon my life," he mused, with a half-smile, "I am very nearly being a +hero,--a regular stage-martyr,--the noble creature of the piece! By +Jove, I wish I were a soldier! I'm certain I could stand the enemy's +fire better than this! Self-denial? Well, no wonder the preachers make +such a fuss about it, It's a tough, uncomfortable duty. But am I +self-denying? Not a bit of it! Look here, George Lorimer"--here he +tapped himself very vigorously on his broad chest--"don't you imagine +yourself to be either virtuous or magnanimous! If you were anything of a +man at all you would never let your feelings get the better of you,--you +would be sublimely indifferent, stoically calm,--and, as it is,--you +know what a sneaking, hang-dog state of envy you were in just now when +you came out of that room! Aren't you ashamed of yourself,--rascal?" + +The inner self he thus addressed was most probably abashed by this +adjuration, for his countenance cleared a little, as though he had +received an apology from his own conscience. He puffed lazily at his +cigar, and felt somewhat soothed. Light steps below him attracted his +attention, and, looking down from the little knoll on which he lay, he +saw Thelma and Philip pass. They were walking slowly along a little +winding path that led to the orchard, which was situated at some little +distance from the house. The girl's head was bent, and Philip was +talking to her with evident eagerness. Lorimer looked after them +earnestly, and his honest eyes were full of trouble. + +"God bless them both!" he murmured half aloud. "There's no harm in +saying that, any how! Dear old Phil! I wonder whether--" + +What he would have said was uncertain, for at that moment he was +considerably startled by the sight of a meagre, pale face peering +through the parted pine boughs,--a face in which two wild eyes shone +with a blue-green glitter, like that of newly sharpened steel. + +"Hello, Sigurd!" said Lorimer good-naturedly, as he recognized his +visitor. "What are you up to? Going to climb a tree?" + +Sigurd pushed aside the branches cautiously and approached. He sat down +by Lorimer, and, taking his hand, kissed it deferentially. + +"I followed you. I saw you go away to grieve alone. I came to grieve +also!" he said with a patient gentleness. + +Lorimer laughed languidly. "By Jove, Sigurd, you're too clever for your +age! Think I came away to grieve, eh? Not so, my boy--came away to +smoke! There's a come-down for you! I never grieve--don't know how to do +it. What _is_ grief?" + +"To love!" answered Sigurd promptly. "To see a beautiful elf with golden +wings come fluttering, fluttering gently down from the sky,--you open +your arms to catch her--so! . . . and just as you think you have her, she +leans only a little bit on one side, and falls, not into your +heart--no!--into the heart of some one else! That is grief, because, +when she has gone, no more elves come down from the sky,--for you, at +any rate,--good things may come for others,--but for _you_ the heavens +are empty!" + +Lorimer was silent, looking at the speaker curiously. + +"How do you get all this nonsense into your head, eh?" he inquired +kindly. + +"I do not know," replied Sigurd with a sigh. "It comes! But, tell +me,"--and he smiled wistfully--"it is true, dear friend--good friend--it +is all true, is it not? For you the heavens are empty? You know it!" + +Lorimer flushed hotly, and then grew strangely pale. After a pause, he +said in his usual indolent way-- + +"Look here, Sigurd; you're romantic! I'm not. I know nothing about elves +or empty heavens. I'm all right! Don't you bother yourself about me." + +The dwarf studied his face attentively, and a smile of almost fiendish +cunning suddenly illumined his thin features. He laid his weak-looking +white hand on the young man's arm and said in a lower tone-- + +"I will tell you what to do. Kill him!" + +The last two words were uttered with such intensity of meaning that +Lorimer positively recoiled from the accents, and the terrible look +which accompanied them. + +"I say, Sigurd, this won't do," he remonstrated gravely. "You mustn't +talk about killing, you know! It's not good for you. People don't kill +each other nowadays so easily as you seem to think. It can't be done, +Sigurd! Nobody wants to do it." + +"It _can_ be done!" reiterated the dwarf imperatively. "It _must_ be +done, and either you or I will do it! He shall not rob us,--he shall not +steal the treasure of the golden midnight. He shall not gather the rose +of all roses--" + +"Stop!" said Lorimer suddenly. "Who are you talking about?" + +"Who!" cried Sigurd excitedly. "Surely you know. Of him--that tall, +proud, grey-eyed Englishman,--your foe, your rival; the rich, cruel +Errington. . . ." + +Lorimer's hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and his voice was very +stern. + +"What nonsense, Sigurd! You don't know what you are talking about +to-day. Errington my foe! Good heavens! Why, he's my best friend! Do you +hear?" + +Sigurd stared up at him in vacant surprise, but nodded feebly. + +"Well, mind you remember it! The spirits tell lies, my boy, if they say +that he is my enemy. I would give my life to save his!" + +He spoke quietly, and rose from his seat on the moss as he finished his +words, and his face had an expression that was both noble and resolute. + +Sigurd still gazed upon him. "And you,--you do not love Thelma?" he +murmured. + +Lorimer started, but controlled himself instantly. His frank English +eyes met the feverishly brilliant ones fixed so appealingly upon him. + +"Certainly not!" he said calmly, with a serene smile. "What makes you +think of such a thing? Quite wrong, Sigurd,--the spirits have made a +mistake again! Come along,--let us join the others." + +But Sigurd would not accompany him. He sprang away like a frightened +animal, in haste, and abruptly plunging into the depths of a wood that +bordered on Olaf Gueldmar's grounds, was soon lost to sight. Lorimer +looked after him in a little perplexity. + +"I wonder if he ever gets dangerous?" he thought. "A fellow with such +queer notions might do some serious harm without meaning it. I'll keep +an eye on him!" + +And once or twice during that same evening, he felt inclined to speak to +Errington on the subject, but no suitable opportunity presented +itself--and after a while, with his habitual indolence, he partly forgot +the circumstance. + +On the following Sunday afternoon Thelma sat alone under the wide +blossom-covered porch, reading. Her father and Sigurd,--accompanied by +Errington and his friends,--had all gone for a mountain ramble, +promising to return for supper, a substantial meal which Britta was +already busy preparing. The afternoon was very warm,--one of those long, +lazy stretches of heat and brilliancy in which Nature seems to have lain +down to rest like a child tired of play, sleeping in the sunshine with +drooping flowers in her hands. The very ripple of the stream seemed +hushed, and Thelma, though her eyes were bent seriously on the book she +held, sighed once or twice heavily as though she were tired. There was a +change in the girl,--an undefinable something seemed to have passed over +her and toned down the redundant brightness of her beauty. She was +paler,--and there were darker shadows than usual under the splendor of +her eyes. Her very attitude, as she leaned her head against the dark, +fantastic carving of the porch, had a touch of listlessness and +indifference in it; her sweetly arched lips drooped with a plaintive +little line at the corners, and her whole air was indicative of fatigue, +mingled with sadness. She looked up now and then from the printed page, +and her gaze wandered over the stretch of the scented, flower-filled +garden, to the little silvery glimmer of the Fjord from whence arose, +like delicate black streaks against the sky, the slender masts of the +_Eulalie_,--and then she would resume her reading with a slight movement +of impatience. + +The volume she held was Victor Hugo's "Orientales," and though her +sensitive imagination delighted in poetry as much as in sunshine, she +found it for once hard to rivet her attention as closely as she wished +to do, on the exquisite wealth of language, and glow of color, that +distinguishes the writings of the Shakespeare of France. Within the +house Britta was singing cheerily at her work, and the sound of her song +alone disturbed the silence. Two or three pale-blue butterflies danced +drowsily in and out a cluster of honeysuckle that trailed downwards, +nearly touching Thelma's shoulder, and a diminutive black kitten, with a +pink ribbon round its neck, sat gravely on the garden path, washing its +face with its tiny velvety paws, in that deliberate and precise fashion, +common to the spoiled and petted members of its class. Everything was +still and peaceful as became a Sunday afternoon,--so that when the sound +of a heavy advancing footstep disturbed the intense calm, the girl was +almost nervously startled, and rose from her seat with so much +precipitation, that the butterflies, who had possibly been considering +whether her hair might not be some new sort of sunflower, took fright +and flew far upwards, and the demure kitten scared out of its absurd +self-consciousness, scrambled hastily up the nearest little tree. The +intruder on the quietude of Gueldmar's domain was the Rev. Mr. +Dyceworthy,--and as Thelma, standing erect in the porch, beheld him +coming, her face grew stern and resolute, and her eyes flashed +disdainfully. + +Ignoring the repellant, almost defiant dignity of the girl's attitude, +Mr. Dyceworthy advanced, rather out of breath and somewhat heated,--and +smiling benevolently, nodded his head by way of greeting, without +removing his hat. + +"Ah, Froeken Thelma!" he observed condescendingly. "And how are you +to-day? You look remarkably well--remarkably so, indeed!" And he eyed +her with mild approval. + +"I am well, I thank you," she returned quietly. "My father is not in, +Mr. Dyceworthy." + +The Reverend Charles wiped his hot face, and his smile grew wider. + +"What matter?" he inquired blandly. "We shall, no doubt, entertain +ourselves excellently without him! It is with you alone, Froeken, that I +am desirous to hold converse." + +And, without waiting for her permission, he entered the porch, and +settled himself comfortably on the bench opposite to her, heaving a sigh +of relief as he did so. Thelma remained standing--and the Lutheran +minister's covetous eye glanced greedily over the sweeping curves of her +queenly figure, the dazzling whiteness of her slim arched throat, and +the glitter of her rich hair. She was silent--and there was something in +her manner as she confronted him that made it difficult for Mr. +Dyceworthy to speak. He hummed and hawed several times, and settled his +stiff collar once or twice as though it hurt him; finally he said with +an evident effort-- + +"I have found a--a--trinket of yours--a trifling toy--which, perhaps, +you would be glad to have again." And he drew carefully out of his +waistcoat pocket, a small parcel wrapped up in tissue paper, which he +undid with his fat fingers, thus displaying the little crucifix he had +kept so long in his possession. "Concerning this," he went on, holding +it up before her, "I am grievously troubled,--and would fain say a few +necessary words--" + +She interrupted him, reaching out her hand for the cross as she spoke. + +"That was my mother's crucifix," she said in solemn, infinitely tender +accents, with a mist as of unshed tears in her sweet blue eyes. "It was +round her neck when she died. I knew I had lost it, and was very unhappy +about it. I do thank you with all my heart for bringing it back to me!" + +And the hauteur of her face relaxed, and her smile--that sudden sweet +smile of hers,--shone forth like a gleam of sunshine athwart a cloud. + +Mr. Dyceworthy's breath came and went with curious rapidity. His visage +grew pale, and a clammy dew broke out upon his forehead. He took the +hand she held out,--a fair, soft hand with a pink palm like an upcurled +shell,--and laid the little cross within it, and still retaining his +hold of her, he stammeringly observed-- + +"Then we are friends, Froeken Thelma! . . . good friends, I hope?" + +She withdrew her fingers quickly from his hot, moist clasp, and her +bright smile vanished. + +"I do not see that at all!" she replied frigidly. "Friendship is very +rare. To be friends, one must have similar tastes and sympathies,--many +things which we have not,--and which we shall never have. I am slow to +call any person my friend." + +Mr. Dyceworthy's small pursy mouth drew itself into a tight thin line. + +"Except," he said, with a suave sneer, "except when 'any person' happens +to be a rich Englishman with a handsome face and easy manners! . . . then +you are not slow to make friends, Froeken,--on the contrary, you are +remarkably quick!" + +The cold haughty stare with which the girl favored him might have frozen +a less conceited man to a pillar of ice. + +"What do you mean?" she asks abruptly, and with an air of surprise. + +The minister's little ferret-like eyes, drooped under their puny lids, +and he fidgeted on the seat with uncomfortable embarrassment. He +answered her in the mildest of mild voices. + +"You are unlike yourself, my dear Froeken!" he said, with a soothing +gesture of one of his well-trimmed white hands. "You are generally frank +and open, but to-day I find you just a little,--well!--what shall I +say--secretive! Yes, we will call it secretive! Oh, fie!" and Mr. +Dyceworthy laughed a gentle little laugh; "you must not pretend +ignorance of what I mean! All the neighborhood is talking of you and the +gentleman you are so often seen with. Notably concerning Sir Philip +Errington,--the vile tongue of rumor is busy,--for, according to his +first plans when his yacht arrived here, he was bound for the North +Cape,--and should have gone there days ago. Truly, I think,--and there +are others who think also in the same spirit of interest for you,--that +the sooner this young man leaves our peaceful Fjord the better,--and the +less he has to do with the maidens of the district, the safer we shall +be from the risk of scandal." And he heaved a pious sigh. + +Thelma turned her eyes upon him in wonderment. + +"I do not understand you," she said coldly. "Why do you speak of +_others_? No others are interested in what I do? Why should they be? Why +should _you_ be? There is no need!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy grew slightly excited. He felt like a runner nearing the +winning-post. + +"Oh, you wrong yourself, my dear Froeken," he murmured softly, with a +sickly attempt at tenderness in his tone. "You really wrong yourself! It +is impossible,--for me at least, not to be interested in you,--even for +our dear Lord's sake. It troubles me to the inmost depths of my soul to +behold in you one of the foolish virgins whose light hath been +extinguished for lack of the saving oil,--to see you wandering as a lost +sheep in the paths of darkness and error, without a hand to rescue your +steps from the near and dreadful precipice! Ay, truly! . . . my spirit +yearneth for you as a mother for an own babe--fain would I save you from +the devices of the evil one,--fain would I--" here the minister drew out +his handkerchief and pressed it lightly to his eyes,--then, as if with +an effort overcoming his emotion, he added, with the gravity of a +butcher presenting an extortionate bill, "but first,--before my own +humble desires for your salvation--first, ere I go further in converse, +it behoveth me to enter on the Lord's business!" + +Thelma bent her head slightly, with an air as though she said: "Indeed; +pray do not be long about it!" And, leaning back against the porch, she +waited somewhat impatiently. + +"The image I have just restored to you," went on Mr. Dyceworthy in his +most pompous and ponderous manner, "you say belonged to your unhappy--" + +"She was not unhappy," interposed the girl, calmly. + +"Ay, ay!" and the minister nodded with a superior air of wisdom. "So you +imagine, so you think,--you must have been too young to judge of these +things. She died--" + +"I saw her die," again she interrupted, with a musing tenderness in her +voice. "She smiled and kissed me,--then she laid her thin, white hand on +this crucifix, and, closing her eyes, she went to sleep. They told me it +was death, since then I have known that death is beautiful!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy coughed,--a little cough of quiet incredulity. He was not +fond of sentiment in any form, and the girl's dreamily pensive manner +annoyed him. Death "beautiful?" Faugh! it was the one thing of all +others that he dreaded; it was an unpleasant necessity, concerning which +he thought as little as possible. Though he preached frequently on the +peace of the grave and the joys of heaven,--he was far from believing in +either,--he was nervously terrified of illness, and fled like a +frightened hare from the very rumor of any infectious disorder, and he +had never been known to attend a death-bed. And now, in answer to +Thelma, he nodded piously and rubbed his hands, and said-- + +"Yes, yes; no doubt, no doubt! All very proper on your part, I am sure! +But concerning this same image of which I came to speak,--it is most +imperative that you should be brought to recognize it as a purely carnal +object, unfitting a maiden's eyes to rest upon. The true followers of +the Gospel are those who strive to forget the sufferings of our dear +Lord as much as possible,--or to think of them only in spirit. The minds +of sinners, alas! are easily influenced,--and it is both unseemly and +dangerous to gaze freely upon the carven semblance of the Lord's limbs! +Yea, truly, it hath oft been considered as damnatory to the soul,--more +especially in the cases of women immured as nuns, who encourage +themselves in an undue familiarity with our Lord, by gazing long and +earnestly upon his body nailed to the accursed tree." + +Here Mr. Dyceworthy paused for breath. Thelma was silent, but a faint +smile gleamed on her face. + +"Wherefore," he went on, "I do adjure you, as you desire grace and +redemption, to utterly cast from you the vile trinket, I have,--Heaven +knows how reluctantly! . . . returned to your keeping,--to trample upon +it, and renounce it as a device of Satan. . ." He stopped, surprised and +indignant, as she raised the much-abused emblem to her lips and kissed +it reverently. + +"It is the sign of peace and salvation," she said steadily, "to me, at +least. You waste your words, Mr. Dyceworthy; I am a Catholic." + +"Oh, say not so!" exclaimed the minister, now thoroughly roused to a +pitch of unctuous enthusiasm. "Say not so. Poor child! who knowest not +the meaning of the word used. Catholic signifies universal. God forbid a +universal Papacy! You are not a Catholic--no! You are a Roman--by which +name we understand all that is most loathsome and unpleasing unto God! +But I will wrestle for your soul,--yea, night and day will I bend my +spiritual sinews to the task,--I will obtain the victory,--I will +exorcise the fiend! Alas, alas! you are on the brink of hell--think of +it!" and Mr. Dyceworthy stretched out his hand with his favorite pulpit +gesture. "Think of the roasting and burning,--the scorching and +withering of souls! Imagine, if you can, the hopeless, bitter, eternal +damnation," and here he smacked his lips as though he were tasting +something excellent,--"from which there is no escape! . . . for which +there shall be no remedy!" + +"It is a gloomy picture," said Thelma, with a quiet sparkle in her eye. +"I am sorry,--for _you_. But I am happier,--my faith teaches of +purgatory--there is always a little hope!" + +"There is none! there is none!" exclaimed the minister rising in +excitement from his seat, and swaying ponderously to and fro as he +gesticulated with hands and head. "You are doomed,--doomed! There is no +middle course between hell and heaven. It must be one thing or the +other; God deals not in half-measures! Pause, oh pause, ere you decide +to fall! Even at the latest hour the Lord desires to save your +soul,--the Lord yearns for your redemption, and maketh me to yearn also. +Froeken Thelma!" and Mr. Dyceworthy's voice deepened in solemnity, "there +is a way which the Lord hath whispered in mine ears,--a way that +pointeth to the white robe and the crown of glory,--a way by which you +shall possess the inner peace of the heart with bliss on earth as the +forerunner of bliss in heaven!" + +She looked at him steadfastly. "And that way is--what?" she inquired. + +Mr. Dyceworthy hesitated, and wished with all his heart that this girl +was not so thoroughly self-possessed. Any sign of timidity in her would +have given him an increase of hardihood. But her eyes were coldly +brilliant, and glanced him over without the smallest embarrassment. He +took refuge in his never-failing remedy, his benevolent smile--a smile +that covered a multitude of hypocrisies. + +"You ask a plain question, Froeken," he said sweetly, "and I should be +loth not to give you a plain answer. That way--that glorious way of +salvation for you is--through _me_!" + +And his countenance shone with smug self-satisfaction as he spoke, and +he repeated softly, "Yes, yes; that way is through me!" + +She moved with a slight gesture of impatience. "It is a pity to talk any +more," she said rather wearily. "It is all no use! Why do you wish to +change me in my religion? I do not wish to change _you_. I do not see +why we should speak of such things at all." + +"Of course!" replied Mr. Dyceworthy blandly. "Of course you do not see. +And why? Because you are blind." Here he drew a little nearer to her, +and looked covetously at the curve of her full, firm waist. + +"Oh, why!" he resumed in a sort of rapture--"why should we say it is a +pity to talk any more? Why should we say it is all no use? It _is_ of +use,--it is noble, it is edifying to converse of the Lord's good +pleasure! And what is His good pleasure at this moment? To unite two +souls in His service! Yea, He hath turned my desire towards you, Froeken +Thelma,--even as Jacob's desire was towards Rachel! Let me see this +hand." He made a furtive grab at the white taper fingers that played +listlessly with the jessamine leaves on the porch, but the girl +dexterously withdrew them from his clutch and moved a little further +back, her face flushing proudly. "Oh, will it not come to me? Cruel +hand!" and he rolled his little eyes with an absurdly sentimental air of +reproach. "It is shy--it will not clasp the hand of its protector! Do +not be afraid, Froeken! . . . I, Charles Dyceworthy, am not the man to +trifle with your young affections! Let them rest where they have flown! +I accept them! Yea! . . . in spite of wrath and error and moral +destitution,--my spirit inclineth towards you,--in the language of +carnal men, I love you! More than this, I am willing to take you as my +lawful wife--" + +He broke off abruptly, somewhat startled at the bitter scorn of the +flashing eyes that, like two quivering stars, were blazing upon him. Her +voice, clear as a bell ringing in frosty air, cut through the silence +like a sweep of a sword-blade. + +"How dare you!" she said, with a wrathful thrill in her low, intense +tones. "How dare you come here to insult me!" + +Insult her! He,--the Reverend Charles Dyceworthy,--considered guilty of +insult in offering honorable marriage to a mere farmer's daughter! He +could not believe his own ears,--and in his astonishment he looked up at +her. Looking, he recoiled and shrank into himself, like a convicted +knave before some queenly accuser. The whole form of the girl seemed to +dilate with indignation. From her proud mouth, arched like a bow, sprang +barbed arrows of scorn that flew straightly and struck home. + +"Always I have guessed what you wanted," she went on in that deep, +vibrating tone which had such a rich quiver of anger within it; "but I +never thought you would--" She paused, and a little disdainful laugh +broke from her lips. "You would make _me_ your wife--_me_? You think +_me_ likely to accept such an offer?" And she drew herself up with a +superb gesture, and regarded him fixedly. + +"Oh, pride, pride!" murmured the unabashed Dyceworthy, recovering from +the momentary abasement into which he had been thrown by her look and +manner. "How it overcometh our natures and mastereth our spirits! My +dear, my dearest Froeken,--I fear you do not understand me! Yet it is +natural that you should not; you were not prepared for the offer of +my--my affections,"--and he beamed all over with benevolence,--"and I +can appreciate a maidenly and becoming coyness, even though it assume +the form of a repellant and unreasonable anger. But take courage, my--my +dear girl!--our Lord forbid that I should wantonly play with the +delicate emotions of your heart! Poor little heart! does it flutter?" +and Mr. Dyceworthy leered sweetly. "I will give it time to recover +itself! Yes, yes! a little time! and then you will put that pretty hand +in mine"--here he drew nearer to her, "and with one kiss we will seal +the compact!" + +And he attempted to steal his arm round her waist, but the girl sprang +back indignantly, and pulling down a thick branch of the clambering +prickly roses from the porch, held it in front of her by way of +protection. Mr. Dyceworthy laughed indulgently. + +"Very pretty--very pretty indeed!" he mildly observed, eyeing her as she +stood at bay barricaded by the roses. "Quite a picture! There, there! do +not be frightened,--such shyness is very natural! We will embrace in the +Lord another day! In the meantime one little word--_the_ word--will +suffice me,--yea, even one little smile,--to show me that you understand +my words,--that you love me"--here he clasped his plump hands together +in flabby ecstasy--"even as you are loved!" + +His absurd attitude,--the weak, knock-kneed manner in which his clumsy +legs seemed, from the force of sheer sentiment, to bend under his +weighty body, and the inanely amatory expression of his puffy +countenance, would have excited most women to laughter,--and Thelma was +perfectly conscious of his utterly ridiculous appearance, but she was +too thoroughly indignant to take the matter in a humorous light. + +"Love you!" she exclaimed, with a movement of irrepressible loathing. +"You must be mad! I would rather die than marry you!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy's face grew livid and his little eyes sparkled +vindictively,--but he restrained his inward rage, and merely smiled, +rubbing his hands softly one against the other. + +"Let us be calm!" he said soothingly. "Whatever we do, let us be calm! +Let us not provoke one another to wrath! Above all things, let us, in a +spirit of charity and patience, reason out this matter without undue +excitement. My ears have most painfully heard your last words, which, +taken literally, might mean that you reject my honorable offer. The +question is, _do_ they mean this? I cannot,--I will not believe that you +would foolishly stand in the way of your own salvation,"--and he shook +his head with doleful gentleness. "Moreover, Froeken Thelma, though it +sorely distresses me to speak of it,--it is my duty, as a minister of +the Lord, to remind you that an honest marriage,--a marriage of virtue +and respectability such as I propose, is the only way to restore your +reputation,--which, alas! is sorely damaged, and--" + +Mr. Dyceworthy stopped abruptly, a little alarmed, as she suddenly cast +aside the barrier of roses and advanced toward him, her blue eyes +blazing. + +"My reputation!" she said haughtily. "Who speaks of it?" + +"Oh dear, dear me!" moaned the minister pathetically. "Sad! . . . very +sad to see so ungovernable a temper, so wild and untrained a +disposition! Alas, alas! how frail we are without the Lord's +support,--without the strong staff of the Lord's mercy to lean upon! Not +I, my poor child, not I, but the whole village speaks of you; to you the +ignorant people attribute all the sundry evils that of late have fallen +sorely upon them,--bad harvests, ill-luck with the fishing, poverty, +sickness,"--here Mr. Dyceworthy pressed the tips of his fingers +delicately together, and looked at her with a benevolent +compassion,--"and they call it witchcraft,--yes! strange, very strange! +But so it is,--ignorant as they are, such ignorance is not easily +enlightened,--and though I," he sighed, "have done my poor best to +disabuse their minds of the suspicions against you, I find it is a +matter in which I, though a humble mouthpiece of the Gospel, am +powerless--quite powerless!" + +She relaxed her defiant attitude, and moved away from him; the shadow of +a smile was on her lips. + +"It is not my fault if the people are foolish," she said coldly; "I have +never done harm to any one that I know of." And turning abruptly, she +seemed about to enter the house, but the minister dexterously placed +himself in her way, and barred her passage. + +"Stay, oh, stay!" he exclaimed with unctuous fervor. "Pause, unfortunate +girl, ere you reject the strong shield and buckler that the Lord has, in +His great mercy, offered you, in my person! For I must warn you,--Froeken +Thelma, I must warn you seriously of the danger you run! I will not pain +you by referring to the grave charges brought against your father, who +is, alas! in spite of my spiritual wrestling with the Lord for his sake, +still no better than a heathen savage; no! I will say nothing of this. +But what,--what shall I say,"--here he lowered his voice to a tone of +mysterious and weighty reproach,--"what shall I say of your most +unseemly and indiscreet companionship with these worldly young men who +are visiting the Fjord for their idle pastime? Ah dear, dear! This is +indeed a heavy scandal and a sore burden to my soul,--for up to this +time I have, in spite of many faults in your disposition, considered you +were at least of a most maidenly and decorous deportment,--but now--now! +to think that you should, of your own free will and choice, consent to +be the plaything of this idle stroller from the wicked haunts of +fashion,--the hour's toy of this Sir Philip Errington! Froeken Thelma, I +would never have believed it of you!" And he drew himself up with +ponderous and sorrowful dignity. + +A burning blush had covered Thelma's face at the mention of Errington's +name, but it soon faded, leaving her very pale. She changed her position +so that she confronted Mr. Dyceworthy,--her clear blue eyes regarded him +steadfastly. + +"Is this what is said of me?" she asked calmly. + +"It is,--it is, most unfortunately!" returned the minister, shaking his +bullet-like head a great many times; then, with a sort of elephantine +cheerfulness, he added, "but what matter? There is time to remedy these +things. I am willing to set myself as a strong barrier against the evil +noises of rumor! Am I selfish or ungenerous? The Lord forbid it! No +matter how _I_ am compromised, no matter how _I_ am misjudged,--I am +still willing to take you as my lawful wife Froeken Thelma,--but," and +here he shook his forefinger at her with a pretended playfulness, "I +will permit no more converse with Sir Philip Errington; no, no! I cannot +allow it! . . . I cannot, indeed!" + +She still looked straight at him,--her bosom rose and fell rapidly with +her passionate breath, and there was such an eloquent breath of scorn in +her face that he winced under it as though struck by a sharp scourge. + +"You are not worth my anger!" she said slowly, this time without a +tremor in her rich voice. "One must have something to be angry with, and +you--you are nothing! Neither man nor beast,--for men are brave, and +beasts tell no lies! Your wife! I!" and she laughed aloud,--then with a +gesture of command, "Go!" she exclaimed, "and never let me see your face +again!" + +The clear scornful laughter,--the air of absolute authority with which +she spoke,--would have stung the most self-opinionated of men, even +though his conscience were enveloped in a moral leather casing of +hypocrisy and arrogance. And, notwithstanding his invariable air of +mildness, Mr. Dyceworthy had a temper. That temper rose to a white heat +just now,--every drop of blood receded from his countenance,--and his +soft hands clenched themselves in a particularly ugly and threatening +manner. Yet he managed to preserve his suave composure. + +"Alas, alas!" he murmured. "How sorely my soul is afflicted to see you +thus, Froeken! I am amazed--I am distressed! Such language from your +lips! oh fie, fie! And has it come to this! And must I resign the hope I +had of saving your poor soul? and must I withdraw my spiritual +protection from you?" This he asked with a suggestive sneer of his prim +mouth,--and then continued, "I must--alas, I must! My conscience will +not permit me to do more than pray for you! And as is my duty, I shall, +in a spirit of forbearance and charity, speak warningly to Sir Philip +concerning--" + +But Thelma did not permit him to finish his sentence. She sprang forward +like a young leopardess, and with a magnificent outward sweep of her arm +motioned him down the garden path. + +"Out of my sight,--_coward_!" she cried, and then stood waiting for him +to obey her, her whole frame vibrating with indignation like a harp +struck too roughly. She looked so terribly beautiful, and there was such +a suggestive power in that extended bare white arm of hers, that the +minister, though quaking from head to heel with disappointment and +resentment, judged it prudent to leave her. + +"Certainly, I will take my departure, Froeken!" he said meekly, while his +teeth glimmered wolfishly through his pale lips, in a snarl more than a +smile. "It is best you should be alone to recover yourself--from +this--this undue excitement! I shall not repeat my--my--offer; but I am +sure your good sense will--in time--show you how very unjust and hasty +you have been in this matter--and--and you will be sorry! Yes, indeed! I +am quite sure you will be sorry! I wish you good day, Froeken Thelma!" + +She made him no reply, and he turned from the house and left her, +strolling down the flower-bordered path as though he were in the best of +all possible moods with himself and the universe. But, in truth, he +muttered a heavy oath under his breath--an oath that was by no means in +keeping with his godly and peaceful disposition. Once, as he walked, he +looked back,--and saw the woman he coveted now more than ever, standing +erect in the porch, tall, fair and loyal in her attitude, looking like +some proud empress who had just dismissed an unworthy vassal. A farmer's +daughter! and she had refused Mr. Dyceworthy with disdain! He had much +ado to prevent himself shaking his fist at her! + +"The lofty shall be laid low, and the stiff-necked shall be humbled," he +thought, as with a vicious switch of his stick he struck off a fragrant +head of purple clover. "Conceited fool of a girl! Hopes to be 'my lady' +does she? She had better take care!" + +Here he stopped abruptly in his walk as if a thought had struck him,--a +malignant joy sparkled in his eyes, and he flourished his stick +triumphantly in the air. "I'll have her yet!" he exclaimed half-aloud. +"I'll set Lovisa on her!" And his countenance cleared; he quickened his +pace like a man having some pressing business to fulfill, and was soon +in his boat, rowing towards Bosekop with unaccustomed speed and energy. + +Meanwhile Thelma stood motionless where he had left her,--she watched +the retreating form of her portly suitor till he had altogether +disappeared,--then she pressed one hand on her bosom, sighed, and +laughed a little. Glancing at the crucifix so lately restored to her, +she touched it with her lips and fastened it to a small silver chain she +wore, and then a shadow swept over her fair face that made it strangely +sad and weary. Her lips quivered pathetically; she shaded her eyes with +her curved fingers as though the sunlight hurt her,--then with faltering +steps she turned away from the warm stretch of garden, brilliant with +blossom, and entered the house. There was a sense of outrage and insult +upon her, and though in her soul she treated Mr. Dyceworthy's +observations with the contempt they deserved, his coarse allusion to Sir +Philip Errington had wounded her more than she cared to admit to +herself. Once in the quiet sitting-room, she threw herself on her knees +by her father's arm-chair, and laying her proud little golden head down +on her folded arms, she broke into a passion of silent tears. + +Who shall unravel the mystery of a woman's weeping? Who shall declare +whether it is a pain or a relief to the overcharged heart? The dignity +of a crowned queen is capable of utterly dissolving and disappearing in +a shower of tears, when Love's burning finger touches the pulse and +marks its slow or rapid beatings. And Thelma wept as many of her sex +weep, without knowing why, save that all suddenly she felt herself most +lonely and forlorn like Sainte Beuve's-- + + "Colombe gemissante, + Qui demande par pitie + Sa moitie, + Sa moitie loin d'elle absente!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "A wicked will, + A woman's will; a cankered grandame's will!" + _King John_. + + +"By Jove!" + +And Lorimer, after uttering this unmeaning exclamation, was silent out +of sheer dismay. He stood hesitating and looking in at the door of the +Gueldmar's sitting-room, and the alarming spectacle he saw was the +queenly Thelma down on the floor in an attitude of grief,--Thelma giving +way to little smothered sobs of distress,--Thelma actually crying! He +drew a long breath and stared, utterly bewildered. It was a sight for +which he was unprepared,--he was not accustomed to women's tears. What +should he do? Should he cough gently to attract her attention, or should +he retire on tip-toe and leave her to indulge her grief as long as she +would, without making any attempt to console her? The latter course +seemed almost brutal, yet he was nearly deciding upon it, when a slight +creak of the door against which he leaned, caused her to look up +suddenly. Seeing him, she rose quickly from her desponding position and +faced him, her cheeks somewhat deeply flushed and her eyes glittering +feverishly. + +"Mr. Lorimer!" she exclaimed, forcing a faint smile to her quivering +lips. "You here? Why, where are the others?" + +"They are coming on after me," replied Lorimer, advancing into the room, +and diplomatically ignoring the girl's efforts to hide the tears that +still threatened to have their way. "But I was sent in advance to tell +you not to be frightened. There has been a slight accident--" + +She grew very pale. "Is it my father?" she asked tremblingly. "Sir +Philip--" + +"No, no!" answered Lorimer reassuringly. "It is nothing serious, really, +upon my honor! Your father's all right,--so is Phil,--our lively friend +Pierre is the victim. The fact is, we've had some trouble with Sigurd. I +can't think what has come to the boy! He was as amiable as possible when +we started, but after we had climbed about half-way up the mountain, he +took it into his head to throw stones about rather recklessly. It was +only fun, he said. Your father tried to make him leave off, but he was +obstinate. At last, in a particularly bright access of playfulness, he +got hold of a large flint, and nearly put Phil's eye out with it,--Phil +dodged it, and it flew straight at Duprez, splitting open his cheek in +rather an unbecoming fashion--Don't look so horrified, Miss Gueldmar,--it +is really nothing!" + +"Oh, but indeed it is something!" she said, with true womanly anxiety in +her voice. "Poor fellow! I am so sorry! Is he much hurt? Does he +suffer?" + +"Pierre? Oh, no, not a bit of it! He's as jolly as possible! We bandaged +him up in a very artistic fashion; he looks quite interesting, I assure +you. His beauty's spoilt for a time, that's all. Phil thought you might +be alarmed when you saw us bringing home the wounded,--that is why I +came on to tell you all about it." + +"But what can be the matter with Sigurd?" asked the girl, raising her +hand furtively to dash off a few tear-drops that still hung on her long +lashes. "And where is he?" + +"Ah, that I can't tell you!" answered Lorimer. "He is perfectly +incomprehensible to-day. As soon as he saw the blood flowing from +Duprez's cheek, he tittered a howl as if some one had shot him, and away +he rushed into the woods as fast as he could go. We called him, and +shouted his name till we were hoarse,--all no use! He wouldn't come +back. I suppose he'll find his way home by himself?" + +"Oh, yes," said Thelma gravely. "But when he comes I will scold him very +much! It is not like him to be so wild and cruel. He will understand me +when I tell him how wrong he has been." + +"Oh, don't break his heart, poor little chap!" said Lorimer easily. +"Your father has given him a terrible scolding already. He hasn't got +his wits about him you know,--he can't help being queer sometimes. But +what have _you_ been doing with yourself during our absence?" And he +regarded her with friendly scrutiny. "You were crying when I came in. +Now, weren't you?" + +She met his gaze quite frankly. "Yes!" she replied, with a plaintive +thrill in her voice. "I could not help it! My heart ached and the tears +came. Somehow I felt that everything was wrong,--and that it was all my +fault--" + +"Your fault!" murmured Lorimer, astonished. "My dear Miss Gueldmar, what +do you mean? What _is_ your fault?" + +"Everything!" she answered sadly, with a deep sigh. "I am very foolish; +and I am sure I often do wrong without meaning it. Mr. Dyceworthy has +been here and--" she stopped abruptly, and a wave of color flushed her +face. + +Lorimer laughed lightly. "Dyceworthy!" he exclaimed. "The mystery is +explained! You have been bored by 'the good religious,' as Pierre calls +him. You know what _boring_ means now, Miss Gueldmar, don't you?" She +smiled slightly, and nodded. "The first time you visited the _Eulalie_, +you didn't understand the word, I remember,--ah!" and he shook his +head--"if you were in London society, you'd find that expression very +convenient,--it would come to your lips pretty frequently, I can tell +you!" + +"I shall never see London," she said, with a sort of resigned air. "You +will all go away very soon, and I--I shall be lonely--" + +She bit her lips in quick vexation, as her blue eyes filled again with +tears in spite of herself. + +Lorimer turned away and pulled a chair to the open window. + +"Come and sit down here," he said invitingly. "We shall be able to see +the others coming down the hill. Nothing like fresh air for blowing away +the blues." Then, as she obeyed him, he added, "What has Dyceworthy been +saying to you?" + +"He told me I was wicked," she murmured; "and that all the people here +think very badly of me. But that was not the worst"--and a little +shudder passed over her--"there was something else--something that made +me very angry--so angry!"--and here she raised her eyes with a gravely +penitent air--"Mr. Lorimer, I do not think I have ever had so bad and +fierce a temper before!" + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Lorimer, with a broad smile. "You alarm me, +Miss Gueldmar! I had no idea you were a 'bad, fierce' person,--I shall +get afraid of you--I shall, really!" + +"Ah, you laugh!" and she spoke half-reproachfully. "You will not be +serious for one little moment!" + +"Yes I will! Now look at me," and he assumed a solemn expression, and +drew himself up with an air of dignity. "I am all attention! Consider me +your father-confessor. Miss Gueldmar, and explain the reason of this +'bad, fierce' temper of yours." + +She peeped at him shyly from under her silken lashes. + +"It is more dreadful than you think," she answered in a low tone. "Mr. +Dyceworthy asked me to marry him." + +Lorimer's keen eyes flashed with indignation. This was beyond a +jest,--and he clenched his fist as he exclaimed-- + +"Impudent donkey! What a jolly good thrashing he deserves! . . . and I +shouldn't be surprised if he got it one of these days! And so, Miss +Gueldmar,"--and he studied her face with some solicitude--"you were very +angry with him?" + +"Oh yes!" she replied, "but when I told him he was a coward, and that he +must go away, he said some very cruel things--" she stopped, and blushed +deeply; then, as if seized by some sudden impulse, she laid her small +hand on Lorimer's and said in the tone of an appealing child, "you are +very good and kind to me, and you are clever,--you know so much more +than I do! You must help me,--you will tell me, will you not? . . . if it +is wrong of me to like you all,--it is as if we had known each other a +long time and I have been very happy with you and your friends. But you +must teach me to behave like the girls you have seen in London,--for I +could not bear that Sir Philip should think me wicked!" + +"Wicked!" and Lorimer drew a long breath. "Good heavens! If you knew +what Phil's ideas about you are, Miss Gueldmar--" + +"I do not wish to know," interrupted Thelma steadily. "You must quite +understand me,--I am not clever to hide my thoughts, and--and--, _you_ +are glad when you talk sometimes to Sir Philip, are you not?" He nodded, +gravely studying every light and shadow on the fair, upturned, innocent +face. + +"Yes!" she continued with some eagerness, "I see you are! Well, it is +the same with me,--I do love to hear him speak! You know how his voice +is like music, and how his kind ways warm the heart,--it is pleasant to +be in his company--I am sure you also find it so! But for me,--it seems +it is wrong,--it is not wise for me to show when I am happy. I do not +care what other people say,--but I would not have _him_ think ill of me +for all the world!" + +Lorimer took her hand and held it in his with a most tender loyalty and +respect. Her naive, simple words had, all unconsciously to herself, laid +bare the secret of her soul to his eyes,--and though his heart beat with +a strange sickening sense of unrest that flavored of despair, a gentle +reverence filled him, such as a man might feel if some little snow-white +shrine, sacred to purity and peace, should be suddenly unveiled before +him. + +"My dear Miss Gueldmar," he said earnestly, "I assure you, you have no +cause to be uneasy! You must not believe a word Dyceworthy says--every +one with a grain of common sense can see what a liar and hypocrite he +is! And as for you, you never do anything wrong,--don't imagine such +nonsense! I wish there were more women like you!" + +"Ah, that is very kind of you!" half laughed the girl, still allowing +her hand to rest in his. "But I do not think everybody would have such a +good opinion." They both started, and their hands fell asunder as a +shadow darkened the room, and Sir Philip stood before them. + +"Excuse me!" he said stiffly, lifting his hat with ceremonious +politeness. "I ought to have knocked at the door--I--" + +"Why?" asked Thelma, raising her eyebrows in surprise. + +"Yes--why indeed?" echoed Lorimer, with a frank look at his friend. + +"I am afraid,"--and for once the generally good-humored Errington looked +positively petulant--"I am afraid I interrupted a pleasant +conversation!" And he gave a little forced laugh of feigned amusement, +but evident vexation. + +"And if it was pleasant, shall you not make it still more so?" asked +Thelma, with timid and bewitching sweetness, though her heart beat very +fast,--she was anxious. Why was Sir Philip so cold and distant? He +looked at her, and his pent-up passion leaped to his eyes and filled +them with a glowing and fiery tenderness,--her head drooped suddenly, +and she turned quickly, to avoid that searching, longing gaze. Lorimer +glanced from one to the other with, a slight feeling of amusement. + +"Well Phil," he inquired lazily, "how did you get here so soon? You must +have glided into the garden like a ghost, for I never heard you coming." + +"So I imagine!" retorted Errington, with, an effort to be sarcastic, in +which he utterly failed as he met his friend's eyes,--then after a +slight and somewhat embarrassed pause he added more mildly! "Duprez +cannot get on very fast,--his wound still bleeds, and he feels rather +faint now and then. I don't think we bandaged him up properly, and I +came on to see if Britta could prepare something for him." + +"But you will not need to ask Britta," said Thelma quietly, with a +pretty air of authority, "for I shall myself do all for Mr. Duprez. I +understand well how to cure his wound, and I do think he will like me as +well as Britta." And, hearing footsteps approaching, she looked out at +the window. "Here they come!" she exclaimed. "Ah, poor Monsieur Pierre! +he does look very pale! I will go and meet them." + +And she hurried from the room, leaving the two young men together. +Errington threw himself into Olaf Gueldmar's great arm-chair, with a +slight sigh. + +"Well?" said Lorimer inquiringly. + +"Well!" he returned somewhat gruffly. + +Lorimer laughed, and crossing the room, approached him and clapped a +hand on his shoulder. + +"Look here, old man!" he said earnestly, "don't be a fool! I know that +'love maketh men mad,' but I never supposed the lunacy would lead you to +the undesirable point of distrusting your friend,--your true friend, +Phil,--by all the Gods of the past and present!" + +And he laughed again,--a little huskily this time, for there was a +sudden unaccountable and unwished-for lump in his throat, and a moisture +in his eyes which he had not bargained for. Philip looked up,--and +silently held out his hand, which Lorimer as silently clasped. There was +a moment's hesitation, and then the young baronet spoke out manfully. + +"I'm ashamed of myself, George! I really am! But I tell you, when I came +in and saw you two standing there,--you've no idea what a picture you +made! . . . by Jove! . . . I was furious!" And he smiled. "I suppose I was +jealous!" + +"I suppose you were!" returned Lorimer amusedly. + +"Novel sensation, isn't it? A sort of hot, prickly, +'have-at-thee-villain' sort of thing; must be frightfully exhausting! +But why you should indulge this emotion at _my_ expense is what I +cannot, for the life of me, understand!" + +"Well," murmured Errington, rather abashed, "you see, her hands were in +yours--" + +"As they will be again, and yet again, I trust!" said Lorimer with +cheery fervor. "Surely you'll allow me to shake hands with your wife?" + +"I say, George, be quiet!" exclaimed Philip warningly, as at that moment +Thelma passed the window with Pierre Duprez leaning on her arm, and her +father and Macfarlane following. + +She entered the room with the stately step of a young queen,--her tall, +beautiful figure forming a strong contrast to that of the +narrow-shouldered little Frenchman, upon whom she smiled down with an +air of almost maternal protection. + +"You will sit here, Monsieur Duprez," she said, leading him to the +_bonde's_ arm-chair which Errington instantly vacated, "and father will +bring you a good glass of wine. And the pain will be nothing when I have +attended to that cruel wound. But I am so sorry,--so very sorry, to see +you suffer!" + +Pierre did indeed present rather a dismal spectacle. There was a severe +cut on his forehead as well as his cheek; his face was pale and streaked +with blood, while the hastily-improvised bandages which were tied under +his chin, by no means improved his personal appearance. His head ached +with the pain, and his eyes smarted with the strong sunlight to which he +had been exposed all the day, but his natural gaiety was undiminished, +and he laughed as he answered-- + +"_Chere Mademoiselle_, you are too good to me! It is a piece of good +fortune that Sigurd threw that stone--yes! since it brings me your pity! +But do not trouble; a little cold water and a fresh handkerchief is all +I need." + +But Thelma was already practicing her own simple surgery for his +benefit. With deft, soft fingers she laid bare the throbbing +wound,--washed and dressed it carefully and skillfully,--and used with +all such exceeding gentleness, that Duprez closed his eyes in a sort of +rapture during the operation, and wished it could last longer. Then +taking the glass of wine her father brought in obedience to her order, +she said in a tone of mild authority-- + +"Now, you will drink this Monsieur Pierre, and you will rest quite still +till it is time to go back to the yacht; and to-morrow you will not feel +any pain, I am sure. And I do think it will not be an ugly scar for +long." + +"If it is," answered Pierre, "I shall say I received it in a duel! Then +I shall be great--glorious! and all the pretty ladies will love me!" + +She laughed,--but looked grave a moment afterwards. + +"You must never say what is not true," she said. "It is wrong to deceive +any one,--even in a small matter." + +Duprez gazed up at her wonderingly, feeling very much like a chidden +child. + +"Never say what is not true!" he thought. "Mon Dieu! what would become +of my life?" + +It was a new suggestion, and he reflected upon it with astonishment. It +opened such a wide vista of impossibilities to his mind. + +Meanwhile old Gueldmar was engaged in pouring out wine for the other +young men, talking all the time. + +"I tell thee, Thelma mine," he said seriously, "something must be very +wrong with our Sigurd. The poor lad has always been gentle and +tractable, but to-day he was like some wild animal for mischief and +hardihood. I grieve to see it! I fear the time may come when he may no +longer be a safe servant for thee, child!" + +"Oh, father!"--and the girl's voice was full of tender anxiety--"surely +not! He is too fond of us to do us any harm--he is so docile and +affectionate!" + +"Maybe, maybe!" and the old farmer shook his head doubtfully. "But when +the wits are away the brain is like a ship without ballast--there is no +safe sailing possible. He would not mean any harm, perhaps,--and yet in +his wild moods he might do it, and be sorry for it directly afterwards. +'Tis little use to cry when the mischief is done,--and I confess I do +not like his present humor." + +"By-the-by," observed Lorimer, "that reminds me! Sigurd has taken an +uncommonly strong aversion to Phil. It's curious but it's a fact. +Perhaps it is that which upsets his nerves?" + +"I have noticed it myself," said Errington, "and I'm sorry for it, for +I've done him no harm that I can remember. He certainly asked me to go +away from the Altenfjord, and I refused,--I'd no idea he had any serious +meaning in his request. But it's evident he can't endure my company." + +"Ah, then!" said Thelma simply and sorrowfully, "he must be very +ill,--because it is natural for every one to like you." + +She spoke in perfect good faith and innocence of heart; but Errington's +eyes flashed and he smiled--one of those rare, tender smiles of his +which brightened his whole visage. + +"You are very kind to say so, Miss Gueldmar!" + +"It is not kindness; it is the truth!" she replied frankly. + +At that moment a very rosy face and two sparkling eyes peered in at the +door. + +"Yes, Britta!" Thelma smiled; "we are quite ready!" + +Whereupon the face disappeared, and Olaf Gueldmar led the way into the +kitchen, which was at the same time the dining-room, and where a +substantial supper was spread on the polished pine table. + +The farmer's great arm-chair was brought in for Duprez, who, though he +declared he was being spoilt by too much attention, seemed to enjoy it +immensely,--and they were all, including Britta, soon clustered round +the hospitable board whereon antique silver and quaint glasses of +foreign make sparkled bravely, their effect enhanced by the snowy +whiteness of the homespun table-linen. + +A few minutes set them all talking gaily. Macfarlane vied with the +ever-gallant Duprez in making a few compliments to Britta, who was +pretty and engaging enough to merit attention, and who, after all, was +something more than a mere servant, possessing, as she did, a great deal +of her young mistress's affection and confidence, and being always +treated by Gueldmar himself as one of the family. There was no reserve or +coldness in the party, and the hum of their merry voices echoed up to +the cross-rafters of the stout wooden ceiling and through the open door +and window, from whence a patch of the gorgeous afternoon sky could be +seen, glimmering redly, like a distant lake of fire. They were in the +full enjoyment of their repast, and the old farmer's rollicking "Ha, ha, +ha!" in response to a joke of Lorimer's, had just echoed jovially +through the room, when a strong, harsh voice called aloud--"Olaf +Gueldmar!" + +There was a sudden silence. Each one looked at the other in surprise. +Again the voice called--"Olaf Gueldmar!" + +"Well!" roared the _bonde_ testily, turning sharply round in his chair, +"who calls me?" + +"I do!" and the tall, emaciated figure of a woman advanced and stood on +the threshold, without actually entering the room. She dropped the black +shawl that enveloped her, and, in so doing, disordered her hair, which +fell in white, straggling locks about her withered features, and her +dark eyes gleamed maliciously as she fixed them on the assembled party. +Britta, on perceiving her, uttered a faint shriek, and without +considering the propriety of her action, buried her nut-brown curls and +sparkling eyes in Duprez's coat-sleeve, which, to do the Frenchman +justice, was exceedingly prompt to receive and shelter its fair burden. +The _bonde_ rose from his chair, and his face grew stern. + +"What do you here, Lovisa Elsland? Have you walked thus far from Talvig +to pay a visit that must needs be unwelcome?" + +"Unwelcome I know I am," replied Lovisa, disdainfully noting the terror +of Britta and the astonished glances if Errington and his +friends--"unwelcome at all times,--but most unwelcome at the hour of +feasting and folly,--for who can endure to receive a message from the +Lord when the mouth is full of savory morsels, and the brain reels with +the wicked wine? Yet I have come in spite of your iniquities. Olaf +Gueldmar,--strong in the strength of the Lord, I dare to set foot upon +your accursed threshold, and once more make my just demand. Give me back +the child of my dead daughter! . . . restore to me the erring creature +who should be the prop of my defenceless age, had not your pagan spells +alienated her from me,--release her,--and bid her return with me to my +desolate hearth and home. This done,--I will stay the tempest that +threatens your habitation--I will hold back the dark cloud of +destruction--I will avert the wrath of the Lord,--yes! for the sake of +the past--for the sake of the past!" + +These last words she muttered in a low tone, more to herself than to +Gueldmar; and, having spoken, she averted her eyes from the company, drew +her shawl closely about her, and waited for an answer. + +"By all the gods of my fathers!" shouted the _bonde_ in a towering +passion. "This passes my utmost endurance! Have I not told thee again +and again, thou silly soul! . . . that thy grandchild is no slave? She +is free--free to return to thee an' she will; free also to stay with us, +where she has found a happier home than thy miserable hut at Talvig, +Britta!" and he thumped his fist on the table. "Look up, child! Speak +for thyself! Thou hast a spirit of thine own. Here is thy one earthly +relation. Wilt go with her? Neither thy mistress nor I will stand in the +way of thy pleasure." + +Thus adjured Britta looked up so suddenly that Duprez,--who had rather +enjoyed the feel of her little nestling head hidden upon his arm,--was +quite startled, and he was still more so at the utter defiance that +flashed into the small maiden's round, rosy face. + +"Go with _you_!" she cried shrilly, addressing the old woman, who +remained standing in the same attitude, with an air of perfect +composure. "Do you think I have forgotten how you treated my mother, or +how you used to beat me and starve me? You wicked old woman! How dare +you come here? I'm ashamed of you! You frightened my mother to +death--you know you did! . . . and now you want to do the same to me! +But you won't--I can tell you! I'm old enough to do as I like, and I'd +rather die than live with you!" + +Then, overcome by excitement and temper, she burst out crying, heedless +of Pierre Duprez's smiling nods of approval, and the admiring remarks he +was making under his breath, such as--"_Brava, ma petite! C'est bien +fait! c'est joliment bien dit! Mais je crois bien!_" + +Lovisa seemed unmoved; she raised her head and looked, at Gueldmar. + +"Is this your answer?" she demanded. + +"By the sword of Odin!" cried the _bonde_, "the woman must be mad! _my_ +answer? The girl has spoken for herself,--and plainly enough too! Art +thou deaf, Lovisa Elsland? or are thy wits astray?" + +"My hearing is very good," replied Lovisa calmly, "and my mind, Olaf +Gueldmar, is as clear as yours. And, thanks to your teaching in mine +early days,"--she paused and looked keenly at him, but he appeared to +see no meaning in her allusion,--"I know the English tongue, of which we +hear far too much,--too often! There is nothing Britta has said that I +do not understand. But I know well it is not the girl herself that +speaks--it is a demon in her,--and that demon shall be cast forth before +I die! Yea, with the help of the Lord I shall--" She stopped abruptly +and fixed her eyes, glowing with fierce wrath, on Thelma. The girl met +her evil glance with a gentle surprise. Lovisa smiled malignantly. + +"You know me, I think!" said Lovisa. "You have seen me before?" + +"Often," answered Thelma mildly. "I have always been sorry for you." + +"Sorry for me!" almost yelled the old woman. "Why--why are you sorry for +me?" + +"Do not answer her, child!" interrupted Gueldmar angrily. "She is mad as +the winds of a wild winter, and will but vex thee." + +But Thelma laid her hand soothingly on her father's, and smiled +peacefully as she turned her fair face again towards Lovisa. + +"Why?" she said. "Because you seem so very lonely and sad--and that must +make you cross with every one who is happy! And it is a pity, I think, +that you do not let Britta alone--you only quarrel with each other when +you meet. And would you not like her to think kindly of you when you are +dead?" + +Lovisa seemed choking with anger,--her face worked into such hideous +grimaces, that all present, save Thelma, were dismayed at her repulsive +aspect. + +"When I am dead!" she muttered hoarsely. "So you count upon that +already, do you? Ah! . . . but do you know which of us shall die first!" +Then raising her voice with an effort she exclaimed-- + +"Stand forth, Thelma Gueldmar! Let me see you closely--face to face!" + +Errington said something in a low tone, and the _bonde_ would have again +interfered, but Thelma shook her head, smiled and rose from her seat at +table. + +"Anything to soothe her, poor soul!" she whispered, as she left +Errington's side and advanced towards Lovisa till she was within reach +of the old woman's hand. She looked like some grand white angel, who had +stepped down from a cathedral altar, as she stood erect and stately with +a gravely pitying expression in her lovely eyes, confronting the +sable-draped, withered, leering hag, who fixed upon her a steady look of +the most cruel and pitiless hatred. + +"Daughter of Satan!" said Lovisa then, in intense piercing tones that +somehow carried with them a sense of awe and horror. "Creature, in whose +veins the fire of hell burns without ceasing,--my _curse_ upon you! My +curse upon the beauty of your body--may it grow loathsome in the sight +of all men! May those who embrace you, embrace misfortune and ruin!--may +love betray you and forsake you! May your heart be broken even as mine +has been!--may your bridal bed be left deserted!--may your children +wither and pine from their hour of birth! Sorrow track you to the +grave!--may your death be lingering and horrible! God be my witness and +fulfill my words!" + +And, raising her arms with wild gesture, she turned and left the house. +The spell of stupefied silence was broken with her disappearance. Old +Gueldmar prepared to rush after her and force her to retract her evil +speech,--Errington was furious, and Britta cried bitterly. The lazy +Lorimer was excited and annoyed. + +"Fetch her back," he said, "and I'll dance upon her!" + +But Thelma stood where the old woman had left her--she smiled faintly, +but she was very pale. Errington approached her,--she turned to him and +stretched out her hands with a little appealing gesture. + +"My friend," she said softly, "do you think I deserve so many curses? Is +there something about me that is evil?" + +What Errington would have answered is doubtful,--his heart beat +wildly--he longed to draw those little hands in his own, and cover them +with passionate kisses,--but he was intercepted by old Gueldmar, who +caught his daughter in his arms and hugged her closely, his silvery +beard mingling with the gold of her rippling hair. + +"Never fear a wicked tongue, my bird!" said the old man fondly. "There +is naught of harm that would touch thee either on earth or in +heaven,--and a foul-mouthed curse must roll off thy soul like water from +a dove's wing! Cheer thee, my darling--cheer thee! What! Thine own creed +teaches thee that the gentle Mother of Christ, with her little white +angels round her, watches over all innocent maids,--and thinkest thou +she will let an old woman's malice and envy blight thy young days? No, +no! _Thou_ accursed?" And the _bonde_ laughed loudly to hide the tears +that moistened his keen eyes. "Thou art the sweetest blessing of my +heart, even as thy mother was before thee! Come, come! Raise thy pretty +head--here are these merry lads growing long-faced,--and Britta is +weeping enough salt water to fill a bucket! One of thy smiles will set +us all right again,--ay, there now!"--as she looked up and, meeting +Philip's eloquent eyes, blushed, and withdrew herself gently from her +father's arms,--"Let us finish our supper and think no more of yonder +villainous old hag--she is crazy, I believe, and knows not what she says +half her time. Now, Britta, cease thy grunting and sighing--'twill spoil +thy face and will not mend the hole in thy grandmother's brain!" + +"Wicked, spiteful, ugly old thing!" sobbed Britta; "I'll never, never, +never forgive her!" Then, running to Thelma, she caught her hand and +kissed it affectionately. "Oh, my dear, my dear! To think she should +have cursed you, what dreadful, dreadful wickedness! Oh!" and Britta +looked volumes of wrath. "I could have beaten her black and blue!" + +Her vicious eagerness was almost comic--every one laughed, including +Thelma, though she pressed the hand of her little servant very warmly. + +"Oh fie!" said Lorimer seriously. "Little girls mustn't whip their +grandmothers; it's specially forbidden in the Prayer-book, isn't it, +Phil?" + +"I'm sure I don't know!" replied Errington merrily. "I believe there is +something to the effect that a man may not marry his grandmother--perhaps +that is what you mean?" + +"Ah, no doubt!" murmured Lorimer languidly, as, with the others, he +resumed his seat at the supper-table. "I knew there was a special +mandate respecting one's particularly venerable relations, with a view +to self-guidance in case they should prove troublesome, like Britta's +good grand-mamma. What a frightfully picturesque mouthing old lady she +is!" + +"She is _la petroleuse_ of Norway!" exclaimed Duprez. "She would make an +admirable dancer in the Carmagnole!" + +Macfarlane, who had preserved a discreet silence throughout the whole +scene, here looked up. + +"She's just a screech-owl o' mistaken piety," he said. "She minds me o' +a glowerin' auld warlock of an aunt o' mine in Glasgie, wha sits in her +chair a' day wi' ae finger on the Bible. She says she's gaun straight to +heaven by special invitation o' the Lord, leavin' a' her blood relations +howlin' vainly after her from their roastin' fires down below. Ma +certes! she'll give ye a good rousin' curse if ye like! She's cursed me +ever since I can remember her,--cursed me in and out from sunrise to +sunset,--but I'm no the worse for't as yet,--an' it's dootful whether +she's any the better." + +"And yet Lovisa Elsland used to be as merry and lissom a lass as ever +stepped," said Gueldmar musingly. "I remember her well when both she and +I were young. I was always on the sea at that time,--never happy unless +the waves tossed me and my vessel from one shore to another. I suppose +the restless spirit of my fathers was in me. I was never contented +unless I saw some new coast every six months or so. Well! . . . Lovisa +was always foremost among the girls of the village who watched me leave +the Fjord,--and however long or short a time I might be absent, she was +certain to be on the shore when my ship came sailing home again. Many a +joke I have cracked with her and her companions--and she was a bonnie +enough creature to look at then, I tell you,--though now she is like a +battered figure-head on a wreck. Her marriage, spoiled her temper,--her +husband was as dark and sour a man as could be met with in all Norway, +and when he and his fishing-boat sank in a squall off the Lofoden +Islands, I doubt if she shed many tears for his loss. Her only +daughter's husband went down in the same storm,--and he but three months +wedded,--and the girl,--Britta's mother,--pined and pined, and even when +her child was born took no sort of comfort in it. She died four years +after Britta's birth--her death was hastened, so I have heard, through +old Lovisa's harsh treatment,--anyhow the little lass she left behind +her had no very easy time of it all alone with her grandmother,--eh +Britta?" + +Britta looked up and shook her head emphatically. + +"Then," went on Gueldmar, "when my girl came back the last time from +France, Britta chanced to see her, and, strangely enough,"--here he +winked shrewdly--"took a fancy to her face,--odd, wasn't it? However, +nothing would suit her but that she must be Thelma's handmaiden, and +here she is. Now you know her history,--she would be happy enough if her +grandmother would let her alone; but the silly old woman thinks the girl +is under a spell, and that Thelma is the witch that works it;"--and the +old farmer laughed. "There's a grain of truth in the notion too, but not +in the way she has of looking at it." + +"All women are witches!" said Duprez. "Britta is a little witch +herself!" + +Britta's rosy cheeks grew rosier at this, and she tossed her chestnut +curls with an air of saucy defiance that delighted the Frenchman. He +forgot his wounded cheek and his disfiguring bandages in the +contemplation of the little plump figure, cased in its close-fitting +scarlet bodice, and the tempting rosy lips that were in such close +proximity to his touch. + +"If it were not for those red hands!" he thought. "Dieu! what a charming +child she would be! One would instantly kill the grandmother and kiss +the granddaughter!" + +And he watched her with admiration as she busied herself about the +supper-table, attending to every one with diligence and care, but +reserving her special services for Thelma, whom she waited on with a +mingled tenderness, and reverence, that were both touching and pretty to +see. + +The conversation now became general, and nothing further occurred to +disturb the harmony and hilarity of the party--only Errington seemed +somewhat abstracted, and answered many questions that were put to him at +haphazard, without knowing, or possibly caring, whether his replies were +intelligible or incoherent. His thoughts were dreamlike and brilliant +with fairy sunshine. He understood at last what poets meant by their +melodious musings, woven into golden threads of song--he seemed to have +grasped some hitherto unguessed secret of his being--a secret that +filled him with as much strange pain as pleasure. He felt as though he +were endowed with a thousand senses,--each one keenly alive and +sensitive to the smallest touch,--and there was a pulsation in his blood +that was new and beyond his control,--a something that beat wildly in +his heart at the sound of Thelma's voice, or the passing flutter of her +white garments near him. Of what use to disguise it from himself any +longer? He loved her! The terrible, beautiful tempest of love had broken +over his life at last; there was no escape from its thunderous passion +and dazzling lightning glory. + +He drew a sharp quick breath--the hum of the gay voices around him was +more meaningless to his ears than the sound of the sea breaking on the +beach below. He glanced at the girl--the fair and innocent creature who +had, in his imagination, risen to a throne of imperial height, from +whence she could bestow on him death or salvation. How calm she seemed! +She was listening with courteous patience to a long story of +Macfarlane's whose Scotch accent rendered it difficult for her to +understand. She was pale, Philip thought, and her eyes were heavy; but +she smiled now and then,--such a smile! Even so sweetly might the +"kiss-worthy" lips of the Greek Aphrodite part, could that eloquent and +matchless marble for once breathe into life. He looked at her with a +sort of fear. Her hands held his fate. What if she could not love him? +What if he must lose her utterly? This idea overpowered him; his brain +whirled, and he suddenly pushed away his untasted glass of wine, and +rose abruptly from the table, heedless of the surprise his action +excited. + +"Hullo, Phil, where are you off to?" cried Lorimer. "Wait for me!" + +"Tired of our company, my lad?" said Gueldmar kindly, "You've had a long +day of it,--and what with the climbing and the strong air, no doubt +you'll be glad to turn in." + +"Upon my life, sir," answered Errington, with some confusion, "I don't +know why I got up just now! I was thinking,--I'm rather a dreamy sort of +fellow sometimes, and--" + +"He was asleep, and doesn't want to own it!" interrupted Lorimer +sententiously. "You will excuse him; he means well! He looks rather +seedy. I think, Mr. Gueldmar, we'll be off to the yacht. By the way, +you're coming with us to-morrow, aren't you?" + +"Oh yes," said Thelma. "We will sail with you round by Soroe,--it is +weird and dark and grand; but I think it is beautiful. And there are +many stories of the elves and berg-folk, who are said to dwell there +among the deep ravines. Have you heard about the berg-folk?" she +continued, addressing herself to Errington, unaware of the effort he was +making to appear cool and composed in her presence. "No? Then I must +tell you to-morrow." + +They all walked out of the house into the porch, and while her father +was interchanging farewells with the others, she looked at Sir Philip's +grave face with some solicitude. + +"I am afraid you are very tired, my friend?" she asked softly, "or your +head aches,--and you suffer?" + +He caught her hands swiftly and raised them to his lips. + +"Would you care much,--would you care at all, if I suffered?" he +murmured in a low tone. + +Then before she could speak or move, he let go her hands again, and +turned with his usual easy courtesy to Gueldmar. "Then we may expect you +without fail to-morrow, sir! Good night!" + +"Good night, my lad!" + +And with many hearty salutations the young men took their departure, +raising their hats to Thelma as they turned down the winding path to the +shore. She remained standing near her father,--and, when the sound of +their footsteps had died away, she drew closer still and laid her head +against his breast. + +"Cold, my bird?" queried the old man. "Why, thou art shivering, +child!--and yet the sunshine is as warm as wine. What ails thee?" + +"Nothing, father!" And she raised her eyes, glowing and brilliant as +stars. "Tell me,--do you think often of my mother now!" + +"Often!" And Gueldmar's fine resolute face grew sad and tender. "She is +never absent from my mind! I see her night and day, ay! I can feel her +soft arms clinging round my neck,--why dost thou ask so strange a +question, little one? Is it possible to forget what has been once +loved?" + +Thelma was silent for many minutes. Then she kissed her father and said +"good night." He held her by the hand and looked at her with a sort of +vague anxiety. + +"Art thou well, my child?" he asked. "This little hand burns like +fire,--and thine eyes are too bright, surely, for sleep to visit them? +Art sure that nothing ails thee?" + +"Sure, quite sure," answered the girl with a strange, dreamy smile. "I +am quite well,--and happy!" + +And she turned to enter the house. + +"Stay!" called the father. "Promise me thou wilt think no more of +Lovisa!" + +"I had nearly forgotten her," she responded. "Poor thing! She cursed me +because she is so miserable, I suppose--all alone and unloved; it must +be hard! Curses sometimes turn to blessings, father! Good night!" + +And she ascended the one flight of wooden stairs in the house to her own +bedroom--a little three-cornered place as clean and white as the +interior of a shell. Never once glancing at the small mirror that seemed +to invite her charms to reflect themselves therein, she went to the +quaint latticed window and knelt down by it, folding her arms on the +sill while she looked far out to the Fjord. She could see the English +flag fluttering from the masts of the _Eulalie_; she could almost hear +the steady plash of the oars wielded by Errington and his friends as +they rowed themselves back to the yacht. Bright tears filled her eyes, +and brimmed over, falling warmly on her folded hands. + +"Would I care if you suffered?" she whispered. "Oh, my love! . . . my +love!" + +Then, as if afraid lest the very winds should have heard her +half-breathed exclamation, she shut her window in haste, and a hot blush +crimsoned her cheeks. + +Undressing quickly, she slipped into her little white bed and, closing +her eyes, fancied she slept, though her sleep was but a waking dream of +love in which all bright hopes reached their utmost fulfillment, and yet +were in some strange way crossed with shadows which she had no power to +disperse. And later on, when old Gueldmar slumbered soundly, and the +golden mid-night sunshine lit up every nook and gable of the farmhouse +with its lustrous glory, making Thelma's closed lattice sparkle like a +carven jewel,--a desolate figure lay prone on the grass beneath her +window, with meagre pale face, and wide-open wild blue eyes upturned to +the fiery brilliancy of the heavens. Sigurd had come home;--Sigurd was +repentant, sorrowful, ashamed,--and broken-hearted. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "O Love! O Love! O Gateway of Delight! + Thou porch of peace, thou pageant of the prime + Of all God's creatures! I am here to climb + Thine upward steps, and daily and by night + To gaze beyond them and to search aright + The far-off splendor of thy track sublime." + ERIC MACKAY'S _Love-letters of a Violinist_. + + +On the following morning the heat was intense,--no breath of wind +stirred a ripple on the Fjord, and there was a heaviness in the +atmosphere which made the very brightness of the sky oppressive. Such +hot weather was unusual for that part of Norway, and according to +Valdemar Svensen, betokened some change. On board the _Eulalie_ +everything was ready for the trip to Soroe,--steam was getting up prior +to departure,--and a group of red-capped sailors stood prepared to weigh +the anchor as soon as the signal was given. Breakfast was +over,--Macfarlane was in the saloon writing his journal, which he kept +with great exactitude, and Duprez, who, on account of his wound, was +considered something of an invalid, was seated in a lounge chair on +deck, delightedly turning over a bundle of inflammatory French political +journals received that morning. Errington and Lorimer were pacing the +deck arm in arm, keeping a sharp look-out for the first glimpse of the +returning boat which had been sent off to fetch Thelma and her father. +Errington looked vexed and excited,--Lorimer bland and convincing. + +"I can't help it, Phil!" he said. "It's no use fretting and fuming at +me. It was like Dyceworthy's impudence, of course,--but there's no doubt +he proposed to her,--and it's equally certain that she rejected him. I +thought I'd tell you you had a rival,--not in me, as you seemed to think +yesterday,--but in our holy fat friend." + +"Rival! pshaw!" returned Errington, with an angry laugh. "He is not +worth kicking!" + +"Possibly not! Still I have a presentiment that he's the sort of fellow +that won't take 'no' for an answer. He'll dodge that poor girl and make +her life miserable if he can, unless--" + +"Unless what?" asked Philip quickly. + +Lorimer stopped in his walk, and, leaning against the deck-railings, +looked his friend straight in the eyes. + +"Unless you settle the matter," he said with a slight effort. "You love +her,--tell her so!" + +Errington laid one hand earnestly on his shoulder. + +"Ah, George, you don't understand!" he said in a low tone, while his +face was grave and full of trouble. "I used to think I was fairly brave, +but I find I am a positive coward. I dare not tell her! She--Thelma--is +not like other women. You may think me a fool,--I dare say you do,--but +I swear to you I am afraid to speak, because--because, old boy,--if she +were to refuse me,--if I knew there was no hope--well, I don't want to +be sentimental,--but my life would be utterly empty and worthless,--so +useless, that I doubt if I should care to live it out to the bitter +end!" + +Lorimer heard him in silence,--a silence maintained partly out of +sympathy, and partly that he might keep his own feelings well under +control. + +"But why persist in looking at the gloomy side of the picture?" he said +at last. "Suppose she loves you?" + +"Suppose an angel flew down from Heaven!" replied Philip, with rather a +sad smile. "My dear fellow, who am I that I should flatter myself so +far? If she were one of those ordinary women to whom marriage is the +be-all and end-all of existence, it would be different--but she is not. +Her thoughts are like those of a child or a poet,--why should I trouble +them by the selfishness of my passion? for all passion _is_ selfish, +even at its best. Why should I venture to break the calm friendship she +may have for me, by telling her of a love which might prove unwelcome!" + +Lorimer looked at him with gentle amusement depicted in his face. + +"Phil, you are less conceited than I thought you were," he said, with a +light laugh, "or else you are blind--blind as a bat, old man! Take my +advice,--don't lose any more time about it. Make the 'king's daughter of +Norroway' happy, . . ." and a brief sigh escaped him. "You are the man to +do it. I am surprised at your density; Sigurd, the lunatic, has more +perception. He sees which way the wind blows,--and that's why he's so +desperately unhappy. He thinks--and thinks rightly too--that he will +lose his 'beautiful rose of the northern forest,' as he calls her,--and +that you are to be the robber. Hence his dislike to you. Dear me!" and +Lorimer lit a cigarette and puffed at it complacently. "It seems to me +that my wits are becoming sharper as I grow older, and that yours, my +dear boy,--pardon me! . . . are getting somewhat blunted, otherwise you +would certainly have perceived--" he broke off abruptly. + +"Well, go on!" exclaimed Philip eagerly, with flashing eyes. "Perceived +what?" + +Lorimer laughed. "That the boat containing your Sun-empress is coming +along very rapidly, old fellow, and that you'd better make haste to +receive her!" + +This was the fact, and Duprez had risen from his chair and was waving +his French newspaper energetically to the approaching visitors. +Errington hastened to the gangway with a brighter flush than usual on +his handsome face, and his heart beating with a new sense of +exhilaration and excitement. If Lorimer's hints had any foundation of +truth--if Thelma loved him ever so little--how wild a dream it seemed! +. . . why not risk his fate? He resolved to speak to her that very day +if opportunity favored him,--and, having thus decided, felt quite +masterful and heroic about it. + +This feeling of proud and tender elation increased when Thelma stepped +on deck that morning and laid her hands in his. For, as he greeted her +and her father, he saw at a glance that she was slightly changed. Some +restless dream must have haunted her--or his hurried words beneath the +porch, when he parted from her the previous evening, had startled her +and troubled her mind. Her blue eyes were no longer raised to his in +absolute candor,--her voice was timid, and she had lost something of her +usual buoyant and graceful self-possession. But she looked lovelier than +ever with that air of shy hesitation and appealing sweetness. Love had +thrown his network of light about her soul and body till, like Keats's +"Madeleine," + + "She seemed a splendid angel newly drest + Save wings, for heaven!" + +As soon as the Gueldmars were on board, the anchor was weighed with many +a cheery and musical cry from the sailors; the wheel revolved rapidly +under Valdemar Svensen's firm hand,--and with a grand outward sweeping +curtsy to the majestic Fjord she left behind her, the _Eulalie_ steamed +away, cutting a glittering line of white foam through the smooth water +as she went, and threading her way swiftly among the clustering +picturesque islands,--while the inhabitants of every little farm and +hamlet on the shores, stopped for a while in their occupations to stare +at the superb vessel, and to dreamily envy the wealth of the English +_Herren_ who could afford to pass the summer months in such luxury and +idleness. Thelma seated herself at once by Duprez, and seemed glad to +divert attention from herself to him. + +"You are better, Monsieur Duprez, are you not?" she asked gently. "We +saw Sigurd this morning; he came home last night. He is very, very sorry +to have hurt you!" + +"He need not apologize," said Duprez cheerfully. "I am delighted he gave +me this scar, otherwise I am confident he would have put out the eye of +Phil-eep. And that would have been a misfortune! For what would the +ladies in London say if _le beau_ Errington returned to them with one +eye! _Mon Dieu!_ they would all be en desespoir!" + +Thelma looked up. Philip was standing at some little distance with Olaf +Gueldmar and Lorimer, talking and laughing gaily. His cap was slightly +pushed off his forehead, and the sun shone on his thick dark-chestnut +curls; his features, warmly colored by the wind and sea, were lit up +with mirth, and his even white teeth sparkled in an irresistible smile +of fascinating good-humor. He was the beau-ideal of the best type of +Englishman, in the full tide of youth, health and good spirits. + +"I suppose he is a great favorite with all those beautiful ladies?" she +asked very quietly. + +Something of gentle resignation in her tone struck the Frenchman's sense +of chivalry; had she been like any ordinary woman, bent on conquest, he +would have taken a mischievous delight in inventing a long list of fair +ones supposed to be deeply enamored of Errington's good looks,--but this +girl's innocent inquiring face inspired him with quite a different +sentiment. + +"_Mais certainement!_" he said frankly and emphatically. "Phil-eep is a +favorite everywhere! Yet not more so with women than with men. I love +him extremely--he is a charming boy! Then you see, _chere Mademoiselle_, +he is rich,--very rich,--and there are so many pretty girls who are very +poor,--naturally they are enchanted with our Errington--_voyez-vous_?" + +"I do not understand," she said, with a puzzled brow. "It is not +possible that they should like him better because he is rich. He would +be the same man without money as with it--it makes no difference!" + +"Perhaps not to you," returned Duprez, with a smile; "but to many it +would make an immense difference! _Chere Mademoiselle_, it is a grand +thing to have plenty of money,--believe me!" + +Thelma shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps," she answered indifferently. +"But one cannot spend much on one's self, after all. The nuns at Arles +used to tell me that poverty was a virtue, and that to be very rich was +to be very miserable. They were poor,--all those good women,--and they +were always cheerful." + +"The nuns! _ah, mon Dieu!_" cried Duprez. "The darlings know not the +taste of joy--they speak of what they cannot understand! How should they +know what it is to be happy or unhappy, when they bar their great +convent doors against the very name of love!" + +She looked at him, and her color rose. + +"You always talk of _love_," she said, half reproachfully, "as if it +were so common a thing! You know it is sacred--why will you speak as if +it were all a jest?" + +A strange emotion of admiring tenderness stirred Pierre's heart--he was +very impulsive and impressionable. + +"Forgive me!" he murmured penitently. Then he added suddenly, "You +should have lived ages ago, _ma belle_,--the world of to-day will not +suit you! You will be made very sorrowful in it, I assure you,--it is +not a place for good women!" + +She laughed. "You are morose," she said. "That is not like you! No one +is good,--we all live to try and make ourselves better." + +"What highly moral converse is going on here?" inquired Lorimer, +strolling leisurely up to them. "Are you giving Duprez a lecture, Miss +Gueldmar? He needs it,--so do I. Please give me a scolding!" + +And he folded his hands with an air of demure appeal. + +A sunny smile danced in the girl's blue eyes. "Always you will be +foolish!" she said. "One can never know you because I am sure you never +show your real self to anybody. No,--I will not scold you, but I should +like to find you out!" + +"To find me out!" echoed Lorimer. "Why, what do you mean?" + +She nodded her bright head with much sagacity. + +"Ah, I do observe you often! There is something you hide; it is like +when my father has tears in his eyes; he pretends to laugh, but the +tears are there all the time. Now I see in you--" she paused, and her +questioning eyes rested on his, seriously. + +"This is interesting!" said Lorimer, lazily drawing a camp-stool +opposite to her, and seating himself thereon. "I had no idea I was a +human riddle. Can you read me, Miss Gueldmar?" + +"Yes," she answered slowly and meditatively. "Just a little. But I will +not say anything; no--except this--that you are not altogether what you +seem." + +"Here, Phil!" called Lorimer, as he saw Errington approaching, arm in +arm with Olaf Gueldmar, "come and admire this young lady's power of +perception. She declares I am not such a fool as I look!" + +"Now," said Thelma, shaking her forefinger at him, "you know very well +that I did not put it in that way. But is it not true, Sir Philip--" and +she looked up for a moment, though her eyes drooped again swiftly under +his ardent gaze, "is it not true that many people do hide their +feelings, and pretend to be quite different to what they are?" + +"I should say it was a very common fault," replied Errington. "It is a +means of self-defense against the impertinent curiosity of outsiders. +But Lorimer is free from it,--he has nothing to hide. At any rate, he +has no secrets from me,--I'm sure of that!" And he clapped his hand +heartily on his friend's shoulder. + +Lorimer flushed slightly, but made no remark, and at that moment +Macfarlane emerged from the saloon, where the writing of his journal had +till now detained him. In the general handshaking and salutations which +followed, the conversation took a different turn, for which Lorimer was +devoutly thankful. His face was a tell-tale one,--and he was rather +afraid of Philip's keen eyes. "I hope to Heaven he'll speak to her +to-day," he thought, vexedly. "I hate being in suspense! My mind will be +easier when I once know that he has gained his point,--and that there's +not the ghost of a chance for any other fellow!" + +Meanwhile the yacht skimmed along by the barren and rocky coast of +Seiland; the sun was dazzling; yet there was a mist in the air as though +the heavens were full of unshed tears. A bank of nearly motionless +clouds hung behind the dark, sharp peaks of the Altenguard mountains, +which now lay to the southward, as the vessel pursued her course. There +was no wind; the flag on the mast flapped idly now and then with the +motion of the yacht; and Thelma found herself too warm with her pretty +crimson hood,--she therefore unfastened it and let the sunshine play on +the uncovered gold of her hair. They had a superb view of the jagged +glacier of Jedke,--black in some parts, and in others white with +unmelted snow,--and seeming, as it rose straight up against the sky, to +be the majestic monument of some giant Viking. Presently, at her earnest +request, Errington brought his portfolio of Norwegian sketches for +Thelma to look at; most of them were excellently well done, and elicited +much admiration from the _bonde_. + +"It is what I have wondered at all my life," said he, "that skill of the +brush dipped in color. Pictures surprise me as much as poems. Ah, men +are marvellous creatures, when they are once brought to understand that +they _are_ men,--not beasts! One will take a few words and harmonize +them into a song or a verse that clings to the world for ever; another +will mix a few paints and dab a brush in them, and give you a picture +that generation after generation shall flock to see. It is what is +called genius,--and genius is a sort of miracle. Yet I think it is +fostered by climate a good deal,--the further north, the less +inspiration. Warmth, color, and the lightness of heart that a generally +bright sky brings, enlarges the brain and makes it capable of creative +power." + +"My dear sir," said Lorimer, "England does not possess these climatic +advantages, and yet Shakespeare was an Englishman." + +"He must have travelled," returned Gueldmar positively. "No one will make +me believe that the man never visited Italy. His Italian scenes prove +it,--they are full of the place and the people. The whole of his works, +full of such wonderful learning, and containing so many types of +different nations, show,--to _my_ mind, at least,--that countries were +his books of study. Why I, who am only a farmer and proprietor of a bit +of Norwegian land,--I have learned many a thing from simply taking a +glance at a new shore each year. That's the way I used to amuse myself +when I was young,--now I am old, the sea tempts me less, and I am fonder +of my arm-chair; yet I've seen a good deal in my time--enough to provide +me with memories for my declining days. And it's a droll thing, too," he +added, with a laugh, "the further south you go, the more immoral and +merry are the people; the further north, the more virtuous and +miserable. There's a wrong balance somewhere,--but where, 'tis not easy +to find out." + +"Weel," said Macfarlane, "I can give ye a direct contradeection to your +theory. Scotland lies to the north, and ye'll not find a grander harvest +o' sinfu' souls anywhere between this an' the day o' judgment. I'm a +Scotchman, an' I'm just proud o' my country--I'd back its men against a' +the human race,--but I wadna say much for the stabeelity o' its women. I +wad just tak to my heels and run if I saw a real, thumpin', red-cheeked, +big-boned Scotch lassie makin' up to me. There's nae bashfulness in they +sort, and nae safety." + +"I will go to Scotland!" said Duprez enthusiastically. "I feel that +those--what do you call them, _lassies_?--will charm me!" + +"Scotland I never saw," said Gueldmar. "From all I have heard, it seems +to me 'twould be too much like Norway. After one's eyes have rested long +on these dark mountains and glaciers, one likes now and then to see a +fertile sunshiny stretch of country such as France, or the plains of +Lombardy. Of course there may be exceptions, but I tell you climatic +influences have a great deal to do with the state of mind and morals. +Now, take the example of that miserable old Lovisa Elsland. She is the +victim of religious mania--and religious mania, together with +superstition of the most foolish kind, is common in Norway. It happens +often during the long winters; the people have not sufficient to occupy +their minds; no clergyman--not even Dyceworthy--can satisfy the height +of their fanaticism. They preach and pray and shriek and groan in their +huts; some swear that they have the spirit of prophecy,--others that +they are possessed of devils,--others imagine witchcraft, like +Lovisa--and altogether there is such a howling on the name of Christ, +that I am glad to be out of it,--for 'tis a sight to awaken the laughter +and contempt of a pagan such as I am!" + +Thelma listened with a slight shadow of pain on her features. + +"Father is not a pagan," she declared, turning to Lorimer. "How can one +be pagan if one believes that there is good in everything,--and that +nothing happens except for the best?" + +"It sounds to me more Christian than pagan," averred Lorimer, with a +smile. "But it's no use appealing to _me_ on such matters, Miss Gueldmar. +I am an advocate of the Law of Nothing. I remember a worthy philosopher +who,--when he was in his cups,--earnestly assured me it was all +right--'everything was nothing, and nothing was everything.' 'You are +sure that is so?' I would say to him. 'My dear young friend--_hic_--I am +positive! I have--_hic_--worked out the problem with--_hic_--care!' And +he would shake me by the hand warmly, with a mild and moist smile, and +would retire to bed walking sideways in the most amiable manner. I'm +certain his ideas were correct as well as luminous." + +They laughed, and then looking up saw that they were passing a portion +of the coast of Seiland which was more than usually picturesque. Facing +them was a great cavernous cleft in the rocks, tinted with a curious +violet hue intermingled with bronze,--and in the strong sunlight these +colors flashed with the brilliancy of jewels, reflecting themselves in +the pale slate-colored sea. By Errington's orders the yacht slackened +speed, and glided along with an almost noiseless motion,--and they were +silent, listening to the dash and drip of water that fell invisibly from +the toppling crags that frowned above, while the breathless heat and +stillness of the air added to the weird solemnity of the scene. They all +rose from their chairs and leaned on the deck-rails, looking, but +uttering no word. + +"In one of these islands," said Thelma at last, very softly--"it was +either Seiland or Soroe--they once found the tomb of a great chief. +There was an inscription outside that warned all men to respect it, but +they laughed at the warning and opened the tomb. And they saw, seated in +a stone chair, a skeleton with a gold crown on its head and a great +carved seal in its hand, and at its feet there was a stone casket. The +casket was broken open, and it was full of gold and jewels. Well, they +took all the gold and jewels, and buried the skeleton--and now,--do you +know what happens? At midnight a number of strange persons are seen +searching on the shore and among the rocks for the lost treasure, and it +is said they often utter cries of anger and despair. And those who +robbed the tomb all died suddenly." + +"Served them right!" said Lorimer. "And now they are dead, I suppose the +wronged ghosts don't appear any more?" + +"Oh yes, they do," said Gueldmar very seriously. "If any sailor passes at +midnight, and sees them or hears their cries, he is doomed." + +"But _does_ he see or hear them?" asked Errington, with a smile. + +"Well, I don't know," returned Gueldmar, with a grave shake of his head. +"I'm not superstitious myself, but I should be sorry to say anything +against the berg-folk. You see they _may_ exist, and it's no use +offending them." + +"And what do ye mean by the berg-folk?" inquired Macfarlane. + +"They are supposed to be the souls of persons who died impenitent," said +Thelma, "and they are doomed to wander, on the hills till the day of +judgment. It is a sort of purgatory." + +Duprez shook his fingers emphatically in the air. + +"Ah, bah!" he said; "what droll things remain still in the world! Yes, +in spite of liberty, equality, fraternity! You do not believe in foolish +legends, Mademoiselle? For example,--do you think you will suffer +purgatory?" + +"Indeed yes!" she replied. "No one can be good enough to go straight to +heaven. There must be some little stop on the way in which to be sorry +for all the bad things one has done." + +"'Tis the same idea as ours," said Gueldmar. "We have two places of +punishment in the Norse faith; one, _Nifleheim_, which is a temporary +thing like the Catholic purgatory; the other _Nastrond_, which is the +counterpart of the Christian hell. Know you not the description of +_Nifleheim_ in the _Edda_?--'tis terrible enough to satisfy all tastes. +'Hela, or Death rules over the Nine Worlds of Nifleheim. Her hall is +called Grief. Famine is her table, and her only servant is Delay. Her +gate is a precipice, her porch Faintness, her bed Leanness,--Cursing and +Howling are her tent. Her glance is dreadful and terrifying,--and her +lips are blue with the venom of Hatred.' These words," he added, "sound +finer in Norwegian, but I have given the meaning fairly." + +"Ma certes!" said Macfarlane chuckling. "I'll tell my aunt in Glasgie +aboot it. This Nifleheim wad suit her pairfectly,--she wad send a' her +relations there wi' tourist tickets, not available for the return +journey!" + +"It seems to me," observed Errington, "that the Nine Worlds of Nifleheim +have a resemblance to the different circles of Dante's Purgatory." + +"Exactly so," said Lorimer. "All religions seem to me to be more or less +the same,--the question I can never settle is,--which is the right one?" + +"Would you follow it if you knew?" asked Thelma, with a slight smile. +Lorimer laughed. + +"Well, upon my life, I don't know!" he answered frankly, "I never was a +praying sort of fellow,--I don't seem to grasp the idea of it somehow. +But there's one thing I'm certain of,--I can't endure a bird without +song,--a flower without scent, or a _woman_ without religion--she seems +to me no woman at all." + +"But _are_ there any such women?" inquired the girl surprised. + +"Yes, there are undoubtedly! Free-thinking, stump-orator, +have-your-rights sort of creatures. _You_ don't know anything about +them, Miss Gueldmar--be thankful! Now, Phil, how long is this vessel of +yours going to linger here?" + +Thus reminded, Errington called to the pilot, and in a few minutes the +_Eulalie_ resumed her usual speed, and bore swiftly on towards Soroe. +This island, dreary and dark in the distance, grew somewhat more +inviting in aspect on a nearer approach. Now and then a shaft of +sunlight fell on some glittering point of felspar or green patch of +verdure.--and Valdemar Svensen stated that he knew of a sandy creek +where, if the party chose, they could land and see a small cave of +exquisite beauty, literally hung all over with stalactites. + +"I never heard of this cave," said Gueldmar, fixing a keen eye on the +pilot. "Art thou a traveller's guide to all such places in Norway?" + +Somewhat to Errington's surprise, Svensen changed color and appeared +confused; moreover, he removed his red cap altogether when he answered +the _bonde_, to whom he spoke deferentially in rapid Norwegian. The old +man laughed as he listened, and seemed satisfied; then, turning away, he +linked his arm through Philip's, and said, + +"You must pardon him, my lad, that he spoke in your presence a tongue +unfamiliar to you. No offense was meant. He is of my creed, but fears to +make it known, lest he should lose all employment--which is likely +enough, seeing that so many of the people are fanatics. Moreover, he is +bound to me by an oath,--which in olden days would have made him my +serf,--but which leaves him free enough just now,--with one exception." + +"And that exception?" asked Errington with some interest. + +"Is, that should I ever demand a certain service at his hands, he dare +not refuse it. Odd, isn't it? or so it seems to you," and Gueldmar +pressed the young man's arm lightly and kindly; "but our Norse oaths, +are taken with great solemnity, and are as binding as the obligation of +death itself. However, I have not commanded Valdemar's obedience yet, +nor do I think I am likely to do so for some time. He is a fine, +faithful fellow,--though too much given to dreams." + +A gay chorus of laughter here broke from the little group seated on +deck, of which Thelma was the centre,--and Gueldmar stopped in his walk, +with an attentive smile on his open, ruddy countenance. + +"'Tis good for the heart to hear the merriment of young folks," he said. +"Think you not my girl's laugh is like the ripple of a lark's song? just +so clear and joyous?" + +"Her voice is music itself!" declared Philip quickly and warmly. "There +is nothing she says, or does, or looks,--that is not absolutely +beautiful!" + +Then, suddenly aware of his precipitation, he stopped abruptly. His face +flushed as Gueldmar regarded him fixedly, with a musing and doubtful air. +But whatever the old man thought, he said nothing. He merely held the +young baronet's arm a little closer, and together they joined the +others,--though it was noticeable that during the rest of the day the +_bonde_ was rather abstracted and serious,--and that every now and then +his eyes rested on his daughter's face with an expression of tender +yearning and melancholy. + +It was about two hours after luncheon that the _Eulalie_ approached the +creek spoken of by the pilot, and they were all fascinated by the +loveliness as well as by the fierce grandeur of the scene. The rocks on +that portion of Soroe appeared to have split violently asunder to admit +some great in-rushing passage of the sea, and were piled up in toppling +terraces to the height of more than two thousand feet above the level of +the water. Beneath these wild and craggy fortresses of nature a shining +stretch of beach had formed itself, on which the fine white sand, mixed +with crushed felspar, sparkled like powdered silver. On the left-hand +side of this beach could be distinctly seen the round opening of the +cavern to which Valdemar Svensen directed their attention. They decided +to visit it--the yacht was brought to a standstill, and the long-boat +lowered. They took no sailors with them, Errington and his companions +rowing four oars, while Thelma and her father occupied the stern. A +landing was easily effected, and they walked toward the cavern, treading +on thousands of beautiful little shells which strewed the sand beneath +their feet. There was a deep stillness everywhere--the island was so +desolate that it seemed as though the very seabirds refused to make +their homes in the black clefts of such steep and barren rocks. + +At the entrance of the little cave Gueldmar looked back to the sea. + +"There's a storm coming!" he announced. "Those clouds we saw this +morning have sailed thither almost as quickly as ourselves!" + +The sky had indeed grown darker, and little wrinkling waves disturbed +the surface of the water. But the sun as yet retained his sovereignty, +and there was no wind. By the pilot's advice, Errington and his friends +had provided themselves each with a pine torch, in order to light up the +cavern as soon as they found themselves within it. The smoky crimson +flare illuminated what seemed at a first glance to be a miniature fairy +palace studded thickly with clusters of diamonds. Long pointed +stalactites hung from the roof at almost mathematically even distances +from one another,--the walls glistened with varying shades of pink and +green and violet,--and in the very midst of the cave was a still pool of +water in which all the fantastic forms and hues of the place mirrored +themselves in miniature. In one corner the stalactites had clustered +into the shape of a large chair overhung by a canopy, and Duprez +perceiving it, exclaimed--he listened, and seemed satisfied; then, +turning away, he linked his arm through Philip's, and said, + +"_Voila!_ A queen's throne! Come Mademoiselle Gueldmar, you must sit in +it!" + +"But I am not a queen," laughed Thelma. "A throne is for a king--will +not Sir Phillip sit there?" + +"There's a compliment for you, Phil!" cried Lorrimer, waving his torch +enthusiastically. "Let us awaken the echoes with the shout of 'Long live +the King!'" + +But Errington approached Thelma, and taking her hand in his, said +gently-- + +"Come! let us see you throned in state, Queen Thelma! To please +me,--come!" + +She looked up--the flame of the bright torch he carried illumined his +face, on which love had written what she could not fail to read,--but +she trembled as with cold, and there was a kind of appalling wonder in +her troubled eyes. He whispered, "come, Queen Thelma!" As in a dream, +she allowed him to lead her to the stalactite chair, and when she was +seated therein, she endeavored to control the rapid beating of her +heart, and to smile unconcernedly on the little group that surrounded +her with shouts of mingled mirth and admiration. + +"Ye look just fine!" said Macfarlane with undisguised delight. "Ye'd +mak' a grand picture, wouldn't she, Errington?" + +Phillip gazed at her, but said nothing--his head was too full. Sitting +there among the glittering, intertwisted, and suspended rocks,--with the +blaze from the torches flashing on her winsome face and luxuriant +hair,--with that half-troubled, half-happy look in her eyes, and an +uncertain shadowy smile quivering on her sweet lips, the girl looked +almost dangerously lovely,--Helen of Troy could scarce have fired more +passionate emotion among the old-world heroes than she unconsciously +excited at that moment in the minds of all who beheld her. Duprez for +once understood what it was to reverence a woman's beauty, and decided +that the flippant language of compliment was out of place--he therefore +said nothing, and Lorrimer, too, was silent battling bravely against the +wild desires that were now, in his opinion, nothing but disloyalty to +his friend. Old Gueldmar's hearty voice roused and startled them all. + +"Now Thelma, child! If thou art a queen, give orders to these lads to be +moving! 'Tis a damp place to hold a court in, and thy throne must needs +be a cold one. Let us out to the blessed sunshine again--maybe we can +climb one of yon wild rocks and get a view worth seeing." + +"All right, sir!" said Lorimer, chivalrously resolving that now +Errington should have a chance. "Come on, Mac! _Allons, +marchons_,--Pierre! Mr. Gueldmar exacts our obedience! Phil, you take +care of the queen!" + +And skillfully pushing on Duprez and Macfarlane before him, he followed +Gueldmar, who preceded them all,--thus leaving his friend in a momentary +comparative solitude with Thelma. The girl was a little startled as she +saw them thus taking their departure, and sprang up from her stalactite +throne in haste. Sir Philip had laid aside his torch in order to assist +her with both hands to descend the sloping rocks; but her embarrassment +at being left almost alone with him made her nervous and uncertain of +foot,--she was hurried and agitated and anxious to overtake the others, +and in trying to walk quickly she slipped and nearly fell. In one second +she was caught in his arms and clasped passionately to his heart. + +"Thelma! Thelma!" he whispered, "I love you, my darling--I love you!" + +She trembled in his strong embrace, and strove to release herself, but +he pressed her more closely to him, scarcely knowing that he did so, but +feeling that he held the world, life, time, happiness, and salvation in +this one fair creature. His brain was in a wild whirl--the glitter of +the stalactite cave turned to a gyrating wheel of jewel-work, there was +nothing any more--no universe, no existence--nothing but love, love, +love, beating strong hammer-strokes through every fibre of his frame. He +glanced up, and saw that the slowly retreating forms of his friends had +nearly reached the outer opening of the cavern. Once there, they would +look back and-- + +"Quick, Thelma!" and his warm breath touched her cheek. "My darling! my +love! if you are not angry,--kiss me! I shall understand." + +She hesitated. To Philip that instant of hesitation seemed a cycle of +slow revolving years. Timidly she lifted her head. She was very pale, +and her breath came and went quickly. He gazed at her in speechless +suspense,--and saw as in a vision the pure radiance of her face and +star-like eyes shining more and more closely upon him. Then came a +touch,--soft and sweet as a roseleaf pressed against his lips,--and for +one mad moment he remembered nothing,--he was caught up like Homer's +Paris in a cloud of gold, and knew not which was earth or heaven. + +"You love me, Thelma?" he murmured in a sort of wondering rapture. "I +cannot believe it, sweet! Tell me--you love me?" + +She looked up. A new, unspeakable glory flushed her face, and her eyes +glowed with the mute eloquence of awakening passion. + +"Love you?" she said in a voice so low and sweet that it might have been +the whisper of a passing fairy. "Ah, yes! more than my life!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + "Sweet hands, sweet hair, sweet cheeks, sweet eyes, sweet mouth; + Each singly wooed and won!" + DANTE ROSETTI. + + +"Hallo, ho!" shouted Gueldmar vociferously, peering back into the shadows +of the cavern from whence the figures of his daughter and Errington were +seen presently emerging. "Why, what kept you so long, my lad? We thought +you were close behind us. Where's your torch?" + +"It went out," replied Philip promptly, as he assisted Thelma with grave +and ceremonious politeness to cross over some rough stones at the +entrance, "and we had some trouble to find our way." + +"Ye might hae called to us i' the way o' friendship," observed +Macfarlane somewhat suspiciously, "and we wad hae lighted ye through." + +"Oh, it was no matter!" said Thelma, with a charming smile. "Sir Philip +seemed well to know the way, and it was not so very dark!" + +Lorimer glanced at her and read plainly all that was written in her +happy face. His heart sank a little; but, noticing that the old _bonde_ +was studying his daughter with a slight air of vexation and surprise, he +loyally determined to divert the general attention from her bright +blushes and too brilliantly sparkling eyes. + +"Well! . . . here you both are, at any rate," he said lightly, "and I +should strongly advise that we attempt no more exploration of the island +of Soroe to-day. Look at the sky; and just now there was a clap of +thunder." + +"Thunder?" exclaimed Errington. "I never heard it!" + +"I dare say not!" said Lorimer, with a quiet smile. "Still _we_ heard it +pretty distinctly, and I think we'd better make for the yacht." + +"All right!" and Sir Philip sprang gaily into the long-boat to arrange +the cushions in the stern for Thelma. Never had he looked handsomer or +more high-spirited, and his elation was noticed by all his companions. + +"Something joyous has happened to our Phil-eep," said Duprez in a +half-whisper. "He is in the air!" + +"And something in the ither way has happened vera suddenly to Mr. +Gueldmar," returned Macfarlane. "Th' auld man is in the dumps." + +The _bonde's_ face in truth looked sad and somewhat stern. He scarcely +spoke at all as he took his place in the boat beside his daughter,--once +he raised her little hand, looked at it, and kissed it fondly. + +They were all soon on their way back to the _Eulalie_ over a sea that +had grown rough and white-crested during their visit to the stalactite +cave. Clouds had gathered thickly over the sky, and though a few shafts +of sunlight still forced a passage through them, the threatening +darkness spread with steady persistency, especially to the northern side +of the horizon, where Storm hovered in the shape of a black wing edged +with coppery crimson. As they reached the yacht a silver glare of +lightning sprang forth from beneath this sable pinion, and a few large +drops of rain began to fall. Errington hurried Thelma on deck and down +into the saloon. His friends, with Gueldmar, followed,--and the vessel +was soon plunging through waves of no small height on her way back to +the Altenfjord. A loud peal of thunder like a salvo of artillery +accompanied their departure from Soroe, and Thelma shivered a little as +she heard it. + +"You are nervous, Mademoiselle Gueldmar?" asked Duprez, noticing her +tremor. + +"Oh no," she answered brightly. "Nervous? That is to be afraid,--I am +not afraid of a storm, but I do not like it. It is a cruel, fierce +thing; and I should have wished to-day to be all sunshine--all +gladness!" She paused, and her eyes grew soft and humid. + +"Then you have been happy to-day?" said Lorimer in a low and very gentle +voice. + +She smiled up at him from the depths of the velvet lounge in which +Errington had placed her. + +"Happy? I do not think I have ever been so happy before!" She paused, +and a bright blush crimsoned her cheeks; then, seeing the piano open, +she said suddenly "Shall I sing to you? or perhaps you are all tired, +and would rather rest?" + +"Music _is_ rest," said Lorimer rather dreamily, watching her as she +rose from her seat,--a tall, supple, lithe figure,--and moved towards +the instrument. "And _your_ voice. Miss Gueldmar, would soothe the most +weary soul that ever dwelt in clay." + +She glanced round at him, surprised at his sad tone. + +"Ah, you are very, very tired, Mr. Lorimer, I am sure! I will sing you a +Norse cradle-song to make you go to sleep. You will not understand the +words though--will that matter?" + +"Not in the least!" answered Lorimer, with a smile. "The London girls +sing in German, Italian, Spanish, and English. Nobody knows what they +are saying: they scarcely know themselves--but it's all right, and quite +fashionable." + +Thelma laughed gaily. "How funny!" she exclaimed. "It is to amuse +people, I suppose! Well,--now listen." And, playing a soft prelude, her +rich contralto rippled forth in a tender, passionate, melancholy +melody,--so sweet and heart-penetrating that the practical Macfarlane +sat as one in a dream,--Duprez forgot to finish making the cigarette he +was daintily manipulating between his fingers, and Lorimer had much ado +to keep tears from his eyes. From one song she glided to another and yet +another; her soul seemed possessed by the very spirit of music. +Meanwhile Errington, in obedience to an imperative sign from old +Gueldmar, left the saloon, with him,--once outside the doors the _bonde_ +said in a somewhat agitated voice-- + +"I desire to speak to you, Sir Philip, alone and undisturbed, if such a +thing be possible." + +"By all means!" answered Philip. "Come to my 'den' on deck. We shall be +quite solitary there." + +He led the way, and Olaf Gueldmar followed him in silence. + +It was raining fiercely, and the waves, green towers of strength, broke +every now and then over the sides of the yacht with a hissing shower of +salt white spray. The thunder rolled along the sky in angry +reverberating echoes,--frequent flashes of lightning leaped out like +swords drawn from dark scabbards,--yet towards the south the sky was +clearing, and arrowy beams of pale gold fell from the hidden sun, with a +soothing and soft lustre on the breast of the troubled water. + +Gueldmar looked about him, and heaved a deep sigh of refreshment. His +eyes rested lovingly on the tumbling billows,--he bared his white head +to the wind and rain. + +"This is the life, the blood, the heart of a man!" he said, while a sort +of fierce delight shone in his keen eyes. "To battle with the +tempest,--to laugh at the wrath of waters,--to set one's face against +the wild wind,--to sport with the elements as though they were children +or serfs,--this is the joy of manhood! A joy," he added slowly, "that +few so-called men of to-day can ever feel." + +Errington smiled gravely. "Perhaps you are right, sir," he said; "but +perhaps, at the same time, you forget that life has grown very bitter to +all of us during the last hundred years or so. Maybe the world is +getting old and used up, maybe the fault is in ourselves,--but it is +certain that none of us nowadays are particularly happy, except at rare +intervals when--" + +At that moment, in a lull of the storm, Thelma's voice pealed upwards +from the saloon. She was singing a French song, and the refrain rang out +clearly-- + + "Ah! le doux son d'un baiser tendre!" + +Errington paused abruptly in his speech, and turning towards a little +closed and covered place on deck which was half cabin, half +smoking-room, and which he kept as his own private sanctum, he unlocked +it, saying-- + +"Will you come in here, sir? It's not very spacious, but I think it's +just the place for a chat,--especially a private one." + +Gueldmar entered, but did not sit down,--Errington shut the door against +the rain and beating spray and also remained standing. After a pause, +during which the _bonde_ seemed struggling with some inward emotion, he +said resolutely-- + +"Sir Philip, you are a young man, and I am an old one. I would not +willingly offend you--for I like you--yes!" And the old man looked up +frankly: "I like you enough to respect you--which is more than I can say +to many men I have known! But I have a weight on my heart that must be +lifted. You and my child have been much together for many days,--and I +was an old fool not to have foreseen the influence your companionship +might have upon her. I may be mistaken in the idea that has taken hold +of me--some wild words let fall by the poor boy Sigurd this morning, +when he entreated my pardon for his misconduct of yesterday, have +perhaps misled my judgment,--but--by the gods! I cannot put it into +suitable words! I--" + +"You think I love your daughter?" said Sir Philip quietly. "You are not +mistaken, Sir! I love her with my whole heart and soul! I want you to +give her to me as my wife." + +A change passed over the old farmer's face. He grew deathly pale, and +put out one hand feebly as though to seek some support. Errington caught +it in his own and pressed it hard. + +"Surely you are not surprised, Sir?" he added with eagerness. "How can I +help loving her! She is the best and loveliest girl I have ever seen! +Believe me,--I would make her happy!" + +"And have you thought, young man," returned Gueldmar slowly, "that you +would make me desolate?--or, thinking it, have you cared?" + +There was an infinite pathos in his voice, and Errington was touched and +silent. He found no answer to this reproach. Gueldmar sat down, leaning +his head on his hand. + +"Let me think a little," he said. "My mind is confused a bit. I was not +prepared for--" + +He paused and seemed lost in sorrowful meditation. By-and-by he looked +up, and meeting Errington's anxious gaze, he broke into a short laugh. + +"Don't mind me, my lad!" he said sturdily. "'Tis a blow, you see! I had +not thought so far as this. I'll tell you the plain truth, and you must +forgive me for wronging you. I know what young blood is, all the world +over. A fair face fires it--and impulse makes it gallop beyond control. +'Twas so with me when I was your age,--though no woman, I hope, was ever +the worse for my harmless lovemaking. But Thelma is different from most +women,--she has a strange nature,--moreover, she has a heart and a +memory,--if she once learns the meaning of love, she will never unlearn +the lesson. Now, I thought, that like most young men of your type, you +might, without meaning any actual evil, trifle with her--play with her +feelings--" + +"I understand, Sir," said Philip coolly, without displaying any offense. +"To put it plainly, in spite of your liking for me, you thought me a +snob." + +This time the old man laughed heartily and unforcedly. + +"Dear, dear!" he exclaimed. "You are what is termed in your own land, a +peppery customer! Never mind--I like it. Why, my lad, the men of to-day +think it fair sport to trifle with a pretty woman now and then--" + +"Pardon!" interrupted Philip curtly. "I must defend my sex. We _may_ +occasionally trifle with those women who show us that they wish to be +trifled with--but never with those who, like your daughter, win every +man's respect and reverence." + +Gueldmar rose and grasped his hand fervently. + +"By all the gods, I believe you are a true gentleman!" he said. "I ask +your pardon if I have offended you by so much as a thought. But +now"--and his face grew very serious--"we must talk this matter over. I +will not speak of the suddenness of your love for my child, because I +know, from my own past experience, that love is a rapid impulse--a flame +ignited in a moment. Yes, I know that well!" He paused, and his voice +trembled a little, but he soon steadied it and went on--"I think, +however, my lad, that you have been a little hasty,--for instance, have +you thought what your English friends and relatives will say to your +marrying a farmer's daughter who,--though she has the blood of kings in +her veins,--is, nevertheless, as this present world would judge, beneath +you in social standing? I say, have you thought of this?" + +Philip smiled proudly. "Certainly, sir, I have _not_ thought of any such +trifle as the opinion of society,--if that is what you mean. I have no +relatives to please or displease--no friends in the truest sense of the +world except Lorimer. I have a long list of acquaintances +undoubtedly,--infinite bores, most of them,--and whether they approve or +disapprove of my actions is to me a matter of profound indifference." + +"See you!" said the _bonde_ firmly and earnestly. "It would be an ill +day for me if I gave my little one to a husband who might--mind! I only +say _might_,--in the course of years, regret having married her." + +"Regret!" cried Philip excitedly, then quieting down, he said gently. +"My good friend, I do not think you understand me. You talk as if Thelma +were beneath _me_. Good God! It is _I_ who am infinitely beneath _her_! +I am utterly unworthy of her in every way, I assure you--and I tell you +so frankly. I have led a useless life, and a more or less selfish one. I +have principally sought to amuse and interest myself all through it. +I've had my vices too, and have them still. Beside Thelma's innocent +white soul, mine looks villainous! But I can honestly say I never knew +what love was till I saw her,--and now--well! I would give my life away +gladly to save her from even a small sorrow." + +"I believe you--I thoroughly believe you!" said Gueldmar. "I see you love +the child. The gods forbid that I should stand in the way of her +happiness! I am getting old, and 'twas often a sore point with me to +know what would become of my darling when I was gone,--for she is fair +to look upon, and there are many human wolves ready to devour such +lambs. Still, my lad, you must learn all. Do you know what is said of me +in Bosekop?" + +Errington smiled and nodded in the affirmative. + +"You do?" exclaimed the old man, somewhat surprised. "You know they say +I killed my wife--my wife! the creature before whom my soul knelt in +worship night and day--whose bright head was the sunlight of life! Let +me tell you of her, Sir Philip--'tis a simple story. She was the child +of my dearest friend, and many years younger than myself. This friend of +mine, Erik Erlandsen, was the captain of a stout Norwegian barque, +running constantly between these wild waters and the coast of France. He +fell in love with, and married a blue-eyed beauty from the Sogne Fjord, +he carried her secretly away from her parents, who would not consent to +the marriage. She was a timid creature, in spite of her queenly ways, +and, for fear of her parents, she would never land again on the shores +of Norway. She grew to love France,--and Erik often left her there in +some safe shelter when he was bound on some extra long and stormy +passage. She took to the Catholic creed, too, in France, and learned to +speak the French tongue, so Erik said, as though it were her own. At the +time of the expected birth of her child, her husband had taken her far +inland to Arles, and there business compelled him to leave her for some +days. When he returned she was dead!--laid out for burial, with flowers +and tapers round her. He fell prone on her body insensible,--and not for +many hours did the people of the place dare to tell him that he was the +father of a living child--a girl, with the great blue eyes and white +skin of her mother. He would scarce look at it--but at last, when roused +a bit, he carried the little thing in his arms to the great Convent at +Arles, and, giving the nuns money, he bade them take it and bring it up +as they would, only giving it the name of Thelma. Then poor Erlandsen +came home--he sought me out:--he said, 'Olaf, I feel that I am going on +my last voyage. Promise you will see to my child--guard her, if you can, +from an evil fate! For me there is no future!' I promised, and strove to +cheer him--but he spoke truly--his ship went down in a storm on the Bay +of Biscay, and all on board were lost. Then it was that I commenced my +journeyings to and fro, to see the little maiden that was growing up in +the Convent at Arles. I watched her for sixteen years--and when she +reached her seventeenth birthday, I married her and brought her to +Norway." + +"And she was Thelma's mother?" said Errington with interest. + +"She was Thelma's mother," returned the _bonde_, "and she was more +beautiful than even Thelma is now. Her education had been almost +entirely French, but, as a child, she had learnt that I generally spoke +English, and as there happened to be an English nun in the Convent, she +studied that language and mastered it for the love of me--yes!" he +repeated with musing tenderness, "all for the love of me,--for she loved +me, Sir Philip--ay! as passionately as I loved her, and that is saying a +great deal! We lived a solitary happy life,--but we did not mix with our +neighbors--our creeds were different,--our ways apart from theirs. We +had some time of perfect happiness together. Three years passed before +our child was born, and then"--the _bonde_ paused awhile, and again +continued,--"then my wife's health grew frail and uncertain. She liked +to be in the fresh air, and was fond of wandering about the hills with +her little one in her arms. One day--shall I ever forget it! when Thelma +was about two and a half years old, I missed them both, and went out to +search for them, fearing my wife had lost her way, and knowing that our +child could not toddle far without fatigue. I found them"--the _bonde_ +shuddered-"but how? My wife had slipped and fallen through a chasm in +the rocks,--high enough, indeed, to have killed her,--she was alive, but +injured for life. She lay there white and motionless--little Thelma +meanwhile sat smilingly on the edge of the rock, assuring me that her +mother had gone to sleep '_down there_.' Well!" and Gueldmar brushed the +back of his hand across his eyes, "to make a long story short, I carried +my darling home in my arms a wreck--she lingered for ten years of +patient suffering, ten long years! She could only move about on +crutches,--the beauty of her figure was gone--but the beauty of her face +grew more perfect every day! Never again was she seen on the hills,--and +so to the silly folks of Bosekop she seemed to have disappeared. Indeed, +I kept her very existence a secret,--I could not endure that others +should hear of the destruction of all that marvellous grace and queenly +loveliness! She lived long enough to see her daughter blossom into +girlhood,--then,--she died. I could not bear to have her laid in the +damp, wormy earth--you know in our creed earth-burial is not +practiced,--so I laid her tenderly away in a king's tomb of +antiquity,--a tomb known only to myself and one who assisted me to lay +her in her last resting-place. There she sleeps right royally,--and now +is your mind relieved, my lad? For the reports of the Bosekop folk must +certainly have awakened some suspicions in your mind?" + +"Your story has interested me deeply, sir," said Errington; "but I +assure you I never had any suspicions of you at all. I always disregard +gossip--it is generally scandalous, and seldom true. Besides, I took +your face on trust, as you took mine." + +"Then," declared Gueldmar, with a smile, "I have nothing more to +say,--except"--and he stretched out both hands--"may the great gods +prosper your wooing! You offer a fairer fate to Thelma than I had +dreamed of for her--but I know not what the child herself may say--" + +Philip interrupted him. His eyes flashed, and he smiled. + +"She loves me!" he said simply. Gueldmar looked at him, laughed a little, +and sighed. + +"She loves thee?" he said, relapsing into the _thee_ and _thou_ he was +wont to use with his daughter. "Thou hast lost no time, my lad? When +didst thou find that out?" + +"To-day!" returned Philip, with that same triumphant smile playing about +his lips. "She told me so--yet even now I cannot believe it!" + +"Ah, well, thou mayest believe it truly," said Gueldmar, "for Thelma says +nothing that she does not mean! The child has never stooped to even the +smallest falsehood." + +Errington seemed lost in a happy dream. Suddenly he roused himself and +took Gueldmar by the arm. + +"Come," he said, "let us go to her! She will wonder why we are so long +absent. See! the storm has cleared--the sun is shining. It is +understood? You will give her to me?" + +"Foolish lad!" said Gueldmar gently. "What have I to do with it? She has +given herself to thee! Love has overwhelmed both of your hearts, and +before the strong sweep of such an ocean what can an old man's life +avail? Nothing--less than nothing! Besides, I _should_ be happy--if I +have regrets,--if I feel the tooth of sorrow biting at my heart--'tis +naught but selfishness. 'Tis my own dread of parting with her"--his +voice trembled, and his fine face quivered with suppressed emotion. + +Errington pressed his arm. "Our house shall be yours, sir!" he said +eagerly. "Why not leave this place and come with us?" + +Gueldmar shook his head. "Leave Norway!" he said--"leave the land of my +fathers--turn my back on these mountains and fjords and glaziers? Never! +No, no, my lad, you're kind-hearted and generous as becomes you, and I +thank you from my heart. But 'twould be impossible! I should be like a +caged eagle, breaking my wings against the bars of English +conventionalities. Besides, young birds must make their nest without +interference from the old ones." + +He stepped out on deck as Errington opened the little cabin door, and +his features kindled with enthusiasm as he looked on the stretch of dark +mountain scenery around him, illumined by the brilliant beams of the sun +that shone out now in full splendor, as though in glorious defiance of +the retreating storm, which had gradually rolled away in clouds that +were tumbling one over the other at the extreme edge of the northern +horizon, like vanquished armies taking to hasty flight. + +"Could I stand the orderly tameness of your green England, think you, +after this?" he exclaimed, with a comprehensive gesture of his hand. +"No, no! When death comes--and 'twill not be long coming--let it find me +with my face turned to the mountains, and nothing but their kingly +crests between me and the blessed sky! Come, my lad!" and he relapsed +into his ordinary tone. "If thou art like me when I was thy age, every +minute passed away from thy love seems an eternity! Let us go to her--we +had best wait till the decks are dry before we assemble up here again." + +They descended at once into the saloon, where they found Thelma being +initiated into the mysteries of chess by Duprez, while Macfarlane and +Lorimer looked idly on. She glanced up from the board as her father and +Errington entered, and smiled at them both with a slightly heightened +color. + +"This is such a wonderful game, father!" she said. "And I am so stupid, +I cannot understand it! So Monsieur Pierre is trying to make me remember +the moves." + +"Nothing is easier!" declared Duprez. "I was showing you how the bishop +goes, so--cross-ways," and he illustrated his lesson. "He is a dignitary +of the Church, you perceive. _Bien!_ it follows that he cannot go in a +straight line,--if you observe them well, you will see that all the +religious gentlemen play at cross purposes. You are very quick, +Mademoiselle Gueldmar,--you have perfectly comprehended the move of the +Castle, and the pretty plunge of the knight. Now, as I told you, the +queen can do anything--all the pieces shiver in their shoes before her!" + +"Why?" she asked, feeling a little embarrassed, as Sir Philip came and +sat beside her, looking at her with an undoubtedly composed air of +absolute proprietorship. + +"Why? _Enfin_, the reason is simple!" answered Pierre. "The queen is a +woman,--everything must give way to her wish!" + +"And the king?" she inquired. + +"Ah! _Le pauvre Roi!_ He can do very little--almost nothing! He can only +move one step at a time, and that with much labor and hesitation--he is +the wooden image of Louis XVI!" + +"Then," said the girl quickly, "the object of the game is to protect a +king who is not worth protecting!" + +Duprez laughed. "Exactly! And thus, in this charming game, you have the +history of many nations! Mademoiselle Gueldmar has put the matter +excellently! Chess is for those who intend to form republics. All the +worry and calculation--all the moves of pawns, bishops, knights, +castles, and queens,--all to shelter the throne which is not worth +protecting! Excellent! Mademoiselle, you are not in favor of +monarchies!" + +"I do not know," said Thelma; "I have never thought of such things. But +kings should be great men,--wise and powerful, better and braver than +all their subjects, should they not?" + +"Undoubtedly!" remarked Lorimer; "but, it's a curious thing, they seldom +are. Now, our queen, God bless her--" + +"Hear, hear!" interrupted Errington, laughing good-humoredly. "I won't +have a word said against the dear old lady, Lorimer! Granted that +she hates London, and sees no fun in being stared at by vulgar crowds, I +think she's quite right,--and I sympathize heartily with her liking for +a cup of tea in peace and quiet with some old Scotch body who doesn't +care whether she's a queen or a washerwoman." + +"I think," said Macfarlane slowly, "that royalty has its duties, ye see, +an' though I canna say I object to Her Majesty's homely way o' behavin', +still there are a few matters that wad be the better for her pairsonal +attention." + +"Oh bother!" said Errington gaily. "Look at that victim of the nation, +the Prince of Wales! The poor fellow hasn't a moment's peace of his +life,--what with laying foundation stones, opening museums, inspecting +this and visiting that, he is like a costermonger's donkey, that must +gee-up or gee-wo as his master, the people bid. If he smiles at a woman, +it is instantly reported that he's in love with her,--if he frankly says +he considers her pretty, there's no end to the scandal. Poor royal +wretch! I pity him from my heart! The unwashed, beer-drinking, +gin-swilling classes, who clamor for shortened hours of labor, and want +work to be expressly invented for their benefit, don't suffer a bit more +than Albert Edward, who is supposed to be rolling idly in the very lap +of luxury, and who can hardly call his soul his own. Why, the man can't +eat a mutton-chop without there being a paragraph in the papers headed, +'Diet of the Prince of Wales.' His life is made an infinite bore to him, +I'm positive!" + +Gueldmar looked thoughtful. "I know little about kings or princes," he +said, "but it seems to me, from what I _do_ know, that they have but +small power. They are mere puppets. In olden times they possessed +supremacy, but now--" + +"I will tell you," interrupted Duprez excitedly, "who it is that rules +the people in these times,--it is the _Pen_--_Madame La Plume_. A little +black, sharp, scratching devil she is,--empress of all nations! No crown +but a point,--no royal robe save ink! It is certain that as long as +_Madame la Plume_ gambols freely over her realms of paper, so long must +kings and autocrats shake in their shoes and be uncertain of their +thrones. Mon Dieu! if I had but the gift of writing, I would conquer the +world!" + +"There are an immense number of people writing just now, Pierre," +remarked Lorimer, with a smile, "yet they don't do much in the +conquering line." + +"Because they are afraid!" said Duprez. "Because they have not the +courage of their opinions! Because they dare not tell the truth!" + +"Upon my life, I believe you are right!" said Errington. "If there were +a man bold enough to declare truths and denounce lies, I should imagine +it quite possible that he might conquer the world,--or, at any rate, +make it afraid of him." + +"But is the world so full of lies?" asked Thelma timidly. + +Lorimer looked at her gravely. "I fear so, Miss Gueldmar! I think it has +a tolerable harvest of them every year,--a harvest, too, that never +fails! But I say, Phil! Look at the sun shining! Let us go up on +deck,--we shall soon be getting back to the Altenfjord." + +They all rose, threw on their caps, and left the saloon with the +exception of Errington, who lingered behind, watching his opportunity, +and as Thelma followed her father he called her back softly-- + +"Thelma!" + +She hesitated, and then turned towards him,--her father saw her +movement, smiled at her, and nodded kindly, as he passed through the +saloon doors and disappeared. With a beating heart, she sprang quickly +to her lover's side, and as he caught her in his arms, she whispered-- + +"You have told him?" + +"Your father? Yes, my darling!" murmured Philip, as he kissed her sweet, +upturned lips. "Be quite happy--he knows everything. Come, Thelma! tell +me again you love me--I have not heard you say it properly yet!" + +She smiled dreamily as she leaned against his breast and looked up into +his eyes. + +"I cannot say it properly!" she said. "There is no language for my +heart! If I could tell you all I feel, you would think it foolish, I am +sure, because it is all so wild and strange,"--she stopped, and her face +grew pale,--"oh!" she murmured with a slight tremor; "it is terrible!" + +"What is terrible, my sweet one?" asked Errington drawing her more +closely, and folding her more tightly in his arms. + +She sighed deeply. "To have no more life of my own!" she answered, while +her low voice quivered with intense feeling. "It has all gone--to you! +And yours has come to me!--is it not strange and almost sad? How your +heart beats, poor boy!--I can hear it throb, throb--so fast!--here, +where I am resting my head." She looked up, and her little white hand +caressed his cheek. "Philip," she said very softly, "what are you +thinking about? Your eyes shine so brightly--do you know you have +beautiful eyes?" + +"Have I?" he murmured abstractedly, looking down on that exquisite, +innocent, glowing face, and trembling with the force of the restrained +passion that kindled through him. "I don't know about that!--yours seem +to me like two stars fallen from heaven! Oh, Thelma, my darling!--God +make me worthy of you." + +He spoke with intense fervor,--kissing her with a tenderness, in which +there was something of reverence as well as fear. The whole soul of the +man was startled and roused to inexpressible devotion, by the absolute +simplicity and purity of her nature--the direct frankness with which she +had said her life was his--his!--and in what way was HE fitted to be the +guardian and possessor of this white lily from the garden of God? She +was so utterly different to all women as he had known them--as different +as a bird of paradise to a common house-sparrow. Meanwhile, as these +thoughts flitted through his brain, she moved gently from his embrace +and smiled proudly, yet sweetly. + +"Worthy of me?" she said softly and wonderingly. "It is I that will pray +to be made worthy of _you_! You must not put it wrongly, Philip!" + +He made no answer, but looked at her as she stood before him, majestic +as a young empress in her straight, unadorned white gown. + +"Thelma!" he said suddenly, "do you know how lovely you are?" + +"Yes!" she answered simply; "I know it, because I am like my mother. But +it is not anything to be beautiful,--unless one is loved,--and then it +is different! I feel much more beautiful now, since you think me +pleasant to look at!" + +Philip laughed and caught her hand. "What a child you are!" he said. +"Now let me see this little finger." And he loosened from his +watch-chain a half-hoop ring of brilliants. "This belonged to _my_ +mother, Thelma," he continued gently, "and since her death I have always +carried it about with me. I resolved never to part with it, except to--" +He paused and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand, where it +sparkled bravely. + +She gazed at it in surprise. "You part with it now?" she asked, with +wonder in her accents. "I do not understand!" + +He kissed her. "No? I will explain again, Thelma!--and you shall not +laugh at me as you did the very first time I saw you! I resolved never +to part with this ring, I say, except to--my promised wife. _Now_ do you +understand?" + +She blushed deeply, and her eyes dropped before his ardent gaze. + +"I do thank you very much, Philip,"--she faltered timidly,--she was +about to say something further when suddenly Lorimer entered the saloon. +He glanced from Errington to Thelma, and from Thelma back again to +Errington,--and smiled. So have certain brave soldiers been known to +smile in face of a death-shot. He advanced with his usual languid step +and nonchalant air, and removing his cap, bowed gravely and courteously. + +"Let me be the first to offer my congratulations to the future Lady +Errington! Phil, old man! . . . I wish you joy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + "Why, sir, in the universal game of double-dealing, shall not the + cleverest tricksters play each other false by haphazard, and so + betray their closest secrets, to their own and their friends' + infinite amazement?"--CONGREVE. + + +When Olaf Gueldmar and his daughter left the yacht that evening, +Errington accompanied them, in order to have the satisfaction of +escorting his beautiful betrothed as far as her own door. They were all +three very silent--the _bonde_ was pensive, Thelma shy, and Errington +himself was too happy for speech. Arriving at the farmhouse, they saw +Sigurd curled up under the porch, playing idly with the trailing +rose-branches, but, on hearing their footsteps, he looked up, uttered a +wild exclamation, and fled. Gueldmar tapped his own forehead +significantly. + +"He grows worse and worse, the poor lad!" he said somewhat sorrowfully. +"And yet there is a strange mingling of foresight and wit with his wild +fancies. Wouldst thou believe it, Thelma, child," and here he turned to +his daughter and encircled her waist with his arm--"he seemed to know +how matters were with thee and Philip, when I was yet in the dark +concerning them!" + +This was the first allusion her father had made to her engagement, and +her head drooped with a sort of sweet shame. + +"Nay, now, why hide thy face?" went on the old man cheerily. "Didst thou +think I would grudge my bird her summer-time? Not I! And little did I +hope for thee, my darling, that thou wouldst find a shelter worthy of +thee in this wild world!" He paused a moment, looking tenderly down upon +her, as she nestled in mute affection against his breast,--then +addressing himself to Errington, he went on-- + +"We have a story in our Norse religion, my lad, of two lovers who +declared their passion to each other, on one stormy night in the depth +of winter. They were together in a desolate hut on the mountains, and +around them lay unbroken tracts of frozen snow. They were descended from +the gods, and therefore the gods protected them--and it happened that +after they had sworn their troth, the doors of the snow-bound hut flew +suddenly open, and lo! the landscape had changed--the hills were gay +with grass and flowers,--the sky was blue and brilliant, the birds sang, +and everywhere was heard the ripple of waters let loose from their icy +fetters, and gamboling down the rocks in the joyous sun. This was the +work of the goddess Friga,--the first kiss exchanged by the lovers she +watched over, banished Winter from the land, and Spring came instead. +'Tis a pretty story, and true all the world over--true for all men and +women of all creeds! It must be an ice-bound heart indeed that will not +warm to the touch of love--and mine, though aged, grows young again in +the joy of my children." He put his daughter gently from him to-wards +Philip, saying with more gravity, "Go to him, child!--go--with thy old +father's blessing! And take with thee the three best virtues of a +wife,--truth, humility, and obedience. Good night, my son!" and he wrung +Errington's hand with fervor. "You'll take longer to say good night to +Thelma," and he laughed, "so I'll go in and leave you to it!" + +And with a good-natured nod, he entered the house whistling a tune as he +went, that they might not think he imagined himself lonely or +neglected,--and the two lovers paced slowly up and down the garden-path +together, exchanging those first confidences which to outsiders seem so +eminently foolish, but which to those immediately concerned are most +wonderful, delightful, strange, and enchanting beyond all description. +Where, from a practical point of view, is the sense of such questions as +these--"When did you love me first?" "What did you feel when I said +so-and-so?" "Have you dreamt of me often?" "Will you love me always, +always, always?" and so on _ad infinitum_. "Ridiculous rubbish!" +exclaims the would-be strong-minded, but secretly savage old maid,--and +the selfishly matter-of-fact, but privately fidgety and lonely old +bachelor. Ah! but there are those who could tell you that at one time or +another of their lives this "ridiculous rubbish" seemed far more +important than the decline and fall of empires,--more necessary to +existence than light and air,--more fraught with hope, fear, suspense, +comfort, despair, and anxiety than anything that could be invented or +imagined! Philip and Thelma,--man and woman in the full flush of youth, +health, beauty, and happiness,--had just entered their Paradise,--their +fairy-garden,--and every little flower and leaf on the way had special, +sweet interest for them. Love's indefinable glories,--Love's proud +possibilities,--Love's long ecstasies,--these, like so many +spirit-figures, seemed to smile and beckon them on, on, on, through +golden seas of sunlight,--through flower-filled fields of drowsy +entrancement,--through winding ways of rose-strewn and lily-scented +leafage,--on, on, with eyes and hearts absorbed in one another,--unseeing +any end to the dreamlike wonders that, like some heavenly picture-scroll, +unrolled slowly and radiantly before them. And so they murmured those +unwise, tender things which no wisdom in the world has ever surpassed, +and when Philip at last said "Good night!" with more reluctance than +Romeo, and pressed his parting kiss on his love's sweet, fresh +mouth,--the riddle with which he had puzzled himself so often was +resolved at last,--life _was_ worth living, worth cherishing, worth +ennobling. The reason of all things seemed clear to him,--Love, and Love +only, supported, controlled, and grandly completed the universe! He +accepted this answer to all perplexities,--his heart expanded with a +sense of large content--his soul was satisfied. + +Meanwhile, during his friend's absence from the yacht, Lorimer took it +upon himself to break the news to Duprez and Macfarlane. These latter +young gentlemen had had their suspicions already, but they were not +quite prepared to hear them so soon confirmed. Lorimer told the matter +in his own way. + +"I say, you fellows!" he remarked carelessly, as he sat smoking in their +company on deck, "you'd better look out! If you stare at Miss Gueldmar +too much, you'll have Phil down upon you!" + +"Ha, ha!" exclaimed Duprez slyly, "the dear Phil-eep is in love?" + +"Something more than that," said Lorimer, looking absently at the +cigarette he held between his fingers,--"he's an engaged man." + +"Engaged!" cried Macfarlane excitedly. "Ma certes! He has the deevil's +own luck! He's just secured for himself the grandest woman in the +warld!" + +"_Je le crois bien!_" said Duprez gravely, nodding his head several +times. "Phil-eep is a wise boy! He is the fortunate one! I am not for +marriage at all--no! not for myself,--it is to tie one's hands, to +become a prisoner,--and that would not suit me; but if I were inclined +to captivity, I should like Mademoiselle Gueldmar for my beautiful +gaoler. And beautiful she is, _mon Dieu!_ . . . beyond all comparison!" + +Lorimer was silent, so was Macfarlane. After a pause Duprez spoke again. + +"And do you know, _cher_ Lorimer, when our Phil-eep will marry?" + +"I haven't the slightest idea," returned Lorimer. "I know he's engaged, +that's all." + +Suddenly Macfarlane broke into a chuckling laugh. + +"I say, Lorimer," he said, with his deep-set, small grey eyes sparkling +with mischief. "'Twould be grand fun to see auld Dyceworthy's face when +he hears o't. By the Lord! He'll fall to cursin' an' swearin' like ma +pious aunt in Glasgie, or that auld witch that cursed Miss Thelma +yestreen!" + +"An eminently unpleasant old woman _she_ was!" said Lorimer musingly. "I +wonder what she meant by it!" + +"She meant, _mon cher_," said Duprez airily, "that she knew herself to +be ugly and venerable, while Mademoiselle was youthful and +ravishing,--it is a sufficient reason to excite profanity in the mind of +a lady!" + +"Here comes Errington!" said Macfarlane, pointing to the approaching +boat that was coming swiftly back from the Gueldmars' pier. "Lorimer, are +we to congratulate him?" + +"If you like!" returned Lorimer. "I dare say he won't object." + +So that as soon as Sir Philip set foot on the yacht, his hands were +cordially grasped, and his friends out-vied each other in good wishes +for his happiness. He thanked them simply and with a manly +straightforwardness, entirely free from the usual affected embarrassment +that some modern young men think it seemly to adopt under similar +circumstances. + +"The fact is," he said frankly, "I congratulate myself,--I'm more lucky +than I deserve, I know!" + +"What a sensation she will make in London, Phil!" said Lorimer suddenly. +"I've just thought of it! Good Heavens! Lady Winsleigh will cry for +sheer spite and vexation!" + +Philip laughed. "I hope not," he said. "I should think it would need +immense force to draw a tear from her ladyship's cold bright eyes." + +"She used to like you awfully, Phil!" said Lorimer. "You were a great +favorite of hers." + +"All men are her favorites with the exception of one--her husband!" +observed Errington gaily. "Come along, let's have some champagne to +celebrate the day! We'll propose toasts and drink healths--we've got a +fair excuse for jollity this evening." + +They all descended into the saloon, and had a merry time of it, singing +songs and telling good stories, Lorimer being the gayest of the party, +and it was long past midnight when they retired to their cabins, without +even looking at the wonders of, perhaps, the most gorgeous sky that had +yet shone on their travels--a sky of complete rose-color, varying from +the deepest shade up to the palest, in which the sun glowed with a +subdued radiance like an enormous burning ruby. + +Thelma saw it, standing under her house-porch, where her father had +joined her,--Sigurd saw it,--he had come out from some thicket where he +had been hiding, and he now sat, in a humble, crouching posture at +Thelma's feet. All three were silent, reverently watching the spreading +splendor of the heavens. Once Gueldmar addressed his daughter in a soft +tone. + +"Thou are happy, my bird?" + +She smiled--the expression of her face was almost divine in its rapture. + +"Perfectly happy, my father!" + +At the sound of her dulcet voice, Sigurd looked up. His large blue eyes +were full of tears, he took her hand and held it in his meagre and +wasted one. + +"Mistress!" he said suddenly, "do you think I shall soon die?" + +She turned her pitying eyes down upon him, startled by the vibrating +melancholy of his tone. + +"Thou wilt die, Sigurd," answered Gueldmar gently, "when the gods +please,--not one second sooner or later. Art thou eager to see +Valhalla?" + +Sigurd nodded dreamily. "They will understand me there!" he murmured. +"And I shall grow straight and strong and brave! Mistress, if you meet +me in Valhalla, you will love me!" + +She stroked his wild fair locks. "I love you now, Sigurd," she said +tenderly. "But perhaps we shall all love each other better in heaven." + +"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Sigurd, patting her hand caressingly. "When we are +all dead, dead! When our bodies crumble away and turn to flowers and +birds and butterflies,--and our souls come out like white and red +flames,--yes! . . . then we shall love each other and talk of such +strange, strange things!" He paused and laughed wildly. Then his voice +sank again into melancholy monotony--and he added: "Mistress, you are +killing poor Sigurd!" + +Thelma's face grow very earnest and anxious. "Are you vexed with me, +dear?" she asked soothingly. "Tell me what it is that troubles you?" + +Sigurd met her eyes with a look of speechless despair and shook his +head. + +"I cannot tell you!" he muttered. "All my thoughts have gone to drown +themselves one by one in the cold sea! My heart was buried yesterday, +and I saw it sealed down into its coffin. There is something of me +left,--something that dances before me like a flame,--but it will not +rest, it does not obey me. I call it, but it will not come! And I am +getting tired, mistress--very, very tired!" His voice broke, and a low +sob escaped him,--he hid his face in the folds of her dress. Gueldmar +looked at the poor fellow compassionately. + +"The wits wander further and further away!" he said to his daughter in a +low tone. "'Tis a mind like a broken rainbow, split through by +storm--'twill soon vanish. Be patient with him, child,--it cannot be for +long!" + +"No, not for long!" cried Sigurd, raising his head brightly. "That is +true--not for long! Mistress, will you come to-morrow with me and gather +flowers? You used to love to wander with your poor boy in the +fields,--but you have forgotten,--and I cannot find any blossoms without +you! They will not show themselves unless you come! Will you? dear, +beautiful mistress! will you come?" + +She smiled, pleased to see him a little more cheerful. "Yes, Sigurd," +she said; "I will come. We will go together early to-morrow morning and +gather all the flowers we can find. Will that make you happy?" + +"Yes!" he said, softly kissing the hem of her dress. "It will make me +happy--for the last time." + +Then he rose in an attitude of attention, as though he had been called +by some one at a distance,--and with a grave, preoccupied air he moved +away, walking on tip-toe as though he feared to interrupt the sound of +some soft invisible music. Gueldmar sighed as he watched him disappear. + +"May the gods make us thankful for a clear brain when we have it!" he +said devoutly; and then turning to his daughter, he bade her good night, +and laid his hands on her golden head in silent but fervent blessing. +"Child," he said tremulously, "in the new joys that await thee, never +forget how thy old father loves thee!" + +Then, not trusting himself to say more, he strode into the house and +betook himself to slumber. Thelma followed his example, and the old +farmhouse was soon wrapped in the peace and stillness of the strange +night--a night of glittering sunshine. Sigurd alone was wakeful,--he lay +at the foot of one of the tallest pine-trees, and stared persistently at +the radiant sky through the network of dark branches. Now and then he +smiled as though he saw some beatific vision--sometimes he plucked +fitfully at the soft long moss on which he had made his couch, and +sometimes he broke into a low, crooning song. God alone knew the broken +ideas, the dim fancies, the half born desires, that glimmered like pale +ghosts in the desert of his brain,--God alone, in the great Hereafter, +could solve the problem of his sorrows and throw light on his soul's +darkness. + +It was past six in the morning when he arose, and smoothing back his +tangled locks, went to Thelma's window and sat down beneath it, in mute +expectancy. He had not long to wait,--at the expiration of ten or +fifteen minutes, the little lattice was thrown wide open, and the girl's +face, fresh as a rose, framed in a shower of amber locks, smiled down +upon him. + +"I am coming, Sigurd!" she cried softly and joyously. "How lovely the +morning is! Stay for me there! I shall not be long." + +And she disappeared, leaving her window open. Sigurd heard her singing +little scraps of song to herself, as she moved about in the interior of +her room. He listened, as though his soul were drawn out of him by her +voice,--but presently the rich notes ceased, and there was a sudden +silence. Sigurd knew or guessed the reason of that hush,--Thelma was at +her prayers. Instinctively the poor forlorn lad folded his wasted +hands--most piteously and most imploringly he raised his bewildered eyes +to the blue and golden glory of the sky. His conception of God was +indefinable; his dreams of heaven, chaotic minglings of fairy-land with +Valhalla,--but he somehow felt that wherever Thelma's holy aspirations +turned, there the angels must be listening. + +Presently she came out of the house, looking radiant as the morning +itself,--her luxuriant hair was thrown back over her shoulders, and fell +loosely about her in thick curls, simply confined by a knot of blue +ribbon. She carried a large osier basket, capacious, and gracefully +shaped. + +"Now, Sigurd," she called sweetly, "I am ready! Where shall we go?" + +Sigurd hastened to her side, happy and smiling. + +"Across there," he said, pointing toward the direction of Bosekop. +"There is a stream under the trees that laughs to itself all day--you +know it, mistress? And the poppies are in the field as you go--and by +the banks there are the heart's-ease flowers--we cannot have too many of +_them_! Shall we go?" + +"Wherever you like, dear," answered Thelma tenderly, looking down from +her stately height on the poor stunted creature at her side, who held +her dress as though he were a child clinging to her as his sole means of +guidance. "All the land is pleasant to-day." + +They left the farm and its boundaries. A few men were at work on one of +Gueldmar's fields, and these looked up,--half in awe, half in fear,--as +Thelma and her fantastic servitor passed along. + +"'Tis a fine wench!" said one man, resting on his spade, and following +with his eyes the erect, graceful figure of his employer's daughter. + +"Maybe, maybe!" said another gruffly; "but a fine wench is a snare of +the devil! Do ye mind what Lovisa Elsland told us?" + +"Ay, ay," answered the first speaker, "Lovisa knows,--Lovisa is the +wisest woman we have in these parts--that's true! The girl's a witch, +for sure!" + +And they resumed their work in gloomy silence. Not one of them would +have willingly labored on Olaf Gueldmar's land, had not the wages he +offered been above the usual rate of hire,--and times were bad in +Norway. But otherwise, the superstitious fear of him was so great that +his fields might have gone untilled and his crops ungathered,--however, +as matters stood, none of them could deny that he was a good paymaster, +and just in his dealings with those whom he employed. + +Thelma and Sigurd took their way in silence across a perfumed stretch of +meadow-land,--the one naturally fertile spot in that somewhat barren +district. Plenty of flowers blossomed at their feet, but they did not +pause to gather these, for Sigurd was anxious to get to the stream where +the purple pansies grew. They soon reached it--it was a silvery clear +ribbon of water that unrolled itself in bright folds, through green, +transparent tunnels of fern and waving grass--leaping now and then with +a swift dash over a smooth block of stone or jagged rock--but for the +most part gliding softly, with a happy, self-satisfied murmur, as though +it were some drowsy spirit dreaming joyous dreams. Here nodded the +grave, purple-leaved pansies,--legendary consolers of the heart,--their +little, quaint, expressive physiognomies turned in every direction; up +to the sky, as though absorbing the sunlight,--down to the ground, with +an almost severe air of meditation, or curled sideways on their stems in +a sort of sly reflectiveness. + +Sigurd was among them at once--they were his friends,--his playmates, +his favorites,--and he gathered them quickly, yet tenderly, murmuring as +he did so, "Yes, you must all die; but death does not hurt; no! life +hurts, but not death! See! as I pluck you, you all grow wings and fly +away--away to other meadows, and bloom again." He paused, and a puzzled +look came into his eyes. He turned toward Thelma, who had seated herself +on a little knoll just above the stream, "Tell me, mistress," he said, +"do the flowers go to heaven?" + +She smiled. "I think so, dear Sigurd," she said; "I hope so! I am almost +sure they do." + +Sigurd nodded with an air of satisfaction. + +"That is right," he observed. "It would never do to leave them behind, +you know! They would be missed, and we should have to come down again +and fetch them--" A crackling among the branches of some trees startled +him,--he looked round, and uttered a peculiar cry like the cry of a wild +animal, and exclaimed, "Spies, spies! ha! ha! secret, wicked faces that +are afraid to show themselves! Come out! Mistress, mistress! make them +come out!" + +Thelma rose, surprised as his gesticulations, and came towards him; to +her utter astonishment she found herself confronted by old Lovisa +Elsland, and the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy's servant, Ulrika. On both +women's faces there was a curious expression of mingled fear, triumph, +and malevolence. Lovisa was the first to break silence. + +"At last!" she croaked, in a sort of slow, monotonous tone "At last, +Thelma Gueldmar, the Lord has delivered you into my hands!" + +Thelma drew Sigurd close to her, and slipped one arm around him. + +"Poor soul!" she said softly, with sweet pitying eyes fixed fearlessly +on the old hag's withered, evil visage. "You must be tired, wandering +about on the hills as you do! If you are her friend," she added, +addressing Ulrika, "why do you not make her rest at home and keep warm? +She is so old and feeble!" + +"Feeble!" shrieked Lovisa; "feeble!" And she seemed choking with +passion. "If I had my fingers at your throat, you should then see if I +am feeble! I--" Ulrika pulled her by the arm, and whispered something +which had the effect of calming her a little. "Well," she said, "you +speak then! I can wait!" + +Ulrika cleared her husky voice, and fixed her dull eyes on the girl's +radiant countenance. + +"You must go away," she said coldly and briefly; "You and your father, +and this creature," and she pointed contemptuously to the staring +Sigurd. "Do you understand? You must leave the Alten Fjord. The people +are tired of you--tired of bad harvests, ill-luck, sickness, and +continued poverty. You are the cause of all our miseries,--and we have +resolved you shall not stay among us. Go quickly,--take the blight and +pestilence of your presence elsewhere! Go! or if you will not--" + +"We shall burn, burn, burn, and utterly destroy!" interrupted Lovisa, +with a sort of eldritch shriek. "The strong pine rafters of Olaf +Gueldmar's dwelling shall be kindled into flame to light the hills with +crimson, far and near! Not a plank shall be spared!--not a vestige of +his pride be left--" + +"Stop!" said Thelma quietly. "What do you mean? You must both be very +mad or very wicked! You want us to go away--you threaten to set fire to +our home--why? We have done you no harm. Tell me, poor soul!" and she +turned with queenly forbearance to Lovisa, "is it for Britta's sake that +you would burn the house she lives in? That is not wise! You cursed me +the other day,--and why? What have I done that you should hate me?" + +The old woman regarded her with steadfast, cruel eyes. + +"You are your mother's child!" she said. "I hated her--I hate you! You +are a witch!--the village knows it--Mr. Dyceworthy knows it! Mr. +Dyceworthy says we shall be justified in the Lord's sight for wreaking +evil upon you! Evil, evil be on those of evil deeds!" + +"Then shall the evil fall on Mr. Dyceworthy," said the girl calmly. "He +is wicked in himself,--and doubly wicked to encourage _you_ in +wickedness. He is ignorant and false--why do you believe in such a man?" + +"He is a saint--a saint!" cried Lovisa wildly. "And shall the daughter +of Satan withstand his power?" And she clapped her hands in a sort of +fierce ecstasy. + +Thelma glanced at her pityingly and smiled. "A saint! Poor thing, how +little you know him!" she said. "And it is a pity you should hate me, +for I have done you no wrong. I would do good to all if I knew +how,--tell me can I comfort you, or make your life more cheerful? It +must be hard to be so old and all alone!" + +"Your death would comfort me!" returned Lovisa grimly. "Why do you keep +Britta from me?" + +"I do not keep her," Thelma answered. "She stays with me because she is +happy. Why do you grudge her, her happiness? And as for burning my +father's house, surely you would not do so wicked and foolish a +thing!--but still, you must do as you choose, for it is not possible +that we shall leave the Altenfjord to please you." + +Here Ulrika started forward angrily. "You defy us!" she cried. "You will +not go?" And in her excitement she seized Thelma's arm roughly. + +This action was too much for Sigurd; he considered it an attack on the +person of his beloved mistress and he resented it at once in his own +fashion. Throwing himself on Ulrika with sudden ferocity, he pushed and +beat her back as though he were a wolf-hound struggling with refractory +prey; and though the ancient Lovisa rushed to the rescue, and Thelma +imploringly called upon her zealous champion to desist,--all +remonstrances were unavailing, till Sigurd had reduced his enemy to the +most abject and whimpering terror. + +"A demon--a demon!" she sobbed and moaned, as the valiant dwarf at last +released her from his clutches; and, tossing his long, fair locks over +his misshapen shoulders, laughed loudly and triumphantly with delight at +his victory. "Lovisa! Lovisa Elsland! this is your doing; you brought +this upon me! I may die now, and you will not care! O Lord, Lord, have +mercy--" + +Suddenly she stopped; her eyes dilated,--her face grew grey with the +sickening pallor of fear. Slowly she raised her hand and pointed to +Sigurd--his fantastic dress had become disordered in the affray, and his +jacket was torn open,--and on his bare chest a long red scar in the +shape of a cross was distinctly visible. "That scar!" she muttered. "How +did he get that scar?" + +Lovisa stared at her in impatient derision. Thelma was too surprised to +answer immediately, and Sigurd took it upon himself to furnish what he +considered a crushing reply. + +"Odin's mark!" he said, patting the scar with much elation. "No wonder +you are afraid of it! Everybody knows it--birds, flowers, trees, and +stars! Even you--you are afraid!" + +And he laughed again, and snapped his fingers in her face. The woman +shuddered violently. Step by step she drew near to the wondering Thelma, +and spoke in low and trembling accents, without a trace of her former +anger. + +"They say you are wicked," she said slowly, "and that the devil has your +soul ready, before you are dead! But I am not afraid of you. No; I will +forgive you, and pray for you, if you will tell me, . . ." She paused, +and then continued, as with a strong effort. "Yes--tell me _who_ is this +Sigurd?" + +"Sigurd is a foundling," answered Thelma simply. "He was floating about +in the Fjord in a basket, and my father saved him. He was quite a baby. +He had this scar on his chest then. He has lived with us ever since." + +Ulrika looked at her searchingly,--then bent her head,--whether in +gratitude or despair it was difficult to say. + +"Lovisa Elsland," she said monotonously, "I am going home. I cannot help +you any longer! I am tired--ill." Here she suddenly broke down, and, +throwing up her arms with a wild gesture, she cried, "O God, God! O +God!" and burst into a stormy passion of sobs and tears. + +Thelma, touched by her utter misery, would have offered consolation, but +Lovisa repelled her with a fierce gesture. + +"Go!" said the old woman harshly. "You have cast your spells upon her--I +am witness of your work! And shall you escape just punishment? No; not +while there is a God in heaven, and I, Lovisa Elsland, live to perform +His bidding! Go,--white devil that you are!--go and carry misfortune +upon misfortune to your fine gentleman-lover! Ah!" and she chuckled +maliciously as the girl recoiled from her, her proud face growing +suddenly paler, "have I touched you there? Lie in his breast, and it +shall be as though a serpent stung him,--kiss his lips, and your touch +shall be poison,--live in doubt, and die in misery! Go! and may all evil +follow you!" + +She raised her staff and waved it majestically, as though she drew a +circle in the air,--Thelma smiled pityingly, but deigned no answer to +her wild ravings. + +"Come, Sigurd!" she said simply, "let us return home. It is growing +late--father will wonder where we are." + +"Yes, yes," agreed Sigurd, seizing the basket full of the pansies he had +plucked. "The sunshine is slipping away, and we cannot live with +shadows! These are not real women, mistress; they are dreams--black +dreams,--I have often fought with dreams, and I know how to make them +afraid! See how the one weeps because she knows me,--and the other is +just going to fall into a grave. I can hear the clods thrown on her +head--thump--thump! It does not take long to bury a dream! Come, +mistress, let us follow the sunshine!" + +And, taking the hand she extended towards him, he turned away, looking +back once, however, to call out loudly-- + +"Good-bye, bad dreams!" + +As they disappeared behind the trees, Lovisa turned angrily to the +still-sobbing Ulrika. + +"What is this folly?" she exclaimed, striking her staff fiercely into +the ground. "Art mad or bewitched?" + +Ulrika looked up,--her plain face swollen and stained with weeping. + +"O Lord, have mercy upon me! O Lord, forgive me!" she moaned. "I did not +know it--how _could_ I know?" + +Lovisa grew so impatient that she seized her by the shoulder and shook +her violently. + +"Know what?" she cried; "know what?" + +"Sigurd is my son!" said Ulrika, with a sort of solemn +resignation,--then, with a sudden gesture, she threw her hands above her +head, crying, "My son, my son! The child I thought I had killed! The +Lord be praised I did not murder him!" + +Lovisa Elsland seemed stupefied with surprise. "Is this the truth?" she +asked at last, slowly and incredulously. + +"The truth, the truth!" cried Ulrika passionately. "It is always the +truth that comes to light! He is my child, I tell you! . . . I gave him +that scar!" She paused, shuddering, and continued in a lower tone, "I +tried to kill him with a knife, but when the blood flowed, it sickened +me, and I could not! He was an infant abortion--the evil fruit of an +evil deed--and I threw him out to the waves,--as I told you, long ago. +You have had good use of my confession, Lovisa Elsland; you have held me +in your power by means of my secret, but now--" + +The old woman interrupted her with a low laugh of contempt and malice. + +"As the parents are, so are the children!" she said scornfully. "Your +lover must have been a fine man, Ulrika, if the son is like his father!" + +Ulrika glared at her vengefully, then drew herself up with an air of +defiance. + +"I care nothing for your taunts, Lovisa Elsland!" she said. "You can do +me no harm! All is over between us! I will help in no mischief against +the Gueldmars. Whatever their faults, they saved--my child!" + +"Is that so great a blessing?" asked Lovisa ironically. + +"It makes your threats useless," answered Ulrika. "You cannot call me +_murderess_ again!" + +"Coward and fool!" shrieked Lovisa. "Was it _your_ intent that the child +should live? Were you not glad to think it dead? And cannot I spread the +story of your infamy through all the villages where you are known? Is +not the wretched boy himself a living witness of the attempt you made to +kill him? Does not that scar speak against you? Would not Olaf Gueldmar +relate the story of the child's rescue to any one that asked him? Would +you like all Bosekop to know of your intrigue with an escaped criminal, +who was afterwards caught and hung! The virtuous Ulrika--the zealous +servant of the Gospel--the pious, praying Ulrika!" and the old woman +trembled with rage and excitement. "Out of my power? Never, never! As +long as there is breath in my body I will hold you down! _Not_ a +murderess, you say--?" + +"No," said Ulrika very calmly, with a keen look, "I am _not_--but you +_are_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + "Il n'y a personne qui ait eu autant a souffrir a votre sujet que + moi depuis ma naissance! aussi je vous supplie a deux genoux et + au nom de Dien, d'avoir pitie de moi!"--_Old Breton Ballad_. + + +In a few more days Thelma's engagement to Sir Philip Bruce-Errington was +the talk of the neighborhood. The news spread gradually, having been, in +the first place, started by Britta, whose triumph in her mistress's +happiness was charming to witness. It reached the astonished and +reluctant ears of the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy, whose rage was so great +that it destroyed his appetite for twenty-four hours. But the general +impression in the neighborhood, where superstition maintained so strong +a hold on the primitive and prejudiced minds of the people, was that the +reckless young Englishman would rue the day on which he wedded "the +white witch of the Altenfjord." + +Gueldmar was regarded with more suspicion than ever, as having used some +secret and diabolical influence to promote the match; and the whole +party were, as it seemed, tabooed, and looked upon as given up to the +most unholy practices. + +Needless to say, the opinions of the villagers had no effect whatever on +the good spirits of those who were thus unfavorably criticised, and it +would have been difficult to find a merrier group than that assembled +one fine morning in front of Gueldmar's house, all equipped from top to +toe for some evidently unusually lengthy and arduous mountain excursion. +Each man carried a long, stout stick, portable flask, knapsack, and +rug--the latter two articles strapped together and slung across the +shoulder--and they all presented an eminently picturesque appearance, +particularly Sigurd, who stood at a little distance from the others, +leaning on his tall staff and gazing at Thelma with an air of peculiar +pensiveness and abstraction. + +She was at that moment busied in adjusting Errington's knapsack more +comfortably, her fair, laughing face turned up to his, and her bright +eyes alight with love and tender solicitude. + +"I've a good mind not to go at all," he whispered in her ear. "I'll come +back and stay with you all day." + +"You foolish boy!" she answered merrily. "You would miss seeing the +grand fall--all for what? To sit with me and watch me spinning, and you +would grow so very sleepy! Now, if I were a man, I would go with you." + +"I'm very glad you're not a man!" said Errington, pressing the little +hand that had just buckled his shoulder-strap. "Though I wish you _were_ +going with us. But I say, Thelma, darling, won't you be lonely?" + +She laughed gaily. "Lonely? I? Why, Britta is with me--besides, I am +never lonely _now_." She uttered the last word softly, with a shy, +upward glance. "I have so much to think about--" She paused and drew her +hand away from her lover's close clasp. "Ah," she resumed, with a +mischievous smile, "you are a conceited boy! You want to be missed! You +wish me to say that I shall feel most miserable all the time you are +away! If I do, I shall not tell you!" + +"Thelma, child?" called Olaf Gueldmar, at this juncture "keep the gates +bolted and doors barred while we are absent. Remember, thou and Britta +must pass the night alone here,--we cannot be at home till late in the +evening of to-morrow. Let no one inside the garden, and deny thyself to +all comers. Dost thou hear?" + +"Yes, father," she responded meekly. + +"And let Britta keep good guard that her crazy hag of a grandam come not +hither to disturb or fright thee with her croaking,--for thou hast not +even Sigurd to protect thee." + +"Not even Sigurd!" said that personage, with a meditative smile. "No, +mistress; not even poor Sigurd!" + +"One of us might remain behind," suggested Lorimer, with a side-look at +his friend. + +"Oh no, no!" exclaimed Thelma anxiously. "It would vex me so much! +Britta and I have often been alone before. We are quite safe, are we +not, father?" + +"Safe enough!" said the old man, with a laugh. "I know of no one save +Lovisa Elsland who has the courage to face thee, child! Still, pretty +witch as thou art, 'twill not harm thee to put the iron bar across the +house door, and to lock fast the outer gate when we have gone. This +done, I have no fear of thy safety. Now," and he kissed his daughter +heartily, "now lads, 'tis time we were on the march! Sigurd, my boy, +lead on!" + +"Wait!" cried Sigurd, springing to Thelma's side. "I must say good-bye!" +And he caught the girl's hand and kissed it,--then plucking a rose, he +left it between her fingers. "That will remind you of Sigurd, mistress! +Think of him once to-day!--once again when the midnight glory shines. +Good-bye, mistress! that is what the dead say, . . . Good-bye!" + +And with a passionate gesture of farewell, he ran and placed himself at +the head of the little group that waited for him, saying exultingly-- + +"Now follow me! Sigurd knows the way! Sigurd is the friend of all the +wild waterfall! Up the hills,--across the leaping stream,--through the +sparkling foam!" And he began chanting to himself a sort of wild +mountain song. + +Macfarlane looked at him dubiously. "Are ye sure?" he said to Gueldmar. +"Are ye sure that wee chap kens whaur he's gaun? He'll no lead us into a +ditch an' leave us there, mistakin' it for the Fall?" + +Gueldmar laughed heartily. "Never fear! Sigurd's the best guide you can +have, in spite of his fancies. He knows all the safest and surest paths; +and Njedegorze is no easy place to reach, I can tell you!" + +"_Pardon!_ How is it called?" asked Duprez eagerly. + +"Njedegorze." + +The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "I give it up!" he said smilingly. +"Mademoiselle Gueldmar, if anything happens to me at this cascade with +the name unpronounceable, you will again be my doctor, will you not?" + +Thelma laughed as she shook hands with him. "Nothing will happen," she +rejoined; "unless, indeed, you catch cold by sleeping in a hut all +night. Father, you must see that they do not catch cold!" + +The _bonde_ nodded, and motioned the party forward, Sigurd leading the +way,--Errington, however, lingered behind on pretense of having +forgotten something, and, drawing his betrothed in his arms, kissed her +fondly. + +"Take care of yourself, darling!" he murmured,--and then hurrying away +he rejoined his friends, who had discreetly refrained from looking back, +and therefore had not seen the lovers embrace. + +Sigurd, however, had seen it, and the sight apparently gave fresh +impetus to his movements, for he sprang up the adjacent hill with so +much velocity that those who followed had some difficulty to keep up +with him,--and it was not till they were out of sight of the farmhouse +that he resumed anything like a reasonable pace. + +As soon as they had disappeared, Thelma turned into the house and seated +herself at her spinning-wheel. Britta soon entered the room, carrying +the same graceful implement of industry, and the two maidens sat +together for some time in a silence unbroken, save by the low melodious +whirring of the two wheels, and the mellow complaints of the strutting +doves on the window-sill. + +"Froeken Thelma!" said Britta at last, timidly. + +"Yes, Britta?" And her mistress looked up inquiringly. + +"Of what use is it for you to spin now?" queried the little handmaid. +"You will be a great lady, and great ladies do not work at all!" + +Thelma's wheel revolved more and more slowly, till at last it stopped +altogether. + +"Do they not?" she said half inquiringly and musingly. "I think you must +be wrong, Britta. It is impossible that there should be people who are +always idle. I do not know what great ladies are like." + +"I do!" And Britta nodded her curly head sagaciously. "There was a girl +from Hammerfest who went to Christiania to seek service--she was handy +at her needle, and a fine spinner, and a great lady took her right away +from Norway to London. And the lady bought her spinning-wheel for a +curiosity she said,--and put it in the corner of a large parlor, and +used to show it to her friends, and they would all laugh and say, 'How +pretty!' And Jansena,--that was the girl--never span again--she wore +linen that she got from the shops,--and it was always falling into +holes, and Jansena was always mending, mending, and it was no good!" + +Thelma laughed. "Then it is better to spin, after all, Britta--is it +not?" + +Britta looked dubious. "I do not know," she answered; "but I am sure +great ladies do not spin. Because, as I said to you, Froeken, this +Jansena's mistress was a great lady, and she never did anything,--no! +nothing at all,--but she put on wonderful dresses, and sat in her room, +or was driven about in a carriage. And that is what you will do also, +Froeken!" + +"Oh no, Britta," said Thelma decisively. "I could not be so idle. Is it +not fortunate I have so much linen ready? I have quite enough for +marriage." + +The little maid looked wistful. "Yes, dear Froeken," she murmured +hesitatingly; "but I was thinking if it is right for you to wear what +you have spun. Because, you see, Jansena's mistress had wonderful things +all trimmed with lace,--and they would all come back from the washing +torn and hanging in threads, and Jansena had to mend those as well as +her own clothes. You see, they do not last at all--and they cost a large +sum of money; but it is proper for great ladies to wear them." + +"I am not sure of that, Britta," said Thelma, still musingly. "But +still, it may be--my bridal things may not please Philip. If you know +anything about it, you must tell me what is right." + +Britta was in a little perplexity. She had gathered some idea from her +friend Jansena concerning life in London,--she had even a misty notion +of what was meant by a "trousseau" with all its dainty, expensive, and +often useless fripperies; but she did not know how to explain herself +to her young mistress, whose simple, almost severe tastes would, she +instinctively felt, recoil from anything like ostentation in dress, so +she was discreetly silent. + +"You know, Britta," continued Thelma gently, "I shall be Philip's wife, +and I must not vex him in any little thing. But I do not quite +understand. I have always dressed in the same way,--and he has never +said that he thought me wrongly clothed." + +And she looked down with quite a touching pathos at her straight, white +woolen gown, and smoothed its folds doubtfully. The impulsive Britta +sprang to her side and kissed her with girlish and unaffected +enthusiasm. + +"My dear, my dear! You are more lovely and sweet than anybody in the +world!" she cried. "And I am sure Sir Philip thinks so too!" + +A beautiful roseate flush suffused Thelma's cheeks, and she smiled. + +"Yes, I know he does!" she replied softly. "And, after all, it does not +matter what one wears." + +Britta was meditating,--she looked lovingly at her mistress's rippling +wealth of hair. + +"Diamonds!" she murmured to herself in a sort of satisfied soliloquy. +"Diamonds, like those you have on your finger, Froeken,--diamonds all +scattered among your curls like dew-drops! And white satin, all shining, +shining!--people would take you for an angel!" + +Thelma laughed merrily. "Britta, Britta! You are talking such nonsense! +Nobody dresses so grandly except queens in fairy-tales." + +"Do they not?" and the wise Britta looked more profound than ever. +"Well, we shall see, dear Froeken--we shall see!" + +"_We?_" queried Thelma with surprised emphasis. + +Her little maid blushed vividly, and looked down demurely, twisting and +untwisting the string of her apron. + +"Yes, Froeken," she said in a low tone. "I have asked Sir Philip to let +me go with you when you leave Norway." + +"Britta!" Thelma's astonishment was too great for more than this +exclamation. + +"Oh, my dear! don't be angry with me!" implored Britta, with sparkling +eyes, rosy cheeks, and excited tongue all pleading eloquently together, +"I should die here without you! I told the _bonde_ so; I did, indeed! +And then I went to Sir Philip--he is such a grand gentleman,--so proud +and yet so kind,--and I asked him to let me still be your servant. I +said I knew all great ladies had a maid, and if I was not clever enough +I could learn, and--and--" here Britta began to sob, "I said I did not +want any wages--only to live in a little corner of the same house where +you were,--to sew for you, and see you, and hear your voice sometimes--" +Here the poor little maiden broke down altogether and hid her face in +her apron crying bitterly. + +The tears were in Thelma's eyes too, and she hastened to put her arm +round Britta's waist, and tried to soothe her by every loving word she +could think of. + +"Hush, Britta dear! you must not cry," she said tenderly. "What did +Philip say?" + +"He said," jerked out Britta convulsively, "that I was a g-good little +g-girl, and that he was g-glad I wanted to g-go!" Here her two sparkling +wet eyes peeped out of the apron inquiringly, and seeing nothing but the +sweetest affection on Thelma's attentive face, she went on more +steadily. "He p-pinched my cheek, and he laughed--and he said he would +rather have me for your maid than anybody--there!" + +And this last exclamation was uttered with so much defiance that she +dashed away the apron altogether, and stood erect in self-congratulatory +glory, with a particularly red little nose and very trembling lips. +Thelma smiled, and caressed the tumbled brown curls. + +"I am very glad, Britta!" she said earnestly. "Nothing could have +pleased me more! I must thank Philip. But it is of father I am +thinking--what will father and Sigurd do?" + +"Oh, that is all settled, Froeken," said Britta, recovering herself +rapidly from her outburst. "The _bonde_ means to go for one of his long +voyages in the _Valkyrie_--it is time she was used again, I'm sure,--and +Sigurd will go with him. It will do them both good--and the tongues of +Bosekop can waggle as much as they please, none of us will be here to +mind them!" + +"And you will escape your grandmother!" said Thelma amusedly, as she +once more set her spinning-wheel in motion. + +Britta laughed delightedly. "Yes! she will not find her way to England +without some trouble!" she exclaimed. "Oh, how happy I shall be! And +you"--she looked pleadingly at her mistress--"you do not dislike me for +your servant?" + +"Dislike!" and Thelma gave her a glance of mingled reproach and +tenderness. "You know how fond I am of you, Britta! It will be like +having a little bit of my old home always with me." + +Silently Britta kissed her hand, and then resumed her work. The +monotonous murmur of the two wheels recommenced,--this time pleasantly +accompanied by the rippling chatter of the two girls, who, after the +fashion of girls all the world over, indulged in many speculations as to +the new and strange life that lay before them. + +Their ideas were of the most primitive character,--Britta had never been +out of Norway, and Thelma's experiences, apart from her home life, +extended merely to the narrow and restricted bounds of simple and severe +convent discipline, where she had been taught that the pomps and +vanities of the world were foolish and transient shows, and that nothing +could please God more than purity and rectitude of soul. Her character +was formed, and set upon a firm basis--firmer than she herself was +conscious of. The nuns who had been entrusted with her education had +fulfilled their task with more than their customary zeal--they were +interested in the beautiful Norwegian child for the sake of her mother, +who had also been their charge. One venerable nun in particular had +bestowed a deep and lasting benefit on her, for, seeing her +extraordinary beauty, and forestalling the dangers and temptations into +which the possession of such exceptional charms might lead her, she +adopted a wise preventive course, that cased her as it were in armor, +proof against all the assailments of flattery. She told the girl quite +plainly that she was beautiful,--but at the same time made her aware +that beauty was common,--that she shared it alike with birds, flowers, +trees, and all the wonderful objects of nature--moreover, that it was +nothing to boast of, being so perishable. + +"Suppose a rose foolish enough to boast of its pretty leaves," said the +gentle _religieuse_ on one occasion. "They all fall to the ground in a +short time, and become decayed and yellow--it is only the fragrance, or +the _soul_ of the rose that lasts." Such precepts, that might have been +wasted on a less sensitive and thoughtful nature, sank deeply into +Thelma's mind--she accepted them not only in theory but in practice, and +the result was that she accepted her beauty as she accepted her +health,--as a mere natural occurrence--no more. She was taught that the +three principal virtues of a woman were chastity, humility, and +obedience,--these were the laws of God, fixed and immutable, which no +one dared break without committing grievous and unpardonable sin. So she +thought, and according to her thoughts she lived. What a strange world, +then, lay before her in the contemplated change that was about to take +place in the even tenor of her existence! A world of intrigue and +folly--a world of infidelity and falsehood!--how would she meet it? It +was a question she never asked herself--she thought London a sort of +magnified Christiania, or at best, the Provencal town of Arles on a +larger scale. She had heard her father speak of it, but only in a vague +way, and she had been able to form no just idea even to herself of the +enormous metropolis crowded to excess with its glad and sorrowful, busy +and idle, rich and poor millions. England itself floated before her +fancy as a green, fertile, embowered island where Shakespeare had +lived--and it delighted her to know that her future home, Errington +Manor, was situated in Warwickshire, Shakespeare's county. Of the +society that awaited her she had no notion,--she was prepared to "keep +house" for her husband in a very simple way--to spin his household +linen, to spare him all trouble and expense, and to devote herself body +and soul to his service. As may be well imagined, the pictures she drew +of her future married life, as she sat and span with Britta on that +peaceful afternoon, were widely different to the destined reality that +every day approached her more nearly. + +Meantime, while the two girls were at home and undisturbed in the quiet +farm house, the mountaineering party, headed by Sigurd, were well on +their way towards the great Fall of Njedegorze. They had made a toilsome +ascent of the hills by the side of the Alten river--they had climbed +over craggy boulders and slippery rocks, sometimes wading knee-deep in +the stream, or pausing to rest and watch the salmon leap and turn +glittering somersaults in the air close above the diamond-clear +water,--and they had beguiled their fatigue with songs and laughter, and +the telling of fantastic legends and stories in which Sigurd had shone +at his best--indeed, this unhappy being was in a singularly clear and +rational frame of mind, disposed, too, to be agreeable even towards +Errington. Lorimer, who for reasons of his own, had kept a close watch +on Sigurd ever since his friend's engagement to Thelma, was surprised +and gratified at this change in his former behavior, and encouraged him +in it, while Errington himself responded to the dwarf's proffered +friendship, and walked beside him, chatting cheerfully, during the most +part of the excursion to the Fall. It was a long and exceedingly +difficult journey--and in some parts dangerous--but Sigurd proved +himself worthy of the commendations bestowed on him by the _bonde_, and +guided them by the easiest and most secure paths, till at last, about +seven o'clock in the evening, they heard the rush and roar of the rapids +below the Fall, and with half an hour's more exertion, came in sight of +them, though not as yet of the Fall itself. Yet the rapids were grand +enough to merit attention--and the whole party stopped to gaze on the +whirling wonders of water that, hissing furiously, circled round and +round giddily in wheels of white foam, and then, as though enraged, +leaped high over obstructing stones and branches, and rushed onward and +downward to the smoother length of the river. + +The noise was deafening,--they could not hear each other speak unless by +shouting at the top of their voices, and even then the sounds were +rendered almost indistinct by the riotous uproar. Sigurd, however, who +knew all the ins and outs of the place, sprang lightly on a jutting +crag, and, putting both hands to his mouth, uttered a peculiar, shrill, +and far-reaching cry. Clear above the turmoil of the restless waters, +that cry was echoed back eight distinct times from the surrounding rocks +and hills. Sigurd laughed triumphantly. + +"You see!" he exclaimed, as he resumed his leadership of the party, +"they all know me! They are obliged to answer me when I call--they dare +not disobey!" And his blue eyes flashed with that sudden wild fire that +generally foretold some access of his particular mania. + +Errington saw this and said soothingly, "Of course not, Sigurd! No one +would dream of disobeying you! See how we follow you to-day--we all do +exactly what you tell us." + +"We are sheep, Sigurd," added Lorimer lazily; "and you are the +shepherd!" + +Sigurd looked from one to the other half doubtingly, half cunningly. He +smiled. + +"Yes!" he said. "You will follow me, will you not? Up to the very top of +the Fall?" + +"By all means!" answered Sir Philip gaily. "Anywhere you choose to go!" + +Sigurd seemed satisfied, and lapsing into the calm, composed manner +which had distinguished him all day, he led the way as before, and they +resumed their march, this time in silence, for conversation was +well-nigh impossible. The nearer they came to the yet invisible Fall, +the more thunderous grew the din--it was as though they approached some +vast battle-field, where opposing armies were in full action, with all +the tumult of cannonade and musketry. The ascent grew steeper and more +difficult--at times the high barriers of rocks seemed almost +impassable,--often they were compelled to climb over confused heaps of +huge stones, through which the eddying water pushed its way with speed +and fury,--but Sigurd's precision was never at fault,--he leaped crag +after crag swiftly and skillfully, always lighting on a sure foothold, +and guiding the others to do the same. At last, at a sharp turn of one +of these rocky eminences, they perceived an enormous cloud of white +vapor rising up like smoke from the earth, and twisting itself as it +rose, in swaying, serpentine folds, as though some giant spirit-hand +were shaking it to and fro like a long flowing veil in the air. Sigurd +paused and pointed forward. + +"Njedegorze!" he cried. + +They all pressed on with some excitement. The ground vibrated beneath +their feet with the shock of the falling torrent, and the clash and +uproar of the disputing waters rolled in their ears like the grand, +sustained bass of some huge cathedral organ. Almost blinded by the spray +that dashed its disdainful drops in their faces, deafened by the +majestic, loud, and ceaseless eloquence that poured its persuasive force +into the splitting hearts of the rocks around them,--breathless with +climbing, and well-nigh tread out, they struggled on, and broke into one +unanimous shout of delight and triumph when they at last reached the +small hut that had been erected for the convenience of travellers who +might choose that way to journey to the Altenfjord,--and stood face to +face with the magnificent cascade, one of the grandest in Norway. What a +sublime spectacle it was!--that tempest of water sweeping sheer down the +towering rocks in one straight, broad, unbroken sheet of foam! A myriad +rainbows flashed in the torrent and vanished, to reappear again +instantly with redoubled lustre,--while the glory of the evening +sunlight glittering on one side of the fall made it gleam like a +sparkling shower of molten gold. + +"Njedegorze!" cried Sigurd again, giving a singularly musical +pronunciation to the apparently uncouth name. "Come! still a little +further,--to the top of the Fall!" + +Olaf Gueldmar, however, paid no attention to this invitation. He was +already beginning to busy himself with preparations for passing the +night comfortably in the hut before mentioned. Stout old Norseman as he +was, there were limits to his endurance, and the arduous exertions of +the long day had brought fatigue to him as well as to the rest of the +party. + +Macfarlane was particularly exhausted. His frequent pulls at the whiskey +flask had been of little or no avail as a support to his aching limbs, +and, now he had reached his destination, he threw himself full length on +the turf in front of the hut and groaned most dismally. + +Lorimer surveyed him amusedly, and stood beside him, the very picture of +a cool young Briton whom nothing could possibly discompose. + +"Done up--eh, Sandy?" he inquired. + +"Done up!" growled Macfarlane. "D'ye think I'm a Norseman or a jumping +Frenchy?" This with a look of positive indignation at the lively Duprez, +who, if tired, was probably too vain to admit it, for he was strutting +about, giving vent to his genuine admiration of the scene before him +with the utmost freshness and enthusiasm. "I'm just a plain Scotchman, +an' no such a fule at climbin' either! Why, man, I've been up Goatfell +in Arran, an' Ben Lomond an' Ben Nevis--there's a mountain for ye, if ye +like! But a brae like this, wi' a' the stanes lyin' helter-skelter, an' +crags that ye can barely hold on to--and a mad chap guidin' ye on at the +speed o' a leapin' goat--I tell ye, I havena been used to't." Here he +drew out his flask and took another extensive pull at it. Then he added +suddenly, "Just look at Errington! He'll be in a fair way to break his +neck if he follows yon wee crazy loon any further." + +At these words Lorimer turned sharply round, and perceived his friend +following Sigurd step by step up a narrow footing in the steep ascent of +some rough, irregular crags that ran out and formed a narrow ledge, +ending in a sharp point, jutting directly over the full fury of the +waterfall. He watched the two climbing figures for an instant without +any anxiety,--then he suddenly remembered that Philip had promised to go +with Sigurd "to the top of the Fall." Acting on a rapid impulse which he +did not stop to explain to himself, Lorimer at once started off after +them,--but the ascent was difficult; they were some distance ahead, and +though he shouted vociferously, the roar of the cascade rendered his +voice inaudible. Gaining on them, however, by slow degrees, he was +startled when all at once they disappeared at the summit--and, +breathless with his rapid climb, he paused, bewildered. By-and-by he saw +Sigurd creeping cautiously out along the rocky shelf that overhung the +tumbling torrent--his gaze grew riveted with a sort of deadly +fascination on the spot. + +"Good God!" he muttered under his breath. "Surely Phil will not follow +him _there_!" + +He watched with strained eyes,--and a smothered cry escaped him as +Errington's tall figure, erect and bold, appeared on that narrow and +dangerous platform! He never knew how he clambered up the rest of the +slippery ascent. A double energy seemed given to his active limbs. He +never paused again for one second till he also stood on the platform, +without being heard or perceived by either Sigurd or Philip. Their backs +were turned to him, and he feared to move or speak, lest a sudden +surprised movement on their parts should have the fatal result of +precipitating one or both into the fall. He remained, therefore, behind +them, silent and motionless,--looking, as they looked, at the terrific +scene below. From that point, Njedegorze was as a huge boiling caldron, +from which arose twisted wreaths and coiling lengths of white vapor, +faintly colored with gold and silvery blue. Dispersing in air, these +mists took all manner of fantastic forms,--ghostly arms seemed to wave +and beckon, ghostly hands to unite in prayer,--and fluttering creatures +in gossamer draperies of green and crimson, appeared to rise and float, +and retire and shrink, to nothingness again in the rainbow drift and +sweep of whirling foam. Errington gazed unconcernedly down on the +seething abyss. He pushed back his cap from his brow, and let the fresh +wind play among his dark, clustering curls. His nerves were steady, and +he surveyed the giddily twisting wheels of shining water, without any +corresponding giddiness in his own brain. He had that sincere delight in +a sublime natural spectacle, which is the heritage of all who possess a +poetic and artistic temperament; and though he stood on a frail ledge of +rock, from which one false or unwary step might send him to certain +destruction, he had not the slightest sense of possible danger in his +position. Withdrawing his eyes from the Fall, he looked kindly down at +Sigurd, who in turn was staring up at him with a wild fixity of regard. + +"Well, old boy," he said cheerfully, "this is a fine sight! Have you had +enough of it? Shall we go back?" + +Sigurd drew imperceptibly nearer. Lorimer, from his point of vantage +behind a huge bowlder, drew nearer also. + +"Go back?" echoed Sigurd. "Why should we go back?" + +"Why, indeed!" laughed Errington, lightly balancing himself on the +trembling rocks beneath him. "Except that I should scarcely think this +is the best place on which to pass the night! Not enough room, and too +much noise! What say you?" + +"Oh, brave, brave, fool!" cried the dwarf in sudden excitement. "Are you +not _afraid_?" + +The young baronet's keen eyes glanced him over with amused wonder. + +"What of?" he demanded coolly. Still nearer came Sigurd--nearer also +came the watchful, though almost invisible Lorimer. + +"Look down there!" continued Sigurd in shrill tones, pointing to the +foaming gulf. "Look at the _Elf-danz_--see the beautiful spirits with +the long pale green hair and glittering wings! See how they beckon, +beckon, beckon! They want some one to join them--look how their white +arms wave,--they throw back their golden veils and smile at us! They +call to _you_--you with the strong figure and the proud eyes--why do you +not go to them? They will kiss and caress you--they have sweet lips and +snow-white bosoms,--they will love you and take care of you--they are as +fair as Thelma!" + +"Are they? I doubt it!" and Errington smiled dreamily as he turned his +head again towards the fleecy whirl of white water, and saw at once with +an artist's quick eye what his sick-brained companion meant by the +_Elf-danz_, in the fantastic twisting, gliding shapes tossed up in the +vaporous mist of the Fall. "But I'll take your word, Sigurd, without +making the elves' personal acquaintance! Come along--this place is bad +for you--we'll dance with the green-haired nymphs another time." + +And with a light laugh he was about to turn away, when he was surprised +by a sudden, strange convulsion of Sigurd's countenance--his blue eyes +flashed with an almost phosphorescent lustre,--his pale skin flushed +deeply red, and the veins in his forehead started into swelled and +knotted prominence. + +"Another time!" he screamed loudly; "no, no! Now--now! Die, robber of +Thelma's love! Die--die--_die_!" + +Repeating these words like quick gasps of fury, he twisted his meager +arms tightly round Errington, and thrust him fiercely with all his might +towards the edge of the Fall. For one second Philip strove against +him--the next, he closed his eyes--Thelma's face smiled on his mind in +that darkness as though in white farewell--the surging blood roared in +his ears with more thunder than the terrific tumble of the +torrent--"God!" he muttered, and _then_--then he stood safe on the upper +part of the rocky platform with Lorimer's strong hand holding him in a +vice-like grasp, and Lorimer's face, pale, but looking cheerfully into +his. For a moment he was too bewildered to speak. His friend loosened +him and laughed rather forcedly--a slight tremble of his lips was +observable under his fair moustache. + +"By Jove, Phil," he remarked in his usual nonchalant manner, "that was +rather a narrow shave! Fortunate I happened to be there!" + +Errington gazed about him confusedly. "Where's Sigurd?" he asked. + +"Gone! Ran off like a 'leapin' goat,' as Sandy elegantly describes him. +I thought at first he meant to jump over the Fall, in which case I +should have been compelled to let him have his own way, as my hands were +full. But he's taken a safe landward direction." + +"Didn't he try to push me over?" + +"Exactly! He was quite convinced that the mermaids wanted you. But I +considered that Miss Thelma's wishes had a prior claim on my regard." + +"Look here, old man," said Errington suddenly, "don't jest about it! You +saved my life!" + +"Well!" and Lorimer laughed. "Quite by accident, I assure you." + +"_Not_ by accident!" and Philip flushed up, looking very handsome and +earnest. "I believe you followed us up here thinking something might +happen. Now didn't you?" + +"Suppose I did," began Lorimer, but he was interrupted by his friend, +who seized his hand, and pressed it with a warm, close, affectionate +fervor. Their eyes met--and Lorimer blushed as though he had performed +some action meriting blame rather than gratitude. "That'll do, old +fellow," he said almost nervously. "As we say in polite society when +some one crushes our favorite corn under his heel--don't mention it! You +see Sigurd _is_ cracked,--there's not the slightest doubt about +that,--and he's hardly accountable for his vagaries. Then I know +something about him that perhaps you don't. He loves your Thelma!" + +They were making the descent of the rocks together, and Errington +stopped short in surprise. + +"Loves Thelma! You mean as a brother--" + +"Oh no, I don't! I mean that he loves her as brothers often love other +people's sisters--his affection is by no means fraternal--if it were +only _that_--" + +"I see!" and Philip's eyes filled with a look of grave compassion. "Poor +fellow! I understand his hatred of me now. Good Heavens! how he must +suffer! I forgive him with all my heart. But--I say, Thelma has no idea +of this!" + +"Of course not. And you'd better not tell her. What's the good of making +her unhappy?" + +"But how did _you_ learn it?" inquired Philip, with a look of some +curiosity at his friend. + +"Oh, I!" and Lorimer laughed carelessly; "I was always an observing sort +of fellow--fond of putting two and two together and making four of them, +when I wasn't too exhausted and the weather wasn't too hot for the +process. Sigurd's rather attached to me--indulges me with some specially +private ravings now and then--I soon found out his secret, though I +believe the poor little chap doesn't understand his own feelings +himself." + +"Well," said Errington thoughtfully, "under the circumstances you'd +better not mention this affair of the Fall to Gueldmar. It will only vex +him. Sigurd won't try such a prank again." + +"I'm not so sure of that," replied Lorimer; "but you know enough now to +be on your guard with him." He paused and looked up with a misty +softness in his frank blue eyes--then went on in a subdued tone--"When I +saw you on the edge of that frightful chasm, Phil--" He broke off as if +the recollection were too painful, and exclaimed suddenly--"Good God! if +I had lost you!" + +Errington clapped one hand on his shoulder. + +"Well! What if you had?" he asked almost mirthfully, though there was a +suspicious tremble in his ringing voice. + +"I should have said with Horatio, 'I am more an antique Roman than a +Dane,'--and gone after you," laughed Lorimer. "And who knows what a +jolly banquet we might not have been enjoying in the next world by this +time? If I believe in anything at all, I believe in a really agreeable +heaven--nectar and ambrosia, and all that sort of thing, and Hebes to +wait upon you." + +As he spoke they reached the sheltering hut, where Gueldmar, Duprez, and +Macfarlane were waiting rather impatiently for them. + +"Where's Sigurd?" cried the _bonde_. + +"Gone for a ramble on his own account," answered Errington readily. "You +know his fancies!" + +"I wish his fancies would leave him," grumbled Gueldmar. "He promised to +light a fire and spread the meal--and now, who knows whither he has +wandered?" + +"Never mind, sir," said Lorimer. "Engage me as a kitchen-boy. I can +light a fire, and can also sit beside it when it is properly kindled. +More I cannot promise. As the housemaids say when they object to assist +the cook,--it would be _beneath_ me." + +"Cook!" cried Duprez, catching at this word. "I can cook! Give me +anything to broil. I will broil it! You have coffee--I will make it!" +And in the twinkling of an eye he had divested himself of his coat, +turned up his cuffs, and manufactured the cap of a _chef_ out of a +newspaper which he stuck jauntily on his head. "Behold me, _messieurs_, +_a votre service_!" + +His liveliness was infectious; they all set to work with a will, and in +a few moments a crackling wood-fire blazed cheerily on the ground, and +the gipsy preparations for the _al fresco_ supper went on apace amid +peals of laughter. Soon the fragrance of steaming coffee arose and +mingled itself with the resinous odors of the surrounding +pine-trees,--while Macfarlane distinguished himself by catching a fine +salmon trout in a quiet nook of the rushing river, and this Duprez +cooked in a style that would have done honor to a _cordon bleu_. They +made an excellent meal, and sang songs in turn and told stories,--Olaf +Gueldmar, in particular, related eerie legends of the _Dovre-fjelde_, and +many a striking history of ancient origin, full of terror and +superstition,--concerning witches, devils, and spirits both good and +evil, who are still believed to have their abode on the Norwegian +hills,--for, as the _bonde_ remarked with a smile, "when civilization +has driven these unearthly beings from every other refuge in the world, +they will always be sure of a welcome in Norway." + +It was eleven o'clock when they at last retired within the hut to rest +for the night, and the errant Sigurd had not returned. The sun shone +brilliantly, but there was no window to the small shed, and light and +air came only through the door, which was left wide open. The tired +travellers lay down on their spread-out rugs and blankets, and wishing +each other a cheerful "good night," were soon fast asleep. Errington was +rather restless, and lay awake for some little time, listening to the +stormy discourse of the Fall; but at last his eyelids yielded to the +heaviness that oppressed them, and he sank into a light slumber. + +Meanwhile the imperial sun rode majestically downwards to the edge of +the horizon,--and the sky blushed into the pale tint of a wild rose, +that deepened softly and steadily with an ever-increasing fiery +brilliance as the minutes glided noiselessly on to the enchanted midnight +hour. A wind began to rustle mysteriously among the pines--then +gradually growing wrathful, strove to whistle a loud defiance to the +roar of the tumbling waters. Through the little nooks and crannies of +the roughly constructed cabin, where the travellers slept, it uttered +small wild shrieks of warning or dismay--and, suddenly, as though +touched by an invisible hand, Sir Philip awoke. A crimson glare +streaming through the open door dazzled his drowsy eyes--was it a forest +on fire? He started up in dreamy alarm,--then remembered where he was. +Realizing that there must be an exceptionally fine sky to cast so ruddy +a reflection on the ground, he threw on his cloak and went outside. + +What a wondrous, almost unearthly scene greeted him! His first impulse +was to shout aloud in sheer ecstasy--his next to stand silent in +reverential awe. The great Fall was no longer a sweeping flow of white +foam--it had changed to a sparkling shower of rubies, as though some +great genie, tired of his treasures, were flinging them away by giant +handfuls, in the most reckless haste and lavish abundance. From the +bottom of the cascade a crimson vapor arose, like smoke from flame, and +the whirling rapids, deeply red for the most part, darkened here and +there into an olive-green flecked with gold, while the spray, tossed +high over interrupting rocks and boulders, glittered as it fell like, +small fragments of broken opal. The sky was of one dense uniform +rose-color from west to east,--soft and shimmering as a broad satin +pavilion freshly unrolled,--the sun was invisible, hidden behind the +adjacent mountains, but his rays touched some peaks in the distance, on +which white wreaths of snow lay, bringing them into near and sparkling +prominence. + +The whole landscape was transformed--the tall trees, rustling and +swaying in the now boisterous wind, took all flickering tints of color +on their trunks and leaves,--the grey stones and pebbles turned to lumps +of gold and heaps of diamonds, and on the other side of the rapids, a +large tuft of heather in a cleft of the rocks glowed with extraordinary +vividness and warmth, like a suddenly kindled fire. A troop of witches +dancing wildly on the sward,--a ring of fairies,--kelpies tripping from +crag to crag,--a sudden chorus of sweet-voiced water-nymphs--nothing +unreal or fantastical would have surprised Errington at that moment. +Indeed, he almost expected something of the kind--the scene was so +eminently fitted for it. + +"Positively, I must wake Lorimer," he thought to himself. "He oughtn't +to miss such a gorgeous spectacle as this." + +He moved a little more in position to view the Fall. What was that small +dark object running swiftly yet steadily along on the highest summit of +those jutting crags? He rubbed his eyes amazedly--was it--could it be +_Sigurd_? He watched it for a moment,--then uttered a loud cry as he saw +it pause on the very ledge of rock from which but a short while since, +he himself had been so nearly precipitated. The figure was now +distinctly visible, outlined in black against the flaming crimson of the +sky,--it stood upright and waved its arms with a frantic gesture. There +was no mistaking it--it _was_ Sigurd! + +Without another second's hesitation Errington rushed back to the hut and +awoke, with clamorous alarm, the rest of the party. His brief +explanation sufficed--they all hurried forth in startled excitement. +Sigurd still occupied his hazardous position, and as they looked at him +he seemed to dance wildly nearer the extreme edge of the rocky platform. +Old Gueldmar turned pale. "The gods preserve him!" he muttered in his +beard--then turning he began resolutely to make the ascent of the rocks +with long, rapid strides--the young men followed him eager and almost +breathless, each and all bent upon saving Sigurd from the danger in +which he stood, and trying by different ways to get more quickly near +the unfortunate lad and call, or draw him back by force from his point +of imminent deadly peril. They were more than half-way up, when a +piercing cry rang clearly above the thunderous din of the fall--a cry +that made them pause for a moment. + +Sigurd had caught sight of the figures advancing to his rescue, and was +waving them back with eloquent gesture of anger and defiance. His small +misshapen body was alive with wrath,--it seemed as though he were some +dwarf king ruling over the glittering crimson torrent, and grimly +forbidding strangers to enter on the boundaries of his magic territory. +They, however, pressed on with renewed haste,--and they had nearly +reached the summit when another shrill cry echoed over the +sunset-colored foam. + +Once more they paused--they were in full view of the distraught Sigurd, +and he turned his head towards them, shaking back his long fair hair +with his old favorite gesture and laughing in apparent glee. Then he +suddenly raised his arms, and, clasping his hands together, poised +himself as though he were some winged thing about to fly. + +"Sigurd! Sigurd!" shouted Gueldmar, his strong voice tremulous with +anguish. "Come back! come back to Thelma!" + +At the sound of that beloved name, the unhappy creature seemed to +hesitate, and, profiting by that instant of irresolution, Errington and +Lorimer rushed forward--Too late! Sigurd saw them coming, and glided +with stealthy caution to the very brink of the torrent, where there was +scarcely any foothold--there he looked back at his would-be rescuers +with an air of mystery and cunning, and broke into a loud derisive +laugh. + +Then--still with clasped hands and smiling face--unheeding the shout of +horror that broke from those who beheld him--he leaped, and fell! Down, +down into the roaring abyss! For one half-second--one lightning +flash--his twisted figure, like a slight black speck was seen against +the wide roseate glory of the tumbling cascade--then it disappeared, +engulfed and lost for ever! Gone,--with all his wild poet fancies and +wandering dreams--gone, with his unspoken love and unguessed +sorrows--gone where dark things shall be made light,--and where the +broken or tangled chain of the soul's intelligence shall be mended and +made perfect by the tender hands of the All-Wise and the All-Loving One, +whose ways are too gloriously vast for our finite comprehension. + +"Gone, mistress!" as he would have said to the innocent cause of his +heart's anguish. "Gone where I shall grow straight and strong and brave! +Mistress, if you meet me in Valhalla, you will love me!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + "Do not, I pray you, think evilly of so holy a man! He has a sore + combat against the flesh and the devil!"--_The Maid of Honor_. + + +The horror-stricken spectators of the catastrophe stood for a minute +inert and speechless,--stupefied by its suddenness and awful rapidity. +Then with one accord they hurried down to the level shore of the +torrent, moved by the unanimous idea that they might possibly succeed in +rescuing Sigurd's frail corpse from the sharp teeth of the jagged rocks, +that, piercing upwards through the foam of the roaring rapids, were +certain to bruise, tear, and disfigure it beyond all recognition. But +even this small satisfaction was denied them. There was no sign of a +floating or struggling body anywhere visible. And while they kept an +eager look-out, the light in the heavens slowly changed. From burning +crimson it softened to a tender amethyst hue, as smooth and delicate as +the glossy pale tint of the purple clematis,--and with it the rosy foam +of the Fall graduated to varying tints of pink, from pink to tender +green, and lastly, it became as a shower of amber wine. Gueldmar spoke +first in a voice broken by deep emotion. + +"'Tis all over with him, poor lad!" he said, and tears glittered thickly +in his keen old eyes. "And--though the gods, of a surety, know +best--this is an end I looked not for! A mournful home-returning shall +we have--for how to break the news to Thelma is more than I can tell!" + +And he shook his head sorrowfully while returning the warm and +sympathizing pressure of Errington's hand. + +"You see," he went on, with a wistful look at the grave and +compassionate face of his accepted son-in-law--"the boy was no boy of +mine, 'tis true--and the winds had more than their share of his +wits--yet--we knew him from a baby--and my wife loved him for his sad +estate, which he was not to blame for. Thelma, too--he was her first +playmate--" + +The _bonde_ could trust himself to say no more, but turned abruptly +away, brushing one hand across his eyes, and was silent for many +minutes. The young men, too, were silent,--Sigurd's determined suicide +had chilled and sickened them. Slowly they returned to the hut to pass +the remaining hours of the night--though sleep was, of course, after +what they had witnessed, impossible. They remained awake, therefore, +talking in low tones of the fatal event, and listening to the solemn +_sough_ of the wind through the pines, that sounded to Errington's ears +like a monotonous forest dirge. He thought of the first time he had ever +seen the unhappy creature whose wandering days had just ended,--of that +scene in the mysterious shell cavern,--of the wild words he had then +uttered--how strangely they came back to Philip's memory now! + +"You have come as a thief in the golden midnight, and the thing you seek +is the life of Sigurd! Yes--yes! it is true--the spirit cannot lie! You +must kill, you must steal--see how the blood drips, drop by drop, from +the heart of Sigurd! and the jewel you steal,--ah! what a jewel! You +shall not find such another in Norway!" Was not the hidden meaning of +these incoherent phrases rendered somewhat clear now? though how the +poor lad's disordered imagination had been able thus promptly to conjure +up with such correctness, an idea of Errington's future relations with +Thelma, was a riddle impossible of explanation. He thought, too, with a +sort of generous remorse, of that occasion when Sigurd had visited him +on board the yacht to implore him to leave the Altenfjord. He realized +everything,--the inchoate desires of the desolate being, who, though +intensely capable of loving, felt himself in a dim, sad way, unworthy of +love,--the struggling passions in him that clamored for utterance--the +instinctive dread and jealousy of a rival, while knowing that he was +both physically and mentally unfitted to compete with one,--all these +things passed through Philip's mind, and filled him with a most profound +pity for the hidden sufferings, the tortures and inexplicable emotions +which had racked Sigurd's darkened soul. And, still busy with these +reflections, he turned on his arm as he lay, and whispered softly to his +friend who was close by him--"I say, Lorimer,--I feel as if I had been +to blame somehow in this affair! If I had never come on the scene, +Sigurd would still have been happy in his own way." + +Lorimer was silent. After a pause, Errington went on still in the same +low tone. + +"Poor little fellow! Do you know, I can't imagine anything more utterly +distracting than having to see such a woman as Thelma day after +day,--loving her all the time, and knowing such love to be absolutely +hopeless! Why, it was enough to make him crazier than ever!" + +Lorimer moved restlessly. "Yes, it must have been hard on him!" he +answered at last, in a gentle, somewhat sad tone. "Perhaps it's as well +he's out of it all. Life is infinitely perplexing to many of us. By this +time he's no doubt wiser than you or I, Phil,--he could tell us the +reason why love is such a blessing to some men, and such a curse to +others!" + +Errington made no answer, and they relapsed into silence--silence which +was almost unbroken save by an occasional deep sigh from Olaf Gueldmar +and a smothered exclamation such as, "Poor lad, poor lad! Who would have +thought it?" + +With the early dawn they were all up and ready for the homeward +journey,--though with very different feelings to those with which they +had started on their expedition. The morning was dazzlingly bright and +clear,--and the cataract of Njedegorze rolled down in glittering folds +of creamy white and green, uttering its ceaseless psalm of praise to the +Creator in a jubilant roar of musical thunder. They paused and looked at +it for the last time before leaving,--it had assumed for them a new and +solemn aspect--it was Sigurd's grave. The _bonde_ raised his cap from +his rough white hair,--instinctively the others followed his example. + +"May the gods grant him good rest!" said the old man reverently. "In the +wildest waters they say there is a calm underflow,--maybe the lad has +found it and is glad to sleep." He paused and stretched his hands forth +with an eloquent and touching gesture. "Peace be with him!" + +Then, without more words, and as though disdaining his own emotion, he +turned abruptly away, and began to descend the stony and precipitous +hill, up which Sigurd had so skillfully guided them the day before. +Macfarlane and Duprez followed him close,--Macfarlane casting more than +once a keen look over the rapids. + +"'Tis a pity we couldna find his body," he said in a low tone. + +Duprez shrugged his shoulders. Sigurd's death had shocked him +considerably by its suddenness, but he was too much of a volatile +Frenchman to be morbidly anxious about securing the corpse. + +"I think not so at all," he said. "Of what use would it be? To grieve +_mademoiselle_? to make her cry? That would be cruel,--I would not +assist in it! A dead body is not a sight for ladies,--believe me, things +are best as they are." + +They went on, while Errington and Lorimer lingered yet a moment longer. + +"A magnificent sepulchre!" said Lorimer, dreamily eyeing for the last +time the sweeping flow of the glittering torrent. "Better than all the +monuments ever erected! Upon my life, I would not mind having such a +grave myself! Say what you like, Phil, there was something grand in +Sigurd's choice of a death. We all of us have to get out of life somehow +one day--that's certain--but few of us have the chance of making such a +triumphant exit!" + +Errington looked at him with a grave smile. "How you talk, George!" he +said half-reproachfully. "One would think you envied the end of that +unfortunate, half-witted fellow! You've no reason to be tired of your +life, I'm sure,--all your bright days are before you." + +"Are they?" And Lorimer's blue eyes looked slightly melancholy. "Well, I +dare say they are! Let's hope so at all events. There need be something +before me,--there isn't much behind except wasted opportunities. Come +on, Phil!" + +They resumed their walk, and soon rejoined the others. The journey back +to the Altenfjord was continued all day with but one or two +interruptions for rest and refreshment. It was decided that on reaching +home, old Gueldmar should proceed a little in advance, in order to see +his daughter alone first, and break to her the news of the tragic event +that had occurred,--so that when, after a long and toilsome journey, +they caught sight, at about eight in the evening, of the familiar +farmhouse through the branches of the trees that surrounded and +sheltered it, they all came to a halt. + +The young men seated themselves on a pleasant knoll under some tall +pines, there to wait a quarter of an hour or so, while the _bonde_ went +forward to prepare Thelma. On second thoughts, the old man asked +Errington to accompany him,--a request to which he very readily acceded, +and these two, leaving the others to follow at their leisure, went on +their way rapidly. They arrived at, and entered the garden,--their +footsteps made a crunching noise on the pebbly path,--but no welcoming +face looked forth from any of the windows of the house. The entrance +door stood wide open,--there was not a living soul to be seen but the +kitten asleep in a corner of the porch, and the doves drowsing on the +roof in the sunshine. The deserted air of the place was unmistakable, +and Gueldmar and Errington exchanged looks of wonder not unmixed with +alarm. + +"Thelma! Thelma!" called the _bonde_ anxiously. There was no response. +He entered the house and threw open the kitchen door. There was no +fire,--and not the slightest sign of any of the usual preparations for +supper. + +"Britta!" shouted Gueldmar. Still no answer. "By the gods!" he exclaimed, +turning to the astonished Philip, "this is a strange thing! Where can +the girls be? I have never known both of them to be absent from the +house at the same time. Go down to the shore, my lad, and see if +Thelma's boat is missing, while I search the garden." + +Errington obeyed--hurrying off on his errand with a heart beating fast +from sudden fear and anxiety. For he knew Thelma was not likely to +have gone out of her own accord, at the very time she would have +naturally expected her father and his friends back, and the absence of +Britta too, was, to say the least of it, extraordinary. He reached the +pier very speedily, and saw at a glance that the boat was gone. He +hastened back to report this to Gueldmar, who was making the whole place +resound with his shouts of "Thelma!" and "Britta!" though he shouted +altogether in vain. + +"Maybe," he said dubiously, on hearing of the missing boat--"Maybe the +child has gone on the Fjord--'tis often her custom,--but, then, where is +Britta? Besides, they must have expected us--they would have prepared +supper--they would have been watching for our return. No, no! there is +something wrong about this--'tis altogether unusual." + +And he looked about him in a bewildered way, while Sir Philip, noting +his uneasiness, grew more and more uneasy himself. + +"Let me go and search for them, sir," he said, eagerly. "They may be in +the woods, or up towards the orchard." + +Gueldmar shook his head and drew his fuzzy white brows together in +puzzled meditation--suddenly he started and struck his staff forcibly on +the ground. + +"I have it!" he exclaimed. "That old hag Lovisa is at the bottom of +this!" + +"By Jove!" cried Errington. "I believe you're right! What shall we do?" + +At that moment, Lorimer, Duprez, and Macfarlane came on the scene, +thinking they had kept aloft long enough,--and the strange disappearance +of the two girls was rapidly explained to them. They listened astonished +and almost incredulous, but agreed with the _bonde_ as to Lovisa's +probable share in the matter. + +"Look here!" said Lorimer excitedly. "I'm not in the least tired,--show +me the way to Talvig, where that old screech-owl lives, and I'll go +there straight as a gun! Shouldn't wonder if she has not forced away her +grandchild, in which case Miss Thelma may have gone after her." + +"I'll come with you!" said Errington. "Let's lose no time about it." + +But Gueldmar shook his head. "'Tis a long way, my lads,--and you do not +know the road. No--'twill be better we should take the boat and pull +over to Bosekop; there we can get a carriole to take two of us at least +to Talvig--" + +He stopped, interrupted by Macfarlane, who looked particularly shrewd. + +"I should certainly advise ye to try Bosekop first," he remarked +cautiously. "Mr. Dyceworthy might be able to provide ye with valuable +information." + +"Dyceworthy!" roared the _bonde_, becoming inflammable at once. "He +knows little of me or mine, thank the gods! and I would not by choice +step within a mile of his dwelling. What makes you think of him, sir?" + +Lorimer laid a hand soothingly on his arm. + +"Now, my dear Mr. Gueldmar, don't get excited! Mac is right. I dare say +Dyceworthy knows as much in his way as the ancient Lovisa. At any rate, +it isn't his fault if he does not. Because you see--" Lorimer hesitated +and turned to Errington. "You tell him, Phil! you know all about it." + +"The fact is," said Errington, while Gueldmar gazed from one to the other +in speechless amazement, "Thelma hasn't told you because she knew how +angry you'd be--but Dyceworthy asked her to marry him. Of course she +refused him, and I doubt if he's taken his rejection very resignedly." + +The face of the old farmer as he heard these words was a study. Wonder, +contempt, pride, and indignation struggled for the mastery on his rugged +features. + +"Asked--her--to--marry--him!" he repeated slowly. "By the sword of Odin! +Had I known it I would have throttled him!" His eyes blazed and he +clenched his hand. "Throttled him, lads! I would! Give me the chance and +I'll do it now! I tell you, the mere look of such a man as that is a +desecration to my child,--liar and hypocrite as he is! may the gods +confound him!" He paused--then suddenly bracing himself up, added. "I'll +away to Bosekop at once--they've been afraid of me there for no +reason--I'll teach them to be afraid of me in earnest! Who'll come with +me?" + +All eagerly expressed their desire to accompany him with the exception +of one,--Pierre Duprez,--he had disappeared. + +"Why, where has he gone?" demanded Lorimer in some surprise. + +"I canna tell," replied Macfarlane. "He just slipped awa' while ye were +haverin' about Dyceworthy--he'll maybe join us at the shore." + +To the shore they at once betook themselves, and were soon busied in +unmooring Gueldmar's own rowing-boat, which, as it had not been used for +some time, was rather a tedious business,--moreover they noted with +concern that the tide was dead against them. + +Duprez did not appear,--the truth is, that he had taken into his head to +start off for Talvig on foot without waiting for the others. He was fond +of an adventure and here was one that suited him precisely--to rescue +distressed damsels from the grasp of persecutors. He was tired, but he +managed to find the road,--and he trudged on determinedly, humming a +song of Beranger's as he walked to keep him cheerful. But he had not +gone much more than a mile when he discerned in the distance a carriole +approaching him,--and approaching so swiftly that it appeared to swing +from side to side of the road at imminent risk of upsetting altogether. +There seemed to be one person in it--an excited person too, who lashed +the stout little pony and urged it on to fresh exertions with +gesticulations and cries. That plump buxom figure--that tumbled brown +hair streaming wildly on, the breeze,--that round rosy face--why! it was +Britta! Britta, driving all alone, with the reckless daring of a +Norwegian peasant girl accustomed to the swaying, jolting movement of +the carriole as well as the rough roads and sharp turnings. Nearer she +came and nearer--and Duprez hailed her with a shout of welcome. She saw +him, answered his call, and drove still faster,--soon she came up beside +him, and without answering his amazed questions, she cried +breathlessly-- + +"Jump in--jump in! We must go on as quickly as possible to Bosekop! +Quick--quick! Oh my poor Froeken! The old villain! Wait till I get at +him!" + +"But, my _leet-le_ child!" expostulated Pierre, climbing up into the +queer vehicle--"What is all this? I am in astonishment--I understand not +at all! How comes it that you are run away from home, and Mademoiselle +also?" + +Britta only waited till he was safely seated, and then lashed the pony +with redoubled force. Away they clattered at a break-neck pace, the +Frenchman having much ado to prevent himself from being jolted out again +on the road. + +"It is a wicked plot!" she then exclaimed, panting with excitement--"a +wicked, wicked plot! This afternoon Mr. Dyceworthy's servant came and +brought Sir Philip's card. It said that he had met with an accident and +had been brought back to Bosekop, and that he wished the Froeken to come +to him at once. Of course, the darling believed it all--and she grew so +pale, so pale! And she went straight away in her boat all by herself! Oh +my dear--my dear!" + +Britta gasped for breath, and Duprez soothingly placed an arm round her +waist, an action which the little maiden seemed not to be aware of. She +resumed her story--"Then the Froeken had not been gone so very long, and +I was watching for her in the garden, when a woman passed by--a friend +of my grandmother's. She called out--'Hey, Britta! Do you know they have +got your mistress down at Talvig, and they'll burn her for a witch +before they sleep!' 'She has gone to Bosekop,' I answered, 'so I know +you tell a lie.' 'It is no lie,' said the old woman, 'old Lovisa has her +this time for sure.' And she laughed and went away. Well, I did not stop +to think twice about it--I started off for Talvig at once--I ran nearly +all the way. I found my grandmother alone--I asked her if she had seen +the Froeken? She screamed and clapped her hands like a mad woman! she +said that the Froeken was with Mr. Dyceworthy--Mr. Dyceworthy would know +what to do with her!" + +"_Sapristi!_" ejaculated Duprez. "This is serious!" + +Britta glanced anxiously at him, and went on. "Then she tried to shut +the doors upon me and beat me--but I escaped. Outside I saw a man I knew +with his carriole, and I borrowed it of him and came back as fast as I +could--but oh! I am so afraid--my grandmother said such dreadful +things!" + +"The others have taken a boat to Bosekop," said Duprez, to reassure her. +"They may be there by now." + +Britta shook her head. "The tide is against them--no! we shall be there +first. But," and she looked wistfully at Pierre, "my grandmother said +Mr. Dyceworthy had sworn to ruin the Froeken. What did she mean, do you +think?" + +Duprez did not answer,--he made a strange grimace and shrugged his +shoulders. Then he seized the whip and lashed the pony. + +"Faster, faster, _mon chere_!" he cried to that much-astonished, +well-intentioned animal. "It is not a time to sleep, _ma foi_!" Then to +Britta--"My little one, you shall see! We shall disturb the good +clergyman at his peaceful supper--yes indeed! Be not afraid!" + +And with such reassuring remarks he beguiled the rest of the way, which +to both of them seemed unusually long, though it was not much past nine +when they rattled into the little village called by courtesy a town, and +came to a halt within a few paces of the minister's residence. +Everything was very quiet--the inhabitants of the place retired to rest +early--and the one principal street was absolutely deserted. Duprez +alighted. + +"Stay you here, Britta," he said, lightly kissing the hand that held the +pony's reins. "I will make an examination of the windows of the house. +Yes--before knocking at the door! You wait with patience. I will let you +know everything!" + +And with a sense of pleasurable excitement in his mind, he stole softly +along on tip-toe--entered the minister's garden, fragrant with roses and +mignonette, and then, attracted by the sound of voices, went straight up +to the parlor window. The blind was down and he could see nothing, but +he heard Mr. Dyceworthy's bland persuasive tones, echoing out with a +soft sonorousness, as though he were preaching to some refractory +parishioner. He listened attentively. + +"Oh strange, strange!" said Mr. Dyceworthy. "Strange that you will not +see how graciously the Lord hath delivered you into my hands! Yea,--and +no escape is possible! For lo, you yourself, Froeken Thelma," Dyceworthy +started, "you yourself came hither unto my dwelling, a woman all +unprotected, to a man equally unprotected,--and who, though a humble +minister of saving grace, is not proof against the offered surrender of +your charms! Make the best of it, my sweet girl!--make the best of it! +You can never undo what you have done to-night." + +"Coward! . . . coward!" and Thelma's rich low voice caused Pierre to +almost leap forward from the place where he stood concealed. +"You,--_you_ made me come here--_you_ sent me that card--_you_ dared to +use the name of my betrothed husband, to gain your vile purpose! _You_ +have kept me locked in this room all these hours--and do you think you +will not be punished? I will let the whole village know of your +treachery and falsehood!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy laughed gently. "Dear me, dear me!" he remarked sweetly. +"How pretty we look in a passion, to be sure! And we talk of our +'betrothed husband' do we? Tut-tut! Put that dream out of your mind, my +dear girl--Sir Philip Bruce-Errington will have nothing to do with you +after your little escapade of to-night! Your honor is touched!--yes, +yes! and honor is everything to such a man as he. As for the 'card' you +talk about, I never sent a card--not I!" Mr. Dyceworthy made this +assertion in a tone of injured honesty. "Why should I! No--no! You came +here of your own accord,--that is certain and--" here he spoke more +slowly and with a certain malicious glee, "I shall have no difficulty in +proving it to be so, should the young man Errington ask me for an +explanation! Now you had better give me a kiss and make the peace! +There's not a soul in the place who will believe anything you say +against me; _you_, a reputed witch, and I, a minister of the Gospel. For +your father I care nothing, a poor sinful pagan can never injure a +servant of the Lord. Come now, let me have that kiss! I have been very +patient--I am sure I deserve it!" + +There was a sudden rushing movement in the room, and a slight cry. + +"If you touch me!" cried Thelma, "I will kill you! I will! God will help +me!" + +Again Mr. Dyceworthy laughed sneeringly. "God will help you!" he +exclaimed as though in wonder. "As if God ever helped a _Roman_! Froeken +Thelma, be sensible. By your strange visit to me to-night you have +ruined your already damaged character--I say you have ruined it,--and if +anything remains to be said against you, I can say it--moreover, I +_will_!" + +A crash of breaking window-glass followed these words, and before Mr. +Dyceworthy could realize what had happened, he was pinioned against his +own wall by an active, wiry, excited individual, whose black eyes +sparkled with gratified rage, whose clenched fist was dealing him severe +thumps all over his fat body. + +"Ha, ha! You will, will you!" cried Duprez, literally dancing up against +him and squeezing him as though he were a jelly. "You will tell lies in +the service of _le Bon Dieu_? No--not quite, not yet!" And still +pinioning him with one hand, he dragged at his collar with the other +till he succeeded, in spite of the minister's unwieldly efforts to +defend himself, in rolling him down upon the floor, where he knelt upon +him in triumph. "_Voila! Je sais faire la boxe, moi!_" Then turning to +Thelma, who stood an amazed spectator of the scene, her flushed cheeks +and tear-swollen eyes testifying to the misery of the hours she had +passed, he said, "Run, Mademoiselle, run! The little Britta is outside, +she has a pony-car--she will drive you home. I will stay here till +Phil-eep comes. I shall enjoy myself! I will begin--Phil-eep with +finish! Then we will return to you." + +Thelma needed no more words, she rushed to the door, threw it open, and +vanished like a bird in air. Britta's joy at seeing her was too great +for more than an exclamation of welcome,--and the carriole, with the two +girls safely in it, was soon on its rapid way back to the farm. +Meanwhile, Olaf Gueldmar, with Errington and the others, had just landed +at Bosekop after a heavy pull across the Fjord, and they made straight +for Mr. Dyceworthy's house, the _bonde_ working himself up as he walked +into a positive volcano of wrath. Finding the street-door open as it had +just been left by the escaped Thelma, they entered, and on the threshold +of the parlor, stopped abruptly, in amazement at the sight that +presented itself. Two figures were rolling about on the floor, +apparently in a close embrace,--one large and cumbrous, the other small +and slight. Sometimes they shook each other,--sometimes they lay +still,--sometimes they recommenced rolling. Both were perfectly silent, +save that the larger personage seemed to breathe somewhat heavily. +Lorimer stepped into the room to secure a better view--then he broke +into an irrepressible laugh. + +"It's Duprez," he cried, for the benefit of the others that stood at the +door. "By Jove! How did he get here, I wonder?" + +Hearing his name, Duprez looked up from that portion of Mr. Dyceworthy's +form in which he had been burrowing, and smiled radiantly. + +"Ah, _cher_ Lorimer! Put your knee here, will you? So! that is well--I +will rest myself!" And he rose, smoothing his roughened hair with both +hands, while Lorimer in obedience to his request, kept one knee +artistically pressed on the recumbent figure of the minister. "Ah! and +there is our Phil-eep, and Sandy, and Monsieur Gueldmar! But I do not +think," here he beamed all over, "there is much more to be done! He is +one bruise, I assure you! He will not preach for many Sundays;--it is +bad to be so fat--he will be so exceedingly suffering!" + +Errington could not forbear smiling at Pierre's equanimity. "But what +has happened?" he asked. "Is Thelma here?" + +"She _was_ here," answered Duprez. "The religious had decoyed her here +by means of some false writing,--supposed to be from you. He kept her +locked up here the whole afternoon. When I came he was making love and +frightening her,--I am pleased I was in time. But"--and he smiled +again--"he is well beaten!" + +Sir Philip strode up to the fallen Dyceworthy, his face darkening with +wrath. + +"Let him go, Lorimer," he said sternly. Then, as the reverend gentleman +slowly struggled to his feet, moaning with pain, he demanded, "What have +you to say for yourself, sir? Be thankful if I do not give you the +horse-whipping you deserve, you scoundrel!" + +"Let me get at him!" vociferated Gueldmar at this juncture, struggling to +free himself from the close grasp of the prudent Macfarlane. "I have +longed for such a chance! Let me get at him!" + +But Lorimer assisted to restrain him from springing forward,--and the +old man chafed and swore by his gods in vain. + +Mr. Dyceworthy meanwhile meekly raised his eyes, and folded his hands +with a sort of pious resignation. + +"I have been set upon and cruelly abused," he said mournfully, "and +there is no part of me without ache and soreness!" He sighed deeply. +"But I am punished rightly for yielding unto carnal temptation, put +before me in the form of the maiden who came hither unto me with +delusive entrancements--" + +He stopped, shrinking back in alarm from the suddenly raised fist of the +young baronet. + +"You'd better be careful!" remarked Philip coolly, with dangerously +flashing eyes; "there are four of us here, remember!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy coughed, and resumed an air of outraged dignity. + +"Truly, I am aware of it!" he said; "and it surpriseth me not at all +that the number of the ungodly outweigheth that of the righteous! Alas! +'why do the heathen rage so furiously together?' Why, indeed! Except +that 'in their hearts they imagine a vain thing!' I pardon you, Sir +Philip, I freely pardon you! And you also, sir," turning gravely to +Duprez, who received his forgiveness with a cheerful and delighted bow. +"You can indeed injure--and you _have_ injured this poor body of +mine--but you cannot touch the _soul_! No, nor can you hinder that +freedom of speech"--here his malignant smile was truly diabolical--"which +is my glory, and which shall forever be uplifted against all manner of +evil-doers, whether they be fair women and witches, or misguided +pagans--" + +Again he paused, rather astonished at Errington's scornful laugh. + +"You low fellow!" said the baronet. "From Yorkshire, are you? Well, I +happen to know a good many people in that part of the world--and I have +some influence there, too. Now, understand me--I'll have you hounded out +of the place! You shall find it too hot to hold you--that I swear! +Remember! I'm a man of my word! And if you dare to mention the name of +Miss Gueldmar disrespectfully, I'll thrash you within an inch of your +life!" + +Mr. Dyceworthy blinked feebly, and drew out his handkerchief. + +"I trust, Sir Philip," he said mildly, "you will reconsider your words! +It would ill beseem you to strive to do me harm in the parish were my +ministrations are welcome, as appealing to that portion of the people +who follow the godly Luther. Oh yes,"--and he smiled cheerfully--"you +will reconsider your words. In the meantime--I--I"--he stammered +slightly--"I apologize! I meant naught but good to the maiden--but I +have been misunderstood, as is ever the case with the servants of the +Lord. Let us say no more about it! I forgive!--let us all forgive! I +will even extend my pardon to the pagan yonder--" + +But the "pagan" at that moment broke loose from the friendly grasp in +which he had been hitherto held, and strode up to the minister, who +recoiled like a beaten cur from the look of that fine old face flushed +with just indignation, and those clear blue eyes fiery as the flash of +steel. + +"Pagan, you call me!" he cried. "I thank the gods for it--I am proud of +the title! I would rather be the veriest savage that ever knelt in +untutored worship to the great forces of Nature, than such a _thing_ as +you--a slinking, unclean animal, crawling coward-like between earth and +sky, and daring to call itself a _Christian_! Faugh! Were I the Christ, +I should sicken at sight of you!" + +Dyceworthy made no reply, but his little eyes glittered evilly. + +Errington, not desiring any further prolongation of the scene, managed +to draw the irate _bonde_ away, saying in a low tone-- + +"We've had enough of this, sir! Let us get home to Thelma." + +"I was about to suggest a move," added Lorimer. "We are only wasting +time here." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Duprez radiantly--"and Monsieur Dyceworthy will be glad +to be in bed! He will be very stiff to-morrow, I am sure! Here is a lady +who will attend him." + +This with a courteous salute to the wooden-faced Ulrika, who suddenly +confronted them in the little passage. She seemed surprised to see them, +and spoke in a monotonous dreamy tone, as though she walked in her +sleep. + +"The girl has gone?" she added slowly. + +Duprez nodded briskly. "She has gone! And let me tell you, madame, that +if it had not been for you, she would not have come here at all. You +took that card to her?" + +Ulrika frowned. "I was compelled," she said. "_She_ made me take it. I +promised." She turned her dull eyes slowly on Gueldmar. "It was Lovisa's +fault. Ask Lovisa about it." She paused, and moistened her dry lips with +her tongue. "Where is your crazy lad?" she asked, almost anxiously. "Did +he come with you?" + +"He is dead!" answered Gueldmar, with grave coldness. + +"Dead!" And to their utter amazement, she threw up her arms and burst +into a fit of wild laughter. "Dead! Thank God! Thank God! Dead! And +through no fault of mine! The Lord be praised! He was only fit for +death--never mind how he died--it is enough that he is dead--dead! I +shall see him no more--he cannot curse me again!--the Lord be thankful +for all His mercies!" + +And her laughter ceased--she threw her apron over her head and broke +into a passion of weeping. + +"The woman must be crazy!" exclaimed the _bonde_, thoroughly +mystified,--then placing his arm through Errington's, he said +impatiently, "You're right, my lad! We've had enough of this. Let us +shake the dust of this accursed place off our feet and get home. I'm +tired out!" + +They left the minister's dwelling and made straight for the shore, and +were soon well on their journey back to the farm across the Fjord. This +time the tide was with them--the evening was magnificent, and the +coolness of the breeze, the fresh lapping of the water against the boat, +and the brilliant tranquility of the landscape, soon calmed their +over-excited feelings. Thelma was waiting for them under the porch as +usual, looking a trifle paler than her wont, after all the worry and +fright and suspense she had undergone,--but the caresses of her father +and lover soon brought back the rosy warmth on her fair face, and +restored the lustre to her eyes. Nothing was said about Sigurd's fate +just then,--when she asked for her faithful servitor, she was told he +had "gone wandering as usual," and it was not till Errington and his +friends returned to their yacht that old Gueldmar, left alone with his +daughter, broke the sad news to her very gently. But the shock, so +unexpected and terrible, was almost too much for her already overwrought +nerves,--and such tears were shed for Sigurd as Sigurd himself might +have noted with gratitude. Sigurd--the loving, devoted Sigurd--gone for +ever! Sigurd,--her playmate,--her servant,--her worshiper,--dead! Ah, +how tenderly she mourned him!--how regretfully she thought of his wild +words! "Mistress, you are killing poor Sigurd!" Wistfully she wondered +if, in her absorbing love for Philip, she had neglected the poor crazed +lad,--his face, in all its pale, piteous appeal, haunted her, and her +grief for his loss was the greatest she had ever known since the day on +which she had seen her mother sink into the last long sleep. Britta, +too, wept and would not be comforted--she had been fond of Sigurd in her +own impetuous little way,--and it was some time before either she or her +mistress, could calm themselves sufficiently to retire to rest. And long +after Thelma was sleeping, with tears still wet on her cheeks, her +father sat alone under his porch, lost in melancholy meditation. Now and +then he ruffled his white hair impatiently with his hand,--his +daughter's adventure in Mr. Dyceworthy's house had vexed his proud +spirit. He knew well enough that the minister's apology meant +nothing--that the whole village would be set talking against Thelma +more, even than before,--that there was no possibility of preventing +scandal so long as Dyceworthy was there to start it. He thought and +thought and puzzled himself with probabilities--till at last, when he +finally rose to enter his dwelling for the night, he muttered +half-aloud. "If it must be, it must! And the sooner the better now, I +think, for the child's sake." + +The next morning Sir Philip arrived unusually early,--and remained shut +up with the _bonde_, in private conversation for more than an hour. At +the expiration of that time, Thelma was called, and taken into their +confidence. The result of their mysterious discussion was not +immediately evident,--though for the next few days, the farm-house lost +its former tranquility and became a scene of bustle and excitement. +Moreover, to the astonishment of the Bosekop folk, the sailing-brig +known as the _Valkyrie_, belonging to Olaf Gueldmar, which had been +hauled up high and dry on the shore for many months, was suddenly seen +afloat on the Fjord, and Valdemar Svensen, Errington's pilot, appeared +to be busily engaged upon her decks, putting everything in ship-shape +order. It was no use asking _him_ any questions--he was not the man to +gratify impertinent curiosity. By-and-by a rumor got about in the +village--Lovisa had gained her point in one particular,--the Gueldmars +were going away--going to leave the Altenfjord! + +At first, the report was received with incredulity--but gained ground, +as people began to notice that several packages were being taken in +boats from the farm-house to both the _Eulalie_ and the _Valkyrie_. +These preparations excited a great deal of interest and +inquisitiveness,--but no one dared ask for information as to what was +about to happen. The Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy was confined to his bed +"from a severe cold"--as he said, and therefore was unable to perform +his favorite mission of spy;--so that when, one brilliant morning, +Bosekop was startled by the steam-whistle of the _Eulalie_ blowing +furiously, and echoing far and wide across the surrounding rocky +islands, several of the lounging inhabitants paused on the shore, or +sauntered down to the rickety pier, to see what was the cause of the +clamor. Even the long-suffering minister crawled out of bed and applied +his fat, meek visage to his window, from whence he could command an +almost uninterrupted view of the glittering water. Great was his +amazement, and discomfiture to see the magnificent yacht moving +majestically out of the Fjord, with Gueldmar's brig in tow behind her, +and the English flag fluttering gaily from her middle-mast, as she +curtsied her farewell to the dark mountains, and glided swiftly over the +little hissing waves. Had Mr. Dyceworthy been possessed of a +field-glass, he might have been able to discern on her deck, the figure +of a tall, fair girl, who, drawing her crimson hood over her rich hair, +stood gazing with wistful, dreamy blue eyes, at the last receding shores +of the Altenfjord--eyes that smiled and yet were tearful. + +"Are you sorry, Thelma?" asked Errington gently, as he passed one arm +tenderly round her. "Sorry to trust your life to me?" + +She laid her little hand in playful reproach against his lips. + +"Sorry! you foolish boy! I am glad and grateful! But it is saying +good-bye to one's old life, is it not? The dear old home!--and poor +Sigurd!" + +Her voice trembled, and bright tears fell. + +"Sigurd is happy,"--said Errington gravely, taking the hand that +caressed him, and reverently kissing it. "Believe me, love,--if he had +lived some cruel misery might have befallen him--it is better as it is!" + +Thelma did not answer for a minute or two--then she said +suddenly--"Philip,--do you remember where I saw you first?" + +"Perfectly!" he answered, looking fondly into the sweet upturned face. +"Outside a wonderful cavern, which I afterwards explored." + +She started and seemed surprised. "You went inside?--you saw--?" + +"Everything!"--and Philip related his adventure of that morning, and his +first interview with Sigurd. She listened attentively--then she +whispered softly-- + +"My mother sleeps there, you know,--yesterday I went to take her some +flowers for the last time. Father came with me--we asked her blessing. +And I think she will give it, Philip--she must know how good you are and +how happy I am." + +He stroked her silky hair tenderly and was silent. The _Eulalie_ had +reached the outward bend of the Altenfjord, and the station of Bosekop +was rapidly disappearing. Olaf Gueldmar and the others came on deck to +take their last look of it. + +"I shall see the old place again, I doubt not, long before you do, +Thelma, child," said the stout old _bonde_, viewing, with a keen, fond +glance, the stretch of the vanishing scenery. "Though when once you are +safe married at Christiania, Valdemar Svensen and I will have a fine +toss on the seas in the _Valkyrie_,--and I shall grow young again in the +storm and drift of the foam and the dark wild waves! Yes--a wandering +life suits me--and I am not sorry to have a taste of it once more. +There's nothing like it--nothing like a broad ocean and a sweeping +wind!" + +And he lifted his cap and drew himself erect, inhaling the air like an +old warrior scenting battle. The others listened, amused at his +enthusiasm,--and, meanwhile, the Altenfjord altogether disappeared, and +the _Eulalie_ was soon plunging in a rougher sea. They were bound for +Christiania, where it was decided Thelma's marriage should at once take +place--after which Sir Philip would leave his yacht at the disposal of +his friends, for them to return in it to England. He himself intended to +start directly for Germany with his bride, a trip in which Britta was to +accompany them as Thelma's maid. Olaf Gueldmar, as he had just stated, +purposed making a voyage in the _Valkyrie_, as soon as he should get her +properly manned and fitted, which he meant to do at Christiania. + +Such were their plans,--and, meanwhile, they were all together on the +_Eulalie_,--a happy and sociable party,--Errington having resigned his +cabin to the use of his fair betrothed, and her little maid, whose +delight at the novel change in her life, and her escape from the +persecution of her grandmother, was extreme. Onward they sailed,--past +the grand Lofoden Islands and all the magnificent scenery extending +thence to Christiansund, while the inhabitants of Bosekop looked in vain +for their return to the Altenfjord. + +The short summer there was beginning to draw to a close,--some of the +birds took their departure from the coast,--the dull routine of the +place went on as usual, rendered even duller by the absence of the +"witch" element of discord,--a circumstance that had kept the +superstitious villagers, more or less on a lively tension of religious +and resentful excitement--and by-and-by, the rightful minister of +Bosekop came back to his duties and released the Reverend Charles +Dyceworthy, who straightway returned to his loving flock in Yorkshire. +It was difficult to ascertain whether the aged Lovisa was satisfied or +wrathful, at the departure of the Gueldmars with her granddaughter Britta +in their company--she kept herself almost buried in her hut at Talvig, +and saw no one but Ulrika, who seemed to grow more respectably staid +than ever, and who, as a prominent member of the Lutheran congregation, +distinguished herself greatly by her godly bearing and uncompromising +gloom. + +Little by little, the gossips ceased to talk about the disappearance of +the "white witch" and her father--little by little they ceased to +speculate as to whether the rich Englishman, Sir Philip Errington, +really meant to marry her--a consummation of things which none of them +seemed to think likely--the absence of their hated neighbors, was felt +by them as a relief, while the rumored fate of the crazy Sigurd was of +course looked upon as evidence of fresh crime on the part of the +"pagan," who was accused of having, in some way or other, caused the +unfortunate lad's death. And the old farm-house on the pine-covered +knoll was shut up and silent,--its doors and windows safely barred +against wind and rain,--and only the doves, left to forage for +themselves, crooned upon its roof, all day, or strutting on the deserted +paths, ruffled their plumage in melancholy meditation, as though +wondering at the absence of the fair ruling spirit of the place, whose +smile had been brighter than the sunshine. The villagers avoided it as +though it were haunted--the roses drooped and died untended,--and by +degrees the old homestead grew to look like a quaint little picture of +forgotten joys, with its deserted porch and fading flowers. + +Meanwhile, a thrill of amazement, incredulity, disappointment, +indignation, and horror, rushed like a violent electric shock through +the upper circles of London society, arousing the deepest disgust in the +breasts of match-making matrons, and seriously ruffling the pretty +feathers of certain bird-like beauties who had just began to try their +wings, and who "had expectations." The cause of the sensation was very +simple. It was an announcement in the _Times_--under the head of +"Marriages"--and ran as follows: + +"At the English Consulate, Christiania, Sir Philip Bruce-Errington, +Bart., to Thelma, only daughter of Olaf Gueldmar, _bonde_, of the +Altenfjord, Norway. No cards." + + + + +BOOK II. + +THE LAND OF MOCKERY + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + "There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys." + MACBETH. + + +"I think," said Mrs. Rush-Marvelle deliberately, laying down the +_Morning Post_ beside her breakfast-cup, "I think his conduct is +perfectly disgraceful!" + +Mr. Rush-Marvelle, a lean gentleman with a sallow, clean-shaven face and +an apologetic, almost frightened manner, looked up hastily. + +"Of whom are you speaking, my dear?" he inquired. + +"Why, of that wretched young man Bruce-Errington! He ought to be ashamed +of himself!" + +And Mrs. Marvelle fixed her glasses more firmly on her small nose, and +regarded her husband almost reproachfully. "Don't tell me, Montague, +that you've forgotten that scandal about him! He went off last year, in +the middle of the season, to Norway, in his yacht, with three of the +very fastest fellows he could pick out from his acquaintance--regular +reprobates, so I'm told--and after leading the most awful life out +there, making love to all the peasant girls in the place, he married one +of them,--a common farmer's daughter. Don't you remember? We saw the +announcement of his marriage in the _Times_." + +"Ah yes, yes!" And Mr. Rush-Marvelle smiled a propitiatory smile, +intended to soothe the evidently irritated feelings of his better-half, +of whom he stood always in awe. "Of course, of course! A very sad +_mesalliance_. Yes, yes! Poor fellow! And is there fresh news of him?" + +"Read _that_,"--and the lady handed the _Morning Post_ across the table, +indicating by a dent of her polished finger-nail, the paragraph that had +offended her sense of social dignity. Mr. Marvelle read it with almost +laborious care--though it was remarkably short and easy of +comprehension. + +"Sir Philip and Lady Bruce-Errington have arrived at their house in +Prince's Gate from Errington Manor." + +"Well, my dear?" he inquired, with a furtive and anxious glance at his +wife. "I suppose--er--it--er--it was to be expected?" + +"No, it was _not_ to be expected," said Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, rearing her +head, and heaving her ample bosom to and fro in rather a tumultuous +manner. "Of course it was to be expected that Bruce-Errington would +behave like a fool--his father was a fool before him. But I say it was +not to be expected that he would outrage society by bringing that common +wife of his to London, and expecting _us_ to receive her! The thing is +perfectly scandalous! He has had the decency to keep away from town ever +since his marriage--part of the time he has staid abroad, and since +January he has been at his place in Warwickshire,--and this +time--observe this!" and Mrs. Marvelle looked most impressive--"not a +soul has been invited to the Manor--not a living soul! The house used to +be full of people during the winter season--of course, now, he dare not +ask anybody lest they should be shocked at his wife's ignorance. That's +as clear as daylight! And now he has the impudence to actually bring her +here,--into _society_! Good Heavens! He must be mad! He will be laughed +at wherever he goes!" + +Mr. Rush-Marvelle scratched his bony chin perplexedly. + +"It makes it a little awkward for--for you," he remarked feelingly. + +"Awkward! It is abominable!" And Mrs. Marvelle rose from her chair, and +shook out the voluminous train of her silken breakfast-gown, an +elaborate combination of crimson with grey chinchilla fur. "I shall have +to call on the creature--just imagine it! It is most unfortunate for me +that I happen to be one of Bruce-Errington's oldest friends--otherwise I +might have passed him over in some way--as it is I can't. But fancy +having to meet a great coarse peasant woman, who, I'm certain, will only +be able to talk about fish and whale-oil! It is really _quite_ +dreadful!" + +Mr. Rush-Marvelle permitted himself to smile faintly. + +"Let us hope she will not turn out so badly," he said soothingly,--"but, +you know, if she proves to be--er--a common person of,--er--a very +uneducated type--you can always let her drop gently--quite gently!" + +And he waved his skinny hand with an explanatory flourish. + +But Mrs. Marvelle did not accept his suggestion in good part. + +"You know nothing about it," she said somewhat testily. "Keep to your +own business, Montague, such as it is. The law suits your particular +form of brain--society does not. You would never be in society at all if +it were not for me--now you know you wouldn't!" + +"My love," said Mr. Marvelle, with a look of meek admiration at his +wife's majestic proportions. "I am aware of it! I always do you justice. +You are a remarkable woman!" + +Mrs. Marvelle smiled, somewhat mollified. "You see," she then +condescended to explain--"the whole thing is so extremely disappointing +to me. I wanted Marcia Van Clupp to go in for the Errington stakes,--it +would have been such an excellent match,--money on both sides. And +Marcia would have been just the girl to look after that place down in +Warwickshire--the house is going to rack and ruin, in _my_ opinion." + +"Ah, yes!" agreed her husband mildly. "Van Clupp is a fine girl--a +_very_ fine girl! No end of 'go' in her. And so Errington Manor needs a +good deal of repairing, perhaps?" This query was put by Mr. Marvelle, +with his head very much on one side, and his bilious eyes blinking +drowsily. + +"I don't know about repairs," replied Mrs. Marvelle. "It is a +magnificent place, and certainly the grounds are ravishing. But one of +the best rooms in the house, is the former Lady Errington's boudoir--it +is full of old-fashioned dirty furniture, and Bruce-Errington won't have +it touched,--he will insist on keeping it as his mother left it. Now +that is ridiculous--perfectly morbid! It's just the same thing with his +father's library--he won't have that touched either--and the ceiling +wants fresh paint, and the windows want new curtains--and all sorts of +things ought to be done. Marcia would have managed all that +splendidly--she'd have had everything new throughout--Americans are so +quick, and there's no nonsensical antiquated sentiment about Marcia." + +"She might even have had new pictures and done away with the old ones," +observed Mr. Marvelle, with a feeble attempt at satire. His wife darted +a keen look at him, but smiled a little too. She was not without a sense +of humor. + +"Nonsense, Montague! She knows the value of works of art better than +many a so-called connoisseur. I won't have you make fun of her. Poor +girl! She _did_ speculate on Bruce-Errington,--you know he was very +attentive to her, at that ball I gave just before he went off to +Norway." + +"He certainly seemed rather amused by her," said Mr. Marvelle. "Did she +take it to heart when she heard he was married?" + +"I should think not," replied Mrs. Marvelle loftily. "She has too much +sense. She merely said, 'All right! I must stick to Masherville!'" + +Mr. Marvelle nodded blandly. "Admirable,--admirable!" he murmured, with +a soft little laugh, "A _very_ clever girl--a very bright creature! And +really there are worse fellows than Masherville! The title is old." + +"Yes, the title is all very well," retorted his wife--"but there's no +money--or at least very little." + +"Marcia has sufficient to cover any deficit?" suggested Mr. Marvelle, in +a tone of meek inquiry. + +"An American woman _never_ has sufficient," declared Mrs. Marvelle. "You +know that as well as I do. And poor dear Mrs. Van Clupp has so set her +heart on a really brilliant match for her girl--and I had positively +promised she should have Bruce-Errington. It is really too bad!" And +Mrs. Marvelle paced the room with a stately, sweeping movement, pausing +every now and then to glance at herself approvingly in the mirror above +the chimney-piece, while her husband resumed his perusal of the _Times_. +By-and-by she said abruptly-- + +"Montague!" + +Mr. Marvelle dropped his paper with an alarmed air. + +"My dear!" + +"I shall go to Clara Winsleigh this morning--and see what she means to +do in the matter. Poor Clara! She must be disgusted at the whole +affair!" + +"She had rather a liking for Errington, hadn't she?" inquired Mr. +Marvelle, folding up the _Times_ in a neat parcel, preparatory to taking +it with him in order to read it in peace on his way to the Law Courts. + +"Liking? Well!" And Mrs. Marvelle, looking at herself once more in the +glass, carefully arranged the ruffle of Honiton lace about her massive +throat,--"It was a little more than liking--though, of course, her +feelings were perfectly proper, and all that sort of thing,--at least, I +suppose they were! She had a great friendship for him,--one of those +emotional, perfectly spiritual and innocent attachments, I believe, +which are so rare in this wicked world." Mrs. Marvelle sighed, then +suddenly becoming practical again, she continued. "Yes, I shall go there +and stop to luncheon, and talk this thing over. Then I'll drive on to +the Van Clupps, and bring Marcia home to dinner. I suppose you don't +object?" + +"Object!" Mr. Marvelle made a deprecatory gesture, and raised his eyes +in wonder. As if he dared object to anything whatsoever that his wife +desired! + +She smiled graciously as he approached, and respectfully kissed her +smooth cool cheek, before taking his departure for his daily work as a +lawyer in the city, and when he was gone, she betook herself to her own +small boudoir, where she busied herself for more than an hour in writing +letters, and answering invitations. + +She was, in her own line, a person of importance. She made it her +business to know everything and everybody--she was fond of meddling with +other people's domestic concerns, and she had a finger in every family +pie. She was, moreover, a regular match-maker,--fond of taking young +ladies under her maternal wing, and "introducing" them to the proper +quarters, and when, as was often the case, a distinguished American of +many dollars but no influence offered her three or four hundred guineas +for chaperoning his daughter into English society and marrying her well, +Mrs. Rush-Marvelle pocketed the _douceur_ quite gracefully, and did her +best for the girl. She was a good-looking woman, tall, portly, and with +an air of distinction about her, though her features were by no means +striking, and the smallness of her nose was out of all proportion to the +majesty of her form--but she had a very charming smile, and a pleasant, +taking manner, and she was universally admired in that particular "set" +wherein she moved. Girls adored her, and wrote her gushing letters, full +of the most dulcet flatteries--married ladies on the verge of a scandal +came to her to help them out of their difficulties--old dowagers, +troubled with rheumatism or refractory daughters, poured their troubles +into her sympathizing ears--in short, her hands were full of other +people's business to such an extent that she had scarcely any leisure to +attend to her own. Mr. Rush-Marvelle,--but why describe this gentleman +at all? He was a mere nonentity--known simply as the husband of Mrs. +Rush-Marvelle. He knew he was nobody--and, unlike many men placed in a +similar position, he was satisfied with his lot. He admired his wife +intensely, and never failed to flatter her vanity to the utmost excess, +so that, on the whole, they were excellent friends, and agreed much +better than most married people. + +It was about twelve o'clock in the day, when Mrs. Rush-Marvelle's neat +little brougham and pair stopped at Lord Winsleigh's great house in Park +Lane. A gorgeous flunkey threw open the door with a virtuously severe +expression on his breakfast-flushed countenance,--an expression which +relaxed into a smile of condescension on seeing who the visitor was. + +"I suppose Lady Winsleigh is at home, Briggs?" inquired Mrs. Marvelle, +with the air of one familiar with the ways of the household. + +"Yes'm," replied Briggs slowly, taking in the "style" of Mrs. +Rush-Marvelle's bonnet, and mentally calculating its cost. "Her ladyship +is in the boo-dwar." + +"I'll go there," said Mrs. Marvelle, stepping into the hall, and +beginning to walk across it, in her own important and self-assertive +manner. "You needn't announce me." + +Briggs closed the street-door, settled his powdered wig, and looked +after her meditatively. Then he shut up one eye in a sufficiently +laborious manner and grinned. After this he retired slowly to a small +ante-room, where he found the _World_ with its leaves uncut. Taking up +his master's ivory paper-knife, he proceeded to remedy this slight +inconvenience,--and, yawning heavily, he seated himself in a velvet +arm-chair, and was soon absorbed in perusing the pages of the journal in +question. + +Meanwhile Mrs. Marvelle, in her way across the great hall to the +"boo-dwar," had been interrupted and nearly knocked down by the playful +embrace of a handsome boy, who sprang out upon her suddenly with a shout +of laughter,--a boy of about twelve years old, with frank, bright blue +eyes and clustering dark curls. + +"Hullo, Mimsey!" cried this young gentleman--"here you are again! Do you +want to see papa? Papa's in there!"--pointing to the door from which he +had emerged--"he's correcting my Latin exercise. Five good marks to-day, +and I'm going to the circus this afternoon! Isn't it jolly?" + +"Dear me, Ernest!" exclaimed Mrs. Marvelle half crossly, yet with an +indulgent smile,--"I wish you would not be so boisterous! You've nearly +knocked my bonnet off." + +"No, I haven't," laughed Ernest; "it's as straight as--wait a bit!" And +waving a lead pencil in the air, he drew an imaginary stroke with it. +"The middle feather is bobbing up and down just on a line with your +nose--it couldn't be better!" + +"There, go along, you silly boy!" said Mrs. Marvelle, amused in spite of +herself. "Get back to your lessons. There'll be no circus for you if you +don't behave properly! I'm going to see your mother." + +"Mamma's reading," announced Ernest. "Mudie's cart has just been and +brought a lot of new novels. Mamma wants to finish them all before +night. I say, are you going to stop to lunch?" + +"Ernest, why are you making such a noise in the passage?" said a gentle, +grave voice at this juncture. "I am waiting for you, you know. You +haven't finished your work yet. Ah, Mrs. Marvelle! How do you do?" + +And Lord Winsleigh came forward and shook hands. "You will find her +ladyship in, I believe. She will be delighted to see you. This young +scapegrace," here he caressed his son's clustering curls tenderly--"has +not yet done with his lessons--the idea of the circus to-day seems to +have turned his head." + +"Papa, you promised you'd let me off Virgil this morning!" cried Ernest, +slipping his arm coaxingly through his father's. Lord Winsleigh smiled. +Mrs. Rush-Marvelle shook her head with a sort of mild reproachfulness. + +"He really ought to go to school," she said, feigning severity. "You +will find him too much for you, Winsleigh, in a little while." + +"I think not," replied Lord Winsleigh, though an anxious look troubled +for an instant the calm of his deep-set grey eyes. "We get on very well +together, don't we, Ernest?" The boy glanced up fondly at his father's +face and nodded emphatically. "At a public-school, you see, the boys are +educated on hard and fast lines--all ground down to one +pattern,--there's no chance of any originality possible. But don't let +me detain you, Mrs. Marvelle--you have no doubt much to say to Lady +Winsleigh. Come, Ernest! If I let you off Virgil, you must do the rest +of your work thoroughly." + +And with a courteous salute, the grave, kindly-faced nobleman re-entered +his library, his young son clinging to his arm and pouring forth boyish +confidences, which seemingly received instant attention and +sympathy,--while Mrs. Rush-Marvelle looked after their retreating +figures with something of doubt and wonder on her placid features. But +whatever her thoughts, they were not made manifest just then. Arriving +at a door draped richly with old-gold plush and satin, she knocked. + +"Come in!" cried a voice that, though sweet in tone, was also somewhat +petulant. + +Mrs. Marvelle at once entered, and the occupant of the room sprang up in +haste from her luxurious reading-chair, where she was having her long +tresses brushed out by a prim-looking maid, and uttered an exclamation +of delight. + +"My dearest Mimsey!" she cried, "this is quite too sweet of you! You're +just the very person I wanted to see!" And she drew an easy fauteuil to +the sparkling fire,--for the weather was cold, with that particularly +cruel coldness common to an English May,--and dismissed her attendant. +"Now sit down, you dear old darling," she continued, "and let me have +all the news!" + +Throwing herself back on her lounge, she laughed, and tossed her waving +hair loose over her shoulders, as the maid had left it,--then she +arranged, with a coquettish touch here and there, the folds of her pale +pink dressing-gown, showered with delicate Valenciennes. She was +undeniably a lovely woman. Tall and elegantly formed, with an almost +regal grace of manner, Clara, Lady Winsleigh, deserved to be considered, +as she was, one of the reigning beauties of the day. Her full dark eyes +were of a bewitching and dangerous softness,--her complexion was pale, +but of such a creamy, transparent pallor as to be almost brilliant,--her +mouth was small and exquisitely shaped. True,--her long eyelashes were +not altogether innocent of "kohl,"--true, there was a faint odor about +her as of rare perfumes and cosmetics,--true, there was something not +altogether sincere or natural even in her ravishing smile and +fascinating ways--but few, save cynics, could reasonably dispute her +physical perfections, or question the right she had to tempt and arouse +the passions of men, or to trample underfoot? with an air of insolent +superiority, the feelings of women less fair and fortunate. Most of her +sex envied her,--but Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, who was past the prime of life, +and, who, moreover, gained her social successes through intelligence and +tact alone, was far too sensible to grudge any woman her beauty. On the +contrary, she was a frank admirer of handsome persons, and she surveyed +Lady Winsleigh now through her glasses with a smile of bland approval. + +"You are looking very well, Clara," she said. "Let me see--you went to +Kissingen in the summer, didn't you?" + +"Of course I did," laughed her ladyship. "It was delicious! I suppose +you know Lennie came after me there! Wasn't it ridiculous!" + +Mrs. Marvelle coughed dubiously. "Didn't Winsleigh put in an appearance +at all?" she asked. + +Lady Clara's brow clouded. "Oh yes! For a couple of weeks or so. Ernest +came with him, of course, and they rambled about together all the time. +The boy enjoyed it." + +"I remember now," said Mrs. Marvelle. "But I've not seen anything of you +since you came back, Clara, except once in the park and once at the +theatre. You've been all the time at Winsleigh Court--by-the-by, was Sir +Francis Lennox there too?" + +"Why, naturally!" replied the beauty, with a cool smile. "He follows me +everywhere like a dog! Poor Lennie!" + +Again the elder lady coughed significantly. + +Clara Winsleigh broke into a ringing peal of laughter, and rising from +her lounge, knelt beside her visitor in a very pretty coaxing attitude. + +"Come, Mimsey!" she said, "you are not going to be proper at this time +of day! That would be a joke! Darling, indulgent, good old Mimsey!--you +don't mean to turn into a prim, prosy, cross Mrs. Grundy! I won't +believe it! And you mustn't be severe on poor Lennie--he's such a +docile, good boy, and really not bad-looking!" + +Mrs. Marvelle fidgeted a little on her chair. "I don't want to talk +about _Lennie_, as you call him," she said, rather testily--"Only I +think you'd better be careful how far you go with him. I came to consult +you on something quite different. What are you going to do about the +Bruce-Errington business? You know it was in the Post to-day that +they've arrived in town. The idea of Sir Philip bringing his common wife +into society!--It's too ridiculous!" + +Lady Winsleigh sprang to her feet, and her eyes flashed disdainfully. + +"What am I going to do?" she repeated, in accents of bitter contempt. +"Why, receive them, of course! It will be the greatest punishment +Bruce-Errington can have! I'll get all the best people here that I +know--and he shall bring his peasant woman among them, and blush for +her! It will be the greatest fun out! Fancy a Norwegian farmer's girl +lumbering along with her great feet and red hands! . . . and, perhaps, +not knowing whether to eat an ice with a spoon or with her fingers! I +tell you Bruce-Errington will be ready to die for shame--and serve him +right too!" + +Mrs. Marvelle was rather startled at the harsh, derisive laughter with +which her ladyship concluded her excited observations, but she merely +observed mildly-- + +"Well, then, you will leave cards?" + +"Certainly?" + +"Very good--so shall I," and Mrs. Marvelle sighed resignedly. "What must +be, must be! But it's really dreadful to think of it all--I would never +have believed Philip Errington could have so disgraced himself!" + +"He is no gentleman!" said Lady Winsleigh freezingly. "He has low tastes +and low desires. He and his friend Lorimer are two _cads_, in my +opinion!" + +"Clara!" exclaimed Mrs. Marvelle warningly. "You were fond of him +once!--now, don't deny it!" + +"Why should I deny it?" and her ladyship's dark eyes blazed with +concentrated fury. "I loved him! There! I would have done anything for +him! He might have trodden me down under his feet! He knew it well +enough--cold, cruel, heartless cynic as he was and is! Yes, I loved +him!--but I _hate_ him now!" + +And she stamped her foot to give emphasis to her wild words. Mrs. +Marvelle raised her hands and eyes in utter amazement. + +"Clara, Clara! Pray, pray be careful! Suppose any one else heard you +going on in this manner! Your reputation would suffer, I assure you! +Really, you're horribly reckless! Just think of your husband--" + +"My husband!" and a cold gleam of satire played round Lady Winsleigh's +proud mouth. She paused and laughed a little. Then she resumed in her +old careless way--"You must be getting very goody-goody, Mimsey, to talk +to me about my husband! Why don't you read me a lecture on the duties of +wives and the education of children? I am sure you know how profoundly +it would interest me!" + +She paced up and down the room slowly while Mrs. Marvelle remained +discreetly silent. Presently there came a tap at the door, and the +gorgeous Briggs entered. He held himself like an automaton, and spoke as +though repeating a lesson. + +"His lordship's compliments, and will her la'ship lunch in the +dining-room to-day?" + +"No," said Lady Winsleigh curtly. "Luncheon for myself and Mrs. Marvelle +can be sent up here." + +Briggs still remained immovable. "His lordship wished to know if Master +Hernest was to come to your la'ship before goin' out?" + +"Certainly not!" and Lady Winsleigh's brows drew together in a frown. +"The boy is a perfect nuisance!" + +Briggs bowed and vanished. Mrs. Rush-Marvelle grew more and more +restless. She was a good-hearted woman, and there was something in the +nature of Clara Winsleigh that, in spite of her easy-going conscience, +she could not altogether approve of. + +"Do you never lunch with your husband, Clara?" she asked at last. + +Lady Winsleigh looked surprised. "Very seldom. Only when there is +company, and I am compelled to be present. A domestic meal would be too +_ennuyant_! I wonder you can think of such a thing! And we generally +dine out." + +Mrs. Marvelle was silent again, and, when she did speak, it was on a +less delicate matter. + +"When is your great 'crush,' Clara?" she inquired, "You sent me a card, +but I forget the date." + +"On the twenty-fifth," replied Lady Winsleigh. "This is the fifteenth. I +shall call on Lady Bruce-Errington"--here she smiled scornfully--"this +afternoon--and to-morrow I shall send them their invitations. My only +fear is whether they mayn't refuse to come. I would not miss the chance +for the world! I want my house to be the first in which her +peasant-ladyship distinguishes herself by her blunders!" + +"I'm afraid it'll be quite a scandal!" sighed Mrs. Rush-Marvelle. +"Quite! Such a pity! Bruce-Errington was such a promising, handsome +young man!" + +At that moment Briggs appeared again with an elegantly set +luncheon-tray, which he placed on the table with a flourish. + +"Order the carriage at half-past three," commanded Lady Winsleigh. "And +tell Mrs. Marvelle's coachman that he needn't wait,--I'll drive her home +myself." + +"But, my dear Clara," remonstrated Mrs. Marvelle, "I must call at the +Van Clupps'--" + +"I'll call there with you. I owe them a visit. Has Marcia caught young +Masherville yet?" + +"Well," hesitated Mrs. Marvelle, "he is rather slippery, you know--so +undecided and wavering!" + +Lady Winsleigh laughed. "Never mind that! Marcia's a match for him! +Rather a taking girl--only _what_ an accent! My nerves are on edge +whenever I hear her speak." + +"It's a pity she can't conquer that defect," agreed Mrs. Marvelle. "I +know she has tried. But, after all, they're not the best sort of +Americans--" + +"The _best_ sort! I should think not! But they're of the _richest_ sort, +and that's something, Mimsey! Besides, though everybody knows what Van +Clupp's father was, they make a good pretense at being well-born,--they +don't cram their low connections down your throat, as Bruce-Errington +wants to do with his common wife. They ignore all their vulgar +belongings delightfully! They've been cruelly 'cut' by Mrs. +Rippington--she's American--but, then, she's perfect style. Do you +remember that big 'at home' at the Van Clupp's when they had a band to +play in the back-yard, and everybody was deafened by the noise? Wasn't +it quite too ridiculous!" + +Lady Winsleigh laughed over this reminiscence, and then betook herself +to the consideration of lunch,--a tasty meal which both she and Mrs. +Marvelle evidently enjoyed, flavored as it was with the high spice of +scandal concerning their most immediate and mutual friends, who were, +after much interesting discussion, one by one condemned as of +"questionable" repute, and uncertain position. Then Lady Winsleigh +summoned her maid, and was arrayed _cap-a-pie_ in "carriage-toilette," +while Mrs. Marvelle amused herself by searching the columns of _Truth_ +for some new tit-bit of immorality connected with the royalty or +nobility of England. And at half-past three precisely, the two ladies +drove off together in an elegant victoria drawn by a dashing pair of +greys, with a respectably apoplectic coachman on the box, supported by +the stately Briggs, in all the glory of the olive-green and gold +liveries which distinguished the Winsleigh equipage. By her ladyship's +desire, they were driven straight to Prince's Gate. + +"We may as well leave our cards together," said Clara, with a malicious +little smile, "though I hope to goodness the creature won't be at home." + +Bruce-Errington's town-house was a very noble-looking mansion--refined +and simple in outer adornment, with a broad entrance, deep portico, and +lofty windows--windows which fortunately were not spoilt by gaudy +hangings of silk or satin in "aesthetic" colors. The blinds were +white--and, what could be seen of the curtains from the outside, +suggested the richness of falling velvets, and gold-woven tapestries. +The drawing-room balconies were full of brilliant flowers, shaded by +quaint awnings of Oriental pattern, thus giving the place an air of +pleasant occupation and tasteful elegance. + +Lady Winsleigh's carriage drew up at the door, and Briggs descended. + +"Inquire if Lady Bruce-Errington is at home," said his mistress. "And if +not, leave these cards." + +Briggs received the scented glossy bits of pasteboard in his +yellow-gloved hand with due gravity, and rang the bell marked "Visitors" +in his usual ponderous manner, with a force that sent it clanging loudly +through the corridors of the stately mansion. The door was instantly +opened by a respectable man with grey hair and a gentle, kindly face, +who was dressed plainly in black, and who eyed the gorgeous Briggs with +the faintest suspicion of a smile. He was Errington's butler, and had +served the family for twenty-five years. + +"Her ladyship is driving in the Park," he said in response to the +condescending inquiries of Briggs. "She left the house about half an +hour ago." + +Briggs thereupon handed in the cards, and forthwith reported the result +of his interview to Lady Winsleigh, who said with some excitement-- + +"Turn into the Park and drive up and down till I give further orders." + +Briggs mutely touched his hat, mounted the box, and the carriage rapidly +bowled in the required direction, while Lady Winsleigh remarked +laughingly to Mrs. Marvelle-- + +"Philip is sure to be with his treasure! If we can catch a glimpse of +her, sitting, staring open-mouthed at everything, it will be amusing! We +shall then know what to expect." + +Mrs. Marvelle said nothing, though she too was more or less curious to +see the "peasant" addition to the circle of fashionable society,--and +when they entered the Park, both she and Lady Winsleigh kept a sharp +look-out for the first glimpse of the quiet grey and silver of the +Bruce-Errington liveries. They watched, however, in vain--it was not yet +the hour for the crowding of the Row--and there was not a sign of the +particular equipage they were so desirous to meet. Presently Lady +Winsleigh's face flushed--she laughed, and bade her coachman come to a +halt. + +"It is only Lennie," she said in answer to Mrs. Marvelle's look of +inquiry. "I _must_ speak to him a moment!" + +And she beckoned coquettishly to a slight, slim young man with a dark +moustache and rather handsome features, who was idling along on the +footpath, apparently absorbed in a reverie, though it was not of so deep +a character that he failed to be aware of her ladyship's presence--in +fact he had seen her as soon as she appeared in the Park. He saw +everything apparently without looking--he had lazily drooping eyes, but +a swift under-glance which missed no detail of whatever was going on. He +approached now with an excessively languid air, raising his hat slowly, +as though the action bored him. + +"How do, Mrs. Marvelle!" he drawled lazily, addressing himself first to +the elder lady, who responded somewhat curtly,--then leaning his arms on +the carriage door, he fixed Lady Winsleigh with a sleepy stare of +admiration. "And how is our Clara? Looking charming, as usual! By Jove! +Why weren't you here ten minutes ago? You never saw such a sight in your +life! Thought the whole Row was going crazy, 'pon my soul!" + +"Why, what happened?" asked Lady Winsleigh, smiling graciously upon him. +"Anything extraordinary?" + +"Well, I don't know what you'd call extraordinary;" and Sir Francis +Lennox yawned and examined the handle of his cane attentively. "I +suppose if Helen of Troy came driving full pelt down the Row all of a +sudden, there'd be some slight sensation!" + +"Dear me!" said Clara Winsleigh pettishly. "You talk in enigmas to-day. +What on earth do you mean?" + +Sir Francis condescended to smile. "Don't be waxy, Clara!" he urged--"I +mean what I say--a new Helen appeared here to-day, and instead of 'tall +Troy' being on fire, as Dante Rossetti puts it, the Row was in a burning +condition of excitement--fellows on horseback galloped the whole length +of the Park to take a last glimpse of her--her carriage dashed off to +Richmond after taking only four turns. She is simply magnificent!" + +"Who is she?" and in spite of herself, Lady Winsleigh's smile vanished +and her lips quivered. + +"Lady Bruce-Errington," answered Sir Francis readily. "The loveliest +woman in the world, I should say! Phil was beside her--he looks in +splendid condition--and that meek old secretary fellow sat +opposite--Neville--isn't that his name? Anyhow they seemed as jolly as +pipers,--as for that woman, she'll drive everybody out of their wits +about her before half the season's over." + +"But she's a mere peasant!" said Mrs. Marvelle loftily. "Entirely +uneducated--a low, common creature!" + +"Ah, indeed!" and Sir Francis again yawned extensively. "Well, I don't +know anything about that! She was exquisitely dressed, and she held +herself like a queen. As for her hair--I never saw such wonderful +hair,--there's every shade of gold in it." + +"Dyed!" said Lady Winsleigh, with a sarcastic little laugh. "She's been +in Paris,--I dare say a good _coiffeur_ has done it for her there +artistically!" + +This time Sir Francis's smile was a thoroughly amused one. + +"Commend me to a woman for spite!" he said carelessly. "But I'll not +presume to contradict you, Clara! You know best, I dare say! Ta-ta! I'll +come for you to-night,--you know we're bound for the theatre together. +By-bye, Mrs. Marvelle! You look younger than ever!" + +And Sir Francis Lennox sauntered easily away, leaving the ladies to +resume their journey through the Park. Lady Winsleigh looked vexed--Mrs. +Marvelle bewildered. + +"Do you think," inquired this latter, "she can really be so wonderfully +lovely?" + +"No, I don't!" answered Clara snappishly. "I dare say she's a plump +creature with a high color--men like fat women with brick-tinted +complexions--they think it's healthy. Helen of Troy indeed! Pooh! Lennie +must be crazy." + +The rest of their drive was very silent,--they were both absorbed in +their own reflections. On arriving at the Van Clupps', they found no one +at home--not even Marcia--so Lady Winsleigh drove her "dearest Mimsey" +back to her own house in Kensington, and there left her with many +expressions of tender endearment--then, returning home, proceeded to +make an elaborate and brilliant toilette for the enchantment and +edification of Sir Francis Lennox that evening. She dined alone, and was +ready for her admirer when he called for her in his private hansom, and +drove away with him to the theatre, where she was the cynosure of many +eyes; meanwhile her husband, Lord Winsleigh, was pressing a good-night +kiss on the heated forehead of an excited boy, who, plunging about in +his little bed and laughing heartily, was evidently desirous of +emulating the gambols of the clown who had delighted him that afternoon +at Hengler's. + +"Papa! could you stand on your head and shake hands with your foot?" +demanded this young rogue, confronting his father with towzled curls and +flushed cheeks. + +Lord Winsleigh laughed. "Really, Ernest, I don't think I could!" he +answered good-naturedly. "Haven't you talked enough about the circus by +this time? I thought you were ready for sleep, otherwise I should not +have come up to say good-night." + +Ernest studied the patient, kind features of his father for a moment, +and then slipped penitently under the bedclothes, settling his restless +young head determinedly on the pillow. + +"I'm all right now!" he murmured, with a demure, dimpling smile. Then, +with a tender upward twinkle of his merry blue eyes, he added, +"Good-night, papa dear! God bless you!" + +A sort of wistful pathos softened the grave lines of Lord Winsleigh's +countenance as he bent once more over the little bed, and pressed his +bearded lips lightly on the boy's fresh cheek, as cool and soft as a +rose-leaf. + +"God bless you, little man!" he answered softly, and there was a slight +quiver in his calm voice. Then he put out the light and left the room, +closing the door after him with careful noiselessness. Descending the +broad stairs slowly, his face changed from its late look of tenderness +to one of stern and patient coldness, which was evidently its habitual +expression. He addressed himself to Briggs, who was lounging aimlessly +in the hall. + +"Her ladyship is out?" + +"Yes, my lord! Gone to the theayter with Sir Francis Lennox." + +Lord Winsleigh turned upon him sharply. "I did not ask you, Briggs, +_where_ she had gone, or _who_ accompanied her. Have the goodness to +answer my questions simply, without adding useless and unnecessary +details." + +Briggs's mouth opened a little in amazement at his master's peremptory +tone, but he answered promptly-- + +"Very good, my lord!" + +Lord Winsleigh paused a moment, and seemed to consider. Then he said-- + +"See that her ladyship's supper is prepared in the dining-room. She will +most probably return rather late. Should she inquire for me, say I am at +the Carlton." + +Again Briggs responded, "Very good, my lord!" And, like an exemplary +servant as he was, he lingered about the passage while Lord Winsleigh +entered his library, and, after remaining there some ten minutes or so, +came out again in hat and great coat. The officious Briggs handed him +his cane, and inquired-- + +"'Ansom, my lord?" + +"Thanks, no. I will walk." + +It was a fine moonlight night, and Briggs stood for some minutes on the +steps, airing his shapely calves and watching the tall, dignified figure +of his master walking, with the upright, stately bearing which always +distinguished him, in the direction of Pall Mall. Park Lane was full of +crowding carriages with twinkling lights, all bound to the different +sources of so-called "pleasure" by which the opening of the season is +distinguished. Briggs surveyed the scene with lofty indifference, +sniffed the cool breeze, and, finding it somewhat chilly, re-entered the +house and descended to the servant's hall. Here all the domestics of the +Winsleigh household were seated at a large table loaded with hot and +savory viands,--a table presided over by a robust and perspiring lady, +with a very red face and sturdy arms bare to the elbow. + +"Lor', Mr. Briggs!" cried this personage, rising respectfully as he +approached, "'ow late you are! Wot 'ave you been a-doin' on? 'Ere I've +been a-keepin' your lamb-chops and truffles 'ot all this time, and if +they's dried up 'taint my fault, nor that of the hoven, which is as good +a hoven as you can wish to bake in. . . ." + +She paused breathless, and Briggs smiled blandly. + +"Now, Flopsie!" he said in a tone of gentle severity. "Excited again--as +usual! It's bad for your 'elth--very bad! _Hif_ the chops is dried, your +course is plain--cook some more! Not that I am enny ways particular--but +chippy meat is bad for a delicate digestion. And you would not make me +hill, my Flopsie, would you?" + +Whereupon he seated himself, and looked condescendingly round the table. +He was too great a personage to be familiar with such inferior creatures +as housemaids, scullery-girls, and menials of that class,--he was only +on intimate terms with the cook, Mrs. Flopper, or, as he called her, +"Flopsie,"--the coachman, and Lady Winsleigh's own maid, Louise Renaud, +a prim, sallow-faced Frenchwoman, who, by reason of her nationality, was +called by all the inhabitants of the kitchen, "mamzelle," as being a +name both short, appropriate, and convenient. + +On careful examination, the lamb-chops turned out +satisfactorily--"chippiness" was an epithet that could not justly be +applied to them,--and Mr. Briggs began to eat them leisurely, flavoring +them with a glass or two of fine port out of a decanter which he had +taken the precaution to bring down from the dining-room sideboard. + +"I _ham_, late," he then graciously explained--"not that I was detained +in enny way by the people upstairs. The gay Clara went out early, but I +was absorbed in the evenin' papers--Winsleigh forgot to ask me for them. +But he'll see them at his club. He's gone there now on foot--poor +fellah!" + +"I suppose _she's_ with the same party?" grinned the fat Flopsie, as she +held a large piece of bacon dipped in vinegar on her fork, preparatory +to swallowing it with a gulp. + +Briggs nodded gravely, "The same! Not a fine man at all, you know--no +leg to speak of, and therefore no form. Legs--_good_ legs--are beauty. +Now, Winsleigh's not bad in that particular,--and I dare say Clara can +hold her own,--but I wouldn't bet on little Francis." + +Flopsie shrieked with laughter till she had a "stitch in her side," and +was compelled to restrain her mirth. + +"Lor', Mr. Briggs!" she gasped, wiping the moisture from her eyes, "you +are a regular one, aren't you! Mussy on us, you ought to put all wot you +say in the papers--you'd make your fortin!" + +"Maybe, maybe, Flopsie," returned Briggs with due dignity. "I will not +deny that there may be wot is called 'sparkle' in my natur. And +'sparkle' is wot is rekwired in polite literatoor. Look at 'Hedmund' and +''Enery!' Sparkle again,--read their magnificent productions, the +_World_ and _Truth_,--all sparkle, every line! It is the secret of +success, Flopsie--be a sparkler and you've got everything before you." + +Louise Renaud looked across at him half-defiantly. Her prim, cruel mouth +hardened into a tight line. + +"To spark-el?" she said--"that is what we call _etinceler_--_eclater_. +Yes, I comprehend! Miladi is one spark-el! But one must be a very good +jewel to spark-el always--yes--yes--not a sham!" + +And she nodded a great many times, and ate her salad very fast. Briggs +surveyed her with much complacency. + +"You are a talented woman, Mamzelle," he said, "very talented! I admire +your ways--I really do!" + +Mamzelle smiled with a gratified air, and Briggs settled his wig, eyeing +her anew with fresh interest. + +"_Wot_ a witness you would be in a divorce case!" he continued +enthusiastically. "You'd be in your helement!" + +"I should--I should indeed!" exclaimed Mamzelle, with sudden +excitement,--then as suddenly growing calm, she made a rapid gesture +with her hands--"But there will be no divorce. Milord Winsleigh is a +fool!" + +Briggs appeared doubtful about this, and meditated for a long time over +his third glass of port with the profound gravity of a philosopher. + +"No, Mamzelle," he said at last, when he rose from the table to return +to his duties upstairs--"No! there I must differ from you. I am a close +observer. Wotever Winsleigh's faults,--and I do not deny that they are +many,--he is a gentleman--that I _must_ admit--and with _hevery_ respect +for you, Mamzelle--I can assure you he's no fool!" + +And with these words Briggs betook himself to the library to arrange the +reading-lamp and put the room in order for his master's return, and as +he did so, he paused to look at a fine photograph of Lady Winsleigh that +stood on the oak escritoire, opposite her husband's arm-chair. + +"No," he muttered to himself. "Wotever he thinks of some goings-on, he +ain't blind nor deaf--that's certain. And I'd stake my character and +purfessional reputation on it--wotever he is, he's no fool!" + +For once in his life, Briggs was right. He was generally wrong in his +estimate of both persons and things--but it so happened on this +particular occasion that he had formed a perfectly correct judgment. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + "Could you not drink her gaze like wine? + Yet in its splendor swoon + Into the silence languidly, + As a tune into a tune?" + DANTE ROSSETTI. + + +On the morning of the twenty-fifth of May, Thelma, Lady Bruce-Errington, +sat at breakfast with her husband in their sun-shiny morning-room, +fragrant with flowers and melodious with the low piping of a tame thrush +in a wild gilded cage, who had the sweet habit of warbling his strophes +to himself very softly now and then, before venturing to give them +full-voiced utterance. A bright-eyed, feathered poet he was, and an +exceeding favorite with his fair mistress, who occasionally leaned back +in her low chair to look at him and murmur an encouraging "Sweet, +sweet!" which caused the speckled plumage on his plump breast to ruffle +up with suppressed emotion and gratitude. + +Philip was pretending to read the _Times_, but the huge, self-important +printed sheet had not the faintest interest for him,--his eyes wandered +over the top of its columns to the golden gleam of his wife's hair, +brightened just then by the sunlight streaming through the window,--and +finally he threw it down beside him with a laugh. + +"There's no news," he declared. "There never _is_ any news!" + +Thelma smiled, and her deep-blue eyes sparkled. + +"No?" she half inquired--then taking her husband's cup from his hand to +re-fill it with coffee, she added, "but I think you do not give yourself +time to find the news, Philip. You will never read the papers more than +five minutes." + +"My dear girl," said Philip gaily, "I am more conscientious than you +are, at any rate, for you never read them at all!" + +"Ah, but you must remember," she returned gravely, "that is because I do +not understand them! I am not clever. They seem to me to be all about +such dull things--unless there is some horrible murder or cruelty or +accident--and I would rather not hear of these. I do prefer books +always--because the books last, and news is never certain--it may not +even be true." + +Her husband looked at her fondly; his thoughts were evidently very far +away from newspapers and their contents. + +As she met his gaze, the rich color flushed her soft cheeks and her eyes +drooped shyly under their long lashes. Love, with her, had not yet +proved an illusion,--a bright toy to be snatched hastily and played with +for a brief while, and then thrown aside as broken and worthless. It +seemed to her a most marvellous and splendid gift of God, increasing +each day in worth and beauty,--widening upon her soul and dazzling her +life in ever new and expanding circles of glory. She felt as if she +could never sufficiently understand it,--the passionate adoration Philip +lavished upon her, filled her with a sort of innocent wonder and +gratitude, while her own overpowering love and worship of him, sometimes +startled her by its force into a sweet shame and hesitating fear. To her +mind he was all that was great, strong, noble, and beautiful--he was her +master, her king,--and she loved to pay him homage by her exquisite +humility, clinging tenderness, and complete, contented submission. She +was neither weak nor timid,--her character, moulded on grand and simple +lines of duty, saw the laws of Nature in their true light, and accepted +them without question. It seemed to her quite clear that man was the +superior,--woman the inferior, creature--and she could not understand +the possibility of any wife not rendering instant and implicit obedience +to her husband, even in trifles. + +Since her wedding-day no dark cloud had crossed her heaven of happiness, +though she had been a little confused and bewildered at first by the +wealth and dainty luxury with which Sir Philip had delighted to surround +her. She had been married quietly at Christiania, arrayed in one of her +own simple white gowns, with no ornament save a cluster of pale +blush-roses, the gift of Lorimer. The ceremony was witnessed by her +father and Errington's friends,--and when it was concluded they had all +gone on their several ways,--old Gueldmar for a "toss" on the Bay of +Biscay,--the yacht _Eulalie_, with Lorimer, Macfarlane, and Duprez on +board, back to England, where these gentlemen had separated to their +respective homes,--while Errington, with his beautiful bride, and Britta +in demure and delighted attendance on her, went straight to Copenhagen. +From there they travelled to Hamburg, and through Germany to the +Schwarzwald, where they spent their honeymoon at a quiet little hotel in +the very heart of the deep-green Forest. + +Days of delicious dreaming were these,--days of roaming on the emerald +green turf under the stately and odorous pines, listening to the dash of +the waterfalls, or watching the crimson sunset burning redly through the +darkness of the branches,--and in the moonlit evenings sitting under the +trees to hear the entrancing music of a Hungarian string-band, which +played divine and voluptuous melodies of the land,--"lieder" and +"walzer" that swung the heart away on a golden thread of sound to a +paradise too sweet to name! Days of high ecstacy, and painfully +passionate joy!--when "love, love!" palpitated in the air, and struggled +for utterance in the jubilant throats of birds, and whispered wild +suggestions in the rustling of the leaves! There were times when +Thelma,--lost and amazed and overcome by the strength and sweetness of +the nectar held to her innocent lips by a smiling and flame-winged +Eros,--would wonder vaguely whether she lived indeed, or whether she +were not dreaming some gorgeous dream, too brilliant to last? And even +when her husband's arms most surely embraced her, and her husband's kiss +met hers in all the rapture of victorious tenderness, she would often +question herself as to whether she were worthy of such perfect +happiness, and she would pray in the depths of her pure heart to be made +more deserving of this great and wonderful gift of love--this supreme +joy, almost too vast for her comprehension. + +On the other hand, Errington's passion for his wife was equally +absorbing--she had become the very moving-spring of his existence. His +eyes delighted in her beauty,--but more than this, he revelled in and +reverenced the crystal-clear parity and exquisite refinement of her +soul. Life assumed for him a new form,--studied by the light of Thelma's +straightforward simplicity and intelligence, it was no longer, as he had +once been inclined to think, a mere empty routine,--it was a treasure of +inestimable value fraught with divine meanings. Gradually, the touch of +modern cynicism that had at one time threatened to spoil his nature, +dropped away from him like the husk from an ear of corn,--the world +arrayed itself in bright and varying colors--there was good--nay, there +was glory--in everything. + +With these ideas, and the healthy satisfaction they engendered, his +heart grew light and joyous,--his eyes more lustrous,--his step gay and +elastic,--and his whole appearance was that of man at his best,--man, as +God most surely meant him to be--not a rebellious, feebly-repining, +sneering wretch, ready to scoff at the very sunlight,--but a being both +brave and intelligent, strong and equally balanced in temperament, and +not only contented, but absolutely glad to be alive,--glad to feel the +blood flowing through the veins,--glad and grateful for the gifts of +breathing and sight. + +As each day passed, the more close and perfect grew the sympathies of +husband and wife,--they were like two notes of a perfect chord, sounding +together in sweetest harmony. Naturally, much of this easy and mutual +blending of character and disposition arose from Thelma's own gracious +and graceful submissiveness,--submissiveness which, far from humiliating +her, actually placed her (though she knew it not) on a throne of almost +royal power, before which Sir Philip was content to kneel--an ardent +worshipper of her womanly sweetness. Always without question or demur, +she obeyed his wishes implicitly,--though, as has been before mentioned, +she was at first a little overpowered and startled by the evidences of +his wealth, and did not quite know what to do with all the luxuries and +gifts he heaped upon her. Britta's worldly prognostications had come +true,--the simple gowns her mistress had worn at the Altenfjord were +soon discarded for more costly apparel,--though Sir Philip had an +affection for his wife's Norwegian costumes, and in his heart thought +they were as pretty, if not prettier, than the most perfect triumphs of +a Parisian _modiste_. + +But in the social world, Fashion, the capricious deity, must be +followed, if not wholly, yet in part; and so Thelma's straight, plain +garments were laid carefully by as souvenirs of the old days, and were +replaced by toilettes of the most exquisite description,--some +simple,--some costly,--and it was difficult to say in which of them the +lovely wearer looked her best. She herself was indifferent in the +matter--she dressed to please Philip,--if he was satisfied, she was +happy--she sought nothing further. It was Britta whose merry eyes +sparkled with pride and admiration when she saw her "Froeken" arrayed in +gleaming silk or sweeping velvets, with the shine of rare jewels in her +rippling hair,--it was Britta who took care of all the dainty trifles +that gradually accumulated on Thelma's dressing table,--in fact, Britta +had become a very important personage in her own opinion. Dressed neatly +in black, with a coquettish muslin apron and cap becomingly frilled, she +was a very taking little maid, with her demure rosy face and rebellious +curls, though very different to the usual trained spy whose officious +ministrations are deemed so necessary by ladies of position, whose lofty +station in life precludes them from the luxury of brushing their own +hair. Britta's duties were slight--she invented most of them--yet she +was always busy sewing, dusting, packing, or polishing. She was a very +wide-awake little person, too,--no hint was lost upon her,--and she held +her own wherever she went with her bright eyes and sharp tongue. Though +secretly in an unbounded state of astonishment at everything new she +saw, she was too wise to allow this to be noticed, and feigned the +utmost coolness and indifference, even when they went from Germany to +Paris, where the brilliancy and luxury of the shops almost took away her +breath for sheer wonderment. + +In Paris, Thelma's wardrobe was completed--a certain Madame Rosine, +famous for "artistic arrangements," was called into requisition, and +viewing with a professional eye the superb figure and majestic carriage +of her new customer, rose to the occasion in all her glory, and resolved +that Miladi Bruce-Errington's dresses should be the wonder and envy of +all who beheld them. + +"For," said Madame, with a grand air, "it is to do me justice. That form +so magnificent is worth draping,--it will support my work to the best +advantage. And persons without figures will hasten to me and entreat me +for costumes, and will think that if I dress them I can make them look +as well as Miladi. And they will pay!"--Madame shook her head with much +shrewdness--"_Mon Dieu!_ they will pay!--and that they still look +frightful will not be my fault." + +And undoubtedly Madame surpassed her usual skill in all she did for +Thelma,--she took such pains, and was so successful in all her designs, +that "Miladi," who did not as a rule show more than a very ordinary +interest in her toilette, found it impossible not to admire the artistic +taste, harmonious coloring, and exquisite fit of the few choice gowns +supplied to her from the "Maison Rosine"--and only on one occasion had +she any discussion with the celebrated modiste. This was when Madame +herself, with much pride, brought home an evening dress of the very +palest and tenderest sea-green silk, showered with pearls and +embroidered in silver, a perfect _chef-d'oeuvre_ of the dressmaker's +art. The skirt, with its billowy train and peeping folds of delicate +lace, pleased Thelma,--but she could not understand the bodice, and she +held that very small portion of the costume in her hand with an air of +doubt and wonderment. At last she turned her grave blue eyes inquiringly +on Madame. + +"It is not finished?" she asked. "Where is the upper part of it and the +sleeves?" + +Madame Rosine gesticulated with her hands and smiled. + +"Miladi, there is no more!" she declared. "Miladi will perceive it is +for the evening wear--it is _decolletee_--it is to show to everybody +Miladi's most beautiful white neck and arms. The effect will be +ravishing!" + +Thelma's face grew suddenly grave--almost stern. + +"You must be very wicked!" she said severely, to the infinite amazement +of the vivacious Rosine. "You think I would show myself to people half +clothed? How is it possible! I would not so disgrace myself! It would +bring shame to my husband!" + +Madame was almost speechless with surprise. What strange lady was this +who was so dazzlingly beautiful and graceful, and yet so ignorant of the +world's ways? She stared,--but was soon on the defensive. + +"Miladi is in a little error!" she said rapidly and with soft +persuasiveness. "It is _la mode_. Miladi has perhaps lived in a country +where the fashions are different. But if she will ask the most amiable +Sieur Bruce-Errington, she will find that her dress is quite in keeping +with _les convenances_." + +A pained blush crimsoned Thelma's fair cheek. "I do not like to ask my +husband such a thing," she said slowly, "but I must. For I could not +wear this dress without shame. I cannot think he would wish me to appear +in it as you have made it--but--" She paused, and taking up the +objectionable bodice, she added gently--"You will kindly wait here, +madame, and I will see what Sir Philip says." + +And she retired, leaving the _modiste_ in a state of much astonishment, +approaching resentment. The idea was outrageous,--a woman with such +divinely fair skin,--a woman with the bosom of a Venus, and arms of a +shape to make sculptors rave,--and yet she actually wished to hide these +beauties from the public gaze! It was ridiculous--utterly +ridiculous,--and Madame sat fuming impatiently, and sniffing the air in +wonder and scorn. Meanwhile Thelma, with flushing cheeks and lowered +eyes, confided her difficulty to Philip, who surveyed the shocking +little bodice she brought for his inspection with a gravely amused, but +very tender smile. + +"There certainly doesn't seem much of it, does there, darling?" he said. +"And so you don't like it?" + +"No," she confessed frankly--"I think I should feel quite undressed in +it. I often wear just a little opening at the throat--but this--! Still, +Philip, I must not displease you--and I will always wear what you wish, +even if it is uncomfortable to myself." + +"Look here, my pet," and he encircled her waist fondly with his arm, +"Rosine is quite right. The thing's perfectly fashionable,--and there +isn't a woman in society who wouldn't be perfectly charmed with it. But +your ideas are better than Rosine's and all society's put together. Obey +your own womanly instinct, Thelma!" + +"But what do _you_ wish?" she asked earnestly. "You must tell me. It is +to please you that I live." + +He kissed her. "You want me to issue a command about the affair?" he +said half laughingly. + +She smiled up into his eyes. "Yes!--and I will obey!" + +"Very well! Now listen!" and he held her by both hands, and looked with +sudden gravity into her sweet face--"Thelma, my wife, thus sayeth your +lord and master,--despise the vulgar indecencies of fashion, and you +will gratify me more than words can say;--keep your pure and beautiful +self sacred from the profaning gaze of the multitude,--sacred to me and +my love for you, and I shall be the proudest man living! Finally,"--and +he smiled again--"give Rosine back this effort at a bodice, and tell her +to make something more in keeping with the laws of health and modesty. +And Thelma--one more kiss! You are a darling!" + +She laughed softly and left him, returning at once to the irate +dressmaker who waited for her. + +"I am sorry," she said very sweetly, "to have called you wicked! You +see, I did not understand! But though this style of dress is +fashionable, I do not wish to wear it--so you will please make me +another bodice, with a small open square at the throat, and +elbow-sleeves,--and you will lose nothing at all--for I shall pay you +for this one just the same. And you must quite pardon me for my mistake +and hasty words!" + +Maladi's manner was so gracious and winning, that Madame Rosine found it +impossible not to smile in a soothed and mollified way,--and though she +deeply regretted that so beautiful a neck and arms were not to be +exposed to public criticism, she resigned herself to the inevitable, and +took away the offending bodice, replacing it in a couple of days by one +much prettier and more becoming by reason of its perfect modesty. + +On leaving Paris, Sir Philip had taken his wife straight home to his +fine old Manor in Warwickshire. Thelma's delight in her new abode was +unbounded--the stately oaks that surrounded it,--the rose-gardens, the +conservatories,--the grand rooms, with their fine tapestries, oak +furniture, and rare pictures,--the splendid library, the long, lofty +drawing-rooms, furnished and decorated after the style of Louis +Quinze,--all filled her with a tender pride and wistful admiration. This +was Philip's home! and she was here to make it bright and glad for +him!--she could imagine no fairer fate. The old servants of the place +welcomed their new mistress with marked respect and evident astonishment +at her beauty, though, when they knew her better, they marvelled still +more at her exceeding gentleness and courtesy. The housekeeper, a +stately white-haired dame, who had served the former Lady Errington, +declared she was "an angel"--while the butler swore profoundly that "he +knew what a queen was like at last!" + +The whole household was pervaded with an affectionate eagerness to +please her, though, perhaps, the one most dazzled by her entrancing +smile and sweet consideration for his comfort was Edward Neville, Sir +Philip's private secretary and librarian,--a meek, mild-featured man of +some five and forty years old, whose stooping shoulders, grizzled hair, +and weak eyes gave him an appearance of much greater age. Thelma was +particularly kind to Neville, having heard his history from her husband. +It was brief and sad. He had married a pretty young girl whom he had +found earning a bare subsistence as a singer in provincial +music-halls,--loving her, he had pitied her unprotected state, and had +rescued her from the life she led--but after six months of comparative +happiness, she had suddenly deserted him, leaving no clue as to where or +why she had gone. His grief for her loss, weighed heavily upon his +mind--he brooded incessantly upon it--and though his profession was that +of a music master and organist, he grew so abstracted and inattentive to +the claims of the few pupils he had, that they fell away from him one by +one--and, after a bit, he lost his post as organist to the village +church as well. This smote him deeply, for he was passionately fond of +music, and was, moreover, a fine player,--and it was at this stage of +his misfortunes that he met by chance Bruce-Errington. Philip, just +then, was almost broken-hearted--his father and mother had died suddenly +within a week of one another,--and he, finding the blank desolation of +his home unbearable, was anxious to travel abroad for a time, so soon as +he could find some responsible person in whose hands to leave the charge +of the Manor, with its invaluable books and pictures, during his +absence. + +Hearing Neville's history through a mutual friend, he decided, with his +usual characteristic impulse, that here was the very man for him--a +gentleman by birth, rumored to be an excellent scholar,--and he at once +offered him the post he had in view,--that of private secretary at a +salary of 200 pounds per annum. The astonished Neville could not at +first believe in his good fortune, and began to stammer forth his +gratitude with trembling lips and moistening eyes,--but Errington cut +him short by declaring the whole thing settled, and desiring him to +enter on his duties at once. He was forthwith installed in his +position,--a highly enviable one for a man of his dreamy and meditative +turn of mind. To him, literature and music were precious as air and +light, he handled the rare volumes on the Errington book-shelves with +lingering tenderness, and often pored over some difficult manuscript, or +dusty folio till long past midnight, almost forgetful of his griefs in +the enchantment thus engendered. Nor did he lack his supreme comforter, +music,--there was a fine organ at the lower end of the long library, and +seated at his beloved instrument, he wiled away many an hour,--steeping +his soul in the divine and solemn melodies of Palestrina and Pergolesi, +till the cruel sorrow that had darkened his life seemed nothing but a +bad dream, and the face of his wife as he had first known it, fair, +trustful, and plaintive, floated before his eyes unchanged, and arousing +in him the old foolish throbbing emotions of rapture and passion that +had gladdened the bygone days. + +He never lost the hope of meeting her again, and from time to time he +renewed his search for her, though all uselessly--he studied the daily +papers with an almost morbid anxiety lest he should see the notice of +her death--and he would even await each post with a heart beating more +rapidly than usual, in case there should be some letter from her, +imploring forgiveness, explaining everything, and summoning him once +more to her side. He found a true and keenly sympathizing friend in Sir +Philip, to whom he became profoundly attached,--to satisfy his wishes, +to forward his interests, to attend to his affairs with punctilious +exactitude--all this gave Neville the supremest happiness. He felt some +slight doubt and anxiety, when he first received the sudden announcement +of his patron's marriage,--but all forebodings as to the character and +disposition of the new Lady Bruce-Errington fled like mist before +sunshine, when he saw Thelma's fair face and felt her friendly +hand-clasp. + +Every morning on her way to the breakfast-room, she would look in at the +door of his little study, which adjoined the library, and he learned to +watch for the first glimmer of her dress, and to listen for her bright +"Good morning, Mr. Neville!" with a sensation of the keenest pleasure. +It was a sort of benediction on the whole day. A proud man was he when +she asked him to give her lessons on the organ,--and never did he forget +the first time he heard her sing. He was playing an exquisite "Ave +Maria," by Stradella, and she, standing by her husband's side was +listening, when she suddenly exclaimed-- + +"Why, we used to sing that at Arles!"--and her rich, round voice pealed +forth clear, solemn, and sweet, following with pure steadiness the +sustained notes of the organ. Neville's heart thrilled,--he heard her +with a sort of breathless wonder and rapture, and when she ceased, it +seemed as though heaven had closed upon him. + +"One cannot praise such a voice as that!" he said. "It would be a kind +of sacrilege. It is divine!" + +After this, many were the pleasant musical evenings they all passed +together in the grand old library, and,--as Mrs. Rush-Marvelle had so +indignantly told her husband,--no visitors were invited to the Manor +during that winter. Errington was perfectly happy--he wanted no one but +his wife, and the idea of entertaining a party of guests who would most +certainly interfere with his domestic enjoyment, seemed almost abhorrent +to him. The county-people called,--but missed seeing Thelma, for during +the daytime she was always out with her husband taking long walks and +rambling excursions to the different places hallowed by Shakespeare's +presence,--and when she, instructed by Sir Philip, called on the +county-people, they also seemed to be never at home. + +And so, as yet, she had made no acquaintances, and now that she had been +married eight months and had come to London, the same old story repeated +itself. People called on her in the afternoon just at the time when she +went out driving,--when she returned their visits, she, in her turn, +found them absent. She did not as yet understand the mystery of having +"a day" on which to receive visitors in shoals--a day on which to drink +unlimited tea, talk platitudes, and utterly bored and exhausted at the +end thereof--in fact, she did not see the necessity of knowing many +people,--her husband was all-sufficient for her,--to be in his society +was all she cared for. She left her card at different houses because he +told her to do so, but this social duty amused her immensely. + +"It is like a game!" she declared, laughing, "some one comes and leaves +these little cards which explain who _they_ are, on _me_,--then I go and +leave _my_ little cards and yours, explaining who _we_ are on that some +one--and we keep on doing this, yet we never see each other by any +chance! It is so droll!" + +Errington did not feel called upon to explain what was really the +fact,--namely, that none of the ladies who had left cards on his wife +had given her the option of their "at home" day on which to call,--he +did not think it necessary to tell her what he knew very well, that his +"set," both in county and town, had resolved to "snub" her in every +petty fashion they could devise,--that he had already received several +invitations which, as they did not include her, he had left +unanswered,--and that the only house to which she had as yet been really +asked in proper form was that of Lady Winsleigh. He was more amused than +vexed at the resolute stand made by the so-called "leaders" of society +against her, knowing as he did, most thoroughly, how she must conquer +them all in the end. She had been seen nowhere as yet but in the Park, +and Philip had good reason to be contented with the excitement her +presence had created there,--but he was a little astonished at Lady +Winsleigh's being the first to extend a formal welcome to his unknown +bride. Her behavior seemed to him a little suspicious,--for he certainly +could not disguise from himself that she had at one time been most +violently and recklessly in love with him. He recollected one or two +most painful scenes he had had with her, in which he had endeavored to +recall her to a sense of the duty she owed to her husband,--and his face +often flushed with vexation when he thought of her wild and wicked +abandonment of despair, her tears, her passion, and distracted, +dishonoring words. Yet she was the very woman who now came forward in +the very front of society to receive his wife!--he could not quite +understand it. After all, he was a man,--and the sundry artful tricks +and wiles of fashionable ladies were, naturally, beyond him. Thelma had +never met Lady Winsleigh--not even for a passing glance in the +Park,--and when she received the invitation for the grand reception at +Winsleigh House, she accepted it, because her husband wished her so to +do, not that she herself anticipated any particular pleasure from it. +When the day came round at last she scarcely thought of it, till at the +close of their pleasant breakfast _tete-a-tete_ described at the +commencement of this chapter, Philip suddenly said,--"By-the-by, Thelma, +I have sent to the bank for the Errington diamonds. They'll be here +presently. I want you to wear them to-night." + +Thelma looked puzzled and inquiring. "To-night? What is it that we do? I +forget! Oh! now I know--it is to go to Lady Winsleigh. What will it be +like, Philip?" + +"Well, there'll be heaps of people all cramming and crowding up the +stairs and down them again,--you'll see all those women who have called +on you, and you'll be introduced to them,--I dare say there'll be some +bad music and an indigestible supper--and--and--that's all!" + +She laughed and shook her head reproachfully. "I cannot believe you, my +naughty boy!" she said, rising from her seat, and kneeling beside him +with arms round his neck, and soft eyes gazing lovingly into his. "You +are nearly as bad as that very bad Mr. Lorimer, who will always see +strange vexations in everything! I am quite sure Lady Winsleigh will not +have crowds up and down her stairs,--that would be bad taste. And if she +has music, it will be good--and she would not give her friends a supper +to make them ill." + +Philip did not answer. He was studying every delicate tint in his wife's +dazzling complexion and seemed absorbed. + +"Wear that one gown you got from Worth," he said abruptly. "I like +it--it suits you." + +"Of course I will wear it if you wish," she answered, laughing still. +"But why? What does it matter? You want me to be something very splendid +in dress to-night?" + +Philip drew a deep breath. "I want you to eclipse every woman in the +room!" he said with remarkable emphasis. + +She grew rather pensive. "I do not think that would be pleasant," she +said gravely. "Besides, it is impossible. And it would be wrong to wish +me to make every one else dissatisfied with themselves. That is not like +you, my Philip!" + +He touched with tender fingers the great glistening coil of hair that +was twisted up at the top of her graceful head. + +"Ah, darling! You don't know what a world it is, and what very queer +people there are in it! Never mind! . . . don't bother yourself about +it. You'll have a good bird's-eye view of society tonight, and you shall +tell me afterwards how you like it. I shall be curious to know what you +think of Lady Winsleigh." + +"She is beautiful, is she not?" + +"Well, she is considered so by most of her acquaintances, and by +herself," he returned with a smile. + +"I do like to see very pretty faces," said Thelma warmly; "it is as if +one looked at pictures. Since I have been in London I have seen so many +of them--it is quite pleasant. Yet none of these lovely ladies seem to +me as if they were really happy or strong in health." + +"Half of them have got nervous diseases and all sorts of things wrong +with them from over-much tea and tight lacing," replied Errington, "and +the few who _are_ tolerably healthy are too bouncing by half, going in +for hunting and such-like amusements till they grow blowsy and fat, and +coarse as tom-boys or grooms. They can never hit the _juste milieu_. +Well!" and he rose from the breakfast-table. "I'll go and see Neville +and attend to business. We'll drive out this afternoon for some fresh +air, and afterwards you must rest, my pet--for you'll find an 'at home' +more tiring than climbing a mountain in Norway." + +He kissed, and left her to her usual occupations, of which she had many, +for she had taken great pains to learn all the details of the work in +the Errington Establishment,--in fact, she went every morning to the +little room where Mistress Parton, the housekeeper, received her with +much respect and affection, and duly instructed her on every point of +the domestic management and daily expenditure, so that she was +thoroughly acquainted with everything that went on. + +She had very orderly quiet ways of her own, and though thoughtful for +the comfort and well-being of the lowest servant in her household she +very firmly checked all extravagance and waste, yet in such a gentle, +unobtrusive manner that her control was scarcely felt--though her +husband at once recognized it in the gradually decreasing weekly +expenses, while to all appearance, things were the same as ever. She had +plenty of clear, good common sense,--she saw no reason why she should +waste her husband's wealth simply because it was abundant,--so that +under her mild sway, Sir Philip found himself getting richer without any +trouble on his own part. His house assumed an air of lighter and more +tasteful elegance,--flowers, always arranged by Thelma herself, adorned +the rooms,--birds filled the great conservatory with their delicious +warblings, and gradually that strange fairy sweet fabric known as "Home" +rose smilingly around him. Formerly he had much disliked his stately +town mansion--he had thought it dull and cold--almost gloomy,--but now +he considered it charming, and wondered he had missed so many of its +good points before. + +And when the evening for Lady Winsleigh's "crush" came,--he looked +regretfully round the lovely luxurious drawing-room with its bright +fire, deep easy chairs, books, and grand piano, and wished he and his +wife could remain at home in peace. He glanced at his watch--it was ten +o'clock. There was no hurry--he had not the least intention of arriving +at Winsleigh House too early. He knew what the effect of Thelma's +entrance would be--and he smiled as he thought of it. He was waiting for +her now,--he himself was ready in full evening dress--and remarkably +handsome he looked. He walked up and down restlessly for a minute or +so,--then taking up a volume of Keats, he threw himself into an easy +chair and soon became absorbed. His eyes were still on the printed page, +when a light touch on his shoulder startled him,--a soft, half-laughing +voice inquired--"Philip! Do I please you?" + +He sprang up and faced her,--but for a moment could not speak. The +perfection of her beauty had never ceased to arouse his wonder and +passionate admiration,--but on this night, as she stood before him, +arrayed in a simple, trailing robe of ivory-tinted velvet, with his +family diamonds flashing in a tiara of light on her hair, glistening +against the whiteness of her throat and rounded arms, she looked +angelically lovely--so radiant, so royal, and withal so innocently +happy, that, wistfully gazing at her, and thinking of the social clique +into which she was about to make her entry, he wondered vaguely whether +he was not wrong to take so pure and fair a creature among the false +glitter and reckless hypocrisy of modern fashion and folly. And so he +stood silent, till Thelma grew anxious. + +"Ah, you are not satisfied!" she said plaintively. "I am not as you +wish! There is something wrong." + +He drew her closely into his arms, kissing her with an almost pathetic +tenderness. + +"Thelma, my love, my sweet one!" and his strong voice trembled. "You do +not know--how should you? what I think of you! Satisfied? Pleased? Good +Heavens--what little words those are to express my feelings! I can tell +you how you look, for nothing can ever make _you_ vain. You are +beautiful! . . . you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and +you look your very best tonight. But you are more than beautiful--you +are good and pure and true, while society is--But why should I destroy +your illusions? Only, my wife,--we have been all in all to each +other,--and now I have a foolish feeling as if things were going to be +different--as if we should not be so much together--and I wish--I wish +to God I could keep you all to myself without anybody's interference!" + +She looked at him in wonder, though she smiled. + +"But you have changed, my boy, since the morning," she said. "Then you +did wish me to be particular in dress,--and to wear your jewels, for +this Lady Winsleigh. Now your eyes are sad, and you seem as if you would +rather not go at all. Well, is it not easy to remain at home? I will +take off these fine things, and we will sit together and read. Shall it +be so?" + +He laughed. "I believe you would do it if I asked you!" he said. + +"But, of course! I am quite happy alone with you. I care nothing for +this party,--what is it to me if you do not wish to go?" + +He kissed her again. "Thelma, don't spoil me too much! If you let me +have my own way to such an extent, who knows what an awful domestic +tyrant I may become! No, dear--we must go tonight--there's no help for +it. You see we've accepted the invitation, and it's no use being +churlish. Besides, after all"--he gazed at her admiringly--"I want them +to see my Norwegian rose! Come along! The carriage is waiting." + +They passed out into the hall, where Britta was in attendance with a +long cloak of pale-blue plush lined with white fur, in which she +tenderly enveloped her beloved "Froeken," her rosy face beaming with +affectionate adoration as she glanced from the fair diamond-crowned head +down to the point of a small pearl-embroidered shoe that peeped beneath +the edge of the rich, sheeny white robe, and saw that nothing was +lacking to the most perfect toilette that ever woman wore. + +"Good-night, Britta!" said Thelma kindly. "You must not sit up for me. +You will be tired." + +Britta smiled--it was evident she meant to outwatch the stars, if +necessary, rather than allow her mistress to be unattended on her +return. But she said nothing--she waited at the door while Philip +assisted his wife into the carriage--and still stood musingly under the +wide portico, after they had driven away. + +"Hadn't you better come in, Miss Britta?" said the butler +respectfully,--he had a great regard for her ladyship's little maid. + +Britta, recalled to herself, started, turned, and re-entered the hall. + +"There will be many fine folks there to-night, I suppose?" she asked. + +The butler rubbed his nose perplexedly. "Fine folks at Winsleigh House? +Well, as far as clothes go, I dare say there will. But there'll be no +one like her ladyship--no one!" And he shook his grey head emphatically. + +"Of course not!" said Britta, with a sort of triumphant defiance. "We +know that very well, Morris! There's no one like her ladyship anywhere +in the wide world! But I tell you what--I think a great many people will +be jealous of her." + +Morris smiled. "You may take your oath of that, Miss Britta," he said +with placid conviction. "Jealous! Jealous isn't the word for it! Why," +and he surveyed Britta's youthful countenance with fatherly interest, +"you're only a child as it were, and you don't know the world much. Now, +I've been five and twenty years in this family, and I knew Sir Philip's +mother, the Lady _Eulalie_--he named his yacht after her. Ah! she was a +sweet creature--she came from Austria, and she was as dark as her +present ladyship is fair. Wherever she went, I tell you, the women were +ready to cry for spite and envy of her good looks--and they would say +anything against her they could invent. That's the way they go on +sometimes in society, you know." + +"As bad as in Bosekop," murmured Britta, more to herself than to him, +"only London is a larger place." Then raising her voice again, she said, +"Perhaps there will be some people wicked enough to hate her ladyship, +Morris?" + +"I shouldn't wonder," said Morris philosophically. "I shouldn't wonder +at all! There's a deal of hate about one way or another,--and if a lady +is as beautiful as an angel, and cuts out everybody wherever she goes, +why you can't expect the other ladies to be very fond of her. 'Tisn't in +human nature--at least not in feminine human nature. Men don't care much +about their looks, one way or the other, unless they're young +chaps--then one has a little patience with them and they come all +right." + +But Britta had become meditative again. She went slowly up into her +mistress's room and began arranging the few trifles that had been left +in disorder. + +"Just fancy!"--she said to herself--"some one may hate the Froeken even +in London just as they hated her in Bosekop, because she is so unlike +everybody else. _I_ shall keep my eyes open,--and _I_ shall soon find +out any wickedness against her! My beautiful, dear darling! I believe +the world is a cruel place after all,--but _she_ shan't be made unhappy +in it, if I can help it!" + +And with this emphatic declaration, she kissed a little shoe of Thelma's +that she was just putting by--and, smoothing her curls, went down to her +supper. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + "Such people there are living and flourishing in the + world,--Faithless, Hopeless, Charityless,--let us have at them, + dear friends, with might and main!"--THACKERAY. + + +Who can adequately describe the thrilling excitement attending an +aristocratic "crush,"--an extensive, sweeping-off-of-old-cores "at +home,"--that scene of bewildering confusion which might be appropriately +set forth to the minds of the vulgar in the once-popular ditty, "Such a +getting-up-stairs I never did see!" Who can paint in sufficiently +brilliant colors the mere _outside_ of a house thus distinguished by +this strange festivity, in which there is no actual pleasure,--this +crowding of carriages--this shouting of small boys and policemen?--who +can, in words, delineate the various phases of lofty indignation and +offense on the countenances of pompous coachmen, forced into contention +with vulgar but good-natured "cabbys"--for right of way? . . . who can +sufficiently set forth the splendors of a striped awning avenue, lined +on both sides with a collection of tropical verdure, hired for the +occasion at so much per dozen pots, and illuminated with Chinese +lanterns! Talk of orange groves in Italy and the languid light of a +southern moon! What are they compared to the marvels of striped awning? +Mere trees--mere moonlight--(poor products of Nature!) do not excite +either wonder or envy--but, strange to say, an awning avenue invariably +does! As soon as it is erected in all its bland suggestiveness, no +matter at what house, a small crowd of street-arabs and nursemaids +collect to stare at it,--and when tired of staring, pass and repass +under it with peculiar satisfaction; the beggar, starving for a crust, +lingers doubtfully near it, and ventures to inquire of the +influenza-smitten crossing-sweeper whether it is a wedding or a party? +And if Awning Avenue means matrimony, the beggar waits to see the guests +come out; if, on the contrary, it stands for some evening festivity, he +goes, resolving to return at the appointed hour, and try if he cannot +persuade one "swell" at least to throw him a penny for his night's +supper. Yes--a great many people endure sharp twinges of discontent at +the sight of Awning Avenue,--people who can't afford to give parties, +and who wish they could,--pretty, sweet girls who never go to a dance in +their lives, and long with all their innocent hearts for a +glimpse,--just _one_ glimpse!--of what seems to them inexhaustible, +fairy-like delight,--lonely folks, who imagine in their simplicity that +all who are privileged to pass between the lines of hired tropical +foliage aforementioned, must perforce be the best and most united of +friends--hungry men and women who picture, with watering mouths, the +supper-table that lies _beyond_ the awning, laden with good things, of +the very names of which they are hopelessly ignorant,--while now and +then a stern, dark-browed Thinker or two may stalk by and metaphorically +shake his fist at all the waste, extravagance, useless luxury, humbug, +and hypocrisy Awning Avenue usually symbolizes, and may mutter in his +beard, like an old-fashioned tragedian, "A time _will_ come!" Yes, Sir +Thinker!--it will most undoubtedly--it _must_--but not through you--not +through any mere human agency. Modern society contains within itself the +seed of its own destruction,--the most utter Nihilist that ever swore +deadly oath need but contain his soul in patience and allow the seed to +ripen. For God's justice is as a circle that slowly surrounds an evil +and as slowly closes on it with crushing and resistless force,--and +feverish, fretting humanity, however nobly inspired, can do nothing +either to hasten or retard the round, perfect, absolute and Divine Law. +So let the babes of the world play on, and let us not frighten them with +stories of earthquakes; they are miserable enough as it is, believe +it!--their toys are so brittle, and snap in their feeble hands so +easily, that one is inclined to pity them! And Awning Avenue, with its +borrowed verdure and artificial light, is frequently erected for the use +of some of the most wretched among the children of the earth,--children +who have trifled with and lost everything,--love, honor, hope, and +faith, and who are travelling rapidly to the grave with no consolation +save a few handfuls, of base coin, which they must, perforce, leave +behind them at the last. + +So it may be that the crippled crossing-sweeper outside Winsleigh House +is a very great deal happier than the master of that stately mansion. He +has a new broom,--and Master Ernest Winsleigh has given him two oranges, +and a rather bulky stick of sugar candy. He is a _protege_ of +Ernest's--that bright handsome boy considers it a "jolly shame"--to have +only one leg,--and has said so with much emphasis,--and though the +little sweeper himself has never regarded his affliction quite in that +light, he is exceedingly grateful for the young gentleman's patronage +and sympathy thus frankly expressed. And on this particular night of the +grand reception he stands, leaning on his broom and munching his candy, +a delighted spectator of the scene in Park Lane,--the splendid +equipages, the prancing horses, the glittering liveries, the excited +cabmen, the magnificent toilettes of the ladies, the solemn and resigned +deportment of the gentlemen,--and he envies none of them--not he! Why +should he? His oranges are in his pocket--untouched as yet--and it is +doubtful whether the crowding guests at the Winsleigh supper-table shall +find anything there to yield them such entire enjoyment as he will +presently take in his humble yet refreshing desert. And he is pleased as +a child at a pantomime--the Winsleigh "at home" is a show that amuses +him,--and he makes sundry remarks on "'im" and "'er" in a meditative +_sotto voce_. He peeps up Awning Avenue heedless of the severe eye of +the policeman on guard,--he sweeps the edge of the crimson felt +foot-cloth tenderly with his broom,--and if he has a desire ungratified, +it is that he might take a peep just for a minute inside the front door, +and see how "they're all a'goin' it!" + +And how _are_ they a'goin' it! Well, not very hilariously, if one may +judge by the aspect of the gentlemen in the hall and on the +stairs,--gentlemen of serious demeanor, who are leaning, as though +exhausted, against the banisters, with a universal air of profound +weariness and dissatisfaction. Some of these are young fledglings of +manhood,--callow birds who, though by no means innocent,--are more or +less inexperienced,--and who have fluttered hither to the snare of Lady +Winsleigh's "at home," half expecting to be allowed to make love to +their hostess, and so have something to boast of afterwards,--others are +of the middle-aged complacent type, who, though infinitely bored, have +condescended to "look in" for ten minutes or so, to see if there are any +pretty women worth the honor of their criticism--others again (and these +are the most unfortunate) are the "nobodies"--or husbands, fathers, and +brothers of "beauties," whom they have dutifully escorted to the scene +of triumph, in which they, unlucky wights! are certainly not expected to +share. A little desultory conversation goes on among these +stair-loungers,--conversation mingled with much dreary yawning,--a +trained opera-singer is shaking forth chromatic roulades and trills in +the great drawing-room above,--there is an incessant stream of people +coming and going,--there is the rustle of silk and satin,--perfume, +shaken out of lace kerchiefs, and bouquets oppresses the warm air,--the +heat is excessive,--and there is a never-ending monotonous hum of +voices, only broken at rare intervals by the "society laugh"--that +unmeaning giggle on the part of the women,--that strained "ha, ha, ha!" +on the part of the men, which is but the faint ghostly echo of the +farewell voice of true mirth. + +Presently, out of the ladies' cloak-room come two fascinating +figures--the one plump and matronly, with grey hair and a capacious neck +glittering with diamonds,--the other a slim girl in pale pink, with dark +eyes and a ravishing complexion, for whom the lazy gentlemen on the +stairs make immediate and respectful room. + +"How d'ye do, Mrs. Van Clupp?" says one of the loungers. + +"Glad to see you, Miss Marcia!" says another, a sandy-haired young man, +with a large gardenia in his button-hole, and a glass in his eye. + +At the sound of his voice Miss Marcia stops and regards him with a +surprised smile. She is very pretty, is Marcia,--bewitchingly +pretty,--and she has an air of demure grace and modesty about her that +is perfectly charming. Why? oh, why does she not remain in that +sylph-like, attitude of questioning silence? But she speaks--and the +charm is broken. + +"Waal now! Dew tell!" she exclaims. "I thought yew were in Pa-ar--is! +Ma, would yew have concluded to find Lord Algy here? This is _too_ +lovely! If I'd known _yew_ were coming I'd have stopped at home--yes, I +would--that's so!" + +And she nods her little head, crowned with its glossy braids of chestnut +hair, in a very coquettish manner, while her mother, persistently +beaming a stereotyped company smile on all around her, begins to ascend +the stairs, beckoning her daughter to follow. Marcia does so, and Lord +Algernon Masherville escorts her. + +"You--you didn't mean that!" he stammers rather feebly--"You--you don't +mind my being here, do you? I'm--I'm _awfully_ glad to see you again, +you know--and--er--all that sort of thing!" + +Marcia darts a keen glance at him,--the glance of an observant, +clear-headed magpie. + +"Oh yes! I dare say!" she remarks with airy scorn. "S'pect _me_ to +believe _yew_! Waal! Did yew have a good time in Pa-ar--is?" + +"Fairly so," answers Lord Masherville indifferently. "I only came back +two days ago. Lady Winsleigh met me by chance at the theatre, and asked +me to look in to-night for 'some fun' she said. Have you any idea what +she meant?" + +"Of course!" says the fair New Yorker, with a little nasal +laugh,--"don't _yew_ know? We're all here to see the fisherwoman from +the wilds of Norway,--the creature Sir Philip Errington married last +year. I conclude she'll give us fits all round, don't yew?" + +Lord Masherville, at this, appears to hesitate. His eye-glass troubles +him, and he fidgets with its black string. He is not intellectual--he is +the most vacillating, most meek and timid of mortals--but he is a +gentleman in his own poor fashion, and has a sort of fluttering chivalry +about him, which, though feeble, is better than none. + +"I really cannot tell you, Miss Marcia," he replies almost nervously. "I +hear--at the Club,--that--that Lady Bruce-Errington is a great beauty." + +"Dew tell!" shrieks Marcia, with a burst of laughter. "Is she really +though! But I guess her looks won't mend her grammar any way!" + +He makes no reply, as by this time they have reached the crowded +drawing-room, where Lady Winsleigh, radiant in ruby velvet and +rose-brilliants, stands receiving her guests, with a cool smile and nod +for mere acquaintances,--and a meaning flash of her dark eyes for her +intimates, and a general air of haughty insolence and perfect +self-satisfaction pervading her from head to foot. Close to her is her +husband, grave, courtly, and kind to all comers, and fulfilling his duty +as host to perfection,--still closer is Sir Francis Lennox, who in the +pauses of the incoming tide of guests finds occasion to whisper trifling +nothings in her tiny white ear, and even once ventures to arrange more +tastefully a falling cluster of pale roses that rests lightly on the +brief shoulder-strap (called by courtesy a sleeve) which, keeps her +ladyship's bodice in place. + +Mrs. Rush-Marvelle is here too, in all her glory,--her good-humored +countenance and small nose together beam with satisfaction,--her +voluminous train of black satin showered with jet gets in everybody's +way,--her ample bosom heaves like the billowy sea, somewhat above the +boundary line of transparent lace that would fain restrain it--but in +this particular she is prudence itself compared with her hostess, whose +charms are exhibited with the unblushing frankness of a +ballet-girl,--and whose example is followed, it must be confessed, by +most of the women in the room. Is Mr. Rush-Marvelle here? Oh yes--after +some little trouble we discover him,--squeezed against the wall and +barricaded by the grand piano,--in company with a large album, over +which he pores, feigning an almost morbid interest in the portraits of +persons he has never seen, and never will see. Beside him is a +melancholy short man with long hair and pimples, who surveys the +increasing crowd in the room with an aspect that is almost tragic. Once +or twice he eyes Mr. Marvelle dubiously as though he would speak--and, +finally, he _does_ speak, tapping that album-entranced gentleman on the +arm with an energy that is somewhat startling. + +"It is to blay I am here!" he announces. "To blay ze biano! I am great +artist!" He rolls his eyes wildly and with a sort of forced calmness +proceeds to enumerate on his fingers--"Baris, Vienna, Rome, Berlin, St. +Betersburg--all know me! All resbect me! See!" And he holds out his +button-hole in which there is a miniature red ribbon. "From ze Emberor! +Kaiser Wilhelm!" He exhibits a ring on his little finger. "From ze +Tsar!" Another rapid movement and a pompous gold watch is thrust before +the bewildered gaze of his listener. "From my bubils in Baris! I am +bianist--I am here to blay!" + +And raking his fingers through his long locks, he stares defiantly +around him. Mr. Rush-Marvelle is a little frightened. This is an +eccentric personage--he must be soothed. Evidently he must be soothed! + +"Yes, yes, I quite understand!" he says, nodding persuasively at the +excited genius. "You are here to play. Exactly! Yes, yes! We shall all +have the pleasure of hearing you presently. Delightful, I'm sure! You +are the celebrated Herr--?" + +"Machtenklinken," adds the pianist haughtily. "Ze celebrated +Machtenklinken!" + +"Yes--oh--er,--yes!" And Mr. Marvelle grapples desperately with this +terrible name. "Oh--er--yes! I--er know you by reputation +Herr--er--Machten--. Oh, er--yes! Pray excuse me for a moment!" + +And thankfully catching the commanding eye of his wife, he scrambles +hastily away from the piano and joins her. She is talking to the Van +Clupps, and she wants him to take away Mr. Van Clupp, a white-headed, +cunning-looking old man, for a little conversation, in order that she +may be free to talk over certain naughty bits of scandal with Mrs. Van +Clupp and Marcia. + +To-night there is no place to sit down in all the grand extent of the +Winsleigh drawing-rooms,--puffy old dowagers occupy the sofas, ottomans, +and chairs, and the largest and most brilliant portion of the assemblage +are standing, grinning into each other's faces with praiseworthy and +polite pertinacity, and talking as rapidly as though their lives +depended on how many words they could utter within the space of two +minutes. Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, Mrs. Van Clupp and Marcia make their way +slowly through the gabbling, pushing, smirking crowd till they form a +part of the little _coterie_ immediately round Lady Winsleigh, to whom, +at the first opportunity, Mrs. Marvelle whispers-- + +"Have they come?" + +"The modern Paris and the new Helen?" laughs Lady Clara, with a shrug of +her snowy shoulders. "No, not yet. Perhaps they won't turn up at all! +Marcia dear, you look _quite_ charming! Where is Lord Algy?" + +"I guess he's not a thousand miles away!" returns Marcia, with a knowing +twinkle of her dark eyes. "He'll hang round here presently! +Why,--there's Mr. Lorimer worrying in at the doorway!" + +"Worrying in" is scarcely the term to apply to the polite but determined +manner in which George Lorimer coolly elbows a passage among the heaving +bare shoulders, backs, fat arms, and long trains that seriously obstruct +his passage, but after some trouble he succeeds in his efforts to reach +his fair hostess, who receives him with rather a supercilious uplifting +of her delicate eyebrows. + +"Dear me, Mr. Lorimer, you are quite a stranger!" she observes somewhat +satirically. "We thought you had made up your mind to settle in Norway!" + +"Did you really, though!" and Lorimer smiles languidly. "I wonder at +that,--for you knew I came back from that region in the August of last +year." + +"And since then I suppose you have played the hermit?" inquires her +ladyship indifferently, unfurling her fan of ostrich feathers and waving +it slowly to and fro. + +"By no means! I went off to Scotland with a friend, Alec Macfarlane, and +had some excellent shooting. Then, as I never permit my venerable mamma +to pass the winter in London, I took her to Nice, from which delightful +spot we returned three weeks ago." + +Lady Winsleigh laughs. "I did not ask you for a categorical explanation +of your movements, Mr. Lorimer," she says lightly--"I'm sure I hope you +enjoyed yourself?" + +He bows gravely. "Thanks! Yes,--strange to say, I _did_ manage to +extract a little pleasure here and there out of the universal dryness of +things." + +"Have you seen your friend, Sir Philip, since he came to town?" asks +Mrs. Rush-Marvelle in her stately way. + +"Several times. I have dined with him and Lady Errington frequently. I +understand they are to be here to-night?" + +Lady Winsleigh fans herself a little more rapidly, and her full crimson +lips tighten into a thin, malicious line. + +"Well, I asked them, of course,--as a matter of form," she says +carelessly,--"but I shall, on the whole, be rather relieved if they +don't come." + +A curious, amused look comes over Lorimer's face. + +"Indeed! May I ask why?" + +"I should think the reason ought to be perfectly apparent to you"--and +her ladyship's eyes flash angrily. "Sir Philip is all very well--he is +by birth a gentleman,--but the person he has married is not a lady, and +it is an exceedingly unpleasant duty for me to have to receive her." + +A feint tinge of color flushes Lorimer's brow. "I think," he says +slowly, "I think you will find yourself mistaken, Lady Winsleigh. I +believe--" Here he pauses, and Mrs. Rush-Marvelle fixes him with a stony +stare. + +"Are we to understand that she is educated?" she inquires freezingly. +"Positively well-educated?" + +Lorimer laughs. "Not according to the standard of modern fashionable +requirements!" he replies. + +Mrs. Marvelle sniffs the air portentously,--Lady Clara curls her lip. At +that moment everybody makes respectful way for one of the most important +guests of the evening--a broad-shouldered man of careless attire, rough +hair, fine features, and keen, mischievous eyes--a man of whom many +stand in wholesome awe,--Beaufort Lovelace, or as he is commonly called. +"Beau" Lovelace, a brilliant novelist, critic, and pitiless satirist. +For him society is a game,--a gay humming-top which he spins on the palm +of his hand for his own private amusement. Once a scribbler in an attic, +subsisting bravely on bread and cheese and hope, he now lords it more +than half the year in a palace of fairy-like beauty on the Lago di +Como,--and he is precisely the same person who was formerly disdained +and flouted by fair ladies because his clothes were poor and shabby, yet +for whom they now practise all the arts known to their sex, in fruitless +endeavors to charm and conciliate him. For he laughs at them and their +pretty ways,--and his laughter is merciless. His arrowy glance discovers +the "poudre de riz" on their blooming cheeks,--the carmine on their +lips, and the "kohl" on their eyelashes. He knows purchased hair from +the natural growth--and he has a cruel eye for discerning the artificial +contour of a "made-up" figure. And like a merry satyr dancing in a +legendary forest, he capers and gambols in the vast fields of +Humbug--all forms of it are attacked and ridiculed by his powerful and +pungent pen,--he is a sort of English Heine, gathering in rich and daily +harvests from the never-perishing incessantly-growing crop of fools. And +as he,--in all the wickedness of daring and superior intellect,--approaches, +Lady Winsleigh draws herself up with the conscious air of a +beauty who knows she is nearly perfect,--Mrs. Rush-Marvelle makes a +faint endeavor to settle the lace more modestly over her rebellious +bosom,--Marcia smiles coquettishly, and Mrs. Van Clupp brings her +diamond pendant (value, a thousand guineas) more prominently +forward,--for as she thinks, poor ignorant soul! "wealth always +impresses these literary men more than anything!" In one swift glance +Beau Lovelace observes all these different movements,--and the inner +fountain of his mirth begins to bubble. "What fun those Van Clupps are!" +he thinks. "The old woman's got a diamond plaster on her neck! Horrible +taste! She's anxious to show how much she's worth, I suppose! Mrs. +Marvelle wants a shawl, and Lady Clara a bodice. By Jove! What sights +the women do make of themselves!" + +But his face betrays none of these reflections,--its expression is one +of polite gravity, though a sudden sweetness smooths it as he shakes +hands with Lord Winsleigh and Lorimer,--a sweetness that shows how +remarkably handsome Beau can look if he chooses. He rests one hand on +Lorimer's shoulder. + +"Why, George, old boy, I thought you were playing the dutiful son at +Nice? Don't tell me you've deserted the dear old lady! Where is she? You +know I've got to finish that argument with her about her beloved Byron." + +Lorimer laughs. "Go and finish it when you like, Beau," he answers. "My +mother's all right. She's at home. You know she's always charmed to see +you. She's delighted with that new book of yours." + +"Is she? She finds pleasure in trifles then--" + +"Oh no, Mr. Lovelace!" interrupts Lady Clara, with a winning glance. +"You must not run yourself down! The book is exquisite! I got it at once +from the library, and read every line of it!" + +"I am exceedingly flattered!" says Lovelace, with a grave bow, though +there is a little twinkling mockery in his glance. "When a lady so +bewitching condescends to read what I have written, how can I express my +emotion!" + +"The press is unanimous in its praise of you," remarks Lord Winsleigh +cordially. "You are quite the lion of the day!" + +"Oh quite!" agrees Beau laughing. "And do I not roar 'as sweet as any +nightingale'? But I say, where's the new beauty?" + +"I really do not know to whom you allude, Mr. Lovelace," replies Lady +Winsleigh coldly. Lorimer smiles and is silent. Beau looks from one to +the other amusedly. + +"Perhaps I've made a mistake," he says, "but the Duke of Roxwell is +responsible. He told me that if I came here to-night I should see one of +the loveliest women living,--Lady Bruce-Errington. He saw her in the +park. I think _this_ gentleman"--indicating Sir Francis Lennox, who +bites his moustache vexedly--"said quite openly at the Club last night +that she _was_ the new beauty,--and that she would be here this +evening." + +Lady Winsleigh darts a side glance at her "Lennie" that is far from +pleasant. + +"Really it's perfectly absurd!" she says, with a scornful toss of her +head. "We shall have housemaids and bar-girls accepted as 'quite the +rage' next. I do not know Sir Philip's wife in the least,--I hear she +was a common farmer's daughter. I certainly invited her to-night out of +charity and kindness in order that she might get a little accustomed to +society--for, of course, poor creature! entirely ignorant and uneducated +as she is, everything will seem strange to her. But she has not come--" + +"SIR PHILIP AND LADY BRUCE-ERRINGTON!" announces Briggs at this +juncture. + +There is a sudden hush--a movement of excitement,--and the groups near +the door fall apart staring, and struck momentarily dumb with surprise, +as a tall, radiant figure in dazzling white, with diamonds flashing on a +glittering coil of gold hair, and wondrous sea-blue earnest eyes, passes +through their midst with that royal free step and composed grace of +bearing that might distinguish an Empress of many nations. + +"Good heavens! What a magnificent woman!" mutters Beau Lovelace--"Venus +realized!" + +Lady Winsleigh turns very pale,--she trembles and can scarcely regain +her usual composure as Sir Philip, with a proud tenderness lighting up +the depths of his hazel eyes, leads this vision of youth and perfect +loveliness up to her, saying simply-- + +"Lady Winsleigh, allow me to introduce to you--my wife! Thelma, this is +Lady Winsleigh." + +There is a strange sensation in Lady Winsleigh's throat as though a very +tight string were suddenly drawn round it to almost strangling +point--and it is certain that she feels as though she must scream, hit +somebody with her fan, and rush from the room in an undignified rage. +But she chokes back these purely feminine emotions--she smiles and +extends her jewelled hand. + +"So good of you to come to-night!" she says sweetly. "I have been +longing to see you, Lady Errington! I dare say you know your husband is +quite an old acquaintance of mine!" + +And a langourous glance, like fire seen through smoke, leaps from +beneath her silky eyelashes at Sir Philip--but he sees it not--he is +chatting and laughing gaily with Lorimer and Beau Lovelace. + +"Indeed, yes!" answers Thelma, in that soft low voice of hers, which had +such a thrilling richness within it--"and it is for that reason I am +very glad to meet you. It is always pleasant for me to know my husband's +friends." + +Here she raises those marvellous, innocent eyes of hers and smiles;--why +does Lady Winsleigh shrink from that frank and childlike openness of +regard? Why does she, for one brief moment, hate herself?--why does she +so suddenly feel herself to be vile and beneath contempt? God only +knows!--but the first genuine blush that has tinged her ladyship's cheek +for many a long day, suddenly spreads a hot and embarrassing tide of +crimson over the polished pallor of her satiny skin, and she says +hurriedly-- + +"I must find you some people to talk to. This is my dear friend, Mrs. +Rush-Marvelle--I am sure you will like each other. Let me introduce Mrs. +Van Clupp to you--Mrs. Van Clupp, and Miss Van Clupp!" + +The ladies bow stiffly while Thelma responds to their prim salutation +with easy grace. + +"Sir Francis Lennox"--continues Lady Winsleigh, and there is something +like a sneer in her smile, as that gentleman makes a deep and courtly +reverence, with an unmistakable look of admiration in his sleepy +tiger-brown eyes,--then she turns to Lord Winsleigh and adds in a casual +way, "My husband!" Lord Winsleigh advances rather eagerly--there is a +charm in the exquisite nobility of Thelma's face that touches his heart +and appeals to the chivalrous and poetical part of his nature. + +"Sir Philip and I have known each other for some years," he says, +pressing her little fair hand cordially. "It is a great pleasure for me +to see you to-night, Lady Errington--I realize how very much my friend +deserves to be congratulated on his marriage!" + +Thelma smiles. This little speech pleases her, but she does not accept +the compliment implied to herself. + +"You are very kind, Lord Winsleigh"--she answers; "I am glad indeed that +you like Philip. I do think with you that he deserves every one's good +wishes. It is my great desire to make him always happy." + +A brief shadow crosses Lord Winsleigh's thoughtful brow, and he studies +her sweet eyes attentively. Is she sincere? Does she mean what she says? +Or is she, like others of her sex, merely playing a graceful part? A +slight sigh escapes him,--absolute truth, innocent love, and stainless +purity are written in such fair, clear lines on that perfect countenance +that the mere idea of questioning her sincerity seems a sacrilege. + +"Your desire is gratified, I am sure," he returns, and his voice is +somewhat sad. "I never saw him looking so well. He seems in excellent +spirits." + +"Oh, for that!" and she laughs. "He is a very light-hearted boy! But +once he would tell me very dreadful things about the world--how it was +not at all worth living in--but I do think he must have been lonely. For +he is very pleased with everything now, and finds no fault at all!" + +"I can quite understand that!" and Lord Winsleigh smiles, though that +shadow of pain still rests on his brow. + +Mrs. Rush-Marvelle and the Van Clupps are listening to the conversation +with straining ears. What strange person is this? She does not talk bad +grammar, though her manner of expressing herself is somewhat quaint and +foreign. But she is babyish--perfectly babyish! The idea of any +well-bred woman condescending to sing the praises of her own husband in +public! Absurd! "Deserves every-one's good wishes!"--pooh! her "great +desire is to make him always happy!"--what utter rubbish!--and he is a +"light-hearted boy!" Good gracious!--what next? Marcia Van Clupp is +strongly inclined to giggle, and Mrs. Van Clupp is indignantly conscious +that the Errington diamonds far surpass her own, both for size and +lustre. + +At that moment Sir Philip approaches his wife, with George Lorimer and +Beau Lovelace. Thelma's smile at Lorimer is the greeting of an old +friend--a sun-bright glance that makes his heart beat a little quicker +than usual. He watches her as she turns to be introduced to +Lovelace,--while Miss Van Clupp, thinking of the relentless gift of +satire with which that brilliant writer is endowed, looks out for "some +fun"--for, as she confides in a low tone to Mrs. Marvelle--"she'll never +know how to talk to that man!" + +"Thelma," says Sir Philip, "this is the celebrated author, Beaufort +Lovelace,--you have often heard me speak of him." + +She extends both her hands, and her eyes deepen and flash. + +"Ah! you are one of those great men whom we all love and admire!" she +says, with direct frankness,--and the cynical Beau, who has never yet +received so sincere a compliment, feels himself coloring like a +school-girl. "I am so very proud to meet you! I have read your wonderful +book, 'Azaziel,' and it made me glad and sorry together. For why do you +draw a noble example and yet say at the same time that it is impossible +to follow it? Because in one breath you inspire us to be good, and yet +you tell us we shall never become so! That is not right,--is it?" + +Beau meets her questioning glance with a grave smile. + +"It is most likely entirely wrong from _your_ point of view, Lady +Errington," he said. "Some day we will talk over the matter. You shall +show me the error of my ways. Perhaps you will put life, and the +troublesome business of living, in quite a new light for me! You see, we +novelists have an unfortunate trick of looking at the worst or most +ludicrous side of everything--we can't help it! So many apparently lofty +and pathetic tragedies turn out, on close examination, to be the meanest +and most miserable of farces,--it's no good making them out to be grand +Greek poems when they are only base doggerel rhymes. Besides, it's the +fashion nowadays to be _chiffonniers_ in literature--to pick up the rags +of life and sort them in all their uncomeliness before the morbid eyes +of the public. What's the use of spending thought and care on the +manufacture of a jewelled diadem, and offering it to the people on a +velvet cushion, when they prefer an _olla-podrida_ of cast-off clothing, +dried bones and candle-ends? In brief, what would it avail to write as +grandly as Shakespeare or Scott, when society clamors for Zola and +others of his school?" + +There was a little group round them by this time,--men generally +collected wherever Beau Lovelace aired his opinions,--and a double +attraction drew them together now in the person of the lovely woman to +whom he was holding forth. + +Marcia Van Clupp stared mightily--surely the Norwegian peasant would not +understand Beau's similes,--for they were certainly incomprehensible to +Marcia. As for his last remark--why! she had read all Zola's novels in +the secrecy of her own room, and had gloated over them;--no words could +describe her intense admiration of books that were so indelicately +realistic! "He is jealous of other writers, I suppose," she thought; +"these literary people hate each other like poison." + +Meanwhile Thelma's blue eyes looked puzzled. "I do not know that name," +she said. "Zola!--what is he? He cannot be great. Shakespeare I +know,--he is the glory of the world, of course; I think him as noble as +Homer. Then for Walter Scott--I love all his beautiful stories--I have +read them many, many times, nearly as often as I have read Homer and the +Norse Sagas. And the world must surely love such writings--or how should +they last so long?" She laughed and shook her bright head archly. +"_Chiffonnier! Point du tout! Monsieur, les divines pensees que vous +avez donne au monde ne sont pas des chiffons._" + +Beau smiled again, and offered her his arm. "Let me find you a chair!" +he said. "It will be rather a difficult matter,--still I can but try. +You will be fatigued if you stand too long." And he moved through the +swaying crowd, with her little gloved hand resting lightly on his +coat-sleeve,--while Marcia Van Clupp and her mother exchanged looks of +wonder and dismay. The "fisherwoman" could speak French,--moreover, she +could speak it with a wonderfully soft and perfect accent,--the "person" +had studied Homer and Shakespeare, and was conversant with the best +literature,--and, bitterest sting of all, the "peasant" could give every +woman in the room a lesson in deportment, grace, and perfect taste in +dress. Every costume looked tawdry beside her richly flowing velvet +draperies--every low bodice became indecent compared with the modesty of +that small square opening at Thelma's white throat--an opening just +sufficient to display her collar of diamonds--and every figure seemed +either dumpy and awkward, too big or too fat, or too lean and too +lanky--when brought into contrast with her statuesque outlines. + +The die was cast,--the authority of Beau Lovelace was nearly supreme in +fashionable and artistic circles, and from the moment he was seen +devoting his attention to the "new beauty," excited whispers began to +flit from mouth to mouth,--"She will be the rage this season!"--"We must +ask her to come to us!"--"_Do_ ask Lady Winsleigh to introduce +us!"--"She _must_ come to _our_ house!" and so on. And Lady Winsleigh +was neither blind nor deaf--she saw and heard plainly enough that her +reign was over, and in her secret soul she was furious. The "common +farmer's daughter" was neither vulgar nor uneducated--and she was +surpassingly lovely--even Lady Winsleigh could not deny so plain and +absolute a fact. But her ladyship was a woman of the world, and she +perceived at once that Thelma was not. Philip had married a creature +with the bodily loveliness of a goddess and the innocent soul of a +child--and it was just that child-like, pure soul looking serenely out +of Thelma's eyes that had brought the long-forgotten blush of shame to +Clara Winsleigh's cheek. But that feeling of self-contempt soon +passed--she was no better and no worse than other women of her set, she +thought--after all, what had she to be ashamed of? Nothing, +except--except--perhaps, her "little affair" with "Lennie." A new +emotion now stirred her blood--one of malice and hatred, mingled with a +sense of outraged love and ungratified passion--for she still admired +Philip to a foolish excess. Her dark eyes flashed scornfully as she +noted the attitude of Sir Francis Lennox,--he was leaning against the +marble mantel-piece, stroking his moustache with one hand, absorbed in +watching Thelma, who, seated in an easy chair which Beau Lovelace had +found for her, was talking and laughing gaily with those immediately +around her, a group which increased in size every moment, and in which +the men were most predominant. + +"Fool!" muttered Lady Winsleigh to herself, apostrophizing "Lennie" in +this uncomplimentary manner. "Fool! I wonder if he thinks I care! He may +play hired lacquey to all the women in London if he likes! He looks a +prig compared to Philip!" + +And her gaze wandered,--Philip was standing by his wife, engaged in an +animated conversation with Lord Winsleigh. They were all near the grand +piano--and Lady Clara, smoothing her vexed brow, swept her ruby velvets +gracefully up to that quarter of the room. Before she could speak, the +celebrated Herr Machtenklinken confronted her with some sternness. + +"Your ladyshib vill do me ze kindness to remember," he said, loftily, +"zat I am here to blay! Zere has been no obbortunity--ze biano could not +make itself to be heard in zis fery moch noise. It is bossible your +ladyshib shall require not ze music zis efening? In zat case I shall +take my fery goot leave." + +Lady Winsleigh raised her eyes with much superciliousness. + +"As you please," she said coolly. "If _you_ are so indifferent to your +advantages--then all I can say is, so am I! You are, perhaps, known on +the Continent, Herr Machtenklinken,--but not here--and I think you ought +to be more grateful for my influence." + +So saying, she passed on, leaving the luckless pianist in a state of the +greatest indignation. + +"_Gott in Himmel!_" he gasped, in a sort of infuriated sotto voce. "Ze +Emberor himself would not have speak to me so! I come here as a +favor--her ladyshib do not offer me one _pfenning_,--ach! ze music is +not for such beoble! I shall brefer to blay to bigs! Zere is no art in +zis country!--" + +And he began to make his way out of the room, when he was overtaken by +Beau Lovelace, who had followed him in haste. + +"Where are you off to, Hermann?" he asked good-naturedly. "We want you +to play. There is a lady here who heard you in Paris quite recently--she +admires you immensely. Won't you come and be introduced to her?" + +Herr Machtenklinken paused, and a smile softened his hitherto angry +countenance. + +"You are fery goot, Mr. Lofelace," he remarked--"and I would do moch for +_you_--but her ladyshib understands me not--she has offend me--it is +better I should take my leave." + +"Oh, bother her ladyship!" said Beau lightly. "Come along, and give us +something in your best style." + +So saying, he led the half-reluctant artist back to the piano, where he +was introduced to Thelma, who gave him so sweet a smile that he was +fairly dazzled. + +"It is you who play Schumann so beautifully," she said. "My husband and +I heard you at one of Lamoureux's concerts in Paris. I fear," and she +looked wistfully at him, "that you would think it very rude and selfish +of me if I asked you to play just one little piece? Because, of course, +you are here to enjoy yourself, and talk to your friends, and it seems +unkind to take you away from them!" + +A strange moisture dimmed the poor German's eyes. This was the first +time in England that the "celebrate" had been treated as a friend and a +gentleman. Up to this moment, at all the "at homes" and "assemblies," he +had not been considered as a guest at all,--he was an "artist," "a good +pianist,"--"a man who had played before the Emperor of Germany"--and he +was expected to perform for nothing, and be grateful for the "influence" +exercised on his behalf--influence which as yet had not put one single +extra guinea in his pocket. Now, here was a great lady almost +apologizing for asking him to play, lest it should take him away from +his "friends"! His heart swelled with emotion and gratitude--the poor +fellow had no "friends" in London, except Beau Lovelace, who was kind to +him, but who had no power in the musical world,--and, as Thelma's gentle +voice addressed him, he could have knelt and kissed her little shoe for +her sweet courtesy and kindness. + +"Miladi," he said, with a profound reverence, "I will blay for you with +bleasure,--it will be a joy for ze music to make itself beautiful for +you!" + +And with this fantastic attempt at a compliment, he seated himself at +the instrument and struck a crashing chord to command silence. + +The hum of conversation grew louder than ever--and to Thelma's surprise +Lady Winsleigh seated herself by her and began to converse. Herr +Machtenklinken struck another chord,--in vain! The deafening clamor of +tongues continued, and Lady Winsleigh asked Thelma with much seeming +interest if the scenery was very romantic in Norway? + +The girl colored deeply, and after a little hesitation, said-- + +"Excuse me,--I would rather not speak till the music is over. It is +impossible for a great musician to think his thoughts out properly +unless there is silence. Would it not be better to ask every one to +leave off talking while this gentleman plays?" + +Clara Winsleigh looked amused. "My dear, you don't know them," she said +carelessly. "They would think me mad to propose such a thing! There are +always a few who listen." + +Once more the pianist poised his hands over the keys of the +instrument,--Thelma looked a little troubled and grieved. Beau Lovelace +saw it, and acting on a sudden impulse, turned towards the chattering +crowds, and, holding up his hand, called, "Silence, please!" + +There was an astonished hush. Beau laughed. "We want to hear some +music," he said, with the utmost coolness. "Conversation can be +continued afterwards." He then nodded cheerfully towards Herr +Machtenklinken, who, inspired by this open encouragement, started off +like a race-horse into one of the exquisite rambling preludes of Chopin. +Gradually, as he played, his plain face took upon itself a noble, +thoughtful, rapt expression,--his wild eyes softened,--his furrowed, +frowning brow smoothed,--and, meeting the grave, rare blue eyes of +Thelma, he smiled. His touch grew more and more delicate and +tender--from the prelude he wandered into a nocturne of plaintive and +exceeding melancholy, which he played with thrilling and exquisite +pathos--anon, he glided into one of those dreamily joyous yet sorrowful +mazurkas, that remind one of bright flowers growing in wild luxuriance +over lonely and forsaken graves. The "celebrate" had reason to boast of +himself--he was a perfect master of the instrument,--and as his fingers +closed on the final chord, a hearty burst of applause rewarded his +efforts, led by Lovelace and Lorimer. He responded by the usual +bow,--but his real gratitude was all for Thelma. For her he had played +his best--and he had seen tears in her lovely eyes. He felt as proud of +her appreciation as of the ring he had received from the Tsar,--and bent +low over the fair hand she extended to him. + +"You must be very happy," she said, "to feel all those lovely sounds in +your heart! I hope I shall see and hear you again some day,--I thank you +so very much for the pleasure you have given me!" + +Lady Winsleigh said nothing--and she listened to Thelma's words with a +sort of contempt. + +"Is the girl half-witted?" she thought. "She must be, or she would not +be so absurdly enthusiastic! The man plays well,--but it is his +profession to play well--it's no good praising these sort of +people,--they are never grateful, and they always impose upon you." +Aloud she asked Sir Philip-- + +"Does Lady Errington play?" + +"A little," he answered. "She sings." + +At once there was a chorus of inanely polite voices round the piano, +"Oh, _do_ sing, Lady Errington! Please, give us one song!" and Sir +Francis Lennox, sauntering up, fixed his languorous gaze on Thelma's +face, murmuring, "You will not be so cruel as to refuse us such +delight?" + +"But, of course not!" answered the girl, greatly surprised at all these +unnecessary entreaties. "I am always pleased to sing." And she drew off +her long loose gloves and seated herself at the piano without the least +affectation of reluctance. Then, glancing at her husband with a bright +smile, she asked, "What song do you think will be best, Philip?" + +"One of those old Norse mountain-songs," he answered. + +She played a soft minor prelude--there was not a sound in the room +now--everybody pressed towards the piano, staring with a curious +fascination at her beautiful face and diamond-crowned hair. One +moment--and her voice, in all its passionate, glorious fullness, rang +out with a fresh vibrating tone that thrilled to the very heart--and the +foolish crowd that gaped and listened was speechless, motionless, +astonished, and bewildered. + +A Norse mountain-song was it? How strange, and grand, and wild! George +Lorimer stood apart--his eyes ached with restrained tears. He knew the +melody well--and up before him rose the dear solemnity of the Altenguard +hills, the glittering expanse of the Fjord, the dear old farmhouse +behind its cluster of pines. Again he saw Thelma as he had seen her +first--clad in her plain white gown, spinning in the dark embrasure of +the rose-wreathed window--again the words of the self-destroyed Sigurd +came back to his recollection, "Good things may come for others--but for +you the heavens are empty!" He looked at her now,--Philip's wife--in all +the splendor of her rich attire;--she was lovelier than ever, and her +sweet nature was as yet unspoilt by all the wealth and luxury around +her. + +"Good God! what an _inferno_ she has come into!" he thought vaguely. +"How will she stand these people when she gets to know them? The Van +Clupps, the Rush-Marvelles, and others like them,--and as for Clara +Winsleigh--" He turned to study her ladyship attentively. She was +sitting quite close to the piano--her eyes were cast down, but the +rubies on her bosom heaved quickly and restlessly, and she furled and +unfurled her fan impatiently. "I shouldn't wonder," he went on +meditating gravely, "if she doesn't try and make some mischief somehow. +She looks it." + +At that moment Thelma ceased singing, and the room rang with applause. +Herr Machtenklinken was overcome with admiration. + +"It is a voice of heaven!" he said in a rapture. + +The fair singer was surrounded with people. + +"I hope," said Mrs. Van Clupp, with her usual ill-bred eagerness to +ingratiate herself with the titled and wealthy, "I hope you will come +and see me, Lady Errington? I am at home every Friday evening to my +friends." + +"Oh yes," said Thelma, simply. "But I am not your friend yet! When we do +know each other better I will come. We shall meet each other many times +first,--and then you will see if you like me to be your friend. Is it +not so?" + +A scarcely concealed smile reflected itself on the faces of all who +heard this naive, but indefinite acceptance of Mrs. Van Clupp's +invitation, while Mrs. Van Clupp herself was somewhat mortified, and +knew not what to answer. This Norwegian girl was evidently quite +ignorant of the usages of polite society, or she would at once have +recognized the fact that an "at home" had nothing whatsoever to do with +the obligations of friendship--besides, as far as friendship was +concerned, had not Mrs. Van Clupp tabooed several of her own +blood-relations and former intimate acquaintances? . . . for the very +sensible reason that while she had grown richer, they had grown poorer. +But now Mrs. Rush-Marvelle sailed up in all her glory, with her +good-natured smile and matronly air. She was a privileged person, and +she put her arm round Thelma's waist. + +"You must come to me, my dear," she said with real kindness--her +motherly heart had warmed to the girl's beauty and innocence,--"I knew +Philip when he was quite a boy. He will tell you what a dreadfully old +woman I am! You must try to like me for his sake." + +Thelma smiled radiantly. "I always wish to like Philip's friends," she +said frankly. "I do hope I shall please you!" + +A pang of remorse smote Mrs. Rush-Marvelle's heart as she remembered how +loth she had been to meet Philip's "peasant" wife,--she +hesitated,--then, yielding to her warm impulse, drew the girl closer and +kissed her fair rose-tinted cheek. + +"You please everybody, my child," she said honestly. "Philip is a lucky +man! Now I'll say good night, for it is getting late,--I'll write to you +to-morrow and fix a day for you to come and lunch with me." + +"But you must also come and see Philip," returned Thelma, pressing her +hand. + +"So I will--so I will!" and Mrs. Rush-Marvelle nodded beamingly, and +made her way up to Lady Winsleigh, saying, "Bye-bye, Clara! Thanks for a +most charming evening!" + +Clara pouted. "Going already, Mimsey?" she queried,--then, in a lower +tone, she said, "Well! what do you think of her?" + +"A beautiful child--no more!" answered Mrs. Marvelle,--then, studying +with some gravity the brilliant brunette face before her, she added in a +whisper, "Leave her alone, Clara,--don't make her miserable! You know +what I mean! It wouldn't take much to break her heart." + +Clara laughed harshly and played with her fan. + +"Dear me, Mimsey! . . . you are perfectly outrageous! Do you think I'm an +ogress ready to eat her up? On the contrary, I mean to be a friend to +her." + +Mrs. Marvelle still looked grave. + +"I'm glad to hear it," she said; "only some friends are worse than +declared enemies." + +Lady Winsleigh shrugged her shoulders. + +"Go along, Mimsey,--go home to bed!" she exclaimed impatiently. "You are +_insense_! I hate sentimental philosophy and copy-book platitudes!" She +laughed again and folded her hands with an air of mock penitence, +"There! I didn't mean to be rude! Good-night, dear old darling!" + +"Good-night, Clara!" and Mrs. Marvelle, summoning her timid husband from +some far corner, where he had remained in hiding, took her departure +with much stateliness. + +A great many people were going down to supper by this time, but Sir +Philip was tired of the heat and glare and noise, and whispered as much +to Thelma, who at once advanced to bid her hostess farewell. + +"Won't you have some supper?" inquired her ladyship. "Don't go yet!" + +But Thelma was determined not to detain her husband a moment longer than +he wished--so Lady Winsleigh, seeing remonstrances were of no avail, +bade them both an effusive good-night. + +"We must see a great deal of each other!" she said, pressing Thelma's +hands warmly in her own: "I hope we shall be quite dear friends!" + +"Thank you!" said Thelma, "I do hope so too, if you wish it so much. +Good-night, Lord Winsleigh!" + +"Let me escort you to your carriage," said her noble host, at once +offering her his arm. + +"And allow me to follow," added Beau Lovelace, slipping his arm through +Errington's, to whom he whispered, "How dare you, sir! How dare you be +such a provokingly happy man in this miserable old world?" Errington +laughed--and the little group had just reached the door of the +drawing-room when Thelma suddenly turned with a look of inquiry in her +eyes. + +"Where is Mr. Lorimer?" she said. "I have forgotten to say good-night to +him, Philip." + +"Here I am, Lady Errington," and Lorimer sauntered forward with rather a +forced smile,--a smile which altogether vanished, leaving his face +strangely pale, as she stretched out her hand to him, and said +laughingly-- + +"You bad Mr. Lorimer! Where were you? You know it would make me quite +unhappy not to wish you good-night. Ah, you are a very naughty brother!" + +"Come home with us, George," said Sir Philip eagerly. "Do, there's a +good fellow!" + +"I can't, Phil!" answered Lorimer, almost pathetically. "I can't +to-night--indeed, I can't! Don't ask me!" And he wrung his friend's hand +hard,--and then bravely met Thelma's bright glance. + +"Forgive me!" he said to her. "I know I ought to have presented myself +before--I'm a dreadfully lazy fellow, you know! Good-night!" + +Thelma regarded him steadfastly. + +"You look,--what is it you call yourself sometimes--_seedy_?" she +observed. "Not well at all. Mind you come to us to-morrow!" + +He promised--and then accompanied them down to their carriage--he and +Beau Lovelace assisting to cover Thelma with her fur cloak, and being +the last to shake hands with Sir Philip as he sprang in beside his wife, +and called to the coachman "Home!" The magic word seemed to effect the +horses, for they started at a brisk trot, and within a couple of minutes +the carriage was out of sight. It was a warm star-lit evening,--and as +Lorimer and Lovelace re-entered Winsleigh House, Beau stole a +side-glance at his silent companion. + +"A plucky fellow!" he mused; "I should say he'd die game. Tortures won't +wring his secret out of him." Aloud he said, "I say, haven't we had +enough of this? Don't let us sup here--nothing but unsubstantial pastry +and claretcup--the latter abominable mixture would kill me. Come on to +the Club, will you?" + +Lorimer gladly assented--they got their over-coats from the officious +Briggs, tipped him handsomely, and departed arm in arm. The last glimpse +they caught of the Winsleigh festivities was Marcia Van Clupp sitting on +the stairs, polishing off with much gusto the wing and half-breast of a +capon,--while the mild Lord Masherville stood on the step just above +her, consoling his appetite with a spoonful of tepid yellow jelly. He +had not been able to secure any capon for himself--he had been +frightened away by the warning cry of "Ladies first!" shouted forth by a +fat gentleman, who was on guard at the head of the supper-table, and who +had already secreted five plates of different edibles for his own +consumption, in a neat corner behind the window-curtains. Meanwhile, Sir +Philip Bruce-Errington, proud, happy, and triumphant, drew his wife into +a close embrace as they drove home together, and said, "You were the +queen of the evening, my Thelma! Have you enjoyed yourself?" + +"Oh, I do not call that enjoyment!" she declared. "How is it possible to +enjoy anything among so many strangers?" + +"Well, what is it?" he asked laughingly. + +She laughed also. "I do not know indeed what it is!" she said. "I have +never been to anything like it before. It did seem to me as if all the +people were on show for some reason or other. And the gentlemen did look +very tired--there was nothing for them to do. Even you, my boy! You made +several very big yawns! Did you know that?" + +Philip laughed more than ever. "I didn't know it, my pet!" he answered; +"but I'm not surprised. Big yawns are the invariable result of an 'at +home.' Do you like Beau Lovelace?" + +"Very much," she answered readily. "But, Philip, I should not like to +have so many friends as Lady Winsleigh. I thought friends were rare?" + +"So they are! She doesn't care for these people a bit. They are mere +acquaintances." + +"Whom does she care for then?" asked Thelma suddenly. "Of course I mean +after her husband. Naturally she loves him best." + +"Naturally," and Philip paused, adding, "she has her son--Ernest--he's a +fine bright boy--he was not there to-night. You must see him some day. +Then I think her favorite friend is Mrs. Rush-Marvelle." + +"I do like that lady too," said Thelma. "She spoke very kindly to me and +kissed me." + +"Did she really!" and Philip smiled. "I think she was more to be +congratulated on taking the kiss than you in receiving it! But she's not +a bad old soul,--only a little too fond of money. But, Thelma, whom do +_you_ care for most? You did tell me once, but I forget!" + +She turned her lovely face and star-like eyes upon him, and, meeting his +laughing look, she smiled. + +"How often must I tell you!" she murmured softly. "I do think you will +never tire of hearing! You know that it is you for whom I care most, and +that all the world would be empty to me without you! Oh, my husband--my +darling! do not make me try to tell you how much I love you! I +cannot--my heart is too full!" + +The rest of their drive homeward was very quiet--there are times when +silence is more eloquent than speech. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + "A small cloud, so slight as to be a mere speck on the fair blue + sky, was all the warning we received."--PLINY. + + +After that evening great changes came into Thelma's before peaceful +life. She had conquered her enemies, or so it seemed,--society threw +down all its barricades and rushed to meet her with open arms. +Invitations crowded upon her,--often she grew tired and bewildered in +the multiplicity of them all. London life wearied her,--she preferred +the embowered seclusion of Errington Manor, the dear old house in +green-wooded Warwickshire. But the "season" claimed her,--its frothy +gaieties were deemed incomplete without her--no "at home" was considered +quite "the" thing unless she was present. She became the centre of a +large and ever-widening social circle,--painters, poets, novelists, wits +savants, and celebrities of high distinction crowded her rooms, striving +to entertain her as well as themselves with that inane small talk and +gossip too often practiced by the wisest among us,--and thus surrounded, +she began to learn many puzzling and painful things of which in her old +Norwegian life, she had been happily ignorant. + +For instance, she had once imagined that all the men and women of +culture who followed the higher professions must perforce be a sort of +"Joyous Fraternity," superior to other mortals not so gifted,--and, +under this erroneous impression, she was at first eager to know some of +the so-called "great" people who had distinguished themselves in +literature or the fine arts. She had fancied that they must of necessity +be all refined, sympathetic, large-hearted, and noble-minded--alas! how +grievously was she disappointed! She found, to her sorrow, that the tree +of modern Art bore but few wholesome roses and many cankered buds--that +the "Joyous Fraternity" were not joyous at all--but, on the contrary, +inclined to dyspepsia and discontentment. She found that even poets, +whom she had fondly deemed were the angel-guides among the children of +this earth,--were most of them painfully conceited, selfish in aim and +limited in thought,--moreover, that they were often so empty of all true +inspiration, that they were actually able to hate and envy one another +with a sort of womanish spite and temper,--that novelists, professing to +be in sympathy with the heart of humanity, were no sooner brought into +contact one with another, than they plainly showed by look, voice, and +manner, the contempt they entertained for each other's work,--that men +of science were never so happy as when trying to upset each other's +theories;--that men of religious combativeness were always on the alert +to destroy each other's creeds,--and that, in short, there was a very +general tendency to mean jealousies, miserable heart-burnings and utter +weariness all round. + +On one occasion, she, in the sweetest simplicity, invited two lady +authoresses of note to meet at one of her "at homes,". . . she welcomed +both the masculine-looking ladies with a radiant smile, and introduced +them, saying gently,--"You will be so pleased to know each other!" But +the stony stare, stiff nod, portentous sniff, and scornful smile with +which these two eminent females exchanged cold greetings, were enough to +daunt the most sympathetic hostess that ever lived--and when they at +once retired to different corners of the room and sat apart with their +backs turned to one another for the remainder of the evening, their +attitude was so uncompromising that it was no wonder the gentle Thelma +felt quite dismayed and wretched at the utter failure of the +_rencontre_. + +"They would _not_ be sociable!" she afterwards complained to Lady +Winsleigh. "They _tried_ to be as rude to each other as they could!" + +Lady Winsleigh laughed. "Of course!" she said. "What else _did_ you +expect! But if you want some fun, ask a young, pretty, and brilliant +authoress (there are a few such) to meet an old, ugly and dowdy one (and +there are many such), and watch the dowdy one's face! It will be a +delicious study of expression, I assure you!" + +But Thelma would not try this delicate experiment,--in fact, she began +rather to avoid literary people, with the exception of Beau Lovelace. +His was a genial, sympathetic nature, and, moreover, he had a winning +charm of manner which few could resist. He was not a bookworm,--he was +not, strictly speaking, a literary man,--and he was entirely indifferent +to public praise or blame. He was, as he himself expressed it, "a +servant and worshipper of literature," and there is a wide gulf of +difference between one who serves literature for its own sake and one +who uses it basely as a tool to serve himself. + +But in all her new and varied experiences, perhaps Thelma was most +completely bewildered by the women she met. Her simple Norse beliefs in +the purity and gentleness of womanhood were startled and outraged,--she +could not understand London ladies at all. Some of them seemed to have +no idea beyond dress and show,--others looked upon their husbands, the +lawful protectors of their name and fame, with easy indifference, as +though they were mere bits of household furniture,--others, having +nothing better to do, "went in" for spiritualism,--the low spiritualism +that manifests itself in the turning of tables and moving of +side-boards--not the higher spiritualism of an improved, perfected, and +saint-like way of life--and these argued wildly on the theory of matter +passing through matter, to the extent of declaring themselves able to +send a letter or box through the wall without making a hole in it,--and +this with such obstinate gravity as made Thelma fear for their reason. +Then there were the women-atheists,--creatures who had voluntarily +crushed all the sweetness of the sex within them--foolish human flowers +without fragrance, that persistently turned away their faces from the +sunlight and denied its existence, preferring to wither, profitless, on +the dry stalk of their own theory;--there were the "platform-women," +unnatural products of an unnatural age,--there were the great ladies of +the aristocracy who turned with scorn from a case of real necessity, and +yet spent hundreds of pounds on private theatricals wherein they might +have the chance of displaying themselves in extravagant costumes,--and +there were the "professional" beauties, who, if suddenly deprived of +elegant attire and face-cosmetics, turned out to be no beauties at all, +but very ordinary, unintelligent persons. + +"What is the exact meaning of the term, 'professional beauty'?" Thelma +had asked Beau Lovelace on one occasion. "I suppose it is some very poor +beautiful woman, who takes money for showing herself to the public, and +having her portraits sold in the shops? And who is it that pays her?" + +Lovelace broke into a laugh. "Upon my word, Lady Errington,--you have +put the matter in a most original but indubitably correct light! Who +pays the 'professional beauty,' you ask? Well, in the case of Mrs. +Smith-Gresham, whom you met the other day, it is a certain Duke who pays +her to the tune of several thousands a year. When he gets tired of her, +or she of him, she'll find somebody else--or perhaps she'll go on the +stage and swell the list of bad amateurs. She'll get on somehow, as long +as she can find a fool ready to settle her dressmaker's bill." + +"I do not understand!" said Thelma,--and her fair brows drew together in +that pained grave look that was becoming rather frequent with her now. + +And she began to ask fewer questions concerning the various strange +phases of social life that puzzled her,--why, for instance, religious +theorists made so little practical use of their theories,--why there +were cloudy-eyed eccentrics who admired the faulty drawing of Watts, and +the common-place sentence-writing of Walt Whitman,--why members of +Parliament talked so much and did so little,--why new poets, however +nobly inspired, were never accepted unless they had influential friends +on the press,--why painters always married their models or their cooks, +and got heartily ashamed of them afterwards,--and why people all round +said so many things they did not mean. And confused by the general +insincerity, she clung,--poor child!--to Lady Winsleigh, who had the +tact to seem what she was not,--and the cleverness to probe into +Thelma's nature and find out how translucently clear and pure it was--a +perfect well of sweet water, into which one drop of poison, or better +still, several drops, gradually and insidiously instilled, might in time +taint its flavor and darken its brightness. For if a woman have an +innocent, unsuspecting soul as delicate as the curled cup of a Nile +lily, the more easily will it droop and wither in the heated grasp of a +careless, cruel hand. And to this flower-crushing task Lady Winsleigh +set herself,--partly for malice pretense against Errington, whose +coldness to herself in past days had wounded her vanity, and partly for +private jealousy of Thelma's beauty and attractiveness. + +Within a short time she had completely won the girl's confidence and +affection,--Sir Philip, forgetting his former suspicions of her, was +touched and disarmed by the attachment and admiration she openly +displayed towards his young wife,--she and Thelma were constantly seen +together, and Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, far-sighted as she generally was, +often sighed doubtfully and rubbed her nose in perplexity as she +confessed she "couldn't quite understand Clara." But Mrs. Rush-Marvelle +had her hands full of other matters,--she was aiding and abetting Marcia +Van Clupp to set traps for that mild mouse Lord Masherville,--and she +was too much absorbed in this difficult and delicate business to attend +to anything else just then. Otherwise, it is possible she might have +scented danger for Thelma's peace of mind, and being good-natured, might +have warded it off before it approached too closely,--but, like +policeman who are never within call when wanted, so friends are seldom +at hand when their influence might be of real benefit. + +The Van Clupps were people Thelma could not get on with at all--she +tried to do so because Mrs. Rush-Marvelle had assured her they were +"charming"--and she liked Mrs. Marvelle sufficiently well to be willing +to please her. But, in truth, these rich and vulgar Yankees seemed to +her mind less to be esteemed than the peasants of the Altenfjord, who in +many instances possessed finer tact and breeding than old Van Clupp, the +man of many dollars, whose father had been nothing but a low navvy, but +of whom he spoke now with smirking pride as a real descendant of the +Pilgrim Fathers. An odd thing it is, by the way, how fond some Americans +are of tracing back their ancestry to these virtuous old gentlemen! The +Van Clupps were of course not the best types of their country--they were +of that class who, because they have money, measure everything by the +money-standard, and hold even a noble poverty in utter contempt. Poor +Van Clupp! It was sometimes pitiable to see him trying to be a +gentleman--"going in" for "style"--to an excess that was +ludicrous,--cramming his house with expensive furniture like an +upholsterer's show-room,--drinking his tea out of pure Sevres, with a +lofty ignorance of its beauty and value,--dressing his wife and daughter +like shilling fashion-plates, and having his portrait taken in precisely +the same attitude as that assumed by the Duke of Wrigglesbury when his +Grace sat to the same photographer! It was delicious to hear him +bragging of his pilgrim ancestor,--while in the same breath he would +blandly sneer at certain "poor gentry" who could trace back their +lineage to Coeur de Lion! But because the Erringtons were rich as well +as titled persons, Van Clupp and his belongings bent the servile knee +before them, flattering Thelma with that ill-judged eagerness and +zealous persistency which distinguish inborn vulgarity, and which, far +from pleasing her, annoyed and embarrassed her because she could not +respond sincerely to such attentions. + +There were many others too, not dollar-crusted Americans, whose +excessive adulation and ceaseless compliment vexed the sincere, frank +spirit of the girl,--a spirit fresh and pure as the wind blowing over +her own Norse mountains. One of these was Sir Francis Lennox, that +fashionable young man of leisure,--and she had for him an instinctive, +though quite unreasonable aversion. He was courtesy itself--he spared no +pains to please her. Yet she felt as if his basilisk brown eyes were +always upon her,--he seemed to be ever at hand, ready to watch over her +in trifles, such as the passing of a cup of tea, the offering of her +wrap,--the finding of a chair,--the holding of a fan,--he was always on +the alert, like a remarkably well-trained upper servant. She could not, +without rudeness, reject such unobtrusive, humble services,--and +yet--they rendered her uncomfortable, though she did not quite know why. +She ventured to mention her feeling concerning him to her friend Lady +Winsleigh, who heard her timid remarks with a look on her face that was +not quite pleasant. + +"Poor Sir Francis!" her ladyship said with a slight, mocking laugh. +"He's never happy unless he plays puppy-dog! Don't mind him, Thelma! He +won't bite, I assure you,--he means no harm. It's only his little way of +making himself agreeable!" + +George Lorimer, during this particular "London season," fled the field +of action, and went to Paris to stay with Pierre Duprez. He felt that it +was dangerous to confront the fair enemy too often, for he knew in his +own honest heart that his passion for Thelma increased each time he saw +her--so, he avoided her. She missed him very much from her circle of +intimates, and often went to see his mother, Mrs. Lorimer, one of the +sweetest old ladies in the world,--who had at once guessed her son's +secret, but, like a prudent dame, kept it to herself. There were few +young women as pretty and charming as old Mrs. Lorimer, with her +snow-white parted hair and mild blue eyes, and voice as cheery as the +note of a thrush in spring-time. After Lady Winsleigh, Thelma liked her +best of all her new friends, and was fond of visiting her quiet little +house in Kensington,--for it was very quiet, and seemed like a sheltered +haven of rest from the great rush of frivolity and folly in which the +fashionable world delighted. + +And Thelma was often now in need of rest. As the season drew towards its +close, she found herself strangely tired and dispirited. The life she +was compelled to lead was all unsuited to her nature--it was artificial +and constrained,--and she was often unhappy. Why? Why, indeed! She did +her best,--but she made enemies everywhere. Again, why? Because she had +a most pernicious,--most unpleasant habit of telling the truth. Like +Socrates, she seemed to say--"If any man should appear to me not to +possess virtue, but to pretend that he does, I shall reproach him." This +she expressed silently in face, voice, and manner,--and, like Socrates, +she might have added that she went about "perceiving, indeed, and +grieving and alarmed that she was making herself odious." For she +discovered, by degrees, that many people looked strangely upon her--that +others seemed afraid of her--and she continually heard that she was +considered "eccentric." So she became more reserved--even cold,--she was +content to let others argue about trifles, and air their whims and +follies without offering an opinion on any side. + +And by-and-by the first shadow began to sweep over the fairness of her +married life. It happened at a time when she and her husband were not +quite so much together,--society and its various claims had naturally +separated them a little, but now a question of political ambition +separated them still more. Some well-intentioned friends had persuaded +Sir Philip to stand for Parliament--and this idea no sooner entered his +head, than he decided with impulsive ardor that he had been too long +without a "career,"--and a "career" he must have in order to win +distinction for his wife's sake. Therefore, summoning his secretary, +Neville to his aid, he plunged headlong into the seething, turgid waters +of English politics, and shut himself up in his library day after day, +studying blue-books, writing and answering letters, and drawing up +addresses,--and with the general proneness of the masculine mind to +attend to one thing only at a time, he grew so absorbed in his work that +his love for Thelma, though all unchanged and deep as ever, fell +slightly into the background of his thoughts. Not that he neglected +her,--he simply concerned himself more with other things. So it happened +that a certain indefinable sense of loss weighed upon her,--a vague, +uncomprehended solitude began to encompass her,--a solitude even more +keenly felt when she was surrounded by friends than when she was quite +alone,--and as the sweet English June drew to its end, she grew languid +and listless, and her blue eyes often filled with sudden tears. Her +little watch-dog, Britta, began to notice this, and to wonder concerning +the reason of her mistress's altered looks. + +"It is this dreadful London," thought Britta. "So hot and +stifling--there's no fresh air for her. And all this going about to +balls and parties and shows--no wonder she is tired out!" + +But it was something more than mere fatigue that made Thelma's eyes look +sometimes so anxious, so gravely meditative and earnest. One day she +seemed so much abstracted and lost in painful musings that Britta's +loving heart ached, and she watched her for some moments without +venturing to say a word. At last she spoke out bravely-- + +"Froeken!"--she paused,--Thelma seemed not to hear her. "Froeken!--has +anything vexed or grieved you today?" + +Thelma started nervously. "Vexed me--grieved me?" she repeated. "No, +Britta--why do you ask?" + +"You look very tired, dear Froeken," continued Britta gently. "You are +not as bright as you were when we first came to London." + +Thelma's lips quivered. "I--I am not well, Britta," she murmured, and +suddenly her self-control gave way, and she broke into tears. In an +instant Britta was kneeling by her, coaxing and caressing her, and +calling her by every endearing name she could think of, while she wisely +forbore from asking any more questions. Presently her sobs grew +calmer,--she rested her fair head against Britta's shoulder and smiled +faintly. At that moment a light tap was heard outside, and a voice +called-- + +"Thelma! Are you there?" + +Britta opened the door, and Sir Philip entered hurriedly and +smiling--but stopped short to survey his wife in dismay. + +"Why, my darling!" he exclaimed distressfully. "Have you been crying?" + +Here the discreet Britta retired. + +Thelma sprang to her husband and nestled in his arms. + +"Philip, do not mind it," she murmured. "I felt a little sad--it is +nothing! But tell me--you _do_ love me? You will never tire of me? You +have always loved me, I am sure?" + +He raised her face gently with one hand, and looked at her in surprise. + +"Thelma--what strange questions from _you_! Love you? Is not every beat +of my heart for you? Are you not my life, my joy--my everything in this +world?" And he pressed her passionately in his arms and kissed her. + +"You have never loved any one else so much?" she whispered, half +abashed. + +"Never!" he answered readily. "What makes you ask such a thing?" + +She was silent. He looked down at her flushing cheeks and tear-wet +lashes attentively. + +"You are fanciful to-day, my pet," he said at last. "You've been tiring +yourself too much. You must rest. You'd better not go to the Brilliant +Theatre to-night--it's only a burlesque, and is sure to be vulgar and +noisy. We'll stop at home and spend a quiet evening together--shall we?" + +She raised her eyes half wistfully and smiled. "I should like that very, +very much, Philip!" she murmured; "but you know we did promise Clara to +go with her to-night. And as we are so soon to leave London and return +to Warwickshire, I should not like to disappoint her." + +"You are very fond of Clara?" he asked suddenly. + +"Very!" She paused and sighed slightly. "She is so kind and clever--much +more clever than I can ever be--and she knows many things about the +world which I do not. And she admires you so much, Philip!" + +"Does she indeed?" Philip laughed and colored a little. "Very good of +her, I'm sure! And so you'd really like to go to the Brilliant to-night?" + +"I think so," she said hesitatingly. "Clara says it will be very +amusing. And you must remember how much I enjoyed 'Faust' and 'Hamlet.'" + +Errington smiled. "You'll find the Brilliant performance very different +to either," he said amusedly. "You don't know what a burlesque is like!" + +"Then I must be instructed," replied Thelma, smiling also, "I need to +learn many things. I am very ignorant!" + +"Ignorant!" and he swept aside with a caressing touch the clustering +hair from her broad, noble brow. "My darling, you possess the greatest +wisdom--the wisdom of innocence. I would not change it for all the +learning of the sagest philosophers!" + +"You really mean that?" she asked half timidly. + +"I really mean that!" he answered fondly. "Little sceptic! As if I would +ever say anything to you that I did _not_ mean! I shall be glad when +we're out of London and back at the Manor--then I shall have you all to +myself again--for a time, at least." + +She raised her eyes full of sudden joy,--all traces of her former +depression had disappeared. + +"And _I_ shall have _you_!" she said gladly. "And we shall not +disappoint Lady Winsleigh to-night, Philip--I am not tired--and I shall +be pleased to go to the theatre." + +"All right!" responded Philip cheerfully. "So let it be! Only I don't +believe you'll like the piece,--though it certainly won't make you cry. +Yet I doubt if it will make you laugh, either. However, it will be a new +experience for you." + +And a new experience it decidedly was,--an experience, too, which +brought some strange and perplexing results to Thelma of which she never +dreamed. + +She went to the Brilliant, accompanied by Lady Winsleigh and her +husband,--Neville, the secretary, making the fourth in their box; and +during the first and second scene of the performance the stage effects +were so pretty and the dancing so graceful that she nearly forgot the +bewildered astonishment she had at first felt at the extreme scantiness +of apparel worn by the ladies of the ballet. They represented birds, +bees, butterflies, and the other winged denizens of the +forest-world,--and the _tout-ensemble_ was so fairy-like and brilliant +with swift movement, light, and color that the eye was too dazzled and +confused to note objectionable details. But in the third scene, when a +plump, athletic young woman leaped on the stage in the guise of a +humming-bird, with a feather tunic so short that it was a mere +waist-belt of extra width,--a flesh-colored bodice about three inches +high, and a pair of blue wings attached to her fat shoulders, Thelma +started and half rose from her seat in dismay, while a hot tide of color +crimsoned her cheeks. She looked nervously at her husband. + +"I do not think this is pleasant to see," she said in a low tone. "Would +it not be best to go away? I--I think I would rather be at home." + +Lady Winsleigh heard and smiled,--a little mocking smile. + +"Don't be silly, child!" she said. "If you leave the theatre just now +you'll have every one staring at you. That woman's an immense +favorite--she is the success of the piece. She's got more diamonds than +either you or I." + +Thelma regarded her friend with a sort of grave wonder,--but said +nothing in reply. If Lady Winsleigh liked the performance and wished to +remain, why--then politeness demanded that Thelma should not interfere +with her pleasure by taking an abrupt leave. So she resumed her seat, +but withdrew herself far behind the curtain of the box, in a corner +where the stage was almost invisible to her eyes. Her husband bent over +her and whispered-- + +"I'll take you home if you wish it, dear! only say the word." + +She shook her head. + +"Clara enjoys it!" she answered somewhat plaintively. "We must stay." + +Philip was about to address Lady Winsleigh on the subject, when suddenly +Neville touched him on the arm. + +"Can I speak to you alone for a moment, Sir Philip?" he said in a +strange, hoarse whisper. "Outside the box--away from the ladies--a +matter of importance!" + +He looked as if he were about to faint. He gasped rather than spoke +these words; his face was white as death, and his eyes had a confused +and bewildered stare. + +"Certainly!" answered Philip promptly, though not without an accent of +surprise,--and, excusing their absence briefly to his wife and Lady +Winsleigh, they left the box together. Meanwhile the well-fed +"Humming-Bird" was capering extravagantly before the footlights, +pointing her toe in the delighted face of the stalls and singing in a in +a loud, coarse voice the following refined ditty-- + + "Oh my ducky, oh my darling, oh my duck, duck, duck! + If you love me you must have a little pluck, pluck, pluck! + Come and put your arms around me, kiss me once, twice, thrice, + For kissing may be naughty, but, by Jingo! it is nice! + Once, twice, thrice! + Nice, nice, nice! + Bliss, bliss, bliss! + Kiss, kiss, kiss! + Kissing may be naughty, but it's nice!" + +There were several verses in this graceful poem, and each one was hailed +with enthusiastic applause. The "Humming-Bird" was triumphant, and when +her song was concluded she executed a startling _pas-seul_ full of +quaint and astonishing surprises, reaching her superbest climax, when +she backed off the stage on one portly leg,--kicking the other in +regular time to the orchestra. Lady Winsleigh laughed, and leaning +towards Thelma, who still sat in her retired corner, said with a show of +kindness-- + +"You dear little goose! You must get accustomed to this kind of +thing--it takes with the men immensely. Why, even your wonderful Philip +has gone down behind the scenes with Neville--you may be sure of that!" + +The startled, pitiful astonishment in the girl's face might have touched +a less callous heart than Lady Winsleigh's,--but her ladyship was +prepared for it and only smiled. + +"Gone behind the scenes! To see that dreadful woman!" exclaimed Thelma +in a low pained tone. "Oh no, Clara! He would not do such a thing. +Impossible!" + +"Well, my dear, then where is he? He has been gone quite ten minutes. +Look at the stalls--all the men are out of them! I tell you Violet Vere +draws everybody--of the male sex after her! At the end of all her +'scenes' she has a regular reception--for men only--of course! Ladies +not admitted!" And Clara Winsleigh laughed. "Don't look so shocked for +heaven's sake, Thelma,--you don't want your husband to be a regular +nincompoop! He must have his amusements as well as other people. I +believe you want him to be like a baby, tied to your apron-string! +You'll find that an awful mistake,--he'll get tired to death of you, +sweet little Griselda though you are!" + +Thelma's face grew very pale, and her hand closed more tightly on the +fan she held. + +"You have said that so very, very often lately, Clara!" she murmured. +"You seem so sure that he will get tired--that all men get tired. I do +not think you know Philip--he is not like any other person I have ever +met. And why should he go behind the scenes to such a person as Violet +Vere--" + +At that moment the box-door opened with a sharp click, and Errington +entered alone. He looked disturbed and anxious. + +"Neville is not well," he said abruptly, addressing his wife. "I've sent +him home. He wouldn't have been able to sit this thing out." And he +glanced half angrily towards the stage--the curtain had just gone up +again and displayed the wondrous Violet Vere still in her "humming-bird" +character, swinging on the branch of a tree and (after the example of +all humming-birds) smoking a cigar with brazen-faced tranquillity. + +"I am sorry he is ill," said Thelma gently. "That is why you were so +long away?" + +"Was I long?" returned Philip somewhat absently. "I didn't know it. I +went to ask a question behind the scenes." + +Lady Winsleigh coughed and glanced at Thelma, whose eyes dropped +instantly. + +"I suppose you saw Violet Vere?" asked Clara. + +"Yes, I saw her," he replied briefly. He seemed irritable and +vexed--moreover, decidedly impatient. Presently he said-- + +"Lady Winsleigh, would you mind very much if we left this place and went +home? I'm rather anxious about Neville--he's had a shock. Thelma doesn't +care a bit about this piece, I know, and if you are not very much +absorbed--" + +Lady Winsleigh rose instantly, with her usual ready grace. + +"My dear Sir Philip!" she said sweetly. "As if I would not, do anything +to oblige you! Let us go by all means! These burlesques _are_ extremely +fatiguing!" + +He seemed relieved by her acquiescence--and smiled that rare sweet smile +of his, which had once played such havoc with her ladyship's sensitive +feelings. They left the theatre, and were soon on their way home, though +Thelma was rather silent during the drive. They dropped Lady Winsleigh +at her own door, and after they had bidden her a cordial good night, and +were going on again towards home, Philip, turning towards his wife, and +catching sight of her face by the light of a street-lamp, was struck by +her extreme paleness and weary look. + +"You are very tired, my darling, I fear?" he inquired, tenderly +encircling her with one arm. "Lean your head on my shoulder--so!" + +She obeyed, and her hand trembled a little as he took and held it in his +own warm, strong clasp. + +"We shall soon be home!" he added cheerily. "And I think we must have no +more theatre-going this season. The heat and noise and glare are too +much for you." + +"Philip," said Thelma suddenly. "Did you really go behind the scenes +to-night?" + +"Yes, I did," he answered readily. "I was obliged to go on a matter of +business--a very disagreeable and unpleasant matter too." + +"And what was it?" she asked timidly, yet hopefully. + +"My pet, I can't tell you! I wish I could! It's a secret I'm bound not +to betray--a secret which involves the name of another person who'd be +wretched if I were to mention it to you. There,--don't let us talk about +it any more!" + +"Very well, Philip," said Thelma resignedly,--but though she smiled, a +sudden presentiment of evil depressed her. The figure of the vulgar, +half-clothed, painted creature known as Violet Vere rose up mockingly +before her eyes,--and the half-scornful, half-jesting words of Lady +Winsleigh rang persistently in her ears. + +On reaching home, Philip went straight to Neville's little study and +remained with him in earnest conversation for a long time--while Thelma +went to bed, and lay restless among her pillows, puzzling her brain with +strange forebodings and new and perplexing ideas, till fatigue +overpowered her, and she fell asleep with a few tear-drops wet on her +lashes. And that night Philip wondered why his sweet wife talked so +plaintively in her sleep,--though he smiled as he listened to the drift +of those dove-like murmurings. + +"No one knows how my boy loves me," sighed the dreaming voice. "No one +in all the world! How should he tire? Love can never tire!" + +Meanwhile, Lady Winsleigh, in the seclusion of her own boudoir, penned a +brief note to Sir Francis Lennox as follows-- + + "DEAR OLD LENNIE," + + "I saw you in the stalls at the theatre this evening, though you + pretended not to see me. What a fickle creature you are! not that I + mind in the very least. The virtuous Bruce-Errington left his + saintly wife and me to talk little platitudes together, while he, + decorously accompanied by his secretary, went down to pay court to + Violet Vere. How stout she is getting! Why don't you men advise her + to diet herself? I know you also went behind the scenes--of course, + you _are_ an _ami intime_--promising boy you are, to be sure! Come and + lunch with me to-morrow, if you're not too lazy." + + "Yours ever, CLARA." + +She gave this missive to her maid, Louise Renaud, to post,--that +faithful attendant took it first to her own apartment where she ungummed +the envelope neatly by the aid of hot water, and read every word of it. +This was not an exceptional action of hers,--all the letters received +and sent by her mistress were subjected to the same process,--even those +that were sealed with wax she had a means of opening in such a manner +that it was impossible to detect that they had been tampered with. + +She was a very clever French maid was Louise,--one of the cleverest of +her class. Fond of mischief, ever suspicious, always on the alert for +evil, utterly unscrupulous and malicious, she was an altogether +admirable attendant for a lady of rank and fashion, her skill as a +_coiffeur_ and needle-woman always obtaining for her the wages she so +justly deserved. When will wealthy women reared in idleness and luxury +learn the folly of keeping a trained spy attached to their persons?--a +spy whose pretended calling is merely to arrange dresses and fripperies +(half of which she invariably steals), but whose real delight is to take +note of all her mistress's incomings and outgoings, tempers and +tears--to watch her looks, her smiles and frowns,--and to start +scandalous gossip concerning her in the servants' hall, from whence it +gradually spreads to the society newspapers--for do you think these +estimable and popular journals are never indebted for their "reliable" +information to the "honest" statements of discharged footman or valet? +Briggs, for instance, had tried his hand at a paragraph or two +concerning the "Upper Ten," and with the aid of a dictionary, had +succeeded in expressing himself quite smartly, though in ordinary +conversation his h's were often lacking or superfluous, and his grammar +doubtful. Whether he persuaded any editor to accept his literary efforts +is quite another matter--a question to which the answer must remain for +ever enveloped in mystery,--but if he _did_ appear in print (it is only +an if!) he must have been immensely gratified to consider that his +statements were received with gusto by at least half aristocratic +London, and implicitly believed as having emanated from the "best +authorities." And Louise Renaud having posted her mistress's letter at +last, went down to visit Briggs in his private pantry, and to ask him a +question. + +"Tell me," she said rapidly, with her tight, prim smile. "You read the +papers--you will know. What lady is that of the theatres--Violet Vere?" + +Briggs laid down the paper he was perusing and surveyed her with a +superior air. + +"What, Vi?" he exclaimed with a lazy wink. "Vi, of the Hopperer-Buff? +You've 'erd of 'er surely, Mamzelle? No? There's not a man (as is worth +calling a man) about town, as don't know _'er_! Dukes, Lords, an' Royal +'Ighnesses--she's the style for 'em! Mag-ni-ficent creetur! all legs and +arms! I won't deny but wot I 'ave an admiration for 'er myself--I bought +a 'arf-crown portrait of 'er quite recently." And Briggs rose slowly and +searched in a mysterious drawer which he invariably kept locked. + +"'Ere she is, as large as life, Mamzelle," he continued, exhibiting a +"promenade" photograph of the actress in question. "There's a neck for +you! There's form! Vi, my dear, I saloot you!" and he pressed a sounding +kiss on the picture--"you're one in a million! Smokes and drinks like a +trooper, Mamzelle!" he added admiringly, as Louise Renaud studied the +portrait attentively. "But with all 'er advantages, you would not call +'er a lady. No--that term would be out of the question. She is wot we +men would call an enchantin' female!" And Briggs kissed the tips of his +fingers and waved them in the air as he had seen certain foreign +gentlemen do when enthusiastic. + +"I comprehend," said the French maid, nodding emphatically. "Then, if +she is so, what makes that proud Seigneur Bruce-Errington visit her?" +Here she shook her finger at Briggs. "And leave his beautiful lady wife, +to go and see her?" Another shake. "And that _miserable_ Sieur Lennox to +go also? Tell me that!" She folded her arms, like Napoleon at St. +Helena, and smiled again that smile which was nothing but a sneer. +Briggs rubbed his nose contemplatively. + +"Little Francis can go ennywheres," he said at last. "He's laid out a +good deal of tin on Vi and others of 'er purfession. You cannot make +enny-think of that young feller but a cad. I would not accept 'im for my +pussonal attendant. No! But Sir Philip Bruce-Errington--" He paused, +then continued, "Air you sure of your facts, Mamzelle?" + +Mamzelle was so sure, that the bow on her cap threatened to come off +with the determined wagging of her head. + +"Well," resumed Briggs, "Sir Philip may, like hothers, consider it 'the +thing' you know, to 'ang on as it were to Vi. But I _'ad_ thought 'im +superior to it. Ah! poor 'uman natur, as 'Uxley says!" and Briggs +sighed. "Lady Errington is a sweet creetur, Mamzelle--a _very_ sweet +creetur! _Has_ a rule I find the merest nod of my 'ed a sufficient +saloot to a woman of the aristocracy--but for _'er_, Mamzelle, I never +fail to show 'er up with a court bow!" And involuntarily Briggs bowed +then and there in his most elegant manner. Mamzelle tightened her thin +lips a little and waved her hand expressively. + +"She is an angel of beauty!" she said, "and Miladi Winsleigh is +jealous--ah, _Dieu!_ jealous to death of her! She is innocent too--like +a baby--and she worships her husband. That is an error! To worship a man +is a great mistake--she will find it so. Men are not to be too much +loved--no, no!" + +Briggs smiled in superb self-consciousness. "Well, well! I will not +deny, Mamzelle, that it spoils us," he said complacently. "It certainly +spoils us! 'When lovely woman stoops to folly,'--the hold, hold story!" + +"You will r-r-r-emember," said Mamzelle, suddenly stepping up very close +to him and speaking with a strong accent, "what I have said to-night! +Monsieur Briggs, you will r-remember! There will be mees-cheef! +Yes--there will be mees-cheef to Sieur Bruce-Errington, and when there +is,--I--I, Louise Renaud--I know who ees at the bottom of eet!" + +So saying, with a whirl of her black silk dress and a flash of her white +muslin apron, she disappeared. Briggs, left alone, sauntered to a +looking-glass hanging on the wall and studied with some solicitude a +pimple that had recently appeared on his clean-shaven face. + +"Mischief!" he soliloquized. "I des-say! Whenever a lot of women gets +together, there's sure to be mischief. Dear creeturs! They love it like +the best Clicquot. Sprightly young pusson is Mamzelle. Knows who's at +the bottom of 'eet,' does she! Well--she's not the only one as knows the +same thing. As long as doors 'as cracks and key'oles, it ain't in the +least difficult to find out wot goes on inside boo-dwars and +drorin'-rooms. And 'ighly interestin' things one 'ears now and +then--'ighly interestin'!" + +And Briggs leered suavely at his own reflection, and then resumed the +perusal of his paper. He was absorbed in the piquant, highly flavored +details of a particularly disgraceful divorce case, and he was by no +means likely to disturb himself from his refined enjoyment for any less +important reason than the summons of Lord Winsleigh's bell, which rang +so seldom that, when it did, he made it a point of honor to answer it +immediately, for, as he said-- + +"His lordship knows wot is due to me, and I knows wot is due to +'im--therefore it 'appens we are able to ekally respect each other!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + "If thou wert honorable, + Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not + For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange. + Thou wrong'st a gentleman who is as far + From thy report, as thou from honor." + _Cymbeline._ + + +Summer in Shakespeare Land! Summer in the heart of England--summer in +wooded Warwickshire,--a summer brilliant, warm, radiant with flowers, +melodious with the songs of the heaven--aspiring larks, and the sweet, +low trill of the forest-hidden nightingales. Wonderful and divine it is +to hear the wild chorus of nightingales that sing beside Como in the hot +languorous nights of an Italian July--wonderful to hear them maddening +themselves with love and music, and almost splitting their slender +throats with the bursting bubbles of burning song,--but there is +something, perhaps, more dreamily enchanting still,--to hear them +warbling less passionately but more plaintively, beneath the drooping +leafage of those grand old trees, some of which may have stretched their +branches in shadowy benediction over the sacred head of the grandest +poet in the world. Why travel to Athens,--why wander among the Ionian +Isles for love of the classic ground? Surely, though the clear-brained +old Greeks were the founders of all noble literature, they have reached +their fulminating point in the English Shakespeare,--and the +Warwickshire lanes, decked simply with hawthorn and sweet-briar roses, +through which Mary Arden walked leading her boy-angel by the hand, are +sacred as any portion of that earth once trodden by the feet of Homer +and Plato. + +So, at least, Thelma thought, when, released from the bondage of London +social life, she found herself once more at Errington Manor, then +looking its loveliest, surrounded with a green girdle of oak and beech, +and set off by the beauty of velvety lawns and terraces, and +rose-gardens in full bloom. The depression from which she had suffered +fell away from her completely--she grew light-hearted as a child, and +flitted from room to room, singing to herself for pure gladness. Philip +was with her all day now, save for a couple of hours in the forenoon +which he devoted to letter-writing in connection with his Parliamentary +aspirations,--and Philip was tender, adoring and passionate as lovers +may be, but as husbands seldom are. They took long walks together +through the woods,--they often rambled across the fragrant fields to +Anne Hathaway's cottage, which was not very far away, and sitting down +in some sequestered nook, Philip would pull from his pocket a volume of +the immortal Plays, and read passages aloud in his fine mellow voice, +while Thelma, making posies of the meadow flowers, listened entranced. +Sometimes, when he was in a more business-like humor, he would bring out +Cicero's Orations, and after pondering over them for a while would talk +very grandly about the way in which he meant to speak in Parliament. + +"They want dash and fire there," he said, "and these qualities must be +united with good common sense. In addressing the House, you see, Thelma, +one must rouse and interest the men--not bore them. You can't expect +fellows to pass a Bill if you've made them long for their beds all the +time you've been talking about it." + +Thelma smiled and glanced over his shoulder at "Cicero's Orations." + +"And do you wish to speak to them like Cicero, my boy?" she said gently. +"But I do not think you will find that possible. Because when Cicero +spoke it was in a different age and to very different people--people +who were glad to learn how to be wise and brave. But if you were Cicero +himself, do you think you would be able to impress the English +Parliament?" + +"Why not, dear?" asked Errington with some fervor. "I believe that men, +taken as men, _pur et simple_, are the same in all ages, and are open to +the same impressions. Why should not modern Englishmen be capable of +receiving the same lofty ideas as the antique Romans, and acting upon +them?" + +"Ah, do not ask _me_ why," said Thelma, with a plaintive little shake of +her head--"for _I_ cannot tell you! But remember how many members of +Parliament we did meet in London--and where were their lofty ideas? +Philip, had they any ideas at all, do you think? There was that very fat +gentleman who is a brewer,--well, to hear him talk, would you not think +all England was for the making of beer? And he does not care for the +country unless it continues to consume his beer! It was to that very man +I said something about _Hamlet_, and he told me he had no interest for +such nonsense as Shakespeare and play-going--his time was taken up at +the '_'Ouse_.' You see, he is a member of Parliament--yet it is evident +he neither knows the language nor the literature of his country! And +there must be many like him, otherwise so ignorant a person would not +hold such a position--and for such men, what would be the use of a +Cicero?" + +Philip leaned back against the trunk of the tree under which they were +sitting, and laughed. + +"You may be right, Thelma,--I dare say you are. There's certainly too +much beer represented in the House--I admit that. But, after all, trade +is the great moving-spring of national prosperity,--and it would hardly +be fair to refuse seats to the very men who help to keep the country +going." + +"I do not see that," said Thelma gravely,--"if those men are ignorant, +why should they have a share in so important a thing as Government? They +may know all about beer, and wool, and iron,--but perhaps they can only +judge what is good for themselves, not what is best for the whole +country, with all its rich and poor. I do think that only the wisest +scholars and most intelligent persons should be allowed to help in the +ruling of a great nation." + +"But the people choose their own rulers," remarked Errington +reflectively. + +"Ah, the poor people!" sighed Thelma. "They know so very little,--and +they are taught so badly! I think they never do quite understand what +they do want,--they are the same in all histories,--like little +children, they get bewildered and frightened in any trouble, and the +wisest heads are needed to think for them. It is, indeed, most cruel to +make them puzzle out all difficulty for themselves!" + +"What a little sage you are, my pet!" laughed Philip, taking her hand on +which the marriage-ring and its accompanying diamond circlet, glistened +brilliantly in the warm sunlight. "Do you mean to go in for politics?" + +She shook her head. "No, indeed! That is not woman's work at all. The +only way in which I think about such things, is that I feel the people +cannot all be wise,--and that it seems a pity the wisest and greatest in +the land should not be chosen to lead them rightly." + +"And so under the circumstances, you think it's no use my trying to +_pose_ as a Cicero?" asked her husband amusedly. She laughed--with a +very tender cadence in her laughter. + +"It would not be worth your while, my boy," she said "You know I have +often told you that I do not see any great distinction in being a member +of Parliament at all. What will you do? You will talk to the fat brewer +perhaps, and he will contradict you--then other people will get up and +talk and contradict each other,--and so it will go on for days and +days--meanwhile the country remains exactly as it was, neither better +nor worse,--and all the talking does no good! It is better to be out of +it,--here together, as we are to-day." + +And she raised her dreamy blue eyes to the sheltering canopy of green +leaves that overhung them--leaves thick-clustered and dewy, through +which the dazzling sky peeped in radiant patches. Philip looked at +her,--the rapt expression of her upward gaze,--the calm, untroubled +sweetness of her fair face,--were such as might well have suited one of +Raffaelle's divinest angels. His heart beat quickly--he drew closer to +her, and put his arm round her. + +"Your eyes are looking at the sky, Thelma," he whispered. "Do you know +what that is? Heaven looking into heaven! And do you know which of the +two heavens I prefer?" She smiled, and turning, met his ardent gaze with +one of equal passion and tenderness. + +"Ah, you _do_ know!" he went on, softly kissing the side of her slim +white throat. "I thought you couldn't possibly make a mistake!" He +rested his head against her shoulder, and after a minute or two of lazy +comfort, he resumed. "You are not ambitious, my Thelma! You don't seem +to care whether your husband distinguishes himself in the 'Ouse,' as our +friend the brewer calls it, or not. In fact, I don't believe you care +for anything save--love! Am I not right, my wife?" + +A wave of rosy color flushed her transparent skin, and her eyes filled +with an earnest, almost pathetic languor. + +"Surely of all things in the world," she said in a low tone,--"Love is +best?" + +To this he made prompt answer, though not in words--his lips conversed +with hers, in that strange, sweet language which, though unwritten, is +everywhere comprehensible,--and then they left their shady resting-place +and sauntered homeward hand in hand through the warm fields fragrant +with wild thyme and clover. + +Many happy days passed thus with these lovers--for lovers they still +were. Marriage had for once fulfilled its real and sacred meaning--it +had set Love free from restraint, and had opened all the gateways of the +only earthly paradise human hearts shall ever know,--the paradise of +perfect union and absolute sympathy with the one thing beloved on this +side eternity. + +The golden hours fled by all too rapidly,--and towards the close of +August there came an interruption to their felicity. Courtesy had +compelled Bruce-Errington and his wife to invite a few friends down to +visit them at the Manor before the glory of the summer-time was +past,--and first among the guests came Lord and Lady Winsleigh and their +bright boy, Ernest. Her ladyship's maid, Louise Renaud, of course, +accompanied her ladyship,--and Briggs was also to the fore in the +capacity of Lord Winsleigh's personal attendant. After these, George +Lorimer arrived--he had avoided the Erringtons all the season,--but he +could not very well refuse the pressing invitation now given him without +seeming churlish,--then came Beau Lovelace, for a few days only, as with +the commencement of September he would be off as usual to his villa on +the Lago di Como. Sir Francis Lennox, too, made his appearance +frequently in a casual sort of way--he "ran down," to use his own +expression, now and then, and made himself very agreeable, especially to +men, by whom he was well liked for his invariable good-humor and +extraordinary proficiency in all sports and games of skill. Another +welcome visitor was Pierre Duprez, lively and sparkling as ever,--he +came from Paris to pass a fortnight with his "cher Phil-eep," and make +merriment for the whole party. His old admiration for Britta had by no +means decreased,--he was fond of waylaying that demure little maiden on +her various household errands, and giving her small posies of jessamine +and other sweet-scented blossoms to wear just above the left-hand corner +of her apron-bib, close to the place where the heart is supposed to be. +Olaf Gueldmar had been invited to the Manor at this period,--Errington +wrote many urgent letters, and so did Thelma, entreating him to +come,--for nothing would have pleased Sir Philip more than to have +introduced the fine old Odin worshipper among his fashionable friends, +and to have heard him bluntly and forcibly holding his own among them, +putting their feint and languid ways of life to shame by his manly, +honest, and vigorous utterance. But Gueldmar had only just returned to +the Altenfjord after nearly a year's absence, and his hands were too +full of work for him to accept his son-in-law's invitation. + +"The farm lands have a waste and dreary look," he wrote, "though I let +them to a man who should verily have known how to till the soil trodden +by his fathers--and as for the farmhouse, 'twas like a hollow shell that +has lain long on the shore and become brown and brittle--for thou +knowest no human creature has entered there since we departed. However, +Valdemar Svensen and I, for sake of company, have resolved to dwell +together in it, and truly we have nearly settled down to the peaceful +contemplation of our past days,--so Philip, and thou, my child Thelma, +trouble not concerning me. I am hale and hearty, the gods be +thanked,--and may live on in hope to see you both next spring or +summer-tide. Your happiness keeps this old man young--so grudge me not +the news of your delights wherein I am myself delighted." + +One familiar figure was missing from the Manor household,--that of +Edward Neville. Since the night at the Brilliant, when he had left the +theatre so suddenly, and gone home on the plea of illness, he had never +been quite the same man. He looked years older--he was strangely nervous +and timid--and he shrank away from Thelma as though he were some guilty +or tainted creature. Surprised at this, she spoke to her husband about +it,--but he, hurriedly, and with some embarrassment, advised her to "let +him alone"--his "nerves were shaken"--his "health was feeble"--and that +it would be kind on her part to refrain from noticing him or asking him +questions. So she refrained--but Neville's behavior puzzled her all the +same. When they left town, he implored, almost piteously, to be allowed +to remain behind,--he could attend to Sir Philip's business so much +better in London, he declared, and he had his way. Errington, usually +fond of Neville's society, made no attempt whatever to persuade him +against his will,--so he stayed in the half-shut-up house in Prince's +Gate through all the summer heat, poring over parliamentary documents +and pamphlets,--and Philip came up from the country once a fortnight to +visit him, and transact any business that might require his personal +attention. + +On one of the last and hottest days in August, a grand garden-party was +given at the Manor. All the county people were invited, and they came +eagerly, though, before Thelma's social successes in London, they had +been reluctant to meet her. Now, they put on their best clothes, and +precipitated themselves into the Manor grounds like a flock of sheep +seeking land on which to graze,--all wearing their sweetest propitiatory +smirk--all gushing forth their admiration of "that _darling_ Lady +Errington"--all behaving themselves in the exceptionally funny manner +that county people affect,--people who are considered somebodies in the +small villages their big houses dominate,--but who, when brought to +reside in London, become less than the minnows in a vast ocean. These +good folks were not only anxious to _see_ Lady Errington--they wanted to +_say_ they had seen her,--and that she had spoken to _them_, so that +they might, in talking to their neighbors, mention it in quite an easy, +casual way, such as--"Oh, I was at Errington Manor the other day, and +Lady Errington said to me--." Or--"Sir Philip is _such_ a charming man! +I was talking to his lovely wife, and he asked me--" etc., etc. +Or--"You've no idea what large strawberries they grow at the Manor! Lady +Errington showed me some that were just ripening--magnificent!" And so +on. For in truth this _is_ "a mad world, my masters,"--and there is no +accounting for the inexpressibly small follies and mean toadyisms of the +people in it. + +Moreover, all the London guests who were visiting Thelma came in for a +share of the county magnates' servile admiration. They found the +Winsleighs "so distingue"--Master Ernest instantly became "that _dear_ +boy!"--Beau Lovelace was "so dreadfully clever, you know!"--and Pierre +Duprez "quite _too_ delightful!" + +The grounds looked very brilliant--pink-and-white marquees were dotted +here and there on the smooth velvet lawns--bright flags waved from +different quarters of the gardens, signals of tennis, archery, and +dancing,--and the voluptuous waltz-music of a fine Hungarian band rose +up and swayed in the air with the downward floating songs of the birds +and the dash of fountains in full play. Girls in pretty light summer +costumes made picturesque groups under the stately oaks and +beeches,--gay laughter echoed from the leafy shrubberies, and stray +couples were seen sauntering meditatively through the rose-gardens, +treading on the fallen scented petals, and apparently too much absorbed +in each other to notice anything that was going on around them. Most of +these were lovers, of course--intending lovers, if not declared +ones,--in fact, Eros was very busy that day among the roses, and shot +forth a great many arrows, aptly aimed, out of his exhaustless quiver. + +Two persons there were, however,--man and woman,--who, walking in that +same rose-avenue, did not seem, from their manner, to have much to do +with the fair Greek god,--they were Lady Winsleigh and Sir Francis +Lennox. Her ladyship looked exceedingly beautiful in her clinging dress +of Madras lace, with a bunch of scarlet poppies at her breast, and a +wreath of the same vivid flowers in her picturesque Leghorn hat. She +held a scarlet-lined parasol over her head, and from under the +protecting shadow of this silken pavilion, her dark, lustrous eyes +flashed disdainfully as she regarded her companion. He was biting an end +of his brown moustache, and looked annoyed, yet lazily amused too. + +"Upon my life, Clara," he observed, "you are really awfully down on a +fellow, you know! One would think you never cared two-pence about me!" + +"Too high a figure!" retorted Lady Winsleigh, with a hard little laugh. +"I never cared a brass farthing!" + +He stopped short in his walk and stared at her. + +"By Jove! you _are_ cool!" he ejaculated. "Then what did you mean all +the time?" + +"What did _you_ mean?" she asked defiantly. + +He was silent. After a slight, uncomfortable pause, he shrugged his +shoulders and smiled. + +"Don't let us have a scene!" he observed in a bantering tone. "Anything +but that!" + +"Scene!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Pray when have you had to complain +of me on that score?" + +"Well, don't let me have to complain now," he said coolly. + +She surveyed him in silent scorn for a moment, and her full, crimson +lips curled contemptuously. + +"What a brute you are!" she muttered suddenly between her set pearly +teeth. + +"Thanks, awfully!" he answered, taking out a cigarette and lighting it +leisurely. "You are really charmingly candid, Clara! Almost as frank as +Lady Errington, only less polite!" + +"I shall not learn politeness from _you_, at any rate," she said,--then +altering her tone to one of studied indifference, she continued coldly, +"What do you want of me? We've done with each other, as you know. I +believe you wish to become gentleman-lacquey to Bruce-Errington's wife, +and that you find it difficult to obtain the situation. Shall I give you +a character?" + +He flushed darkly, and his eyes glittered with an evil lustre. + +"Gently, Clara! Draw it mild!" he said languidly. "Don't irritate me, or +I _may_ turn crusty! You know, if I chose, I could open +Bruce-Errington's eyes rather more widely than you'd like with respect +to the _devoted affection_ you entertain for his beautiful wife." She +winced a little at this observation--he saw it and laughed,--then +resumed: "At present I'm really in the best of humors. The reason I +wanted to speak to you alone for a minute or two was, that I'd something +to say which might possibly please you. But perhaps you'd rather not +hear it?" + +She was silent. So was he. He watched her closely for a little--noting +with complacency the indignant heaving of her breast and the flush on +her cheeks,--signs of the strong repression she was putting upon her +rising temper. + +"Come, Clara, you may as well be amiable," he said. "I'm sure you'll be +glad to know that the virtuous Philip is not immaculate after all. Won't +it comfort you to think that he's nothing but a mortal man like the rest +of us? . . . and that with a little patience your charms will most +probably prevail with him as easily as they once did with me? Isn't that +worth hearing?" + +"I don't understand you," she replied curtly. + +"Then you are very dense, my dear girl," he remarked smilingly. "Pardon +me for saying so! But I'll put it plainly and in as few words as +possible. The moral Bruce-Errington, like a great many other 'moral' men +I know, has gone in for Violet Vere,--and I dare say you understand what +_that_ means. In the simplest language, it means that he's tired of his +domestic bliss and wants a change." + +Lady Winsleigh stopped in her slow pacing along the gravel-walk, and +raised her eyes steadily to her companion's face. + +"Are you sure of this?" she asked. + +"Positive!" replied Sir Francis, flicking the light ash off his +cigarette delicately with his little finger. "When you wrote me that +note about the Vere, I confess I had my suspicions. Since then they've +been confirmed. I know for a fact that Errington has had several private +interviews with Vi, and has also written her a good many letters. Some +of the fellows in the green-room tease her about her new conquest, and +she grins and admits it. Oh, the whole thing's plain enough! Only last +week, when he went up to town to see his man Neville on business he +called on Vi at her own apartments in Arundel Street, Strand. She told +me so herself--we're rather intimate, you know,--though of course she +refused to mention the object of his visit. Honor among thieves!" and he +smiled half mockingly. + +Lady Winsleigh seemed absorbed, and walked on like one in a dream. Just +then, a bend in the avenue brought them in full view of the broad +terrace in front of the Manor, where Thelma's graceful figure, in a +close-fitting robe of white silk crepe, was outlined clearly against the +dazzling blue of the sky. Several people were grouped near her,--she +seemed to be in animated conversation with some of them, and her face +was radiant with smiles. Lady Winsleigh looked at her,--then said +suddenly in a low voice-- + +"It will break her heart!" + +Sir Francis assumed an air of polite surprise. "Pardon! Whose heart?" + +She pointed slightly to the white figure on the terrace. + +"Hers! Surely you must know that?" + +He smiled. "Well--isn't that precisely what you desire Clara? Though, +for my part, I don't believe in the brittleness of hearts--they seem to +me to be made of exceptionally tough material. However, if the fair +Thelma's heart cracks ever so widely, I think I can undertake to mend +it!" + +Clara shrugged her shoulders. "You!" she exclaimed contemptuously. + +He stroked his moustache with feline care and nicety. + +"Yes--I! If not, I've studied women all my life for nothing!" + +She broke into a low peal of mocking laughter--turned, and was about to +leave him, when he detained her by a slight touch on her arm. + +"Stop a bit!" he said in an impressive _sotto-voce_. "A bargain's a +bargain all the world over. If I undertake to keep you cognizant of +Bruce-Errington's little goings-on in London,--information which, I dare +say, you can turn to good account,--you must do something for me. I ask +very little. Speak of me to Lady Errington--make her think well of +me,--flatter me as much as you used to do when we fancied ourselves +terrifically in love with each other--(a good joke, wasn't it!)--and, +above all, make her _trust_ me! Do you understand?" + +"As Red Riding-Hood trusted the Wolf and was eaten up for her +innocence," observed Lady Winsleigh. "Very well! I'll do my best. As I +said before, you want a character. I'm sure I hope you'll obtain the +situation you so much desire! I can state that you made yourself fairly +useful in your last place, and that you left because your wages were not +high enough!" + +And with another sarcastic laugh, she moved forward towards the terrace +where Thelma stood. Sir Francis followed at some little distance with no +very pleasant expression on his features. A stealthy step approaching +him front behind made him start nervously--it was Louise Renaud, who, +carrying a silver tray on which soda-water bottles and glasses made an +agreeable clinking, tripped demurely past him without raising her eyes. +She came directly out of the rose-garden,--and, as she overtook her +mistress on the lawn, that lady seemed surprised, and asked-- + +"Where have you been, Louise?" + +"Miladi was willing that I should assist in the attendance to-day," +replied Louise discreetly. "I have waited upon Milord Winsleigh, and +other gentlemen in the summer-house at the end of the rose-garden." + +And with one furtive glance of her black, bead-like eyes at Lady +Winsleigh's face, she made a respectful sort of half-curtsy and went her +way. + +Later on in the afternoon, when it was nearing sunset, and all other +amusements had given way to the delight of dancing on the springy green +turf to the swinging music of the band,--Briggs, released for a time +from the duties of assisting the waiters at the splendid +refreshment-table (duties which were pleasantly lightened by the +drinking of a bottle of champagne which he was careful to reserve for +his own consumption), sauntered leisurely through the winding alleys and +fragrant shrubberies which led to the most unromantic portion of the +Manor grounds,--namely, the vegetable-garden. Here none of the +butterflies of fashion found their way,--the suggestions offered by +growing cabbages, turnips, beans, and plump, yellow-skinned marrows were +too prosaic for society bantams who require refined surroundings in +which to crow their assertive platitudes. Yet it was a peaceful +nook--and there were household odors of mint and thyme and sweet +marjoram, which were pleasant to the soul of Briggs, and reminded him of +roast goose on Christmas Day, with all its attendant succulent +delicacies. He paced the path slowly,--the light of the sinking sun +blazing gloriously on his plush breeches, silver cordons and +tassels,--for he was in full-dress livery in honor of the fete, and +looked exceedingly imposing. Now and then he glanced down at his calves +with mild approval,--his silk stockings fitted them well, and they had a +very neat and shapely appearance. + +"I've developed," he murmured to himself. "There ain't a doubt about +it! One week of Country air, and I'm a different man;--the effecks of +overwork 'ave disappeared. Flopsie won't know these legs of mine when I +get back,--they've improved surprisingly." He stopped to survey a bed of +carrots. "Plenty of Cressy there," he mused. "Cressy's a noble soup, and +Flopsie makes it well,--a man might do wuss than marry Flopsie. She's a +widder, and a _leetle_ old--just a leetle old for me--but--" Here he +sniffed delicately at a sprig of thyme he had gathered, and smiled +consciously. Presently he perceived a small, plump, pretty figure +approaching him, no other than Britta, looking particularly charming in +a very smart cap, adorned with pink-ribbon bows, and a very elaborately +frilled muslin apron. Briggs at once assumed his most elegant and +conquering air, straightened himself to his full height and kissed his +hand to her with much condescension. She laughed as she came up to him, +and the dimples in her round cheeks appeared in full force. + +"Well, Mr. Briggs," she said, "are you enjoying yourself?" + +Briggs smiled down upon her benevolently. "I am!" he responded +graciously. "I find the hair refreshing. And you, Miss Britta?" + +"Oh, I'm very comfortable, thank you!" responded Britta demurely, edging +a little away from his arm, which showed an unmistakable tendency to +encircle her waist,--then glancing at a basket she held full of grapes, +just cut from the hot house, she continued, "These are for the +supper-table. I must be quick, and take them to Mrs. Parton." + +"Must you?" and Briggs asked this question with quite an unnecessary +amount of tenderness, then resuming his dignity, he observed, "Mrs. +Parton is a very worthy woman--an excellent 'ousekeeper. But she'll no +doubt excuse you for lingering a little, Miss Britta--especially in _my_ +company." + +Britta laughed again, showing her pretty little white teeth to the best +advantage. "Do you think she will?" she said merrily. "Then I'll stop a +minute, and if she scolds me I'll put the blame on you!" + +Briggs played with his silver tassels and, leaning gracefully against a +plum-tree, surveyed her with a critical eye. + +"I was not able," he observed, "to see much of you in town. Our people +were always a' visitin' each other, and yet our meetings were, as the +poet says, 'few and far between.'" + +Britta nodded indifferently, and perceiving a particularly ripe +gooseberry on one of the bushes close to her, gathered it quickly and +popped it between her rosy lips. Seeing another equally ripe, she +offered it to Briggs, who accepted it and ate it slowly, though he had a +misgiving that by so doing he was seriously compromising his dignity. He +resumed his conversation. + +"Since I've been down 'ere, I've 'ad more opportunity to observe you. I +'ope you will allow me to say I think very highly of you." He waved his +hand with the elegance of a Sir Charles Grandison. "Very 'ighly indeed! +Your youth is most becoming to you! If you only 'ad a little more +_chick_, there'd be nothing left to desire!" + +"A little more--_what_?" asked Britta, opening her blue eyes very wide +in puzzled amusement. + +"_Chick_!" replied Briggs, with persistent persuasiveness. "_Chick_, +Miss Britta, is a French word much used by the aristocracy. Coming from +Norway, an 'avin' perhaps a very limited experience, you mayn't 'ave +'erd it--but eddicated people 'ere find it very convenient and +expressive. _Chick_ means style,--_the_ thing, _the_ go, _the_ fashion. +For example, everything your lady wears is _chick_!" + +"Really!" said Britta, with a wandering and innocent air. "How funny! It +doesn't sound like French, at all, Mr. Briggs,--it's more like English." + +"Perhaps the Paris accent isn't familiar to you yet," remarked Briggs +majestically. "Your stay in the gay metropolis was probably short. Now, +I 'ave been there many times--ah, Paris, Paris!" he paused in a sort of +ecstacy, then, with a side leer, continued--"You'd 'ardly believe 'ow +wicked I am in Paris, Miss Britta! I am, indeed! It is something in the +hair of the Bollyvards, I suppose! And the caffy life excites my +nerves." + +"Then you shouldn't go there," said Britta gravely, though her eyes +twinkled with repressed fun. "It can't be good for you. And, oh! I'm so +sorry, Mr. Briggs, to think that _you_ are ever wicked!" And she +laughed. + +"It's not for long," explained Briggs, with a comically satisfied, yet +penitent, look. "It is only a sort of breaking out,--a fit of 'igh +spirits. Hall men are so at times! It's _chick_ to run a little wild in +Paris. But Miss Britta, if _you_ were with me I should never run wild!" +Here his arm made another attempt to get round her waist--and again she +skillfully, and with some show of anger, avoided it. + +"Ah, you're very 'ard upon me," he then observed, "Very, very, 'ard! But +I won't complain, my--my dear gal--one day you'll know me better!" He +stopped and looked at her very intently. "Miss Britta," he said +abruptly, "you've a great affection for your lady, 'aven't you?" + +Instantly Britta's face flushed, and she was all attention. + +"Yes, indeed!" she answered quickly. "Why do you ask, Mr. Briggs?" + +Briggs rubbed his nose perplexedly. "It is not easy to explain," he +said. "To run down my own employers wouldn't be in my line. But I've an +idea that Clara--by which name I allude to my Lord Winsleigh's lady,--is +up to mischief. She 'ates _your_ lady, Miss Britta--'ates 'er like +poison!" + +"Hates her!" cried Britta in astonishment. "Oh, you must be mistaken, +Mr. Briggs! She is as fond of her as she can be--almost like a sister to +her!" + +"Clara's a fine actress," murmured Briggs, more to himself than to his +companion. "She'd beat Violet Vere on 'er own ground." Raising his voice +a little, he turned gallantly to Britta and relieved her of the basket +she held. + +"Hallow me!" he said. "We'll walk to the 'ouse together. On the way I'll +explain--and you'll judge for yourself. The words of the immortal bard, +whose county we are in, occur to me as _aprerpo_,--'There are more +things in 'evin and 'erth, 'Oratio,--than even the most devoted domestic +can sometimes be aweer of.'" + +And gently sauntering by Britta's side, Briggs began to converse in low +and confidential tones,--she listened with strained and eager +attention,--and she was soon receiving information that startled her and +set her on the alert. + +Talk of private detectives and secret service! Do private detectives +ever discover so much as the servants of a man's own household?--servants +who are aware of the smallest trifles,--who know the name and position +of every visitor that comes and goes,--who easily learn to recognize the +handwriting on every letter that arrives--who laugh and talk in their +kitchens over things that their credulous masters and mistresses imagine +are unknown to all the world save themselves,--who will judge the morals +of a Duke, and tear the reputation of a Duchess to shreds, for the +least, the most trifling error of conduct! If you can stand well with +your servants, you can stand well with the whole world--if not--carry +yourself as haughtily as you may--your pride will not last long, depend +upon it! + +Meanwhile, as Briggs and Britta strolled in the side paths of the +shrubbery, the gay guests of the Manor were dancing on the lawn. Thelma +did not dance,--she reclined in a low basket-chair, fanning herself. +George Lorimer lay stretched in lazy length at her feet, and near her +stood her husband, together with Beau Lovelace and Lord Winsleigh. At a +little distance, under the shadow of a noble beech, sat Mrs. +Rush-Marvelle and Mrs. Van Clupp in earnest conversation. It was to Mrs. +Marvelle that the Van Clupps owed their invitation for this one day down +to Errington Manor,--for Thelma herself was not partial to them. But she +did not like to refuse Mrs. Marvelle's earnest entreaty that they should +be asked,--and that good-natured, scheming lady having gained her point, +straightway said to Marcia Van Clupp somewhat severely-- + +"Now, Marcia, this is your last chance. If you don't hook Masherville at +the Carringten fete, you'll lose him! You mark my words!" + +Marcia had dutifully promised to do her best, and she was not having +what she herself called "a good hard time of it." Lord Algy was in one +of his most provokingly vacillating moods--moreover, he had a headache, +and felt bilious. Therefore he would not dance--he would not play +tennis--he did not understand archery--he was disinclined to sit in +romantic shrubberies or summer-houses, as he had a nervous dread of +spiders--so he rambled aimlessly about the grounds with his hands in his +pockets, and perforce Marcia was compelled to ramble too. Once she tried +what effect an opposite flirtation would have on his mind, so she +coquetted desperately with a young country squire, whose breed of pigs +was considered the finest in England--but Masherville did not seem to +mind it in the least. Nay, he looked rather relieved than otherwise, and +Marcia, seeing this, grew more resolute than ever. + +"I guess I'll pay him out for this!" she thought as she watched him +feebly drinking soda-water for his headache. "He's a man that wants +ruling, and ruled he shall be!" + +And Mrs. Rush-Marvelle and Mrs. Van Clupp observed her manoeuvres with +maternal interest, while the cunning-faced, white-headed Van Clupp +conversed condescendingly with Mr. Rush-Marvelle, as being a nonentity +of a man whom he could safely patronize. + +As the glory of the sunset paled, and the delicate, warm hues of the +summer twilight softened the landscape, the merriment of the brilliant +assembly seemed to increase. As soon as it was dark, the grounds were to +be illuminated by electricity, and dancing was to be continued +indoors--the fine old picture-gallery being the place chosen for the +purpose. Nothing that could add to the utmost entertainment of the +guests had been forgotten, and Thelma, the fair mistress of these +pleasant revels, noting with quiet eyes the evident enjoyment of all +present, felt very happy and tranquil. She had exerted herself a good +deal, and was now a little tired. Her eyes had a dreamy, far-off look, +and she found her thoughts wandering, now and then, away to the +Altenfjord--she almost fancied she could hear the sigh of the pines and +the dash of the waves mingling in unison as they used to do when she sat +at the old farm-house window and span, little dreaming then how her life +would change--how all those familiar things would be swept away as +though they had never been. She roused herself from this momentary +reverie, and glancing down at the recumbent gentleman at her feet, +touched his shoulder lightly with the edge of her fan. + +"Why do you not dance, you very lazy Mr. Lorimer?" she asked, with a +smile. + +He turned up his fair, half-boyish face to hers and laughed. + +"Dance! I! Good gracious! Such an exertion would kill me, Lady +Errington--don't you know that? I am of a Sultan-like disposition--I +shouldn't mind having slaves to dance for me if they did it well--but I +should look on from the throne whereon I sat cross-legged,--and smoke my +pipe in peace." + +"Always the same!" she said lightly. "Are you never serious?" + +His eyes darkened suddenly. "Sometimes. Awfully so! And in that +condition I become a burden to myself and my friends." + +"Never be serious!" interposed Beau Lovelace, "it really isn't worth +while! Cultivate the humor of a Socrates, and reduce everything by means +of close argument to its smallest standpoint, and the world, life, and +time are no more than a pinch of snuff for some great Titantic god to +please his giant nose withal!" + +"Your fame isn't worth much then, Beau, if we're to go by that line of +argument," remarked Errington, with a laugh. + +"Fame! By Jove! You don't suppose I'm such an arrant donkey as to set +any store by fame!" cried Lovelace, a broad smile lighting up his face +and eyes. "Why, because a few people read my books and are amused +thereby,--and because the Press pats me graciously on the back, and says +metaphorically, 'Well done, little 'un!' or words to that effect, am I +to go crowing about the world as if I were the only literary +chanticleer? My dear friend, have you read 'Esdras'? You will find there +that a certain king of Persia wrote to one 'Rathumus, a story-writer.' +No doubt he was famous in his day, but,--to travesty _hamlet_, 'where be +his stories now?' Learn, from the deep oblivion into which poor +Rathumus's literary efforts have fallen, the utter mockery and +uselessness of so-called _fame_!" + +"But there must be a certain pleasure in it while you're alive to enjoy +it," said Lord Winsleigh. "Surely you derive some little satisfaction +from your celebrity, Mr. Lovelace?" + +Beau broke into a laugh, mellow, musical, and hearty. + +"A satisfaction shared with murderers, thieves, divorced women, +dynamiters, and other notorious people in general," he said. "They're +all talked about--so am I. They all get written about--so do I. My +biography is always being carefully compiled by newspaper authorities, +to the delight of the reading public. Only the other day I learned for +the first time that my father was a greengrocer, who went in for selling +coals by the half-hundred and thereby made his fortune--my mother was an +unsuccessful oyster-woman who failed ignominiously at Margate--moreover, +I've a great many brothers and sisters of tender age whom I absolutely +refuse to assist. I've got a wife somewhere, whom my literary success +causes me to despise--and I have deserted children. I'm charmed with +the accuracy of the newspapers--and I wouldn't contradict them for the +world,--I find my biographies so original! They are the result of that +celebrity which Winsleigh thinks enjoyable." + +"But assertions of that kind are libels," said Errington, "You could +prosecute." + +"Too much trouble!" declared Beau. "Besides, five journals have +disclosed the name of the town where I was born, and as they all +contradict each other, and none of them are right, any contradiction on +_my_ part would be superfluous!" + +They laughed,--and at that moment Lady Winsleigh joined them. + +"Are you not catching cold, Thelma?" she inquired sweetly. "Sir Philip, +you ought to make her put on something warm,--I find the air growing +chilly." + +At that moment the ever-ready Sir Francis Lennox approached with a light +woolen wrap he had found in the hall. + +"Permit me!" he said gently, at the same time adroitly throwing it over +Thelma's shoulders. + +She colored a little,--she did not care for his attention, but she could +not very well ignore it without seeming to be discourteous. So she +murmured, "Thank you!" and, rising from her chair, addressed Lady +Winsleigh. + +"If you feel cold, Clara, you will like some tea," she said. "Shall we +go indoors, where it is ready?" + +Lady Winsleigh assented with some eagerness,--and the two, beautiful +women--the one dark, the other fair--walked side by side across the lawn +into the house, their arms round each other's waists as they went. + +"Two queens--and yet not rivals?" half queried Lovelace, as he watched +them disappearing. + +"Their thrones are secure!" returned Sir Philip gaily. + +The others were silent. Lord Winsleigh's thoughts, whatever they were, +deepened the lines of gravity on his face; and George Lorimer, as he got +up from his couch on the grass, caught a fleeting expression in the +brown eyes of Sir Francis Lennox that struck him with a sense of +unpleasantness. But he quickly dismissed the impression from his mind, +and went to have a quiet smoke in the shrubbery. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +"La rose du jardin, comme tu sais, dure peu, et la saison des roses est +bien vite ecoulee!"--SAADI. + + +Thelma took her friend Lady Winsleigh to her own boudoir, a room which +had been the particular pride of Sir Philip's mother. The walls were +decorated with panels of blue silk in which were woven flowers of gold +and silver thread,--and the furniture, bought from an old palace in +Milan, was of elaborately carved wood inlaid with ivory and silver. Here +a _tete-a-tete_ tea was served for the two ladies, both of whom were +somewhat fatigued by the pleasures of the day. Lady Winsleigh declared +she must have some rest, or she would be quite unequal to the gaieties +of the approaching evening, and Thelma herself was not sorry to escape +for a little from her duties as hostess,--so the two remained together +for some time in earnest conversations and Lady Winsleigh then and there +confided to Thelma what she had heard reported concerning Sir Philip's +intimate acquaintance with the burlesque actress, Violet Vere. And they +were both so long absent that, after a while, Errington began to miss +his wife, and, growing impatient, went in search of her. He entered the +boudoir, and, to his surprise, found Lady Winsleigh there quite alone. + +"Where is Thelma?" he demanded. + +"She seems not very well--a slight headache or something of that +sort--and has gone to lie down," replied Lady Winsleigh, with a faint +trace of embarrassment in her manner. "I think the heat has been too +much for her." + +"I'll go and see after her,"--and he turned promptly to leave the room. + +"Sir Philip!" called Lady Winsleigh. He paused and looked back. + +"Stay one moment," continued her ladyship softly. "I have been for a +long time so very anxious to say something to you in private. Please let +me speak now. You--you know"--here she cast down her lustrous +eyes--"before you went to Norway I--I was very foolish--" + +"Pray do not recall it," he said with kindly gravity "_I_ have forgotten +it." + +"That is so good of you!" and a flush of color warmed her delicate +cheeks. "For if you have forgotten, you have also forgiven?" + +"Entirely!" answered Errington,--and touched by her plaintive, +self-reproachful manner and trembling voice, he went up to her and took +her hands in his own. "Don't think of the past, Clara! Perhaps I also +was to blame a little--I'm quite willing to think I was. Flirtation's a +dangerous amusement at best." He paused as he saw two bright tears on +her long, silky lashes, and in his heart felt a sort of remorse that he +had ever permitted himself to think badly of her. "We are the best of +friends now, Clara," he continued cheerfully, "and I hope we may always +remain so. You can't imagine how glad I am that you love my Thelma!" + +"Who would not love her!" sighed Lady Winsleigh gently, as Sir Philip +released her hands from his warm clasp,--then raising her tearful eyes +to his she added wistfully, "You must take great care of her, +Philip--she is so sensitive,--I always fancy an unkind word would kill +her." + +"She'll never hear one from me!" he returned, with so tender and earnest +a look on his face, that Lady Winsleigh's heart ached for jealousy. "I +must really go and see how she is. She's been exerting herself too much +to-day. Excuse me!" and with a courteous smile and bow he left the room +with a hurried and eager step. + +Alone, Lady Winsleigh smiled bitterly. "Men are all alike!" she said +half aloud. "Who would think he was such a hypocrite? Fancy his dividing +his affection between two such contrasts as Thelma and Violet Vere! +However, there's no accounting for tastes. As for man's fidelity, I +wouldn't give a straw for it--and for his morality--!" She finished the +sentence with a scornful laugh, and left the boudoir to return to the +rest of the company. + +Errington, meanwhile, knocked softly at the door of his wife's +bedroom--and receiving no answer, turned the handle noiselessly and went +in. Thelma lay on the bed, dressed as she was, her cheek resting on her +hand, and her face partially hidden. Her husband approached on tiptoe, +and lightly kissed her forehead. She did not stir,--she appeared to +sleep profoundly. + +"Poor girl!" he thought, "she's tired out, and no wonder, with all the +bustle and racket of these people! A good thing if she can rest a little +before the evening closes in." + +And he stole quietly out of the room, and meeting Britta on the stairs +told her on no account to let her mistress be disturbed till it was time +for the illumination of the grounds. Britta promised,--Britta's eyes +were red--one would almost have fancied she had been crying. But Thelma +was not asleep--she had felt her husband's kiss,--her heart had beat as +quickly as the wing of a caged wild bird at his warm touch,--and now he +had gone she turned and pressed her lips passionately on the pillow +where his hand had leaned. Then she rose languidly from the bed, and, +walking slowly to the door, locked it against all comers. Presently she +began to pace the room up and down,--up and down,--her face was very +white and weary, and every now and then a shuddering sigh broke from her +lips. + +"Can I believe it? Oh no!--I cannot--I will not!" she murmured. "There +must be some mistake--Clara has heard wrongly." She sighed again. +"Yet--if it is so,--he is not to blame--it is I--I who have failed to +please him. Where--how have I failed?" + +A pained, puzzled look filled her grave blue eyes, and she stopped in +her walk to and fro. + +"It cannot be true!" she said half aloud,--"it is altogether unlike him. +Though Clara says--and she has known him so long!--Clara says he loved +_her_ once--long before he saw me--my poor Philip!--he must have +suffered by that love!--perhaps that is why he thought life so wearisome +when he first came to the Altenfjord--ah! the Altenfjord!" + +A choking sob rose in her throat--but she repressed it. "I must try not +to weary him," she continued softly--"I must have done so in some way, +or he would not be tired. But as for what I have heard,--it is not for +me to ask him questions. I would not have him think that I mistrust him. +No--there is some fault in me--something he does not like, or he would +never go to--" She broke off and stretched out her hands with a sort of +wild appeal. "Oh, Philip! my darling!" she exclaimed in a sobbing +whisper. "I always knew I was not worthy of you--but I thought,--I hoped +my love would make amends for all my shortcomings!" + +Tears rushed into her eyes, and she turned to a little arched recess, +shaded by velvet curtains--her oratory--where stood an exquisite white +marble statuette of the Virgin and Child. There she knelt for some +minutes, her face hidden in her hands, and when she rose she was quite +calm, though very pale. She freshened her face with cold water, +rearranged her disordered hair,--and then went downstairs, thereby +running into the arms of her husband who was coming up again to look, as +he said, at his "Sleeping Beauty." + +"And here she is!" he exclaimed joyously. "Have you rested enough, my +pet?" + +"Indeed, yes!" she answered gently. "I am ashamed so be so lazy. Have +you wanted me, Philip?" + +"I always want you," he declared. "I am never happy without you." + +She smiled and sighed. "You say that to please me," she said half +wistfully. + +"I say it because it is true!" he asserted proudly, putting his arm +round her waist and escorting her in this manner down the great +staircase. "And you know it, you sweet witch! You're just in time to see +the lighting up of the grounds. There'll be a good view from the +picture-gallery--lots of the people have gone in there--you'd better +come too, for it's chilly outside." + +She followed him obediently, and her reappearance among her guests was +hailed with enthusiasm,--Lady Winsleigh being particular effusive, +almost too much so. + +"Your headache has quite gone, dearest, hasn't it?" she inquired +sweetly. + +Thelma eyed her gravely. "I did not suffer from the headache, Clara," +she said. "I was a little tired, but I am quite rested now." + +Lady Winsleigh bit her lips rather vexedly, but said no more, and at +that moment exclamations of delight broke from all assembled at the +brilliant scene that suddenly flashed upon their eyes. Electricity, that +radiant sprite whose magic wand has lately been bent to the service of +man, had in less than a minute played such dazzling pranks in the +gardens that they resembled the fabled treasure-houses discovered by +Aladdin. Every tree glittered with sparkling clusters of red, blue, and +green light--every flower-bed was bordered with lines and circles of +harmless flame, and the fountains tossed up tall columns of amber rose, +and amethyst spray against the soft blue darkness of the sky, in which a +lustrous golden moon had just risen. The brilliancy of the illuminations +showed up several dark figures strolling in couples about the +grounds--romantic persons evidently, who were not to be persuaded to +come indoors, even for the music of the band, which just then burst +forth invitingly through the open windows of the picture-gallery. + +Two of these pensive wanderers were Marcia Van Clupp and Lord Algernon +Masherville,--and Lord Algy was in a curiously sentimental frame of +mind, and weak withal, "_comme une petite queue d'agneau afflige_" He had +taken a good deal of soda and brandy for his bilious headache, and, +physically, he was much better,--but mentally he was not quite his +ordinary self. By this it must not be understood that he was at all +unsteadied by the potency of his medicinal tipple--he was simply in a +bland humor--that peculiar sort of humor which finds strange and mystic +beauty in everything, and contemplates the meanest trifles with emotions +of large benevolence. He was conversational too, and inclined to quote +poetry--this sort of susceptibleness often affects gentlemen after they +have had an excellent dinner flavored with the finest Burgundy. Lord +Algy was as mild, as tame, and as flabby as a sleeping jelly-fish,--and +in this inoffensive, almost tender mood of his, Marcia pounced upon him. +She looked ravishingly pretty in the moonlight, with a white wrap thrown +carelessly round her head and shoulders, and her bold, bird-like eyes +sparkling with excitement (for who that knows the pleasure of sports, is +not excited when the fox is nearly run to earth?), and she stood with +him beside one of the smaller illuminated fountains, raising her small +white hand every now and then to catch some of the rainbow drops, and +then with a laugh she would shake them off her little pearly nails into +the air again. Poor Masherville could not help gazing at her with a +lack-lustre admiration in his pale eyes,--and Marcia, calculating every +move in her own shrewd mind, saw it. She turned her head away with a +petulant yet coquettish movement. + +"My patience!" she exclaimed; "yew _kin_ stare! Yew'll know me again +when yew see me,--say?" + +"I should know you anywhere," declared Masherville, nervously fumbling +with the string of his eye-glass. "It's impossible to forget _your_ +face, Miss Marcia!" + +She was silent,--and kept that face turned from him so long that the +gentle little lord was surprised. He approached her more closely and +took her hand--the hand that had played with the drops in the fountain. +It was such an astonishingly small hand.--so very fragile-looking and +tiny, that he was almost for putting up his eye-glass to survey it, as +if it were a separate object in a museum. But the faintest pressure of +the delicate fingers he held startled him, and sent the most curious +thrill through his body--and when he spoke he was in such a flutter that +he scarcely knew what he was saying. + +"Miss--Miss Marcia!" he stammered, "have--have I said--anything to--to +offend you?" + +Very slowly, and with seeming reluctance, she turned her head towards +him, and--oh, thou mischievous Puck, that sometimes takest upon thee the +semblance of Eros, what skill is thine! . . . there were tears in her +eyes--real tears--bright, large tears that welled up and fell through +her long lashes in the most beautiful, touching, and becoming manner! +"And," thought Marcia to herself, "if I don't fetch him now, I never +will!" Lord Algy was quite frightened--his poor brain grew more and more +bewildered. + +"Why--Miss Marcia! I say! Look here!" he mumbled in his extremity, +squeezing her little hand tighter and tighter. "What--what _have_ I +done! Good gracious! You--you really mustn't cry, you know--I say--look +here! Marcia! I wouldn't vex you for the world!" + +"Yew bet yew wouldn't!" said Marcia, with slow and nasal plaintiveness. +"I like that! That's the way yew English talk. But yew kin hang round a +girl a whole season and make all her folks think badly of +her--and--and--break her heart--yes--that's so!" Here she dried her eyes +with a filmy lace handkerchief. "But don't _yew_ mind me! I kin bear it. +I kin worry through!" And she drew herself up with dignified +resignation--while Lord Algy stared wildly at her, his feeble mind in a +whirl. Presently she smiled most seductively, and looked up with her +dark, tear-wet eyes to the moon. + +"I guess it's a good night for lovers!" she said, sinking her ordinary +tone to an almost sweet cadence. "But we're not of that sort, are we?" + +The die was cast! She looked so charming--so irresistible, that +Masherville lost all hold over his wits. Scarcely knowing what he did, +he put his arm round her waist. Oh, what a warm, yielding waist! He drew +her close to his breast, at the risk of breaking his most valuable +eyeglass,--and felt his poor weak soul in a quiver of excitement at this +novel and delicious sensation. + +"We are--we are of that sort!" he declared courageously. "Why should you +doubt it, Marcia?" + +"I believe _yew_ if _yew_ say so," responded Marcia. "But I guess yew're +only fooling me!" + +"Fooling you!" Lord Algy was so surprised that he released her quite +suddenly from his embrace--so suddenly that she was a little frightened. +Was she to lose him, after all? + +"Marcia," he continued mildly, yet with a certain manliness that did not +ill become him. "I--I hope I am too much of--of a gentleman to--to +'_fool_' any woman, least of all you, after I have, as you say, +compromised you in society by my--my attentions. I--I have very little +to offer you--but such as it is, is yours. In--in short, Marcia, I--I +will try to make you happy if you can--can care for me enough +to--to--marry me!" + +Eureka! The game was won! A vision of Masherville Park, Yorkshire, that +"well-timbered and highly desirable residence," as the auctioneers would +describe it, flitted before Marcia's eyes,--and, filled with triumph, +she went straight into her lordly wooer's arms, and kissed him with +thorough transatlantic frankness. She was really grateful to him. Ever +since she had come to England, she had plotted and schemed to become "my +lady" with all the vigor of a purely republican soul,--and now at last, +after hard fighting, she had won the prize for which her soul had +yearned. She would in future belong to the English aristocracy--that +aristocracy which her relatives in New York pretended to despise, yet +openly flattered,--and with her arms round the trapped Masherville's +neck, she foresaw the delight she would have in being toadied by them as +far as toadyism could be made to go. + +She is by no means presented to the reader as a favorable type of her +nation--for, of course, every one knows there are plenty of sweet, +unselfish, guileless American girls, who are absolutely incapable of +such unblushing marriage-scheming as hers,--but what else could be +expected from Marcia? Her grandfather, the navvy, had but recently +become endowed with Pilgrim-Father Ancestry,--and her maternal uncle was +a boastful pork-dealer in Cincinnati. It was her bounden duty to ennoble +the family somehow,--surely, if any one had a right to be ambitious, she +was that one! And wild proud dreams of her future passed through her +brain, little Lord Algy quivered meekly under her kiss, and returned it +with all the enthusiasm of which he was capable. One or two faint +misgivings troubled him as to whether he had not been just a little too +hasty in making a serious _bona fide_ offer of marriage to the young +lady by whose Pilgrim progenitors he was not deceived. He knew well +enough what her antecedents were, and a faint shudder crossed him as he +thought of the pork-dealing uncle, who would, by marriage, become _his_ +uncle also. He had long been proud of the fact that the house of +Masherville had never, through the course of centuries, been associated, +even in the remotest manner with trade--and now!-- + +"Yet, after all," he mused, "the Marquis of Londonderry openly +advertises himself as a coal-merchant, and the brothers-in-law of the +Princess Louise are in the wine trade and stock-broking business,--and +all the old knightly blood of England is mingling itself by choice with +that of the lowest commoners--what's the use of my remaining aloof, and +refusing to go with the spirit of the age? Besides, Marcia loves me, and +it's pleasant to be loved!" + +Poor Lord Algy. He certainly thought there could be no question about +Marcia's affection for him. He little dreamed that it was to his title +and position she had become so deeply attached,--he could not guess that +after he had married her there would be no more Lord Masherville worth +mentioning--that that individual, once independent, would be entirely +swallowed up and lost in the dashing personality of Lady Masherville, +who would rule her husband as with a rod of iron. + +He was happily ignorant of his future, and he walked in the gardens for +some time with his arm round Marcia's waist, in a very placid and +romantic frame of mind. By-and-by he escorted her into the house, where +the dancing was in full swing--and she, with a sweet smile, bidding him +wait for her in the refreshment-room, sought for and found her mother, +who as usual, was seated in a quiet corner with Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, +talking scandal. + +"Well?" exclaimed these two ladies, simultaneously and breathlessly. + +Marcia's eyes twinkled. "Guess he came in as gently as a lamb!" she +said. + +They understood her. Mrs. Rush-Marvelle rose from her chair in her usual +stately and expensive manner. + +"I congratulate you, my dear!" kissing Marcia affectionately on both +cheeks. "Bruce Errington would have been a better match,--but, under the +circumstances, Masherville is really about the best thing you could do. +You'll find him quite easy to manage!" This with an air as though she +were recommending a quiet pony. + +"That's so!" said Marcia carelessly, "I guess we'll pull together +somehow. Mar-ma," to her mother--"yew kin turn on the news to all the +folks yew meet--the more talk the better! I'm not partial to secrets!" +And with a laugh, she turned away. + +Then Mrs. Van Clupp laid her plump, diamond-ringed hand on that of her +dear friend, Mrs. Marvelle. + +"You have managed the whole thing beautifully," she said, with a +grateful heave of her ample bosom. "Such a clever creature as you are!" +She dropped her voice to a mysterious whisper. "You shall have that +cheque to-morrow, my love!" + +Mrs. Rush-Marvelle pressed her fingers cordially. + +"Don't hurry yourself about it!"--she returned in the same confidential +tone. "I dare say you'll want me to arrange the wedding and the 'crush' +afterwards. I can wait till then." + +"No, no! that's a separate affair," declared Mrs. Van Clupp. "I must +insist on your taking the promised two hundred. You've been really so +_very_ energetic!" + +"Well, I _have_ worked rather hard," said Mrs. Marvelle, with modest +self-consciousness. "You see nowadays it's so difficult to secure +suitable husbands for the girls who ought to have them. Men _are_ such +slippery creatures!" + +She sighed--and Mrs. Van Clupp echoed the sigh,--and then these two +ladies,--the nature of whose intimacy may now be understood by the +discriminating reader,--went together to search out those of their +friends and acquaintances who were among the guests that night, and to +announce to them (in the strictest confidence, of course!) the +delightful news of "dear Marcia's engagement." Thelma heard of it, and +went at once to proffer her congratulations to Marcia in person. + +"I hope you will be very, very happy!" she said simply, yet with such +grave earnestness in her look and voice that the "Yankee gel" was +touched to a certain softness and seriousness not at all usual with her, +and became so winning and gentle to Lord Algy that he felt in the +seventh heaven of delight with his new position as affianced lover to so +charming a creature. + +Meanwhile George Lorimer and Pierre Duprez were chatting together in the +library. It was very quiet there,--the goodly rows of books, the busts +of poets and philosophers,--the large, placid features of the Pallas +Athene crowning an antique pedestal,--the golden pipes of the organ +gleaming through the shadows,--all these gave a solemn, almost sacred +aspect to the room. The noise of the dancing and festivity in the +distant picture-gallery did not penetrate here, and Lorimer sat at the +organ, drawing out a few plaintive strains from its keys as he talked. + +"It's your fancy, Pierre," he said slowly. "Thelma may be a little tired +to-day, perhaps--but I know she's perfectly happy." + +"I think not so," returned Duprez. "She has not the brightness--the +angel look--_les yeux d'enfant_,--that we beheld in her at that far +Norwegian Fjord. Britta is anxious for her." + +Lorimer looked up, and smiled a little. + +"Britta? It's always Britta with you, _mon cher_! One would think--" he +paused and laughed. + +"Think what you please!" exclaimed Duprez, with a defiant snap of his +fingers. "I would not give that little person for all the _grandes +dames_ here to-day! She is charming--and she is _true_!--_Ma foi!_ to be +true to any one is a virtue in this age! I tell you, my good boy, there +is something sorrowful--heavy--on _la belle_ Thelma's mind--and Britta, +who sees her always, feels it--but she cannot speak. One thing I will +tell you--it is a pity she is so fond of Miladi Winsleigh." + +"Why?" asked Lorimer, with some eagerness. + +"Because--" he stopped abruptly as a white figure suddenly appeared at +the doorway, and a musical voice addressed them-- + +"Why, what are you both doing here, away from everybody?" and Thelma +smiled as she approached. "You are hermits, or you are lazy! People are +going in to supper. Will you not come also?" + +"_Ma foi!_" exclaimed Duprez; "I had forgotten! I have promised your +most charming mother, _cher_ Lorimer, to take her in to this same +supper. I must fly upon the wings of chivalry!" + +And with a laugh, he hurried off, leaving Thelma and Lorimer alone +together. She sank rather wearily into a chair near the organ, and +looked at him. + +"Play me something!" she said softly. + +A strange thrill quivered through him as he met her eyes--the sweet, +deep, earnest eyes of the woman he loved. For it was no use attempting +to disguise it from himself--he loved her passionately, wildly, +hopelessly; as he had loved her from the first. + +Obedient to her wish, his fingers wandered over the organ-keys in a +strain of solemn, weird, yet tender melancholy--the grand, rich notes +pealed forth sobbingly--and she listened, her hands clasped idly in her +lap. Presently he changed the theme to one of more heart-appealing +passion--and a strange wild minor air, like the rushing of the wind +across the mountains, began to make itself heard through the subdued +rippling murmur of his improvised accompaniment. To his surprise and +fear, she started up, pressing her hands against her ears. + +"Not that--not that song, my friend!" she cried, almost imploringly. +"Oh, it will break my heart! Oh, the Altenfjord!" And she gave way to a +passion of weeping. + +"Thelma! Thelma!" and poor Lorimer, rising from the organ, stood gazing +at her in piteous dismay,--every nerve in his body wrung to anguish by +the sound of her sobbing. A mad longing seized him to catch her in his +arms,--to gather her and her sorrows, whatever they were, to his +heart!--and he had much ado to restrain himself. + +"Thelma," he presently said, in a gentle voice that trembled just a +little, "Thelma, what is troubling you? You call me your brother--give +me a brother's right to your confidence." He bent over her and took her +hand. "I--I can't bear to see you cry like this! Tell me--what's the +matter? Let me fetch Philip." + +She looked up with wild wet eyes and quivering lips. + +"Oh no--no!" she murmured, in a tone of entreaty and alarm. "Do +not,--Philip must not know--I do wish him always to see me bright and +cheerful--and--it is nothing! It is that I heard something which grieved +me--" + +"What was it?" asked Lorimer, remembering Duprez's recent remarks. + +"Oh, I would not tell you!" she said eagerly, drying her eyes and +endeavoring to smile, "because I am sure it was a mistake, and all +wrong--and I was foolish to fancy that such a thing could be, even for a +moment. But when one does not know the world, it seems cruel--" + +"Thelma, what do you mean?" and George surveyed her in some perplexity. +"If any one's been bothering or vexing you, just you tell Phil all about +it. Don't have any secrets from him,--he'll soon put everything +straight, whatever it is." + +She shook her head slightly. "Ah, you do not understand!" she said +pathetically, "how should you? Because you have not given your life away +to any one, and it is all different with you. But when you do love--if +you are at all like me,--you will be so anxious to always seem worthy of +love--and you will hide all your griefs away from your beloved,--so that +your constant presence shall not seem tiresome. And I would not for all +the world trouble Philip with my silly fancies--because then he might +grow more weary still--" + +"_Weary_!" interrupted Lorimer, in an accent of emphatic surprise. "Why, +you don't suppose Phil's tired of you, Thelma? That _is_ nonsense +indeed! He worships you! Who's been putting such notions into your +head?" + +She rose from her chair quite calm and very pale, and laid her two +trembling hands in his. + +"Ah, you also will mistake me," she said, with touching sweetness, "like +so many others who think me strange in my speech and manner. I am sorry +I am not like other women,--but I cannot help it. What I do wish you to +understand is that I never suppose anything against my Philip--he is the +noblest and best of men! And you must promise not to tell him that I was +so foolish as to cry just now because you played that old song I sang to +you both so often in Norway--it was because I felt a little sad--but it +was only a fancy,--and I would not have him troubled with such things. +Will you promise?" + +"But what has made you sad?" persisted Lorimer, still puzzled. + +"Nothing--nothing indeed," she answered, with almost feverish +earnestness. "You yourself are sometimes sad, and can you tell why?" + +Lorimer certainly could have told why,--but he remained silent, and +gently kissed the little hands he held. + +"Then I mustn't tell Philip of your sadness?" he asked softly, at last. +"But will you tell him yourself, Thelma? Depend upon it, it's much +better to have no secrets from him. The least grief of yours would +affect him more than the downfall of a kingdom. You know how dearly he +loves you!" + +"Yes--I know!" she answered, and her eyes brightened slowly. "And that +is why I wish him always to see me happy!" She paused, and then added in +a lower tone, "I would rather die, my friend, than vex him for one +hour!" + +George still held her hands and looked wistfully in her face. He was +about to speak again, when a cold, courteous voice interrupted them. + +"Lady Errington, may I have the honor of taking you in to supper?" + +It was Sir Francis Lennox. He had entered quite noiselessly--his +footsteps making no sound on the thick velvet-pile carpet, and he stood +quite close to Lorimer, who dropped Thelma's hands hastily and darted a +suspicious glance at the intruder. But Sir Francis was the very picture +of unconcerned and bland politeness, and offered Thelma his arm with the +graceful ease of an accomplished courtier. She was, perforce, compelled +to accept it--and she was slightly confused, though she could not have +told why. + +"Sir Philip has been looking everywhere for you," continued Sir Francis +amicably. "And for you also," he added, turning slightly to Lorimer. "I +trust I've not abruptly broken off a pleasant _tete-a-tete_?" + +Lorimer colored hotly. "Not at all," he said rather brusquely. "I've +been strumming on the organ, and Lady Errington has been good enough to +listen to me." + +"You do not _strum_" said Thelma, with gentle reproach. "You play very +beautifully." + +"Ah! a charming accomplishment!" observed Sir Francis, with his +under-glance and covert smile, as they all three wended their way out of +the library. "I regret I have never had time to devote myself to +acquiring some knowledge of the arts. In music I am a positive +ignoramus! I can hold my own best in the field." + +"Yes, you're a great adept at hunting, Lennox," remarked Lorimer +suddenly, with something sarcastic in his tone. "I suppose the quarry +never escapes you?" + +"Seldom!" returned Sir Francis coolly. "Indeed, I think I may say, +never!" + +And with that, he passed into the supper-room, elbowing a way for +Thelma, till he succeeded in placing her near the head of the table, +where she was soon busily occupied in entertaining her guests and +listening to their chatter; and Lorimer, looking at her once or twice, +saw, to his great relief, that all traces of her former agitation had +disappeared, leaving her face fair and radiant as a spring morning. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + "A generous fierceness dwells with innocence, + And conscious virtue is allowed some pride." + DRYDEN. + + +The melancholy days of autumn came on apace, and by-and-by the Manor was +deserted. The Bruce-Errington establishment removed again to town, where +business, connected with his intending membership for Parliament, +occupied Sir Philip from morning till night. The old insidious feeling +of depression returned and hovered over Thelma's mind like a black bird +of ill omen, and though she did her best to shake it off she could not +succeed. People began to notice her deepening seriousness and the +wistful melancholy of her blue eyes, and made their remarks thereon when +they saw her at Marcia Van Clupp's wedding, an event which came off +brilliantly at the commencement of November, and which was almost +entirely presided over by Mrs. Rush-Marvelle. That far-seeing matron had +indeed urged on the wedding by every delicate expedient possible. + +"Long engagements are a great mistake," she told Marcia,--then, in a +warning undertone she added, "Men are capricious nowadays,--they're all +so much in demand,--better take Masherville while he's in the humor." + +Marcia accepted this hint and took him,--and Mrs. Rush-Marvelle heaved a +sigh of relief when she saw the twain safely married, and off to the +Continent on their honeymoon-trip,--Marcia all sparkling and +triumphant,--Lord Algy tremulous and feebly ecstatic. + +"Thank Heaven _that's_ over!" she said to her polite and servile +husband. "I never had such a troublesome business in my life! That +girl's been nearly two seasons on my hands, and I think five hundred +guineas not a bit too much for all I've done." + +"Not a bit--not a bit!" agreed Mr. Marvelle warmly. "Have they--have +they--" here he put on a most benevolent side-look--"quite settled with +you, my dear?" + +"Every penny," replied Mrs. Marvelle calmly. "Old Van Clupp paid me the +last hundred this morning. And poor Mrs. Van Clupp is so _very_ +grateful!" She sighed placidly, and appeared to meditate. Then she +smiled sweetly and, approaching Mr. Marvelle, patted his shoulder +caressingly. "I think we'll do the Italian lakes, dear--what do you +say?" + +"Charming--charming!" declared, not her lord and master, but her slave +and vassal. "Nothing could be more delightful!" + +And to the Italian lakes accordingly they went. A great many people were +out of town,--all who had leisure and money enough to liberate +themselves from the approaching evils of an English winter, had departed +or were departing,--Beau Lovelace had gone to Como,--George Lorimer had +returned with Duprez to Paris, and Thelma had very few visitors except +Lady Winsleigh, who was more often with her now than ever. In fact, her +ladyship was more like one of the Errington household than anything +else,--she came so frequently and stayed so long. She seemed sincerely +attached to Thelma,--and Thelma herself, too single-hearted and simple +to imagine that such affection could be feigned, gave her in return, +what Lady Winsleigh had never succeeded in winning from any woman,--a +pure, trusting, and utterly unsuspecting love, such as she would have +lavished on a twin-born sister. But there was one person who was not +deceived by Lady Winsleigh's charm of manner, and grace of speech. This +was Britta. Her keen eyes flashed a sort of unuttered defiance into her +ladyship's beautiful, dark languishing ones--she distrusted her, and +viewed the intimacy between her and the "Froeken" with entire disfavor. +Once she ventured to express something of her feeling on the matter to +Thelma--but Thelma had looked so gently wondering and reproachful that +Britta had not courage to go on. + +"I am so sorry, Britta," said her mistress, "that you do not like Lady +Winsleigh--because I am very fond of her. You must try to like her for +my sake." + +But Britta pursed her lips and shook her head obstinately. However, she +said no more at the time, and decided within herself to wait and watch +the course of events. And in the meantime she became very intimate with +Lady Winsleigh's maid, Louise Renaud, and Briggs, and learned from these +two domestic authorities many things which greatly tormented and puzzled +her little brain,--things over which she pondered deeply without +arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. + +On her return to town, Thelma had been inexpressibly shocked at the +changed appearance of her husband's secretary, Edward Neville. At first +she scarcely knew him, he had altered so greatly. Always inclined to +stoop, his shoulders were now bent as by the added weight of twenty +years--his hair, once only grizzled, was now quite grey--his face was +deeply sunken and pale, and his eyes by contrast looked large and wild, +as though some haunting thought were driving him to madness. He shrank +so nervously from her gaze, that she began to fancy he must have taken +some dislike to her,--and though she delicately refrained from pressing +questions upon him personally, she spoke to her husband about him, with +real solicitude. "Is Mr. Neville working too hard?" she asked one day. +"He looks very ill." + +Her remark seemed to embarrass Philip,--he colored and seemed confused. + +"Does he? Oh, I suppose he sleeps badly. Yes, I remember, he told me so. +You see, the loss of his wife has always preyed on his mind--he never +loses hope of--of--that is--he is always trying to--you know!--to get +her back again." + +"But do you think he will ever find her?" asked Thelma. "I thought you +said it was a hopeless case?" + +"Well--I think so, certainly--but, you see, it's no good dashing his +hopes--one never knows--she might turn up any day--it's a sort of +chance!" + +"I wish I could help him to search for her," she said compassionately. +"His eyes do look so full of sorrow," she paused and added musingly, +"almost like Sigurd's eyes sometimes." + +"Oh, he's not losing his wits," said Philip hastily, "he's quite +patient, and--and all that sort of thing. Don't bother about him, +Thelma, he's all right!" + +And he fumbled hastily with some papers, and began to talk of something +else. His embarrassed manner caused her to wonder a little at the time +as to the reason of it,--but she had many other things to think about, +and she soon forgot a conversation that might have proved a small +guiding-link in the chain of events that were soon about to follow +quickly one upon another, shaking her life to its very foundation. Lady +Winsleigh found it almost impossible to get her on the subject of the +burlesque actress, Violet Vere, and Sir Philip's supposed admiration for +that notorious stage-siren. + +"I do not believe it," she said firmly, "and you--you must not believe +it either, Clara. For wherever you heard it, it is wrong. We should +dishonor Philip by such a thought--you are his friend, and I am his +wife--we are not the ones to believe anything against him, even if it +could be proved--and there are no proofs." + +"My dear," responded her ladyship easily. "You can get proofs for +yourself if you like. For instance, ask Sir Philip how often he has seen +Miss Vere lately,--and hear what he says." + +Thelma colored deeply. "I would not question my husband on such a +subject," she said proudly. + +"Oh well! if you are so fastidious!" And Lady Winsleigh shrugged her +shoulders. + +"I am not fastidious," returned Thelma, "only I do wish to be worthy of +his love,--and I should not be so if I doubted him. No, Clara, I will +trust him to the end." + +Clara Winsleigh drew nearer to her, and took her hand. + +"Even if he were unfaithful to you?" she asked in a low, impressive +tone. + +"Unfaithful!" Thelma uttered the word with a little cry. "Clara, dear +Clara, you must not say such a word! Unfaithful! That means that my +husband would love some one more than me!--ah! that is impossible!" + +"Suppose it were possible?" persisted Lady Winsleigh, with a cruel light +in her dark eyes. "Such things have been!" + +Thelma stood motionless, a deeply mournful expression on her fair, pale +face. She seemed to think for a moment, then she spoke. + +"I would never believe it!" she said solemnly. "Never, unless I heard it +from his own lips, or saw it in his own writing, that he was weary of +me, and wanted me no more." + +"And then?" + +"Then"--she drew a quick breath--"I should know what to do. But, Clara, +you must understand me well, even if this were so, I should never blame +him--no--not once!" + +"Not blame him?" cried Lady Winsleigh impatiently. "Not blame him for +infidelity?" + +A deep blush swept over her face at the hated word "infidelity," but she +answered steadily-- + +"No. Because, you see, it would be my fault, not his. When you hold a +flower in your hand for a long time, till all its fragrance has gone, +and you drop it because it no longer smells sweetly--you are not to +blame--it is natural you should wish to have something fresh and +fragrant,--it is the flower's fault because it could not keep its scent +long enough to please you. Now, if Philip were to love me no longer, I +should be like that flower, and how would HE be to blame? He would be +good as ever, but I--I should have ceased to seem pleasant to him--that +is all!" + +She put this strange view of the case quite calmly, as if it were the +only solution to the question. Lady Winsleigh heard her, half in +contemptuous amusement, half in dismay. "What can I do with such a woman +as this," she thought. "And fancy Lennie imagining for a moment that HE +could have any power over her!" Aloud, she said-- + +"Thelma, you're the oddest creature going--a regular heathen child from +Norway! You've set up your husband as an idol, and you're always on your +knees before him. It's awfully sweet of you, but it's quite absurd, all +the same. Angelic wives always get the worst of it, and so you'll see! +Haven't you heard that?" + +"Yes, I have heard it," she answered, smiling a little. "But only since +I came to London. In Norway, it is taught to women that to be patient +and obedient is best for every one. It is not so here. But I am not an +angelic wife, Clara, and so the 'worst of it' will not apply to me. +Indeed, I do not know of any 'worst' that I would not bear for Philip's +sake." + +Lady Winsleigh studied the lovely face, eloquent with love and truth, +for some moments in silence;--a kind of compunction pricked her +conscience. Why destroy all that beautiful faith? Why wound that grandly +trusting nature? The feeling was but momentary. + +"Philip _does_ run after the Vere," she said to herself--"it's true, +there's no mistake about it, and she ought to know of it. But she won't +believe without proofs--what proofs can I get, I wonder?" And her +scheming brain set to work to solve this problem. + +In justice to her, it must be admitted, she had a good deal of seeming +truth on her side. Sir Philip's name _had_ somehow got connected with +that of the leading actress at the Brilliant, and more people than Lady +Winsleigh began to make jocose whispering comments on his stage +"amour"--comments behind his back, which he was totally unaware of. +Nobody knew quite how the rumor had first been started. Sir Francis +Lennox seemed to know a good deal about it, and he was an "intimate" of +the "Vere" magic circle of attraction. And though they talked, no one +ventured to say anything to Sir Philip himself;--the only two among his +friends who would have spoken out honestly were Beau Lovelace and +Lorimer, and these were absent. + +One evening, contrary to his usual custom, Sir Philip went out after the +late dinner. Before leaving, he kissed his wife tenderly, and told her +on no account to sit up for him--he and Neville were going to attend to +a little matter of business which might detain them longer than they +could calculate. After they had gone, Thelma resigned herself to a +lonely evening, and, stirring the fire in the drawing-room to a cheerful +blaze, she sat down beside it. First, she amused herself by reading over +some letters recently received from her father,--and then, yielding to a +sudden fancy, she drew her spinning-wheel from the corner where it +always stood, and set it in motion. She had little time for spinning +now, but she never quite gave it up, and as the low, familiar whirring +sound hummed pleasantly on her ears, she smiled, thinking how quaint and +almost incongruous her simple implement of industry looked among all the +luxurious furniture, and costly nick-nacks by which she was surrounded. + +"I ought to have one of my old gowns on," she half murmured, glancing +down at the pale-blue silk robe she wore, "I am too fine to spin!" + +And she almost laughed as the wheel flew round swiftly under her +graceful manipulations. Listening to its whirr, whirr, whirr, she +scarcely heard a sudden knock at the street-door, and was quite startled +when the servant, Morris, announced--"Sir Francis Lennox!" + +Surprised, she rose from her seat at the spinning-wheel with a slight +air of hauteur. Sir Francis, who had never in his life seen a lady of +title and fashion in London engaged in the primitive occupation of +spinning, was entirely delighted with the picture before him,--the tall, +lovely woman with her gold hair and shimmering blue draperies, standing +with such stateliness beside the simple wooden wheel, the antique emblem +of household industry. Instinctively he thought of Marguerite;--but +Marguerite as a crowned queen, superior to all temptations of either man +or fiend. + +"Sir Philip is out," she said, as she suffered him to take her hand. + +"So I was aware!" returned Lennox easily. "I saw him a little while ago +at the door of the Brilliant Theatre." + +She turned very pale,--then controlling the rapid beating of her heart +by a strong effort, she forced a careless smile, and said bravely-- + +"Did you? I am very glad--for he will have some amusement there, +perhaps, and that will do him good. He has been working so hard!" + +She paused. He said nothing, and she went on more cheerfully still-- + +"Is it not a very dismal, wet evening! Yes!--and you must be cold. Will +you have some tea?" + +"Tha-anks!" drawled Sir Francis, staring at her admiringly. "If it's not +too much trouble--" + +"Oh no!" said Thelma. "Why should it be?" And she rang the bell and gave +the order. Sir Francis sank lazily back in an easy chair, and stroked +his moustache slowly. He knew that his random hit about the theatre had +struck home,--but she allowed the arrow to pierce and possibly wound her +heart without showing any outward sign of discomposure. "A plucky +woman!" he considered, and wondered how he should make his next move. +She, meanwhile, smiled at him frankly, and gave a light twirl to her +spinning-wheel. + +"You see!" she said, "I was amusing myself this evening by imagining +that I was once more at home in Norway." + +"Pray don't let me interrupt the amusement," he responded, with a sleepy +look of satisfaction shooting from beneath his eyelids. "Go on spinning, +Lady Errington! . . . I've never seen any one spin before." + +At that moment Morris appeared with the tea, and handed it to Sir +Francis,--Thelma took none, and as the servant retired, she quietly +resumed her occupation. There was a short silence, only broken by the +hum of the wheel. Sir Francis sipped his tea with a meditative air, and +studied the fair woman before him as critically as he would have studied +a picture. + +"I hope I'm not in your way?" he asked suddenly. She looked up +surprised. + +"Oh no--only I am sorry Philip is not here to talk to you. It would be +so much pleasanter." + +"Would it?" he murmured rather dubiously and smiling. "Well--I shall be +quite contented if you will talk to me, Lady Errington!" + +"Ah, but I am not at all clever in conversation," responded Thelma quite +seriously. "I am sure you, as well as many others, must have noticed +that. I never do seem to say exactly the right thing to please +everybody. Is it not very unfortunate?" + +He laughed a little. "I have yet to learn in what way you do not please +everybody," he said, dropping his voice to a low, caressing cadence. +"Who, that sees you, does not admire--and--and love you?" + +She met his languorous gaze without embarrassment,--while the childlike +openness of her regard confused and slightly shamed him. + +"Admire me? Oh yes!" she said somewhat plaintively. "It is that of which +I am so weary! Because God has made one pleasant in form and face,--to +be stared at and whispered about, and have all one's dresses +copied!--all that is so small and common and mean, and does vex me so +much!" + +"It is the penalty you pay for being beautiful," said Sir Francis +slowly, wondering within himself at the extraordinary incongruity of a +feminine creature who was actually tired of admiration. + +She made no reply--the wheel went round faster than before. Presently +Lennox set aside his emptied cup, and drawing his chair a little closer +to hers, asked-- + +"When does Errington return?" + +"I cannot tell you," she answered. "He said that he might be late. Mr. +Neville is with him." + +There was another silence. "Lady Errington," said Sir Francis +abruptly--"pray excuse me--I speak as a friend, and in your +interests,--how long is this to last?" + +The wheel stopped. She raised her eyes,--they were grave and steady. + +"I do not understand you," she returned quietly. "What is it that you +mean?" + +He hesitated--then went on, with lowered eyelids and a half-smile. + +"I mean--what all our set's talking about--Errington's queer fancy for +that actress at the Brilliant." + +Thelma still gazed at him fixedly. "It is a mistake," she said +resolutely, "altogether a mistake. And as you are his friend, Sir +Francis, you will please contradict this report--which is wrong, and may +do Philip harm. It has no truth in it at all--" + +"No truth!" exclaimed Lennox. "It's true as Gospel! Lady Errington, I'm +sorry for it--but your husband is deceiving you most shamefully!" + +"How dare you say such a thing!" she cried, springing upright and facing +him,--then she stopped and grew very pale--but she kept her eyes upon +him. How bright they were! What a chilling pride glittered in their +sea-blue depths! + +"You are in error," she said coldly. "If it is wrong to visit this +theatre you speak of, why are you so often seen there--and why is not +some harm said of _you_? It is not your place to speak against my +husband. It is shameful and treacherous! You do forget yourself most +wickedly!" + +And she moved to leave the room. But Sir Francis interposed. + +"Lady Errington," he said very gently, "don't be hard upon me--pray +forgive me! Of course I've no business to speak--but how can I help it? +When I hear every one at the clubs discussing you, and pitying you, it's +impossible to listen quite unmoved! I'm the least among your friends, I +know,--but I can't bear this sort of thing to go on,--the whole affair +will be dished up in the society papers next!" + +And he paced the room half impatiently,--a very well-feigned expression +of friendly concern and sympathy on his features. Thelma stood +motionless, a little bewildered--her head throbbed achingly, and there +was a sick sensation of numbness creeping about her. + +"I tell you it is all wrong!" she repeated with an effort. "I do not +understand why these people at the clubs should talk of me, or pity me. +I do not need any pity! My husband is all goodness and truth,"--she +stopped and gathered courage as she went on. "Yes! he is better, braver, +nobler than all other men in the world, it seems to me! He gives me all +the joy of my life--each day and night I thank God for the blessing of +his love!" + +She paused again. Sir Francis turned and looked at her steadily. A +sudden thought seemed to strike her, for she advanced eagerly, a sweet +color flushing the pallor of her skin. + +"You can do so much for me if you will!" she said, laying her hand on +his arm. "You can tell all these people who talk so foolishly that they +are wrong,--tell them how happy I am! And that my Philip has never +deceived me in any matter, great or small!" + +"Never?" he asked with a slight sneer. "You are sure?" + +"Sure!" she answered bravely. "He would keep nothing from me that it was +necessary or good for me to know. And I--oh! I might pass all my life in +striving to please him, and yet I should never, never be worthy of all +his tenderness and goodness! And that he goes many times to a theatre +without me--what is it? A mere nothing--a trifle to laugh at! It is not +needful to tell me of such a small circumstance!" + +As she spoke she smiled--her form seemed to dilate with a sort of inner +confidence and rapture. + +Sir Francis stared at her half shamed,--half savage. The beautiful, +appealing face, bright with simple trust, roused him to no sort of manly +respect or forbearance,--the very touch of the blossom-white hand she +had laid so innocently on his arm, stung his passion as with a lash--as +he had said, he was fond of hunting--he had chased the unconscious deer +all through the summer, and now that it had turned to bay with such +pitiful mildness and sweet pleading, why not draw the knife across its +slim throat without mercy? + +"Really, Lady Errington!" he said at last sarcastically, "your wifely +enthusiasm and confidence are indeed charming! But, unfortunately, the +proofs are all against you. Truth is truth, however much you may wish to +blind your eyes to its manifestations. I sincerely wish Sir Philip were +present to hear your eloquent praises of him, instead of being where he +most undoubtedly is,--in the arms of Violet Vere!" + +As he said these words she started away from him and put her hands to +her ears as though to shut out some discordant sound--her eyes glowed +feverishly. A cold shiver shook her from head to foot. + +"That is false--false!" she muttered in a low, choked voice. "How can +you--how dare you?" + +She ceased, and with a swaying, bewildered movement, as though she were +blind, she fell senseless at his feet. + +In one second he was kneeling beside her. He raised her head on his +arm,--he gazed eagerly on her fair, still features. A dark contraction +of his brows showed that his thoughts were not altogether righteous +ones. Suddenly he laid her down again gently, and, springing to the +door, locked it. Returning, he once more lifted her in a half-reclining +position, and encircling her with his arms, drew her close to his breast +and kissed her. He was in no hurry for her to recover--she looked very +beautiful--she was helpless--she was in his power. The silvery ting-ling +of the clock on the mantel-piece striking eleven startled him a +little--he listened painfully--he thought he heard some one trying the +handle of the door he had locked. Again--again he kissed those pale, +unconscious lips! Presently, a slight shiver ran through her frame--she +sighed, and a little moan escaped her. Gradually, as warmth and +sensation returned to her, she felt the pressure of his embrace, and +murmured-- + +"Philip! Darling,--you have come back earlier,--I thought--" + +Here she opened her eyes and met those of Sir Francis, who was eagerly +bending over her. She uttered an exclamation of alarm, and strove to +rise. He held her still more closely. + +"Thelma--dear, dearest Thelma! Let me comfort you,--let me tell you how +much I love you!" + +And before she could divine his intent, he pressed his lips passionately +on her pale cheek. With a cry she tore herself violently from his arms +and sprang to her feet, trembling in every limb. + +"What--what is this?" she exclaimed wrathfully. "Are you mad?" + +And still weak and confused from her recent attack of faintness, she +pushed back her hair from her brows and regarded him with a sort of +puzzled horror. + +He flushed deeply, and set his lips hard. + +"I dare say I am," he answered, with a bitter laugh; "in fact, I know I +am! You see, I've betrayed my miserable secret. Will you forgive me, +Lady Errington--Thelma?" He drew nearer to her, and his eyes darkened +with restrained passion. "Matchless beauty!--adorable woman, as you +are!--will you not pardon my crime, if crime it be--the crime of loving +you? For I do love you!--Heaven only knows how utterly and desperately!" + +She stood mute, white, almost rigid, with that strange look of horror +frozen, as it were, upon her features. Emboldened by her silence, he +approached and caught her hand,--she wrenched it from his grasp and +motioned him from her with a gesture of such royal contempt that he +quailed before her. All suddenly the flood-gates of her speech were +loosened,--the rising tide of burning indignation that in its very force +had held her dumb and motionless, now broke forth unrestrainedly. + +"O God!" she cried impetuously, a magnificent glory of disdain flashing +in her jewel-like eyes, "what _thing_ is this that calls itself a +man?--this thief of honor,--this pretended friend? What have I done, +sir, that you should put such deep disgrace as your so-called _love_ +upon me?--what have I _seemed_, that you thus dare to outrage me by the +pollution of your touch? I,--the wife of the noblest gentleman in the +land! Ah!" and she drew a long breath--"and it is you who speak against +my husband--_you_!" She smiled scornfully,--then with more calmness +continued--"You will leave my house, sir, at once! . . . and never +presume to enter it again!" + +And she stepped towards the bell. He looked at her with an evil leer. + +"Stop a moment!" he said coolly. "Just one moment before you ring. Pray +consider! The servant cannot possibly enter, as the door is locked." + +"You _dared_ to lock the door!" she exclaimed, a sudden fear chilling +her heart as she remembered similar manoeuvres on the part of the +Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy--then another thought crossed her mind, and she +began to retreat towards a large painted panel of "Venus" disporting +among cupids and dolphins in the sea. Sir Francis sprang to her side, +and caught her arm in an iron grip--his face was aflame with baffled +spite and vindictiveness. + +"Yes, I _dared_!" he muttered with triumphant malice. "And I dared do +more than that! You lay unconscious in my arms,--you beautiful, +bewitching Thelma, and I kissed you--ay! fifty times! You can never undo +those kisses! You can never forget that _my_ lips, as well as your +husband's, have rested on yours--I have had that much joy that shall +never be taken away from me! And if I choose, even now,"--and he gripped +her more closely--"yes, even now I will kiss you, in spite of you!--who +is to prevent me? I will force you to love me, Thelma--" + +Driven to bay, she struck him with all her force in the face, across the +eyes. + +"Traitor!--liar!--coward!" she gasped breathlessly. "Let me go!" + +Smarting with the pain of the blow, he unconsciously loosened his +grasp--she rushed to the "Venus" panel, and to his utter discomfiture +and amazement he saw it open and close behind her. She disappeared +suddenly and noiselessly as if by magic. With a fierce exclamation, he +threw his whole weight against that secret sliding door--it resisted all +his efforts. He searched for the spring by which it must have +opened,--the whole panel was perfectly smooth and apparently solid, and +the painted "Venus" reclining on her dolphin's back seemed as though she +smiled mockingly at his rage and disappointment. + +While he was examining it, he heard the sudden, sharp, and continuous +ringing of an electric bell somewhere in the house, and with a guilty +flush on his face he sprang to the drawing-room door and unlocked it. He +was just in time, for scarcely had he turned the key, when Morris made +his appearance. That venerable servitor looked round the room in evident +surprise. + +"Did her ladyship ring?" he inquired, his eyes roving everywhere in +search of his mistress. Sir Francis collected his wits, and forced +himself to seem composed. + +"No," he said coolly. "_I_ rang." He adopted this falsehood as a means +of exit. "Call a hansom, will you?" + +And he sauntered easily into the hall, and got on his hat and +great-coat. Morris was rather bewildered,--but, obedient to the command, +blew the summoning cab-whistle, which was promptly answered. Sir Francis +tossed him half a crown, and entered the vehicle, which clattered away +with him in the direction of Cromwell Road. Stopping at a particular +house in a side street leading from thence, he bade the cabman +wait,--and, ascending the steps, busied himself for some moments in +scribbling something rapidly in pencil on a leaf of his note-book by the +light of the hanging-lamp in the doorway. He then gave a loud knock, and +inquired of the servant who answered it-- + +"Is Mr. Snawley-Grubbs in?" + +"Yes, sir,"--the reply came rather hesitatingly--"but he's having a +party to-night." + +And, in fact, the scraping of violins and the shuffle of dancing feet +were distinctly audible overhead. + +"Oh, well, just mention my name--Sir Francis Lennox. Say I will not +detain him more than five minutes." + +He entered, and was ushered into a small ante-room while the maid went +to deliver her message. He caught sight of his own reflection in a round +mirror over the mantel-piece, and his face darkened as he saw a dull red +ridge across his forehead--the mark of Thelma's well-directed blow,--the +sign-manual of her scorn. A few minutes passed, and then there came in +to him a large man in an expensive dress-suit,--a man with a puffy, red, +Silenus-like countenance--no other than Mr. Snawley-Grubbs, who hailed +him with effusive cordiality. + +"My dear, Sir Francis!" he said in a rich, thick, uncomfortable voice. +"This is an unexpected pleasure! Won't you come upstairs? My girls are +having a little informal dance--just among themselves and their own +young friends--quite simple,--in fact an unpretentious little affair!" +And he rubbed his fat hands, on which twinkled two or three large +diamond rings. "But we shall be charmed if you will join us!" + +"Thanks, not this evening," returned Sir Francis. "It's rather too late. +I should not have intruded upon you at this hour--but I thought you +might possibly like this paragraph for the _Snake_." + +And he held out with a careless air the paper on which he had scribbled +but a few minutes previously. Mr. Snawley-Grubbs smiled,--and fixed a +pair of elegant gold-rimmed eye-glasses on his inflamed crimson nose. + +"I must tell you, though," he observed, before reading, "that it is too +late for this week, at any rate. We've gone to press already." + +"Never mind!" returned Sir Francis indifferently. "Next week will do as +well." + +And he furtively watched Mr. Snawley-Grubbs while he perused the +pencilled scrawl. That gentleman, however, as Editor and Proprietor of +the _Snake_--a new, but highly successful weekly "society" journal, was +far too dignified and self-important to allow his countenance to betray +his feelings. He merely remarked, as he folded up the little slip very +carefully. + +"Very smart! very smart, indeed! Authentic, of course?" + +Sir Francis drew himself up haughtily. "You doubt my word?" + +"Oh dear, no!" declared Mr. Snawley-Grubbs hastily, venturing to lay a +soothing hand on Sir Francis's shoulder. "Your position, and all that +sort of thing--Naturally you _must_ be able to secure correct +information. You can't help it! I assure you the _Snake_ is infinitely +obliged to you for a great many well-written and socially exciting +paragraphs. Only, you see, I myself should never have thought that so +extreme a follower of the exploded old doctrine of noblesse oblige, as +Sir Philip Bruce-Errington, would have started on such a new line of +action at all. But, of course, we are all mortal!" And he shook his +round thick head with leering sagacity. "Well!" he continued after a +pause. "This shall go in without fail next week, I promise you." + +"You can send me a hundred copies of the issue," said Sir Francis, +taking up his hat to go. "I suppose you're not afraid of an action for +libel?" + +Mr. Snawley-Grubbs laughed--nay, he roared,--the idea seemed so +exquisitely suited to his sense of humor. + +"Afraid? My dear fellow, there's nothing I should like better! It would +establish the _Snake_, and make my fortune! I would even go to prison +with pleasure. Prison, for a first-class misdemeanant, as I should most +probably be termed, is perfectly endurable." He laughed again, and +escorted Sir Francis to the street-door, where he shook hands heartily. +"You are sure you won't come upstairs and join us? No? Ah, I see you +have a cab waiting. Good-night, good-night!" + +And the Snawley-Grubbs door being closed upon him, Sir Francis +re-entered his cab, and was driven straight to his bachelor lodgings in +Piccadilly. He was in a better humor with himself now,--though he was +still angrily conscious of a smart throbbing across the eyes, where +Thelma's ringed hand had struck him. He found a brief note from Lady +Winsleigh awaiting him. It ran as follows:-- + +"You're playing a losing game this time,--she will believe nothing +without proofs--and even then it will be difficult. You had better drop +the pursuit, I fancy. For once a woman's reputation will escape you!" + +He smiled bitterly as he read these last words. + +"Not while a society paper exists!" he said to himself. "As long as +there are editors willing to accept the word of a responsible man of +position, for any report, the chastest Diana that ever lived shall not +escape calumny! She wants proofs, does she? She shall have them--by +Jove! she shall!" + +And instead of going to bed, he went off to a bijou villa in St. John's +Wood,--an elegantly appointed little place, which he rented and +maintained,--and where the popular personage known as Violet Vere, +basked in the very lap of luxury. + +Meanwhile, Thelma paced up and down her own boudoir, into which she had +escaped through the sliding panel which had baffled her admirer. Her +whole frame trembled as she thought of the indignity to which she had +been subjected during her brief unconsciousness,--her face burned with +bitter shame,--she felt as if she were somehow poisonously infected by +those hateful kisses of Lennox,--all her womanly and wifely instincts +were outraged. Her first impulse was to tell her husband everything the +instant he returned. It was she who had rung the bell which had startled +Sir Francis, and she was surprised that her summons was not answered. +She rang again, and Britta appeared. + +"I wanted Morris," said Thelma quickly. + +"He thought it was the drawing-room bell," responded Britta meekly, for +her "Froeken" looked very angry. "I saw him in the hall just now, letting +out Sir Francis Lennox." + +"Has he gone?" demanded Thelma eagerly. + +Britta's wonder increased. "Yes, Froeken!" + +Thelma caught her arm. "Tell Morris never, never to let him inside the +house again--_never_!" and her blue eyes flashed wrathfully. "He is a +wicked man, Britta! You do not know how wicked he is!" + +"Oh yes, I do!" and Britta regarded her mistress very steadfastly. "I +know quite well! But, then, I must not speak! If I dared, I could tell +you some strange things, dear Froeken--but you will not hear me. You know +you do not wish me to talk about your grand new friends, Froeken, but--" +she paused timidly. + +"Oh, Britta, dear!" said Thelma affectionately taking her hand. "You +know they are not so much my friends as the friends of Sir Philip,--and +for this reason I must never listen to anything against them. Do you not +see? Of course their ways seem strange to us--but, then, life in London +is so different to life in Norway,--and we cannot all at once +understand--" she broke off, sighing a little. Then she resumed--"Now +you will give Morris my message, Britta--and then come to me in my +bedroom--I am tired, and Philip said I was not to wait up for him." + +Britta departed, and Thelma went rather slowly up-stairs. It was now +nearly midnight, and she felt languid and weary. Her reflections began +to take a new turn. Suppose she told her husband all that had occurred, +he would most certainly go to Sir Francis and punish him in some +way--there might then be a quarrel in which Philip might suffer--and all +sorts of evil consequences would perhaps result from her want of +reticence. If, on the other hand, she said nothing, and simply refused +to receive Lennox, would not her husband think such conduct on her part +strange? She puzzled over these questions till her head ached--and +finally resolved to keep her own counsel for the present,--after what +had happened. Sir Francis would most probably not intrude himself again +into her presence. "I will ask Mrs. Lorimer what is best to do," she +thought. "She is old and wise, and she will know." + +That night, as she laid her head on her pillow, and Britta threw the +warm _eidredon_ over her, she shivered a little and asked-- + +"Is it not very cold, Britta?" + +"Very!" responded her little maid. "And it is beginning to snow." + +Thelma looked wistful. "It is all snow and darkness now at the +Altenfjord," she said. + +Britta smiled. "Yes, indeed, Froeken! We are better off here than there." + +"Perhaps!" replied Thelma a little musingly, and then she settled +herself as though to sleep. + +Britta kissed her hand, and retired noiselessly. When she had gone, +Thelma opened her eyes and lay broad awake looking at the flicker of +rosy light flung on the ceiling from the little suspended lamp in her +oratory. All snow and darkness at the Altenfjord! How strange the +picture seemed! She thought of her mother's sepulchre,--how cold and +dreary it must be,--she could see in fancy the long pendent icicles +fringing the entrance to the sea-king's tomb,--the spot where she and +Philip had first met,--she could almost hear the slow, sullen plash of +the black Fjord against the shore. Her maiden life in Norway--her school +days at Arles,--these were now like dreams,--dreams that had passed away +long, long ago. The whole tenor of her existence had changed,--she was a +wife,--she was soon to be a mother,--and with this near future of new +and sacred joy before her, why did she to-night so persistently look +backward to the past? + +As she lay quiet, watching the glimmering light upon the wall, it seemed +as though her room were suddenly filled with shadowy forms,--she saw her +mother's sweet, sad, suffering face,--then her father's sturdy figure +and fine, frank features,--then came the flitting shape of the hapless +Sigurd, whose plaintive voice she almost imagined she could hear,--and +feeling that she was growing foolishly nervous, she closed her eyes, and +tried to sleep. In vain,--her mind began to work on a far more +unpleasing train of thought. Why did not Philip return? Where was he? As +though some mocking devil had answered her, the words, "In the arms of +Violet Vere!" as uttered by Sir Francis Lennox, recurred to her. +Overcome by her restlessness, she started up,--she determined to get out +of bed, and put on her dressing-gown and read,--when her quick ears +caught the sound of steps coming up the stair-case. She recognized her +husband's firm tread, and understood that he was followed by Neville, +whose sleeping-apartment was on the floor above. She listened +attentively--they were talking together in low tones on the landing +outside her door. + +"I think it would be much better to make a clean breast of it," said Sir +Philip. "She will have to know some day." + +"Your wife? For God's sake, don't tell her!" Neville's voice replied. +"Such a disgraceful--" Here his words sank to a whisper, and Thelma +could not distinguish them. Another minute, and her husband entered with +soft precaution, fearing to awake her--she stretched out her arms to +welcome him, and he hastened to her with an exclamation of tenderness +and pleasure. + +"My darling! Not asleep yet?" + +She smiled,--but there was something very piteous in her smile, had the +dim light enabled him to perceive it. + +"No, not yet, Philip! And yet I think I have been dreaming of--the +Altenfjord." + +"Ah! it must be cold there now," he answered lightly. "It's cold enough +here, in all conscience. To-night there is a bitter east wind, and snow +is falling." + +She heard this account of the weather with almost morbid interest. Her +thoughts instantly betook themselves again to Norway, and dwelt there. +To the last,--before her aching eyes closed in the slumber she so sorely +needed,--she seemed to be carried away in fancy to a weird stretch of +gloom-enveloped landscape where she stood entirely alone, vaguely +wondering at the dreary scene. "How strange it seems!" she murmured +almost aloud. "All snow and darkness at the Altenfjord!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + "Le temps ou nous nous sommes aimes n'a guere dure, jeune fille; + il a passe comme un coup de vent!" + _Old Breton Ballad._ + + +The next morning dawned, cold and dismal. A dense yellow fog hung over +the metropolis like a pall--the street lamps were lighted, but their +flare scarcely illumined the thoroughfares, and the chill of the +snow-burdened air penetrated into the warmest rooms, and made itself +felt even by the side of the brightest fires. Sir Philip woke with an +uncomfortable sense of headache and depression, and grumbled,--as surely +every Englishman has a right to grumble, at the uncompromising +wretchedness of his country's winter climate. His humor was not improved +when a telegram arrived before breakfast, summoning him in haste to a +dull town in one of the Midland counties, on pressing business connected +with his candidature for Parliament. + +"What a bore!" he exclaimed, showing the missive to his wife. "I _must_ +go,--and I shan't be able to get back tonight. You'll be all alone, +Thelma. I wish you'd go to the Winsleighs!" + +"Why?" said Thelma quietly. "I shall much prefer to be here. I do not +mind, Philip. I am accustomed to be alone." + +Something in her tone struck him as particularly sad, and he looked at +her intently. + +"Now, my darling," he said suddenly, "if this Parliamentary bother is +making you feel worried or vexed in any way, I'll throw it all up--by +Jove, I will!" And he drew her into his warm embrace. "After all" he +added, with a laugh, "what does it matter! The country can get on +without me!" + +Thelma smiled a little. + +"You must not talk so foolishly, Philip," she said tenderly. "It is +wrong to begin a thing of importance, and not go through with it. And I +am not worried or vexed at all. What would people say of me if I, your +wife, were, for my own selfish comfort and pleasure of having you always +with me, to prevent you from taking a good place among the men of your +nation? Indeed, I should deserve much blame! And so, though it is a +gloomy day for you, poor boy,--you must go to this place where you are +wanted, and I shall think of you all the time you are gone, and shall be +so happy to welcome you home to-morrow!" + +And she kissed and clung to him for a moment in silence. All that day +Philip was haunted by the remembrance of the lingering tenderness of her +farewell embrace. By ten o'clock he was gone, taking Neville with him; +and after her household duties were over, Thelma prepared herself to go +and lunch with old Mrs. Lorimer, and see what she would advise +concerning the affair of Sir Francis Lennox. But, at the same time, she +resolved that nothing should make her speak of the reports that were +afloat about her husband and Violet Vere. + +"I know it is all false," she said to herself over and over again. "And +the people here are as silly as the peasants in Bosekop, ready to +believe any untruth so long as it gives them something to talk about. +But they may chatter as they please--I shall not say one word, not even +to Philip--for it would seem as if I mistrusted him." + +Thus she put away all the morbid fancies that threatened to oppress her, +and became almost cheerful. + +And while she made her simple plans for pleasantly passing the long, +dull day of her husband's enforced absence, her friend, Lady Winsleigh, +was making arrangements of a very different nature. Her ladyship had +received a telegram from Sir Francis Lennox that morning. The pink +missive had apparently put her in an excellent humor, though, after +reading it, she crumpled it up and threw it in the waste-paper basket, +from which receptacle, Louise Renaud, her astute attendant, half an hour +later extracted it, secreting it in her own pocket for private perusal +at leisure. She ordered her brougham, saying she was going out on +business,--and before departing, she took from her dressing-case certain +bank-notes and crammed them hastily into her purse--a purse which, in +all good faith, she handed to her maid to put in her sealskin muff-bag. +Of course, Louise managed to make herself aware of its contents,--but +when her ladyship at last entered her carriage her unexpected order, "To +the Brilliant Theatre, Strand," was sufficient to startle Briggs, and +cause him to exchange surprise signals with "Mamzelle," who merely +smiled a prim, incomprehensible smile. + +"_Where_ did your la'ship say?" asked Briggs dubiously. + +"Are you getting deaf, Briggs?" responded his mistress pleasantly. "To +the Brilliant Theatre!" She raised her voice, and spoke with distinct +emphasis. There was no mistaking her. Briggs touched his hat,--in the +same instant he winked at Louise, and then the carriage rolled away. + +At night, the Brilliant Theatre is a pretty little place,--comfortable, +cosy, bright, and deserving of its name;--in broad day, it is none of +these things. A squalid dreariness seems to have settled upon it--it has +a peculiar atmosphere of its own--an atmosphere dark, heavy, and +strangely flavored with odors of escaping gas and crushed orange-peel. +Behind the scenes, these odors mingle with a chronic, all-pervading +smell of beer--beer, which the stranger's sensitive nose detects +directly, in spite of the choking clouds of dust which arise from the +boards at the smallest movement of any part of the painted scenery. The +Brilliant had gone through much ill-fortune--its proprietors never +realized any financial profit till they secured Violet Vere. With her +came prosperity. Her utter absence of all reserve--the frankness with +which she threw modesty to the winds,--the vigor with which she danced a +regular "break-down,"--roaring a comic song of the lowest type, by way +of accompaniment,--the energetic manner in which, metaphorically +speaking, she kicked at the public with her shapely legs,--all this +overflow of genius on her part drew crowds to the Brilliant nightly, and +the grateful and happy managers paid her a handsome salary, humored all +her caprices, and stinted and snubbed for her sake, all the rest of the +company. She was immensely popular--the "golden youth" of London raved +about her dyed hair, painted eyes, and carmined lips--even her voice, as +coarse as that of a dustman, was applauded to the echo, and her dancing +excited the wildest enthusiasm. Dukes sent her presents of diamond +ornaments--gifts of value which they would have possibly refused to +their own wives and daughters,--Royal Highnesses thought it no shame to +be seen lounging near her stage dressing-room door,--in short, she was +in the zenith of her career, and, being thoroughly unprincipled, +audaciously insolent, and wholly without a conscience,--she enjoyed +herself immensely. + +At the very time when Lady Winsleigh's carriage was nearing the Strand, +the grand morning rehearsal of a new burlesque was "on" at the +Brilliant--and Violet's harsh tones, raised to a sort of rough masculine +roar, were heard all over the theatre, as she issued commands or made +complaints according to her changeful humors. She sat in an elevated +position above the stage on a jutting beam of wood painted to resemble +the gnarled branch of a tree,--swinging her legs to and fro and clinking +the heels of her shoes together in time to the mild scraping of a +violin, the player whereof was "trying over" the first few bars of the +new "jig" in which she was ere long to distinguish herself. She was a +handsome woman, with a fine, fair skin, and large, full, dark eyes--she +had a wide mouth, which, nearly always on the grin, displayed to the +full her strong white teeth,--her figure was inclined to excessive +_embonpoint_, but this rather endeared her to her admirers than +otherwise,--many of these gentlemen being prone to describe her fleshly +charms by the epithet "Prime!" as though she were a fatting pig or other +animal getting ready for killing. + +"Tommy! Tommy!" she screeched presently. "Are you going to sleep? Do you +expect me to dance to a dirge, you lazy devil!" + +Tommy, the player of the violin, paused in his efforts, and looked up +drearily. He was an old man, with a lean, long body and pinched +features--his lips had a curious way, too, of trembling when he spoke, +as if he were ready to cry. + +"I can't help it," he said slowly. "I don't know it yet. I must practice +it a bit at home. My sight's not so good as it used to be--" + + "Such a pair of optics, love, you've never, never seen-- + One my mother blacked last night, the other it is green!" + +sang Violet, to the infinite delight of all the unwashed-looking +supernumeraries and ballet-girls, who were scattered about the stage, +talking and laughing. + +"Shut up, Tommy!" she continued. "You're always talking about your +eyesight. I warn you, if you say too much about it you'll lose your +place. We don't want blind fiddlers in the Brilliant. Put down you +catgut screamer, and fetch me a pint. Ask for the Vere's own +tipple--they'll twig!" + +Tommy obeyed, and shuffled off on his errand. As he departed,--a little +man with a very red face, wearing a stove-pipe hat very much on one +side, bounced on the stage as if some one had thrown him there like a +ball. + +"Now, ladies, ladies!" he shouted warningly. "Attention! Once again, +please! The last figure once again!" The straggling groups scrambled +hastily into something like order, and the little man continued--"One, +two, three! Advance--retreat--left, right! Very well, indeed! Arms up a +little more, Miss Jenkins--so! toes well pointed--curtsy--retire! One, +two, three! swift slide to the left wing--forward! Round--take +hands--all smile, please!" This general smile was apparently not quite +satisfactory, for he repeated persuasively--"All smile, please! So! +Round again--more quickly--now break the circle in a centre--enter Miss +Vere--" he paused, growing still redder in the face, and demanded, "Where +is Miss Vere?" + +He was standing just beneath the painted bough of the sham tree, and in +one second his hat was dexterously kicked off, and two heels met with a +click round his neck. + +"Here I am, pickaninny!" retorted Miss Vere holding him fast in this +novel embrace, amid the laughter of the supers. "You're getting as blind +as Tommy! Steady, steady now, donkey!--steady--woa!" And in a thrice she +stood upright, one foot planted firmly on each of his shoulders. + +"No weight, am I, darling?" she went on jeeringly, and with an +inimitably derisive air she put up an eye-glass and surveyed the top of +his head. "You want a wig, my dear--you do, indeed! Come with me +to-morrow, and I'll buy you one to suit your complexion. Your wife won't +know you!" + +And with a vigorous jump she sprang down from her position, managing to +give him a smart hit on the nose as she did so--and leaping to the +centre of the stage, she posed herself to commence her dance--when Tommy +came creeping back in his slow and dismal fashion, bearing something in +a pewter pot. + +"That's the ticket!" she cried as she perceived him. "I'm as dry as a +whole desert! Give it here!" And she snatched the mug from the feeble +hand of her messenger and began drinking eagerly. + +The little red-faced man interposed. "Now, Miss Vi," he said, "is that +brandy?" + +"Rather so!" returned the Vere, with a knowing wink, "and a good many +things besides. It's a mixture. The 'Vere's Own!' Ha, ha! Might be the +name of a regiment!" + +And she buried her mouth and nose again in the tankard. + +"Look here," said the little man again. "Why not wait till after the +dance? It's bad for you before." + +"Oh, is it, indeed!" screamed Violet, raising her face, which became +suddenly and violently flushed. "O good Lord! Are you a temperance +preacher? Teach your granny! Bad for me? Say another word, and I'll box +your ears for you! You braying jackass!--you snivelling idiot! Who makes +the Brilliant draw? You or I? Tell me that, you staring old--" + +Here Tommy, who had for some minutes been vainly endeavoring to attract +her attention, raised his weak voice to a feeble shout. + +"I say, Miss Vere! I've been trying to tell you, but you won't listen! +There's a lady waiting to see you!" + +"A what?" she asked. + +"A lady!" continued Tommy, in loud tones. "A lady of title! Wants to see +you in private! Won't detain you long!" + +Violet Vere raised her pewter mug once more, and drained off its +contents. + +"Lord, ain't I honored!" she said, smacking her lips with a grin. "A +lady of title to see me! Let her wait! Now then!" and snapping her +fingers, she began her dance, and went through it to the end, with her +usual vigor and frankness. When she had finished, she turned to the +red-faced man who had watched her evolutions with much delight in spite +of the abuse she had heaped upon him, and said with an affected, +smirking drawl-- + +"Show the lady of title into my dressing-room! I shall be ready for her +in ten minutes. Be sure to mention that I am very shy,--and unaccustomed +to company!" + +And, giggling gently like an awkward school-girl, she held down her head +with feigned bashfulness, and stepped mincingly across the stage with +such a ludicrous air of prim propriety, that all her associates burst +out laughing, and applauded her vociferously. She turned and curtsied to +them demurely--then suddenly raising one leg in a horizontal position, +she twirled it rapidly in their faces,--then she gave a little shocked +cough behind her hand, grinned, and vanished. + +When, in the stipulated ten minutes, she was ready to receive her +unknown visitor, she was quite transformed. She had arrayed herself in a +trailing gown of rich black velvet, fastened at the side with jet +clasps--a cluster of natural, innocent, white violets nestled in the +fall of Spanish lace at her throat--her face was pale with +pearl-powder,--and she had eaten a couple of scented bon-bons to drown +the smell of her recent brandy-tipple. She reclined gracefully in an +easy chair, pretending to read, and she rose with an admirably acted air +of startled surprise, as one of the errand boys belonging to the +Brilliant tapped at her door, and in answer to her "Come in!" announced, +"Lady Winsleigh!" + +A faint, sweet, questioning smile played on the Vere's wide mouth. + +"I am not aware that I have the honor of--" she began, modulating her +voice to the requirements of fashionable society, and wondering within +herself "what the d----l" this woman in the silk and sable-fur costume +wanted. + +Lady Winsleigh in the meantime stared at her with cold, critical eyes. + +"She is positively rather handsome," she thought. "I can quite imagine a +certain class of men losing their heads about her." Aloud she said-- + +"I must apologize for this intrusion, Miss Vere! I dare say you have +never heard my name--I am not fortunate enough to be famous,--as _you_ +are." This with a killing satire in her smile. "May I sit down? Thanks! +I have called upon you in the hope that you may perhaps be able to give +me a little information in a private matter--a matter concerning the +happiness of a very dear friend of mine." She paused--Violet Vere sat +silent. After a minute or two, her ladyship continued in a somewhat +embarrassed manner-- + +"I believe you know a gentleman with whom I am also acquainted--Sir +Philip Bruce-Errington." + +Miss Vere raised her eyes with charming languor and a slow smile. + +"Oh yes!" + +"He visits you, doesn't he?" + +"Frequently!" + +"I'm afraid you'll think me rude and inquisitive," continued Lady +Winsleigh, with a coaxing air, "but--but may I ask--" + +"Anything in the world," interrupted Violet coolly. "Ask away! But I'm +not bound to answer." + +Lady Winsleigh reddened with indignation. "What an insulting creature!" +she thought. But, after all, she had put herself in her present +position, and she could not very well complain if she met with a rebuff. +She made another effort. + +"Sir Francis Lennox told me--" she began. + +The Vere interrupted her with a cheerful laugh. + +"Oh, you come from him, do you? Now, why didn't you tell me that at +first? It's all right! You're a great friend of Lennie's, aren't you?" + +Lady Winsleigh sat erect and haughty, a deadly chill of disgust and fear +at her heart. This creature called her quondam lover, "Lennie"--even as +she herself had done,--and she, the proud, vain woman of society and +fashion shuddered at the idea that there should be even this similarity +between herself and the "thing" called Violet Vere. She replied +stiffly-- + +"I have known him a long time." + +"He's a nice fellow," went on Miss Vere easily--"a _leetle_ stingy +sometimes, but never mind that! You want to know about Sir Philip +Errington, and I'll tell you. He's chosen to mix himself up with some +affairs of mine--" + +"What affairs?" asked Lady Winsleigh rather eagerly. + +"They don't concern you," returned Miss Vere calmly, "and we needn't +talk about them! But they concern Sir Philip,--or he thinks they do, and +insists on seeing me about them, and holding long conversations, which +bore me excessively!" + +She yawned slightly, smothering her yawn in a dainty lace handkerchief, +and then went on-- + +"He's a moral young man, don't you know--and I never could endure moral +men! I can't get on with them at all!" + +"Then you don't like him?" questioned Lady Winsleigh in rather a +disappointed tone. + +"No, I don't!" said the Vere candidly. "He's not my sort. But, Lord +bless you! I know how he's getting talked about because he comes +here--and serve him right too! He shouldn't meddle with my business." +She paused suddenly and drew a letter from her pocket,--laughed and +tossed it across the table. + +"You can read that, if you like," she said indifferently. "He wrote it, +and sent it round to me last night." + +Lady Winsleigh's eyes glistened eagerly,--she recognized Errington's +bold, clear hand at once,--and as she read, an expression of triumph +played on her features. She looked up presently and said-- + +"Have you any further use for this letter, Miss Vere? Or--will you allow +me to keep it?" + +The Vere seemed slightly suspicious of this proposal, but looked amused +too. + +"Why, what do you want it for?" she inquired bluntly. "To tease him +about me?" + +Lady Winsleigh forced a smile. "Well--perhaps!" she admitted, then with +an air of gentleness and simplicity she continued, "I think, Miss Vere, +with you, that it is very wrong of Sir Philip,--very absurd of him, in +fact--to interfere with your affairs, whatever they may be,--and as it +is very likely annoying to you--" + +"It _is_," interrupted Violet decidedly. + +"Then, with the help of this letter--which, really--really--excuse me +for saying it!--quite compromises him," and her ladyship looked amiably +concerned about it, "I might perhaps persuade him not to--to--intrude +upon you--you understand? But if you object to part with the letter, +never mind! If I did not fear to offend you, I should ask you to +exchange it for--for something more--well! let us say, something more +substantial--" + +"Don't beat about the bush!" said Violet, with a sudden oblivion of her +company manners. "You mean money?" + +Lady Winsleigh smiled. "As you put it so frankly, Miss Vere--" she +began. + +"Of course! I'm always frank," returned the Vere, with a loud laugh. +"Besides, what's the good of pretending? Money's the only thing worth +having--it pays your butcher, baker, and dressmaker--and how are you to +get along if you _can't_ pay them, I'd like to know! Lord! if all the +letters I've got from fools were paying stock instead of waste-paper, +I'd shut up shop, and leave the Brilliant to look out for itself!" + +Lady Winsleigh felt she had gained her object, and she could now afford +to be gracious. + +"That would be a great loss to the world," she remarked sweetly. "An +immense loss! London could scarcely get on without Violet Vere!" Here +she opened her purse and took out some bank-notes, which she folded and +slipped inside an envelope. "Then I may have the letter?" she continued. + +"You may and welcome!" returned Violet. + +Lady Winsleigh instantly held out the envelope, which she as instantly +clutched. "Especially if you'll tell Sir Philip Errington to mind his +own business!" She paused, and a dark flush mounted to her brow--one of +those sudden flushes that purpled rather than crimsoned her face. "Yes," +she repeated, "as he's a friend of yours, just tell him I said he was to +mind his own business! Lord! what does he want to come here and preach +at me for! I don't want his sermons! Moral!" here she laughed rather +hoarsely, "I'm as moral as any one on the stage! Who says I'm not! Take +'em all round--there's not a soul behind the footlights more open and +above-board than I am!" + +And her eyes flashed defiantly. + +"She's been drinking?" thought Lady Winsleigh disgustedly. In fact, the +"Vere's Own" tipple had begun to take its usual effect, which was to +make the Vere herself both blatant and boisterous. + +"I'm sure," said her ladyship with frigid politeness, "that you are +everything that is quite charming, Miss Vere! I have a great respect for +the--the ornaments of the English stage. Society has quite thrown down +its former barriers, you know!--the members of your profession are +received in the very best circles--" + +"I ain't!" said Violet, with ungrammatical candor. "Your Irvings and +your Terrys, your Mary Andersons and your Langtrys,--they're good enough +for your fine drawing-rooms, and get more invitations out than they can +accept. And none of them have got half my talent, I tell you! Lord bless +my soul! if they're respectable enough for you,--so am I!" + +And she struck her hand emphatically on the table, Lady Winsleigh looked +at her with a slight smile. + +"I must really say good-bye!" she said, rising and gathering her furs +about her. "I could talk with you all the morning, Miss Vere, but I have +so many engagements! Besides I mustn't detain _you_! I'm so much obliged +to you for your kind reception of me!" + +"Don't mention, it!" and Violet glanced her over with a kind of sullen +sarcasm. "I'm bound to please Lennie when I can, you know!" + +Again Lady Winsleigh shivered a little, but forced herself to shake +hands with the notorious stage-Jezebel. + +"I shall come and see you in the new piece," she said graciously. "I +always take a box on first nights? And your dancing is so exquisite! The +very poetry of motion! So pleased to have met you! Good-bye!" + +And with a few more vague compliments and remarks about the weather, +Lady Winsleigh took her departure. Left alone, the actress threw herself +back in her chair and laughed. + +"That woman's up to some mischief," she exclaimed sotto voce, "and so is +Lennie! I wonder what's their little game? _I_ don't care, as long as +they'll keep the high-and-mighty Errington in his place. I'm tired of +him! Why does he meddle with _my_ affairs?" Her brows knitted into a +frown. "As if he or anybody else could persuade me to go back to--," she +paused, and bit her lips angrily. Then she opened the envelope Lady +Winsleigh had left with her, and pulled out the bank-notes inside. "Let +me see--five, ten, fifteen, twenty! Not bad pay, on the whole! It'll +just cover the bill for my plush mantle. Hullo! Who's there?" + +Some one knocked at her door. + +"Come in!" she cried. + +The feeble Tommy presented himself. His weak mouth trembled more than +ever, and he was apparently conscious of this, for he passed his hand +nervously across it two or three times. + +"Well, what's up?" inquired the "star" of the Brilliant, fingering her +bank-notes as she spoke. + +"Miss Vere," stammered Tommy, "I venture to ask you a favor,--could you +kindly, very kindly lend me ten shillings till to-morrow night? I am so +pressed just now--and my wife is ill in bed--and--" he stopped, and his +eyes sought her face hopefully, yet timidly. + +"You shouldn't have a wife, Tommy!" averred Violet with blunt frankness. +"Wives are expensive articles. Besides, I never lend. I never +give--except to public charities where one's name gets mentioned in the +papers. I'm obliged to do that, you know, by way of advertisement. Ten +shillings! Why, I can't afford ten pence! My bills would frighten you, +Tommy! There go along, and don't cry, for goodness sake! Let your fiddle +cry for you!" + +"Oh, Miss Vere," once more pleaded Tommy, "if you knew how my wife +suffers--" + +The actress rose and stamped her foot impatiently. + +"Bother your wife!" she cried angrily, "and you too! Look out! or I tell +the manager we've got a beggar at the Brilliant. Don't stare at me like +that! Go to the d----l with you!" + +Tommy slunk off abashed and trembling, and the Vere began to sing, or +rather croak, a low comic song, while she threw over her shoulders a +rich mantle glittering with embroidered trimmings, and poised a +coquettish Paris model hat on her thick untwisted coils of hair. Thus +attired, she passed out of her dressing-room, locking the door behind +her, and after a brief conversation with the jocose acting manager, whom +she met on her way out, she left the theatre, and took a cab to the +Criterion, where the young Duke of Moorlands, her latest conquest, had +invited her to a sumptuous luncheon with himself and friends, all men of +fashion, who were running through what money they had as fast as they +could go. + +Lady Winsleigh, on her way home, was tormented by sundry uncomfortable +thoughts and sharp pricks of conscience. Her interview with Violet Vere +had instinctively convinced her that Sir Philip was innocent of the +intrigue imputed to him, and yet,--the letter she had now in her +possession seemed to prove him guilty. And though she felt herself to be +playing a vile part, she could not resist the temptation of trying what +the effect would be of this compromising document on Thelma's trusting +mind. It was undoubtedly a very incriminating epistle--any lawyer would +have said as much, while blandly pocketing his fee for saying it. It was +written off in evident haste, and ran as follows:-- + + + "Let me see you once more on the subject you know of. Why will you + not accept the honorable position offered to you? There shall be + no stint of money--all the promises I have made I am quite ready + to fulfill--you shall lose nothing by being gentle. Surely you + cannot continue to seem so destitute of all womanly feeling and + pity? I will not believe that you would so deliberately condemn to + death a man who has loved, and who loves you still so faithfully, + and who, without you, is utterly weary of life and broken-hearted! + Think once more--and let my words carry more weight with you!" + + "BRUCE-ERRINGTON." + + +This was all, but more than enough! + +"I wonder what he means," thought Lady Winsleigh. "It looks as if he +were in love with the Vere and she refused to reciprocate. It _must_ be +that. And yet that doesn't accord with what the creature herself said +about his 'preaching at her.' He wouldn't do that if he were in love." + +She studied every word of the letter again and again, and finally folded +it up carefully and placed it in her pocket-book. + +"Innocent or guilty, Thelma must see it," she decided. "I wonder how +she'll take it! If she wants a proof--it's one she'll scarcely deny. +Some women would fret themselves to death over it--but I shouldn't +wonder if she sat down under it quite calmly without a word of +complaint." She frowned a little. "Why must _she_ always be superior to +others of her sex! How I detest that still solemn smile of hers and +those big baby-blue eyes! I think if Philip had married any other woman +than she--a woman more like the rest of us who'd have gone with her +time,--I could have forgiven him more easily. But to pick up a Norwegian +peasant and set her up as a sort of moral finger-post to society--and +then to go and compromise himself with Violet Vere--that's a kind of +thing I _can't_ stand! I'd rather be anything in the world than a +humbug!" + +Many people desire to be something they are not, and her ladyship quite +unconsciously echoed this rather general sentiment. She was, without +knowing it, such an adept in society humbug, that she even humbugged +herself. She betrayed herself as she betrayed others, and told little +soothing lies to her own conscience as she told them to her friends. +There are plenty of women like her,--women of pleasant courtesy and +fashion, to whom truth is mere coarseness,--and with whom polite lying +passes for perfect breeding. She was not aware, as she was driven along +Park Lane to her own residence, that she carried with her on the box of +her brougham a private detective in the person of Briggs. Perched +stiffly on his seat, with arms tightly folded, this respectable retainer +was quite absorbed in meditation, so much so that he exchanged not a +word with his friend, the coachman, beside him. He had his own notions +of propriety,--he considered that his mistress had no business whatever +to call on an actress of Violet Vere's repute,--and he resolved that +whether he were reproved for over-officiousness or not, nothing should +prevent him from casually mentioning to Lord Winsleigh the object of her +ladyship's drive that morning. + +"For," mused Briggs gravely, "a lady 'as responsibilities, and 'owever +she forgets 'erself, appearances 'as to be kep' up." + +With the afternoon, the fog which had hung over the city all day, +deepened and darkened. Thelma had lunched with Mrs. Lorimer, and had +enjoyed much pleasant chat with that kindly, cheerful old lady. She had +confided to her, part of the story of Sir Francis Lennox's conduct, +carefully avoiding every mention of the circumstance which had given +rise to it,--namely, the discussion about Violet Vere. She merely +explained that she had suddenly fainted, in which condition Sir Francis +had taken advantage of her helplessness to insult her. + +Mrs. Lorimer was highly indignant. "Tell your husband all about it, my +dear!" she advised. "He's big enough, and strong enough, to give that +little snob a good trouncing! My patience! I wish George were in +London--he'd lend a hand and welcome!" + +And the old lady nodded her head violently over the sock she was +knitting,--the making of socks for her beloved son was her principal +occupation and amusement. + +"But I hear," said Thelma, "that it is against the law to strike any +one, no matter how you have been insulted. If so,--then Philip would be +punished for attacking Sir Francis, and that would not be fair." + +"You didn't think of that, child, when you struck Lennox yourself," +returned Mrs. Lorimer, laughing. "And I guarantee you gave him a good +hard blow,--and serve him right! Never mind what comes of it, my +dearie--just tell your husband as soon as ever he comes home, and let +him take the matter into his own hands. He's a fine man--he'll know how +to defend the pretty wife he loves so well!" And she smiled, while her +shining knitting-needles clicked faster than ever. + +Thelma's face saddened a little. "I think I am not worthy of his love," +she said sorrowfully. + +Mrs. Lorimer looked at her with some inquisitiveness. + +"What makes you say that, my dear?" + +"Because I feel it so much," she replied. "Dear Mrs. Lorimer, you +cannot, perhaps, understand--but when he married me, it seemed as if the +old story of the king and the beggar-maid were being repeated over +again. I sought nothing but his love--his love was, and is my life! +These riches--these jewels and beautiful things he surrounds me with--I +do not care for them at all, except for the reason that he wishes me to +have them. I scarcely understand their value, for I have been poor all +my life, and yet I have wanted nothing. I do not think wealth is needful +to make one happy. But love--ah! I could not live without it--and +now--now--" She paused, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. + +"Now what?" asked Mrs. Lorimer gently. + +"Now," continued the girl in a low voice, "my heart is always afraid! +Yes! I am afraid of losing my husband's love. Ah, do not laugh at me, +dear Mrs. Lorimer! You know people who are much together sometimes get +tired,--tired of seeing the same face always,--the same form--" + +"Are _you_ tired, dearie?" asked the old lady meaningly. + +"I? Tired of Philip? I am only happy when he is with me!" And her eyes +deepened with passionate tenderness. "I would wish to live and die +beside him, and I should not care if I never saw another human face than +his!" + +"Well, and don't you think he has the same feelings for you?" + +"Men are different, I think," returned Thelma musingly. "Now, love is +everything to me--but it may not be everything to Philip. I do believe +that love is only part of a man's life, while it is _all_ a woman's. +Clara told me once that most husbands wearied of their wives, though +they would not always confess it--" + +"Clara Winsleigh's modern social doctrines are false, my dear!" +interrupted Mrs. Lorimer quickly. "She isn't satisfied with her own +marriage, and she thinks everybody must be as discontented as herself. +Now, my husband and I lived always together for five and twenty +years,--and we were lovers to the last day, when my darling died with +his hand in mine--and--and--if it hadn't been for my boy,--I should have +died too!" + +And two bright tears fell glittering on the old lady's knitting. + +Thelma took her hand and kissed it fondly. "I can understand that," she +said softly; "but still,--still I do believe it is difficult to keep +love when you have won it! It is, perhaps, easy to win--but I am sure it +is hard to keep!" + +Mrs. Lorimer looked at her earnestly. + +"My dear child, don't let that frivolous Winsleigh woman put nonsense +into your pretty head. You are too sensible to take such a morbid view +of things,--and you mustn't allow your wholesome fresh nature to be +contaminated by the petulant, wrong-headed notions that cloud the brains +of idle, fashionable, useless women. Believe me, good men don't tire of +their wives--and Sir Philip is a good man. Good wives never weary their +husbands--and you are a good wife--and you will be a good, sweet mother. +Think of that new delight so soon coming for you,--and leave all the +modern, crazy, one-sided notions of human life to the French and Russian +novelists. Tut-tut!" continued the old lady tenderly. "A nice little +ladyship you are,--worrying yourself about nothing! Send Philip to me +when he comes home--I'll scold him for leaving his bird to mope in her +London cage!" + +"I do not mope," declared Thelma. "And you must not scold him, please! +Poor boy! he is working so very hard, and has so much to attend to. He +wants to distinguish himself for--for my sake!" + +"That looks very much as if he were tired of you!" laughed Mrs. Lorimer. +"Though I dare say you'd like him to stay at home and make love to you +all day! Silly girl! You want the world to be a sort of Arcadia, with +you as Phyllis, and Sir Philip as Corydon! My dear, we're living in the +nineteenth century, and the days of fond shepherds and languishing +shepherdesses are past!" + +Thelma laughed too, and felt soon ashamed of her depression. The figure +of Violet Vere now and then danced before her like a mocking +will-o'-the-wisp--but her pride forbade her to mention this,--the actual +source of all her vague troubles. + +She left Mrs. Lorimer's house, which was near Holland Park, about four +o'clock, and as she was passing Church Street, Kensington, she bade her +coachman drive up to the Carmelite Church there, familiarly known as the +"Carms." She entered the sacred edifice, where the service of +Benediction was in progress; and, kneeling down, she listened to the +exquisite strains of the solemn music that pealed through those dim and +shadowy aisles, and a sense of the most perfect peace settled soothingly +on her soul. Clasping her gentle hands, she prayed with innocent and +heart-felt earnestness--not for herself,--never for herself,--but +always, always for that dear, most dear one, for whom every beat of her +true heart was a fresh vow of undying and devoted affection. + +"Dear God!" she whispered, "if I love him too much, forgive me! Thou who +art all Love, wilt pardon me this excess of love! Bless my darling +always, and teach me how to be more worthy of Thy goodness and his +tenderness!" + +And when she left the church, she was happier and more light-hearted +than she had been for many a long day. She drove home, heedless of the +fog and cold, dismal aspect of the weather, and resolved to go and visit +Lady Winsleigh in the evening, so that when Philip came back on the +morrow, she might be able to tell him that she had amused herself, and +had not been lonely. + +But when she arrived at her own door, Morris, who opened it, informed +her that Lady Winsleigh was waiting in the drawing-room to see her, and +had been waiting some time. Thelma hastened thither immediately, and +held out her hands joyously to her friend. + +"I am so sorry you have had to wait, Clara!" she began. "Why did you not +send word and say you were coming? Philip is away and will not be back +to-night, and I have been lunching with Mrs. Lorimer, and--why, what +makes you look so grave?" + +Lady Winsleigh regarded her fixedly. How radiantly lovely the young wife +looked!--her cheeks had never been more delicately rosy, or her eyes +more brilliant. The dark fur cloak she wore with its rich sable +trimmings, and the little black velvet _toque_ that rested on her fair +curls, set off the beauty of her clear skin to perfection, and her +rival, who stood gazing at her with such close scrutiny, envied her more +than ever as she was once again reluctantly forced to admit to herself +the matchless loveliness of the innocent creature whose happiness she +now sought to destroy. + +"Do I look grave, Thelma?" she said with a slight smile. "Well, perhaps +I've a reason for my gravity. And so your husband is away?" + +"Yes. He went quite early this morning,--a telegram summoned him and he +was obliged to go." Here she drew up a chair to the fire, and began to +loosen her wraps. "Sit down, Clara! I will ring for tea." + +"No, don't ring," said Lady Winsleigh. "Not yet! I want to talk to you +privately." She sank languidly on a velvet lounge and looked Thelma +straight in the eyes. + +"Dear Thelma," she continued in a sweetly tremulous, compassionate +voice. "Can you bear to hear something very painful and shocking, +something that I'm afraid will grieve you very much?" + +The color fled from the girl's fair face--her eyes grew startled. + +"What do you mean, Clara? Is it anything about--about Philip?" + +Lady Winsleigh bent her head in assent, but remained silent. + +"If," continued Thelma, with a little return of the rosy hue to her +cheeks. "If it is something else about that--that person at the theatre, +Clara, I would rather not hear it! I think I have been wrong in +listening to any such stories--it is so seldom that gossip of any kind +is true. It is not a wife's duty to receive scandals about her husband. +And suppose he does see Miss Vere, how do I know that it may not be on +business for some friend of his?--because I do know that on that night +when he went behind the scenes at the Brilliant, he said it was on +business. Mr. Lovelace used often to go and see Miss Mary Anderson, all +to persuade her to take a play written by a friend of his--and Philip, +who is always kind-hearted, may perhaps be doing something of the same +sort. I feel I have been wicked to have even a small doubt of my +husband's love,--so, Clara, do not let us talk any more on a subject +which only displeases me." + +"You must choose your own way of life, of course," said Lady Winsleigh +coldly. "But you draw rather foolish comparisons, Thelma. There is a +wide difference between Mary Anderson and Violet Vere. Besides, Mr. +Lovelace is a bachelor,--he can do as he likes and go where he likes +without exciting comment. However, whether you are angry with me or not, +I feel I should not be your true friend if I did not show you--_this_. +You know your husband's writing!" + +And she drew out the fatal letter, and continued, watching her victim as +she spoke, "This was sent by Sir Philip to Violet Vere last night,--she +gave it to me herself this morning." + +Thelma's hand trembled as she took the paper. + +"Why should I read it?" she faltered mechanically. + +Lady Winsleigh raised her eyebrows and frowned impatiently. + +"Why--why? Because it is your duty to do so! Have you no pride? Will you +allow your husband to write such a letter as that to another woman,--and +_such_ a woman too! without one word of remonstrance? You owe it to +yourself--to your own sense of honor--to resent and resist such +treatment on his part! Surely the deepest love cannot pardon deliberate +injury and insult." + +"My love can pardon anything," answered the girl in a low voice, and +then slowly, very slowly, she opened the folded sheet--slowly she read +every word it contained,--words that stamped themselves one by one on +her bewildered brain and sent it reeling into darkness and vacancy. She +felt sick and cold--she stared fixedly at her husband's familiar +handwriting. "A man who has loved and who loves you still, and who +without you is utterly weary and broken-hearted!" + +Thus he wrote of himself to--to Violet Vere! It seemed incredible--yet +it was true! She heard a rushing sound in her ears--the room swung round +dizzily before her eyes--yet she sat, still, calm and cold, holding the +letter and speaking no word. + +Lady Winsleigh watched her, irritated at her passionless demeanor. + +"Well!" she exclaimed at last. "Have you nothing to say?" + +Thelma looked up, her eyes burning with an intense feverish light. + +"Nothing!" she replied. + +"_Nothing_?" repeated her ladyship with emphatic astonishment. + +"Nothing against Philip," continued the girl steadily. "For the blame is +not his, but mine! That he is weary and broken-hearted must be my +fault--though I cannot yet understand what I have done. But it must be +something, because if I were all that he wished he would not have grown +so tired." She paused and her pale lips quivered. "I am sorry," she went +on with dreamy pathos, "sorrier for him than for myself, because now I +see I am in the way of his happiness." A quiver of agony passed over her +face,--she fixed her large bright eyes on Lady Winsleigh, who +instinctively shrank from the solemn speechless despair of that +penetrating gaze. + +"Who gave you this letter, Clara?" she asked calmly. + +"I told you before,--Miss Vere herself." + +"Why did she give it to you?" continued Thelma in a dull, sad voice. + +Lady Winsleigh hesitated and stammered a little. "Well, because--because +I asked her if the stories about Sir Philip were true. And she begged me +to ask him not to visit her so often." Then, with an additional thought +of malice, she said softly. "She doesn't wish to wrong you, Thelma,--of +course, she's not a very good woman, but I think she feels sorry for +you!" + +The girl uttered a smothered cry of anguish, as though she had been +stabbed to the heart. She!--to be actually _pitied_ by Violet Vere, +because she had been unable to keep her husband's love! This idea +tortured her very soul,--but she was silent. + +"I thought you were my friend, Clara?" she said suddenly, with a strange +wistfulness. + +"So I am, Thelma," murmured Lady Winsleigh, a guilty flush coloring her +cheeks. + +"You have made me very miserable," went on Thelma gravely, and with +pathetic simplicity, "and I am sorry indeed that we ever met. I was so +happy till I knew you!--and yet I was very fond of you! I am sure you +mean everything for the best, but I cannot think it is so. And it is all +so dark and desolate now--why have you taken such pains to make me sad? +Why have you so often tried to make me doubt my husband's love?--why +have you come to-day so quickly to tell me I have lost it? But for you, +I might never have known this sorrow,--I might have died soon, in happy +ignorance, believing in my darling's truth as I believe in God!" + +Her voice broke, and a hard sob choked her utterance. For once Lady +Winsleigh's conscience smote her--for once she felt ashamed, and dared +not offer consolation to the innocent soul she had so wantonly stricken. +For a minute or two there was silence--broken only by the monotonous +ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire. + +Presently Thelma spoke again. "I will ask you to go away now and leave +me, Clara," she said simply. "When the heart is sorrowful, it is best to +be alone. Good-bye!" And she gently held out her hand. + +"Poor Thelma!" said Lady Winsleigh, taking it with an affectation of +tenderness. "What will you do?" + +Thelma did not answer; she sat mute and rigid. + +"You are thinking unkindly of me just now," continued Clara softly; "but +I felt it was my duty to tell you the worst at once. It's no good living +in a delusion! I'm very, very sorry for you, Thelma!" + +Thelma remained perfectly silent. Lady Winsleigh moved towards the door, +and as she opened it looked back at her. The girl might have been a +lifeless figure for any movement that could be perceived about her. Her +face was white as marble--her eyes were fixed on the sparkling fire--her +very hands looked stiff and pallid as wax, as they lay clasped in her +lap--the letter--the cruel letter,--had fallen at her feet. She seemed +as one in a trance of misery--and so Lady Winsleigh left her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + "O my lord, O Love, + I have laid my life at thy feet; + Have thy will thereof + For what shall please thee is sweet!" + SWINBURNE. + + +She roused herself at last. Unclasping her hands, she pushed back her +hair from her brows and sighed heavily. Shivering as with intense cold, +she rose from the chair she had so long occupied, and stood upright, +mechanically gathering around her the long fur mantle that she had not +as yet taken off. Catching sight of the letter where it lay, a gleaming +speck of white on the rich dark hues of the carpet, she picked it up and +read it through again calmly and comprehensively,--then folded it up +carefully as though it were something of inestimable value. Her thoughts +were a little confused,--she could only realize clearly two distinct +things,--first, that Philip was unhappy,--secondly, that she was in the +way of his happiness. She did not pause to consider how this change in +him had been effected,--moreover, she never imagined that the letter he +had written could refer to any one but himself. Hers was a nature that +accepted facts as they appeared--she never sought for ulterior motives +or disguised meanings. True, she could not understand her husband's +admiration for Violet Vere, "But then"--she thought--"many other men +admire her too. And so it is certain there must be something about her +that wins love,--something I cannot see!" + +And presently she put aside all other considerations, and only pondered +on one thing,--how should she remove herself from the path of her +husband's pleasure? For she had no doubt but that she was an obstacle to +his enjoyment. He had made promises to Violet Vere which he was "ready +to fulfill,"--he offered her "an honorable position,"--he desired her +"not to condemn him to death,"--he besought her to let his words "carry +more weight with her." + +"It is because I am here," thought Thelma wearily. "She would listen to +him if I were gone!" She had the strangest notions of wifely duty--odd +minglings of the stern Norse customs with the gentler teachings of +Christianity,--yet in both cases the lines of woman's life were clearly +defined in one word--obedience. Most women, receiving an apparent proof +of a husband's infidelity, would have made what is termed a +"scene,"--would have confronted him with rage and tears, and personal +abuse,--but Thelma was too gentle for this,--too gentle to resist what +seemed to be Philip's wish and will, and far too proud to stay where it +appeared evident she was not wanted. Moreover she could not bear the +idea of speaking to him on, such a subject as his connection with Violet +Vere,--the hot color flushed her cheeks with a sort of shame as she +thought of it. + +Of course, she was weak--of course, she was foolish,--we will grant that +she was anything the reader chooses to call her. It is much better for a +woman nowadays to be defiant rather than yielding,--aggressive, not +submissive,--violent, not meek. We all know that! To abuse a husband +well all round, is the modern method of managing him! But poor, foolish, +loving, sensitive Thelma had nothing of the magnificent strength of mind +possessed by most wives of to-day,--she could only realize that +Philip--her Philip--was "utterly weary and broken-hearted"--for the sake +of another woman--and that other woman actually pitied _her_! She pitied +herself too, a little vaguely--her brows ached and throbbed +violently--there was a choking sensation in her throat, but she could +not weep. Tears would have relieved her tired brain, but no tears fell. +She strove to decide on some immediate plan of action,--Philip would be +home to-morrow,--she recoiled at the thought of meeting him, knowing +what she knew. Glancing dreamily at her own figure, reflected by the +lamplight in the long mirror opposite, she recognized that she was fully +attired in outdoor costume--all save her hat, which she had taken off +after her first greeting of Lady Winsleigh, and which was still on the +table at her side. She looked at the clock,--it was five minutes to +seven. Eight o'clock was her dinner-hour, and thinking of this, she +suddenly rang the bell. Morris immediately answered it. + +"I shall not dine at home," she said in her usual gentle voice; "I am +going to see some friend this evening. I may not be back till--till +late." + +"Very well, my lady," and Morris retired without seeing anything +remarkable in his mistress's announcement. Thelma drew a long breath of +relief as he disappeared, and, steadying her nerves by a strong effort, +passed into her own boudoir,--the little sanctum specially endeared to +her by Philip's frequent presence there. How cosy and comfortable a +home-nest it looked!--a small fire glowed warmly in the grate, and +Britta, whose duty it was to keep this particular room in order, had lit +the lamp,--a rosy globe supported by a laughing cupid,--and had drawn +the velvet curtains close at the window to keep out the fog and chilly +air--there were fragrant flowers on the table,--Thelma's own favorite +lounge was drawn up to the fender in readiness for her,--opposite to it +stood the deep, old-fashioned easy chair in which Philip always sat. She +looked round upon all these familiar things with a dreary sense of +strangeness and desolation, and the curves of her sweet mouth trembled a +little and drooped piteously. But her resolve was taken, and she did not +hesitate or weep. She sat down to her desk and wrote a few brief lines +to her father--this letter she addressed and stamped ready for posting. + +Then for a while she remained apparently lost in painful musings, +playing with the pen she held, and uncertain what to do. Presently she +drew a sheet of note-paper toward her, and began, "My darling boy." As +these words appeared under her hand on the white page, her forced calm +nearly gave way,--a low cry of intense agony escaped from her lips, and, +dropping the pen, she rose and paced the room restlessly, one hand +pressed against her heart as though that action could still its rapid +beatings. Once more she essayed the hard task she had set herself to +fulfill--the task of bidding farewell to the husband in whom her life +was centred. Piteous, passionate words came quickly from her overcharged +and almost breaking heart--words, tender, touching,--full of love, and +absolutely free from all reproach. Little did she guess as she wrote +that parting letter, what desperate misery it would cause to the +receiver!-- + +When she had finished it, she felt quieted--even more composed than +before. She folded and sealed it--then put it out of sight and rang for +Britta. That little maiden soon appeared, and seemed surprised to see +her mistress still in walking costume. + +"Have you only just come in, Froeken?" she ventured to inquire. + +"No, I came home some time ago," returned Thelma gently. "But I was +talking to Lady Winsleigh in the drawing-room,--and as I am going out +again this evening I shall not require to change my dress. I want you to +post this letter for me, Britta." + +And she held out the one addressed to her father, Olaf Gueldmar. Britta +took it, but her mind still revolved the question of her mistress's +attire. + +"If you are going to spend the evening with friends," she suggested, +"would it not be better to change?" + +"I have on a velvet gown," said Thelma, with a rather wearied patience. +"It is quite dressy enough for where I am going." She paused abruptly, +and Britta looked at her inquiringly. + +"Are you tired, Froeken Thelma?" she asked. "You are so pale!" + +"I have a slight headache," Thelma answered. "It is nothing,--it will +soon pass. I wish you to post that letter at once, Britta." + +"Very well, Froeken." Britta still hesitated. "Will you be out all the +evening?" was her next query. + +"Yes." + +"Then perhaps you will not mind if I go and see Louise, and take supper +with her? She has asked me, and Mr. Briggs"--here Britta laughed--"is +coming to see if I can go. He will escort me, he says!" And she laughed +again. + +Thelma forced herself to smile. "You can go, by all means, Britta! But I +thought you did not like Lady Winsleigh's French maid?" + +"I don't like her much," Britta admitted--"still, she means to be kind +and agreeable, I think. And"--here she eyed Thelma with a mysterious and +important air--"I want to ask her a question about something very +particular." + +"Then, go and stay as long as you like, dear," said Thelma, a sudden +impulse of affection causing her to caress softly her little maid's +ruffled brown curls, "I shall not be back till--till quite late. And +when you return from the post, I shall be gone--so--good-bye!" + +"Good-bye!" exclaimed Britta wonderingly. "Why, where are you going? One +would think you were starting on a long journey. You speak so strangely, +Froeken!" + +"Do I?" and Thelma smiled kindly. "It is because my head aches, I +suppose. But it is not strange to say good-bye, Britta!" + +Britta caught her hand. "Where are you going?" she persisted. + +"To see some friends," responded Thelma quietly. "Now do not ask any +more questions, Britta, but go and post my letter. I want father to get +it as soon as possible, and you will lose the post if you are not very +quick." + +Thus reminded, Britta hastened off, determining to run all the way, in +order to get back before her mistress left the house. Thelma, however, +was too quick for her. As soon as Britta had gone, she took the letter +she had written to Philip, and slipped it within the pages of a small +volume of poems he had lately been reading. It was a new book entitled +"Gladys the Singer," and its leading _motif_ was the old, +never-exhausted subject of a woman's too faithful love, betrayal, and +despair. As she opened it, her eyes fell by chance on a few lines of +hopeless yet musical melancholy, which, like a sad song heard suddenly, +made her throat swell with rising yet restrained tears. They ran thus:-- + + "Oh! I can drown, or, like a broken lyre, + Be thrown to earth, or cast upon a fire,-- + I can be made to feel the pangs of death, + And yet be constant to the quest of breath,-- + Our poor pale trick of living through the lies + We name Existence when that 'something' dies + Which we call Honor. Many and many a way + Can I be struck or fretted night or day + In some new fashion,--or condemn'd the while + To take for food the semblance of a smile,-- + The left-off rapture of a slain caress,--" + +Ah!--she caught her breath sobbingly, "The left-off rapture of a slain +caress!" Yes,--that would be her portion now if--if she stayed to +receive it. But she would not stay! She turned over the volume +abstractedly, scarcely conscious of the action,--and suddenly, as if the +poet-writer of it had been present to probe her soul and make her inmost +thoughts public, she read:-- + + "Because I am unlov'd of thee to-day, + And undesired as sea-weeds in the sea!" + +Yes!--that was the "because" of everything that swayed her sorrowful +spirit,--"because" she was "unlov'd and undesired." + +She hesitated no longer, but shut the book with her farewell letter +inside it, and put it back in its former place on the little table +beside Philip's arm-chair. Then she considered how she should +distinguish it by some mark that should attract her husband's attention +toward it,--and loosening from her neck a thin gold chain on which was +suspended a small diamond cross with the names "Philip" and "Thelma" +engraved at the back, she twisted it round the little book, and left it +so that the sparkle of the jewels should be seen distinctly on the +cover. Now was there anything more to be done? She divested herself of +all her valuable ornaments, keeping only her wedding-ring and its +companion circlet of brilliants,--she emptied her purse of all money +save that which was absolutely necessary for her journey--then she put +on her hat, and began to fasten her long cloak slowly, for her fingers +were icy cold and trembled very strangely. Stay,--there was her +husband's portrait,--she might take that, she thought, with a sort of +touching timidity. It was a miniature on ivory--and had been painted +expressly for her,--she placed it inside her dress, against her bosom. + +"He has been too good to me," she murmured; "and I have been too +happy,--happier than I deserved to be. Excess of happiness must always +end in sorrow." + +She looked dreamily at Philip's empty chair--in fancy she could see his +familiar figure seated there, and she sighed as she thought of the face +she loved so well,--the passion of his eyes,--the tenderness of his +smile. Softly she kissed the place where his head had rested,--then +turned resolutely away. + +She was giving up everything, she thought, to another woman,--but +then--that other woman, however incredible it seemed, was the one Philip +loved best,--his own written words were a proof of this. There was no +choice therefore,--his pleasure was her first consideration,--everything +must yield to that, so she imagined,--her own life was nothing, in her +estimation, compared to his desire. Such devotion as hers was of course +absurd--it amounted to weak self-immolation, and would certainly be +accounted as supremely foolish by most women who have husbands, and who, +when they swear to "obey," mean to break the vow at every convenient +opportunity--but Thelma could not alter her strange nature, and, with +her, obedience meant the extreme letter of the law of utter submission. +Leaving the room she had so lately called her own, she passed into the +entrance-hall. Morris was not there, and she did not summon him,--she +opened the street-door for herself, and shutting it quietly behind her, +she stood alone in the cold street, where the fog had now grown so dense +that the lamp-posts were scarcely visible. She walked on for a few paces +rather bewildered and chilled by the piercing bitterness of the +air,--then, rallying her forces, she hailed a passing cab, and told the +man to take her to Charing Cross Station. She was not familiar with +London--and Charing Cross was the only great railway terminus she could +just then think of. + +Arrived there, the glare of the electric light, the jostling passengers +rushing to and from the trains, the shouts and wrangling of porters and +cabmen, confused her not a little,--and the bold looks of admiration +bestowed on her freely by the male loungers sauntering near the doors of +the restaurant and hotel, made her shrink and tremble for shame. She had +never travelled entirely alone before--and she began to be frightened at +the pandemonium of sights and noises that surged around her. Yet she +never once thought of returning,--she never dreamed of going to any of +her London friends, lest on hearing of her trouble they might reproach +Philip--and this Thelma would not have endured. For the same reason, she +had said nothing to Britta. + +In her then condition, it seemed to her that only one course lay open +for her to follow,--and that was to go quietly home,--home to the +Altenfjord. No one would be to blame for her departure but herself, she +thought,--and Philip would be free. Thus she reasoned,--if, indeed, she +reasoned at all. But there was such a frozen stillness in her soul--her +senses were so numbed with pain, that as yet she scarcely realized +either what had happened or what she herself was doing. She was as one +walking in sleep--the awakening, bitter as death, was still to come. + +Presently a great rush of people began to stream towards her from one of +the platforms, and trucks of luggage, heralded by shouts of, "Out of the +way, there!" and "By'r leave!" came trundling rapidly along--the tidal +train from the Continent had just arrived. + +Dismayed at the increasing confusion and uproar, Thelma addressed +herself to an official with a gold band round his hat. + +"Can you tell me," she asked timidly, "where I shall take a ticket for +Hull?" + +The man glanced at the fair, anxious face, and smiled good-humoredly. + +"You've come to the wrong station, miss," he said. "You want the Midland +line." + +"The Midland?" Thelma felt more bewildered than ever. + +"Yes,--the _Midland_," he repeated rather testily. "It's a good way from +here--you'd better take a cab." + +She moved away,--but started and drew herself back into a shadowed +corner, coloring deeply as the sound of a rich, mellifluous voice, which +she instantly recognized, smote suddenly on her ears. + +"And as I before remarked, my good fellow," the voice was saying, "I am +not a disciple of the semi-obscure. If a man has a thought which is +worth declaring, let him declare it with a free and noble +utterance--don't let him wrap it up in multifarious parcels of dreary +verbosity! There's too much of that kind of thing going on nowadays--in +England, at least. There's a kind of imitation of art which isn't art at +all,--a morbid, bilious, bad imitation. You only get close to the real +goddess in Italy. I wish I could persuade you to come and pass the +winter with me there?" + +It was Beau Lovelace who spoke, and he was talking to George Lorimer. +The two had met in Paris,--Lovelace was on his way to London, where a +matter of business summoned him for a few days, and Lorimer, somewhat +tired of the French capital, decided to return with him. And here they +were,--just arrived at Charing Cross,--and they walked across the +station arm in arm, little imagining who watched them from behind the +shelter of one of the waiting-room doors, with a yearning sorrow in her +grave blue eyes. They stopped almost opposite to her to light their +cigars,--she saw Lorimer's face quite distinctly, and heard his answer +to Lovelace. + +"Well, I'll see what I can do about it, Beau! You know my mother always +likes to get away from London in winter--but whether we ought to inflict +ourselves upon you,--you being a literary man too--" + +"Nonsense, you won't interfere in the least with the flow of inky +inspiration," laughed Beau. "And as for your mother, I'm in love with +her, as you are aware! I admire her almost as much as I do Lady +Bruce-Errington--and that's saying a great deal! By-the-by, if Phil can +get through his share of this country's business, he might do worse than +bring his beautiful Thelma to the Lake of Como for a while. I'll ask +him!" + +And having lit their Havannas successfully, they walked on and soon +disappeared. For one instant Thelma felt strongly inclined to run after +them, like a little forlorn child that had lost its way,--and, +unburdening herself of all her miseries to the sympathetic George, +entreat, with tears, to be taken back to that husband who did not want +her any more. But she soon overcame this emotion,--and calling to mind +the instructions of the official personage whose advice she had sought, +she hurried out of the huge, brilliantly lit station, and taking a +hansom, was driven, as she requested, to the Midland. Here the rather +gloomy aspect of the place oppressed her as much as the garish bustle of +Charing Cross had bewildered her,--but she was somewhat relieved when +she learned that a train for Hull would start in ten minutes. Hurrying +to the ticket-office she found there before her a kindly faced woman +with a baby in her arms, who was just taking a third-class ticket to +Hull, and as she felt lonely and timid, Thelma at once decided to travel +third-class also, and if possible in the same compartment with this +cheerful matron, who, as soon as she had secured her ticket, walked away +to the train, hushing her infant in her arms as she went. Thelma +followed her at a little distance--and as soon as she saw her enter a +third-class carriage, she hastened her steps and entered also, quite +thankful to have secured some companionship for the long cold journey. +The woman glanced at her a little curiously--it was strange to see so +lovely and young a creature travelling all alone at night,--and she +asked kindly-- + +"Be you goin' fur, miss?" + +Thelma smiled--it was pleasant to be spoken to, she thought. + +"Yes," she answered. "All the way to Hull." + +"'Tis a cold night for a journey," continued her companion. + +"Yes, indeed," answered Thelma. "It must be cold for your little baby." + +And unconsciously her voice softened and her eyes grew sad as she looked +across at the sleeping infant. + +"Oh, he's as warm as toast!" laughed the mother cheerily. "He gets the +best of everything, he do. It's yourself that's looking cold, my dear in +spite of your warm cloak. Will ye have this shawl?" + +And she offered Thelma a homely gray woollen wrap with much kindly +earnestness of manner. + +"I am quite warm, thank you," said Thelma gently, accepting the shawl, +however, to please her fellow-traveller. "It is a headache I have which +makes me look pale. And, I am very, very tired!" + +Her voice trembled a little,--she sighed and closed her eyes. She felt +strangely weak and giddy,--she seemed to be slipping away from herself +and from all the comprehension of life,--she wondered vaguely who and +what she was. Had her marriage with Philip been all a dream?--perhaps +she had never left the Altenfjord after all! Perhaps she would wake up +presently and see the old farm-house quite unchanged, with the doves +flying about the roof, and Sigurd wandering under the pines as was his +custom. Ah, dear Sigurd! Poor Sigurd! he had loved her, she +thought--nay, he loved her still,--he could not be dead! Oh, yes,--she +must have been dreaming,--she felt certain she was lying on her own +little white bed at home, asleep;--she would by-and-by open her eyes and +get up and look through her little latticed window, and see the sun +sparkling on the water, and the _Eulalie_ at the anchor in the +Fjord--and her father would ask Sir Philip and his friends to spend the +afternoon at the farm-house--and Philip would come and stroll with her +through the garden and down to the shore, and would talk to her in that +low, caressing voice of his,--and though she loved him dearly, she must +never, never let him know of it, because she was not worthy! . . . She +woke from these musings with a violent start and a sick shiver running +through all her frame,--and looking wildly about her, saw that she was +reclining on some one's shoulder,--some one was dabbing a wet +handkerchief on her forehead--her hat was off and her cloak was +loosened. + +"There, my dear, you're better now!" said a kindly voice in her ear. +"Lor! I thought you was dead--that I did! 'Twas a bad faint indeed. And +with the train jolting along like this too! It was lucky I had a flask +of cold water with me. Raise your head a little--that's it! Poor +thing,--you're as white as a sheet! You're not fit to travel, my +dear--you're not indeed." + +Thelma raised herself slowly, and with a sudden impulse kissed the good +woman's honest, rosy face, to her intense astonishment and pleasure. + +"You are very kind to me!" she said tremulously. "I am so sorry to have +troubled you. I do feel ill--but it will soon pass." + +And she smoothed her ruffled hair, and sitting up erect, endeavored to +smile. Her companion eyed her pale face compassionately, and taking up +her sleeping baby from the shawl on which she had laid it while +ministering to Thelma's needs, began to rock it slowly to and fro. +Thelma, meanwhile, became sensible of the rapid movement of the train. + +"We have left London?" she asked with an air of surprise. + +"Nearly half an hour ago, my dear." Then, after a pause, during which +she had watched Thelma very closely, she said-- + +"I think you're married, aren't you, dearie?" + +"Yes." Thelma answered, a slight tinge of color warming her fair pale +cheeks. + +"Your husband, maybe, will meet you at Hull?" + +"No,--he is in London," said Thelma simply. "I am going to see my +father." + +This answer satisfied her humble friend, who, noticing her extreme +fatigue and the effort it cost her to speak, forbore to ask any more +questions, but good-naturedly recommended her to try and sleep. She +slept soundly herself for the greater part of the journey; but Thelma +was now feverishly wide awake, and her eyeballs ached and burned as +though there were fire behind them. + +Gradually her nerves began to be wound up to an extreme tension of +excitement--she forgot all her troubles in listening with painful +intentness to the rush and roar of the train through the darkness. The +lights of passing stations and signal-posts gleamed like scattered and +flying stars--there was the frequent shriek of the engine-whistle,--the +serpent-hiss of escaping steam. She peered through the window--all was +blackness; there seemed to be no earth, no sky,--only a sable chaos, +through which the train flew like a flame-mouthed demon. Always that +rush and roar! She began to feel as if she could stand it no longer. She +must escape from that continuous, confusing sound--it maddened her +brain. Nothing was easier; she would open the carriage-door and get out! +Surely she could manage to jump off the step, even though the train was +in motion! + +Danger! She smiled at that idea,--there was no danger; and, if there +was, it did not much matter. Nothing mattered now,--now that she had +lost her husband's love. She glanced at the woman opposite, who slept +profoundly--the baby had slipped a little from its mother's arms, and +lay with its tiny face turned towards Thelma. It was a pretty creature, +with soft cheeks and a sweet little mouth,--she looked at it with a +vague, wild smile. Again, again that rush and roar surged like a storm +in her ears and distracted her mind! She rose suddenly and seized the +handle of the carriage door. Another instant, and she would have sprang +to certain death,--when suddenly the sleeping baby woke, and, opening +its mild blue eyes, gazed at her. + +She met its glance as one fascinated,--almost unconsciously her fingers +dropped from the door-handle,--the little baby still looked at her in +dreamlike, meditative fashion,--its mother slept profoundly. She bent +lower and lower over the child. With a beating heart she ventured to +touch the small, pink hand that lay outside its wrappings like a softly +curved rose-leaf. With a sort of elf-like confidence and contentment the +feeble, wee fingers closed and curled round hers,--and held her fast! +Weak as a silken thread, yet stronger in its persuasive force than a +grasp of iron, that soft, light pressure controlled and restrained her, +. . . very gradually the mists of her mind cleared,--the rattling, +thunderous dash of the train grew less dreadful, less monotonous, less +painful to her sense of hearing,--her bosom heaved convulsively, and all +suddenly her eyes filled with tears--merciful tears, which at first +welled up slowly, and were hot as fire, but which soon began to fall +faster and faster in large, bright drops down her pale cheeks. Seeing +that its mother still slept, she took the baby gently into her own fair +arms,--and rocked it to and fro with many a sobbing murmur of +tenderness;--the little thing smiled drowsily and soon fell asleep +again, all unconscious that its timely look and innocent touch had saved +poor Thelma's life and reason. + +She, meanwhile, wept on softly, till her tired brain and heart were +somewhat relieved of their heavy burden,--the entanglement of her +thoughts became unravelled,--and, though keenly aware of the blank +desolation of her life, she was able to raise herself in spirit to the +Giver of all Love and Consolation, and to pray humbly for that patience +and resignation which now alone could serve her needs. And she communed +with herself and God in silence, as the train rushed on northwards. Her +fellow-traveller woke up as they were nearing their destination, and, +seeing her holding the baby, was profuse in her thanks for this +kindness. And when they at last reached Hull, about half an hour after +midnight, the good woman was exceedingly anxious to know if she could be +of any service,--but Thelma gently, yet firmly, refused all her offers +of assistance. + +They parted in the most friendly manner,--Thelma kissing the child, +through whose unconscious means, as she now owned to herself, she had +escaped a terrible death,--and then she went directly to a quiet hotel +she knew of, which was kept by a native of Christiania, a man who had +formerly been acquainted with her father. At first, when this worthy +individual saw a lady arrive, alone, young, richly dressed, and without +luggage, he was inclined to be suspicious,--but as soon as she addressed +him in Norwegian, and told him who she was, he greeted her with the +utmost deference and humility. + +"The daughter of Jarl Gueldmar," he said, continuing to speak in his own +tongue, "honors my house by entering it!" + +Thelma smiled a little. "The days of the great Jarls are past, +Friedhof," she replied somewhat sadly, "and my father is content to be +what he is,--a simple _bonde_." + +Friedhof shook his head quite obstinately. "A Jarl is always a Jarl," he +declared. "Nothing can alter a man's birth and nature. And the last time +I saw Valdemar Svensen,--he who lives with your father now,--he was +careful always to speak of the _Jarl_, and seldom or never did he +mention him in any other fashion. And now, noble Froeken, in what manner +can I serve you?" + +Thelma told him briefly that she was going to see her father on +business, and that she was desirous of starting for Norway the next day +as early as possible. + +Friedhof held up his hands in amazement. "Ah! most surely you forget," +he exclaimed, using the picturesque expressions of his native speech, +"that this is the sleeping time of the sun! Even at the Hardanger Fjord +it is dark and silent,--the falling streams freeze with cold on their +way; and if it is so at the Hardanger, what will it be at the Alten? And +there is no passenger ship going to Christiania or Bergen for a +fortnight!" + +Thelma clasped her hands in dismay. "But I _must_ go!" she cried +impatiently; "I must, indeed, good Friedhof! I cannot stay here! Surely, +surely there is some vessel that would take me,--some fishing +boat,--what does it matter how I travel, so long as I get away?" + +The landlord looked at her rather wonderingly. "Nay, if it is indeed so +urgent, noble Froeken," he replied, "do not trouble, for there is a means +of making the journey. But for _you_, and in such bitter weather, it +seems a cruelty to speak of it. A steam cargo-boat leaves here for +Hammerfest and the North Cape to-morrow--it will pass the Altenfjord. No +doubt you could go with that, if you so choose,--but there will be no +warmth or comfort, and there are heavy storms on the North Sea. I know +the captain; and 'tis true he takes his wife with him, so there would be +a woman on board,--yet--" + +Thelma interrupted him. She pressed two sovereigns into his hand. + +"Say no more, Friedhof," she said eagerly. "You will take me to see this +captain--you will tell him I must go with him. My father will thank you +for this kindness to me, even better than I can." + +"It does not seem to me a kindness at all," returned Friedhof with frank +bluntness. "I would be loth to sail the seas myself in such weather. And +I thought you were so grandly married, Froeken Gueldmar,--though I forget +your wedded name,--how comes it that your husband is not with you?" + +"He is very busy in London," answered Thelma. "He knows where I am +going. Do not be at all anxious, Friedhof,--I shall make the journey +very well and I am not afraid of storm or wild seas." + +Friedhof still looked dubious, but finally yielded to her entreaties and +agreed to arrange her passage for her in the morning. + +She stayed at his hotel that night, and with the very early dawn +accompanied him on board the ship he had mentioned. It was a small, +awkwardly built craft, with an ugly crooked black funnel out of which +the steam was hissing and spitting with quite an unnecessary degree of +violence--the decks were wet and dirty, and the whole vessel was +pervaded with a sickening smell of whale-oil. The captain, a gruff +red-faced fellow, looked rather surlily at his unexpected passenger--but +was soon mollified by her gentle manner, and the readiness with which +she paid the money he demanded for taking her. + +"You won't be very warm," he said, eyeing her from head to foot--"but I +can lend you a rug to sleep in." + +Thelma smiled and thanked him. He called to his wife, a thin, +overworked-looking creature, who put up her head from a window in the +cabin, at his summons. + +"Here's a lady going with us," he announced. "Look after her, will you?" +The woman nodded. Then, once more addressing himself to Thelma, he said, +"We shall have nasty weather and a wicked sea!" + +"I do not mind!" she answered quietly, and turning to Friedhof who had +come to see her off, she shook hands with him warmly and thanked him for +the trouble he had taken in her behalf. The good landlord bade her +farewell somewhat reluctantly,--he had a presentiment that there was +something wrong with the beautiful, golden-haired daughter of the +_Jarl_--and that perhaps he ought to have prevented her making this +uncomfortable and possibly perilous voyage. But it was too late +now,--and at a little before seven o'clock, the vessel,--which rejoiced +in the name of the _Black Polly_,--left the harbor, and steamed fussily +down the Humber in the teeth of a sudden storm of sleet and snow. + +Her departure had no interest for any one save Friedhof, who stood +watching her till she was no more than a speck on the turbid water. He +kept his post, regardless of the piercing cold of the gusty, early +morning air, till she had entirely disappeared, and then returned to his +own house and his daily business in a rather depressed frame of mind. He +was haunted by the pale face and serious eyes of Thelma--she looked very +ill, he thought. He began to reproach himself,--why had he been such a +fool as to let her go?--why had he not detained her?--or at any rate, +persuaded her to rest a few days in Hull? He looked at the threatening +sky and the falling flakes of snow with a shiver. + +"What weather!" he muttered, "and there must be a darkness as of death +at the Altenfjord!" + +Meanwhile the _Black Polly_--unhandsome as she was in appearance, +struggled gallantly with and overcame an army of furious waves that rose +to greet her as she rounded Spurn Head, and long ere Thelma closed her +weary eyes in an effort to sleep, was plunging, shivering, and fighting +her slow way through shattering mountainous billows and a tempest of +sleet, snow, and tossing foam across the wild North Sea. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + "What of her glass without her? The blank grey + There, where the pool is blind of the moon's face-- + Her dress without her? The tossed empty space + Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away!" + DANTE G. ROSSETTI. + + +"Good God!" cried Errington impatiently "What's the matter? Speak out!" + +He had just arrived home. He had barely set foot within his own door, +and full of lover-like ardor and eagerness was about to hasten to his +wife's room,--when his old servant Morris stood in his way trembling and +pale-faced,--looking helplessly from him to Neville,--who was as much +astonished as Sir Philip, at the man's woe-begone appearance. + +"Something has happened," he stammered faintly at last. "Her ladyship--" + +Philip started--his heart beat quickly and then seemed to grow still +with a horrible sensation of fear. + +"What of her?" he demanded in low hoarse tones. "Is she ill?" + +Morris threw up his hands with a gesture of despair. + +"Sir Philip, my dear master!" cried the poor old man. "I do not know +whether she is ill or well--I cannot guess! My lady went out last night +at a little before eight o'clock,--and--and she has never come home at +all! We cannot tell what has become of her! She has gone!" + +And tears of distress and anxiety filled his eyes. Philip stood mute. He +could not understand it. All color fled from his face--he seemed as +though he had received a sudden blow on the head which had stunned him. + +"Gone!" he said mechanically. "Thelma--my wife gone! Why should she go?" + +And he stared fixedly at Neville, who laid one hand soothingly on his +arm. + +"Perhaps she is with friends," he suggested. "She may be at Lady +Winsleigh's or Mrs. Lorimer's." + +"No, no!" interrupted Morris. "Britta, who stayed up all night for her, +has since been to every house that my lady visits and no one has seen or +heard of her!" + +"Where is Britta?" demanded Philip suddenly. + +"She has gone again to Lady Winsleigh's," answered Morris, "she says it +is there that mischief has been done,--I don't know what she means!" + +Philip shook off his secretary's sympathetic touch, and strode through +the rooms to Thelma's boudoir. He put aside the velvet curtains of the +portiere with a noiseless hand--somehow he felt as if, in spite of all +he had just heard, she _must_ be there as usual to welcome him with that +serene sweet smile which was the sunshine of his life. The empty +desolate air of the room smote him with a sense of bitter pain,--only +the plaintive warble of her pet thrush, who was singing to himself most +mournfully in his gilded cage, broke the heavy silence. He looked about +him vacantly. All sorts of dark forebodings crowded on his mind,--she +must have met with some accident, he thought with a shudder,--for that +she would depart from him in this sudden way of her own accord for no +reason whatsoever seemed to him incredible--impossible. + +"What have I done that she should leave me?" he asked half aloud and +wonderingly. Everything that had seemed to him of worth a few hours ago +became valueless in this moment of time. What cared he now for the +business of Parliament--for distinction or honors among men? +Nothing--less than nothing! Without her, the world was empty--its +ambitions, its pride, its good, its evil, seemed but the dreariest and +most foolish trifles! + +"Not even a message?" he thought. "No hint of where she meant to go--no +word of explanation for me? Surely I must be dreaming--my Thelma would +never have deserted me!" + +A sort of sob rose in his throat, and he pressed his hand strongly over +his eyes to keep down the womanish drops that threatened to overflow +them. After a minute or two, he went to her desk and opened it, thinking +that there perhaps she might have left a note of farewell. There was +nothing--nothing save a little heap of money and jewels. These Thelma +had herself placed, before her sorrowful, silent departure, in the +corner where he now found them. + +More puzzled than ever, he glanced searchingly round the room--and his +eyes were at once attracted by the sparkle of the diamond cross that lay +uppermost on the cover of "Gladys the Singer," the book of poems which +was in its usual place on his own reading table. In another second he +seized it--he unwound the slight gold chain--he opened the little volume +tremblingly. Yes!--there was a letter within its pages addressed to +himself,--now, now he should know all! He tore it open with feverish +haste--two folded sheets of paper fell out,--one was his own epistle to +Violet Vere, and this, to his consternation, he perceived first. Full of +a sudden misgiving he laid it aside, and began to read Thelma's parting +words. + + +"My darling boy," she wrote-- + +"A friend of yours and mine brought me the enclosed letter and +though, perhaps, it was wrong of me to read it, I hope you will +forgive me for having done so. I do not quite understand it, and I +cannot bear to think about it--but it seems that you are tired of +your poor Thelma! I do not blame you, dearest, for I am sure that in +some way or other the fault is mine, and it does grieve me so much +to think you are unhappy! I know that I am very ignorant of many +things, and that I am not suited to this London life--and I fear I +shall never understand its ways. But one thing I can do, and that is +to let you be free, my Philip--quite free! And so I am going back to +the Altenfjord, where I will stay till you want me again, if you +ever do. My heart is yours and I shall always love you till I die,-- +and though it seems to me just now better that we should part, to +give you greater ease and pleasure, still you must always remember +that I have no reproaches to make to you. I am only sorry to think +my love has wearied you,--for you have been all goodness and +tenderness to me. And so that people shall not talk about me or you, +you will simply say to them that I have gone to see my father, and +they will think nothing strange in that. Be kind to Britta,--I have +told her nothing, as it would only make her miserable. Do not be +angry that I go away--I cannot bear to stay here, knowing all. And +so, good-bye, my love, my dearest one!--if you were to love many +women more than me, I still should love you best--I still would +gladly die to serve you. Remember this always,--that, however long +we may be parted, and though all the world should come between us, I +am, and ever shall be your faithful wife," + "THELMA." + + +The ejaculation that broke from Errington's lips as he finished reading +this letter was more powerful than reverent. Stinging tears darted to +his eyes--he pressed his lips passionately on the fair writing. + +"My darling--my darling!" he murmured. "What a miserable +misunderstanding!" + +Then without another moment's delay he rushed into Neville's study and +cried abruptly-- + +"Look here! It's all your fault." + +"_My_ fault!" gasped the amazed secretary. + +"Yes--your fault!" shouted Errington almost beside himself with grief +and rage. "Your fault, and that of your accursed _wife_, Violet Vere!" + +And he dashed the letter, the cause of all the mischief, furiously down +on the table. Neville shrank and shivered,--his grey head drooped, he +stretched out his hands appealingly. + +"For God's sake, Sir Philip, tell me what I've done?" he exclaimed +piteously. + +Errington strode up and down the room in a perfect fever of impatience. + +"By Heaven, it's enough to drive me mad!" he burst forth. + +"Your wife!--your wife!--confound her! When you first discovered her in +that shameless actress, didn't I want to tell Thelma all about it--that +very night?--and didn't you beg me not to do so? Your silly scruples +stood in the way of everything! I was a fool to listen to you--a fool to +meddle in your affairs--and--and I wish to God I'd never seen or heard +of you!" + +Neville turned very white, but remained speechless. + +"Read that letter!" went on Philip impetuously. "You've seen it before! +It's the last one I wrote to your wife imploring her to see you and +speak with you. Here it comes, the devil knows how, into Thelma's hands. +She's quite in the dark about _your secret_, and fancies I wrote it on +my own behalf! It looks like it too--looks exactly as if I were pleading +for myself and breaking my heart over that detestible stage-fiend--by +Jove! it's too horrible!" And he gave a gesture of loathing and +contempt. + +Neville heard him in utter bewilderment. "Not possible!" he muttered. +"Not possible--it can't be!" + +"Can't be? It _is_!" shouted Philip. "And if you'd let me tell Thelma +everything from the first, all this wouldn't have happened. And you ask +me what you've done! _Done!_ You've parted me from the sweetest, dearest +girl in the world!" + +And throwing himself into a chair, he covered his face with his hand and +a great uncontrollable sob broke from his lips. + +Neville was in despair. Of course, it was his fault--he saw it all +clearly. He painfully recalled all that had happened since that night at +the Brilliant Theatre when with a sickening horror he had discovered +Violet Vere to be no other than Violet Neville,--his own little violet! +. . . as he had once called her--his wife that he had lost and mourned as +though she were some pure dead woman lying sweetly at rest in a quiet +grave. He remembered Thelma's shuddering repugnance at the sight of +her,--a repugnance which he himself had shared--and which made him +shrink with fastidious aversion, from the idea of confiding to any one +but Sir Philip, the miserable secret of his connection with her. Sir +Philip had humored him in this fancy, little imagining that any mischief +would come of it--and the reward of his kindly sympathy was this,--his +name was compromised, his home desolate, and his wife estranged from +him! + +In the first pangs of the remorse and sorrow that filled his heart, +Neville could gladly have gone out and drowned himself. Presently he +began to think,--was there not some one else beside himself who might +possibly be to blame for all this misery? For instance, who could have +brought or sent that letter to Lady Errington? In her high station, she, +so lofty, so pure, so far above the rest of her sex, would have been the +last person to make any inquiries about such a woman as Violet Vere. How +had it all happened? He looked imploringly for some minutes at the +dejected figure in the chair without daring to offer a word of +consolation. Presently he ventured a remark-- + +"Sir Philip!" he stammered. "It will soon be all right,--her ladyship +will come back immediately. I myself will explain--it's--it's only a +misunderstanding . . ." + +Errington moved in his chair impatiently, but said nothing. Only a +misunderstanding! How many there are who can trace back broken +friendships and severed loves to that one thing--"only a +misunderstanding!" The tenderest relations are often the most delicate +and subtle, and "trifles light as air" may scatter and utterly destroy +the sensitive gossamer threads extending between one heart and another, +as easily as a child's passing foot destroys the spider's web woven on +the dewy grass in the early mornings of spring. + +Presently Sir Philip started up--his lashes were wet and his face was +flushed. + +"It's no good sitting here," he said, rapidly buttoning on his overcoat. +"I must go after her. Let all the business go to the devil! Write and +say I won't stand for Middleborough--I resign in favor of the Liberal +candidate. I'm off to Norway to-night." + +"To Norway!" cried Neville. "Has she gone _there_? At this season--" + +He broke off, for at that moment Britta entered, looking the picture of +misery. Her face was pale and drawn--her eyelids red and swollen, and +when she saw Sir Philip, she gave him a glance of the most despairing +reproach and indignation. He sprang up to her. + +"Any news?" he demanded. + +Britta shook her head mournfully, the tears beginning to roll again down +her cheeks. + +"Oh, if I'd only thought!" she sobbed, "if I'd only known what the dear +Froeken meant to do when she said good-bye to me last night, I could have +prevented her going--I could--I would have told her all I know--and she +would have stayed to see you! Oh, Sir Philip, if you had only been here, +that wicked, wicked Lady Winsleigh _couldn't_ have driven her away!" + +At this name such a fury filled Philip's heart that he could barely +control himself. He breathed quickly and heavily. + +"What of her?" he demanded in a low, suffocated voice. "What has Lady +Winsleigh to do with it, Britta?" + +"Everything!" cried Britta, though, as she glanced at his set, stern +face and paling lips, she began to feel a little frightened. "She has +always hated the Froeken, and been jealous of her--always! Her own maid, +Louise, will tell you so--Lord Winsleigh's man, Briggs, will tell you +so! They've listened at the doors, and they know all about it!" Britta +made this statement with the most childlike candor. "And they've heard +all sorts of wicked things--Lady Winsleigh was always talking to Sir +Francis Lennox about the Froeken,--and now they've made her believe you +do not care for her any more--they've been trying to make her believe +everything bad of you for ever so many months--" she paused, terrified +at Sir Philip's increasing pallor. + +"Go on, Britta," he said quietly, though his voice sounded strange to +himself. Britta gathered up all her remaining stock of courage. + +"Oh dear, oh dear!" she continued desperately, "I _don't_ understand +London people at all, and I never shall understand them. Everybody seems +to want to be wicked! Briggs says that Lady Winsleigh was fond of _you_, +Sir Philip,--then, that she was fond of Sir Francis Lennox,--and yet she +has a husband of her own all the time! It is so very strange!" And the +little maiden's perplexity appeared to border on distraction. "They +would think such a woman quite mad in Norway! But what is worse than +anything is that you--you, Sir Philip,--oh! I _won't_ believe it," and +she stamped her foot passionately, "I _can't_ believe it! . . . and yet +everybody says that you go to see a dreadful, painted dancing woman at +the theatre, and that you like her better than the Froeken,--it _isn't_ +true, is it?" Here she peered anxiously at her master--but he was +absolutely silent. Neville made as though he would speak, but a gesture +from Sir Philip's hand restrained him. Britta went on rather +dispiritedly, "Anyhow, Briggs has just told me that only yesterday Lady +Winsleigh went all by herself to see this actress, and that she got some +letter there which she brought to the Froeken--" she recoiled suddenly +with a little scream. "Oh, Sir Philip!--where are you going?" + +Errington's hand came down on her shoulder, as he twisted her lightly +out of his path and strode to the door. + +"Sir Philip--Sir Philip!" cried Neville anxiously, hastening after him. +"Think for a moment; don't do anything rash!" Philip wrung his hand +convulsively. "Rash! My good fellow, it's a _woman_ who has slandered +me--what _can_ I do? Her sex protects her!" He gave a short, furious +laugh. "But--by God!--were she a man I'd shoot her dead!" + +And with these words, and his eyes blazing with wrath, he left the room. +Neville and Britta confronted each other in vague alarm. + +"Where will he go?" half whispered Britta. + +"To Winsleigh House, I suppose," answered Neville in the same low tone. + +Just then the hall door shut with a loud bang, that echoed through the +silent house. + +"He's gone!" and as Neville said this he sighed and looked dubiously at +his companion. "How do you know all this about Lady Winsleigh, Britta? +It may not be true--it's only servants' gossip." + +"Only servants' gossip!" exclaimed Britta. "And is that nothing? Why, in +these grand houses like Lord Winsleigh's, the servants know everything! +Briggs makes it his business to listen at the doors--he says it's a part +of his duty. And Louise opens all her mistress's letters--she says she +owes it to her own respectability to know what sort of a lady it is she +serves. And she's going to leave, because she says her ladyship _isn't_ +respectable! There! what do you think of that! And Sir Philip will find +out a great deal more than even _I_ have told him--but oh! I _can't_ +understand about that actress!" And she shook her head despairingly. + +"Britta," said Neville suddenly, "That actress is my wife!" + +Britta started,--and her round eyes opened wide. + +"Your wife, Mr. Neville?" she exclaimed. + +Neville took off his spectacles and polished them nervously. + +"Yes, Britta--my wife!" + +She looked at him in amazed silence. Neville went on rubbing his +glasses, and continued in rather dreamy, tremulous accents-- + +"Yes--I lost her years ago--I thought she was dead. But I found her--on +the stage of the Brilliant Theatre. I--I never expected--_that_! I would +rather she had died!" He paused and went on softly, "When I married her, +Britta, she was such a dear little girl,--so bright and pretty!--and +I--I fancied she was fond of me! Yes, I did,--of course, I was +foolish--I've always been foolish, I think. And when--when I saw her on +that stage I felt as if some one had struck me a hard blow--it seems as +if I'd been stunned ever since. And though she knows I'm in London, she +won't see me, Britta,--she won't let me speak to her even for a moment! +It's very hard! Sir Philip has tried his best to persuade her to see +me--he has talked to her and written to her about me; and that's not +all,--he has even tried to make her come back to me--but it's all no +use--and--and that's how all the mischief has arisen--do you see?" + +Britta gazed at him still, with sympathy written on every line of her +face,--but a great load had been lifted from her mind by his words--she +began to understand everything. + +"I'm so sorry for you, Mr. Neville!" she said. "But why didn't you tell +all this to the Froeken?" + +"I _couldn't_!" murmured Neville desperately. "She was there that night +at the Brilliant,--and if you had seen how she looked when she saw--my +wife--appeared on the stage! So pained, so sorry, so ashamed! and she +wanted to leave the theatre at once. Of course, I ought to have told +her,--I wish I had--but--somehow, I never could." He paused again. "It's +all my stupidity, of course, Sir Philip is quite blameless--he has been +the kindest, the best of friends to me--" his voice trembled more and +more, and he could not go on. There was a silence of some minutes, +during which Britta appeared absorbed in meditation, and Neville +furtively wiped his eyes. + +Presently he spoke again more cheerfully. "It'll soon be all right +again, Britta!" and he nodded encouragingly. "Sir Philip says her +ladyship has gone home to Norway, and he means to follow her to-night." + +Britta nodded gravely, but heaved a deep sigh. + +"And I posted her letter to her father!" she half murmured. "Oh, if I +had only thought or guessed why it was written!" + +"Isn't it rather a bad time of the year for Norway?" pursued Neville. +"Why, there must be snow and darkness--" + +"Snow and darkness at the Altenfjord!" suddenly cried Britta, catching +at his words. "That's exactly what she said to me the other evening! Oh +dear! I never thought of it--I never remembered it was the dark season!" +She clasped her hands in dismay. "There is no sun at the Altenfjord +now--it is like night--and the cold is bitter. And she is not +strong--not strong enough to travel--and there's the North Sea to +cross--oh, Mr. Neville," and she broke out sobbing afresh. "The journey +will kill her,--I know it will! my poor, poor darling! I must go after +her--I'll go with Sir Philip--I _won't_ be left behind!" + +"Hush, hush, Britta!" said Neville kindly, patting her shoulder. "Don't +cry--don't cry!" + +But he was very near crying himself, poor man, so shaken was he by the +events of the morning. And he could not help admitting to himself the +possibility that so long and trying a journey for Thelma in her present +condition of health meant little else than serious illness--perhaps +death. The only comfort he could suggest to the disconsolate Britta was, +that at that time of year it was very probable there would be no steamer +running to Christiansund or Bergen, and in that case Thelma would be +unable to leave England, and would, therefore, be overtaken by Sir +Philip at Hull. + +Meanwhile, Sir Philip himself, in a white heat of restrained anger, +arrived at Winsleigh House, and asked to see Lord Winsleigh immediately. +Briggs, who opened the door to him, was a little startled at his haggard +face and blazing eyes, even though he knew, through Britta, all about +the sorrow that had befallen him. Briggs was not surprised at Lady +Errington's departure,--that portion of his "duty" which consisted in +listening at doors, had greatly enlightened him on many points,--all, +save one--the reported connection between Sir Philip and Violet Vere. +This seemed to be really true according to all appearances. + +"Which it puzzles me," soliloquized the owner of the shapely calves. "It +do, indeed. Yet I feels very much for Sir Philip,--I said to Flopsie +this morning--'Flopsie, I feels for 'im!' Yes,--I used them very words. +Only, of course, he shouldn't 'ave gone with Vi. She's a fine woman +certainly--but skittish--d--d skittish! I've allus made it a rule myself +to avoid 'er on principle. Lor! if I'd kep' company with 'er and the +likes of 'er I shouldn't be the man I am!" And he smiled complacently. + +Lord Winsleigh, who was in his library as usual, occupied with his +duties as tutor to his son Ernest, rose to receive Sir Philip with an +air of more than his usual gravity. + +"I was about to write to you, Errington," he began, and then stopped +short, touched by the utter misery expressed in Philip's face. He +addressed Ernest with a sort of nervous haste. + +"Run away, my boy, to your own room. I'll send for you again presently." + +Ernest obeyed. "Now," said Lord Winsleigh, as soon as the lad +disappeared, "tell me everything, Errington. Is it true that your wife +has left you?" + +"Left me!" and Philip's eyes flashed with passionate anger. "No +Winsleigh!--she's been driven away from me by the vilest and most +heartless cruelty. She's been made to believe a scandalous and +abominable lie against me--and she's gone! I--I--by Jove! I hardly like +to say it to your face--but--" + +"I understand!" a curious flicker of a smile shadowed rather than +brightened Lord Winsleigh's stern features. "Pray speak quite plainly! +Lady Winsleigh is to blame? I am not at all surprised!" + +Errington gave him a rapid glance of wonder. He had always fancied +Winsleigh to be a studious, rather dull sort of man, absorbed in books +and the education of his son,--a man, more than half blind to everything +that went on around him--and, moreover, one who deliberately shut his +eyes to the frivolous coquetry of his wife,--and though he liked him +fairly well, there had been a sort of vague contempt mingled with his +liking. Now a new light was suddenly thrown on his character--there was +something in his look, his manner, his very tone of voice,--which proved +to Errington that there was a deep and forcible side to his nature of +which his closest friends had never dreamed--and he was somewhat taken +aback by the discovery. Seeing that he still hesitated, Winsleigh laid a +hand encouragingly on his shoulder and said-- + +"I repeat--I'm not at all surprised! Nothing that Lady Winsleigh might +do would cause me the slightest astonishment. She has long ceased to be +my wife, except in name,--that she still bears that name and holds the +position she has in the world is simply--for my son's sake! I do not +wish,"--his voice quivered slightly--"I do not wish the boy to despise +his mother. It's always a bad beginning for a young man's life. I want +to avoid it for Ernest, if possible,--regardless of any personal +sacrifice." He paused a moment--then resumed. "Now, speak out, +Errington, and plainly,--for if mischief has been done and I can repair +it in any way, you may be sure I will." + +Thus persuaded, Sir Philip briefly related the whole story of the +misunderstanding that had arisen concerning Neville's wife, Violet +Vere--and concluded by saying-- + +"It is, of course, only through Britta that I've just heard about Lady +Winsleigh's having anything to do with it. Her information may not be +correct--I hope it isn't,--but--" + +Lord Winsleigh interrupted him. "Come with me," he said composedly. +"We'll resolve this difficulty AT once." + +He led the way out of the library across the hall. Errington followed +him in silence. He knocked at the door of his wife's room,--in response +to her "Come in!" they both entered. She was alone, reclining on a sofa, +reading,--she started up with a pettish exclamation at sight of her +husband, but observing who it was that came with him, she stood mute, +the color rushing to her cheeks with surprise and something of fear. Yet +she endeavored to smile, and returned with her usual grace their +somewhat formal salutations. + +"Clara," then said Lord Winsleigh gravely, "I have to ask you a question +on behalf of Sir Philip Errington here,--a question to which it is +necessary for you to give the plain answer. Did you or did you not +procure this letter from Violet Vere, of the Brilliant Theatre--and did +you or did you not, give it yourself yesterday into the hands of Lady +Bruce-Errington?" And he laid the letter in question, which Philip had +handed to him, down upon the table before her. + +She looked at it--then at him--then from him to Sir Philip, who uttered +no word--and lightly shrugged her shoulders. + +"I don't know what you are talking about," she said, carelessly. + +Sir Philip turned upon her indignantly. + +"Lady Winsleigh, you _do_ know--" + +She interrupted him with a stately gesture. + +"Excuse me, Sir Philip! I am not accustomed to be spoken to in this +extraordinary manner. You forget yourself--my husband, I think, also +forgets himself! I know nothing whatever about Violet Vere--I am not +fond of the society of actresses. Of course, I've heard about your +admiration for her--that is common town-talk,--though my informant on +this point was Sir Francis Lennox." + +"Sir Francis Lennox!" cried Philip furiously. "Thank God! there's a man +to deal with! By Heaven, I'll choke him with his own lie!" + +Lady Winsleigh raised her eyebrows in well-bred surprise. + +"Dear me! It is a lie, then? Now, I should have thought from all +accounts that it was so very likely to be true!" + +Philip turned white with passion. Her sarcastic smile,--her mocking +glance,--irritated him almost beyond endurance. + +"Permit me to ask you, Clara," continued Lord Winsleigh calmly, "if +you,--as you say, know nothing about Violet Vere, why did you go to the +Brilliant Theatre yesterday morning?" + +She flashed an angry glance at him. + +"Why? To secure a box for the new performance. Is there anything +wonderful in that?" + +Her husband remained unmoved. "May I see the voucher for this box?" he +inquired. + +"I've sent it to some friends," replied her ladyship haughtily. "Since +when have you decided to become an inquisitor, my lord?" + +"Lady Winsleigh," said Philip suddenly and eagerly, "will you swear to +me that you have said or done nothing to make my Thelma leave me?" + +"Oh, she _has_ left you, has she?" and Lady Clara smiled maliciously. "I +thought she would! Why don't you ask your dear friend, George Lorimer, +about her? He is madly in love with her, as everybody knows,--she is +probably the same with him!" + +"Clara, Clara!" exclaimed Lord Winsleigh in accents of deep reproach. +"Shame on you! Shame!" + +Her ladyship laughed amusedly. "Please don't be tragic!" she said; "it's +too ridiculous! Sir Philip has only himself to blame. Of course, Thelma +knows about his frequent visits to the Brilliant Theatre. I told her all +that Sir Francis said. Why should she be kept in the dark? I dare say +she doesn't mind--she's very fond of Mr. Lorimer!" + +Errington felt as though he must choke with fury. He forgot the presence +of Lord Winsleigh--he forgot everything but his just indignation. + +"My God!" he cried passionately. "You _dare_ to speak so!--_you_!" + +"Yes I!" she returned coolly, measuring him with a glance. "I dare! What +have you to say against _me_?" She drew herself up imperiously. + +Then turning to her husband, she said, "Have the goodness to take your +excited friend away, my lord! I am going out--I have a great many +engagements this morning--and I really cannot stop to discuss this +absurd affair any longer! It isn't my fault that Sir Philip's excessive +admiration for Miss Vere has become the subject of gossip--_I_ don't +blame him for it! He seems extremely ill-tempered about it; after all, +_'ce n'est que la verite qui blesse!'_" + +And she smiled maliciously. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + "For my mother's sake, + For thine and hers, O Love! I pity take + On all poor women. Jesu's will be done, + Honor for all, and infamy for none, + This side the borders of the burning lake." + ERIC MACKAY'S _Love-Letters of a Violinist_. + + +Lord Winsleigh did not move. Sir Philip fixed his eyes upon her in +silence. Some occult fascination forced her to meet his glance, and the +utter scorn of it stung her proud heart to its centre. Not that she felt +much compunction--her whole soul was up in arms against him, and had +been so from the very day she was first told of his unexpected marriage. +His evident contempt now irritated her--she was angrier with him than +ever, and yet--she had a sort of strange triumph in the petty vengeance +she had designed--she had destroyed his happiness for a time, at least. +If she could but shake his belief in his wife! she thought, +vindictively. To that end she had thrown out her evil hint respecting +Thelma's affection for George Lorimer, but the shaft had been aimed +uselessly. Errington knew too well the stainless purity of Thelma to +wrong her by the smallest doubt, and he would have staked his life on +the loyalty of his friend. Presently he controlled his anger +sufficiently to be able to speak, and still eyeing her with that +straight, keen look of immeasurable disdain, he said in cold, deliberate +accents-- + +"Your ladyship is in error,--the actress in question is the wife of my +secretary, Mr. Neville. For years they have been estranged--my visits to +her were entirely on Neville's behalf--my letters to her were all on the +same subject. Sir Francis Lennox must have known the truth all +along,--Violet Vere has been his mistress for the past five years!" + +He uttered the concluding words with intense bitterness. A strange, +bewildered horror passed over Lady Winsleigh's face. + +"I don't believe it," she said rather faintly. + +"Believe it or not, it is true!" he replied curtly. "Ask the manager of +the Brilliant, if you doubt me. Winsleigh, it's no use my stopping here +any longer. As her ladyship refuses to give any explanation--" + +"Wait a moment, Errington," interposed Lord Winsleigh in his coldest and +most methodical manner. "Her ladyship refuses--but _I_ do not refuse! +Her ladyship will not speak--she allows her husband to speak for her. +Therefore," and he smiled at his astonished wife somewhat sardonically, +"I may tell you at once, that her ladyship admits to having purchased +from Violet Vere for the sum of 20 pounds, the letter which she +afterwards took with her own hands to your wife." Lady Winsleigh uttered +an angry exclamation. + +"Don't interrupt me, Clara, if you please," he said, with an icy smile. +"We have so many sympathies in common that I'm sure I shall be able to +explain your unspoken meanings quite clearly." He went on, addressing +himself to Errington, who stood utterly amazed. + +"Her ladyship desires me to assure you that her only excuse for her +action in this matter is, that she fully believed the reports her +friend, Sir Francis Lennox, gave her concerning your supposed intimacy +with the actress in question,--and that, believing it, she made use of +it as much as possible for the purpose of destroying your wife's peace +of mind and confidence in you. Her object was most purely feminine--love +of mischief, and the gratification of private spite! There's nothing +like frankness!" and Lord Winsleigh's face was a positive study as he +spoke. "You see,"--he made a slight gesture towards his wife, who stood +speechless, and so pale that her very lips were colorless--"her ladyship +is not in a position to deny what I have said. Excuse her silence!" + +And again he smiled--that smile as glitteringly chilled as a gleam of +light on the edge of a sword. Lady Winsleigh raised her head, and her +eyes met his with a dark expression of the uttermost anger. "Spy!" she +hissed between her teeth,--then without further word or gesture, she +swept haughtily away into her dressing-room, which adjoined the boudoir, +and closed the door of communication, thus leaving the two men alone +together. + +Errington felt himself to be in a most painful and awkward position. If +there was anything he more than disliked, it was a _scene_--particularly +of a domestic nature. And he had just had a glimpse into Lord and Lady +Winsleigh's married life, which, to him, was decidedly unpleasant. He +could not understand how Lord Winsleigh had become cognizant of all he +had so frankly stated--and then, why had he not told him everything at +first, without waiting to declare it in his wife's presence? Unless, +indeed, he wished to shame her? There was evidently something in the +man's disposition and character that he, Philip, could not as yet +comprehend,--something that certainly puzzled him, and filled him with +vague uneasiness. + +"Winsleigh, I'm awfully sorry this has happened," he began hurriedly, +holding out his hand. + +Lord Winsleigh grasped it cordially. "My dear fellow, so am I! Heartily +sorry! I have to be sorry for a good many things rather often. But I'm +specially grieved to think that your beautiful and innocent young wife +is the victim in this case. Unfortunately I was told nothing till this +morning, otherwise I might possibly have prevented all your unhappiness. +But I trust it won't be of long duration. Here's this letter," he +returned it as he spoke, "which in more than one way has cost so large a +price. Possibly her ladyship may now regret her ill-gotten purchase." + +"Pardon me," said Errington curiously, "but how did you know--" + +"The information was pressed upon me very much," replied Lord Winsleigh +evasively, "and from such a source that up to the last moment I almost +refused to believe it." He paused, and then went on with a forced smile, +"Suppose we don't talk any more about it, Errington? The subject's +rather painful to me. Only allow me to ask your pardon for my wife's +share in the mischief!" + +Something in his manner of speaking affected Sir Philip. + +"Upon my soul, Winsleigh," he exclaimed with sudden fervor, "I fancy +you're a man greatly wronged!" + +Lord Winsleigh smiled slightly. "You only _fancy_?" he said quietly. +"Well,--my good friend, we all have our troubles--I dare say mine are no +greater than those of many better men." He stopped short, then asked +abruptly, "I suppose you'll see Lennox?" + +Errington set his teeth hard. "I shall,--at once!" he replied. "And I +shall probably thrash him within an inch of his life!" + +"That's right! I shan't be sorry!" and Lord Winsleigh's hand clenched +almost unconsciously. "I hope you understand, Errington, that if it +hadn't been for my son, I should have shot that fellow long ago. I dare +say you wonder,--and some others too,--why I haven't done it. But +Ernest--poor little chap! . . . he would have heard of it,--and the +reason of it,--his young life is involved in mine--why should I bequeath +him a dishonored mother's name? There--for heaven's sake, don't let me +make a fool of myself!" and he fiercely dashed his hand across his eyes. +"A duel or a divorce--or a horsewhipping--they all come to pretty much +the same thing--all involve public scandal for the name of the woman who +may be unhappily concerned--and scandal clings, like the stain on Lady +Macbeth's hand. In your case you can act--_your_ wife is above a shadow +of suspicion--but I--oh, my God! how much women have to answer for in +the miseries of this world!" + +Errington said nothing. Pity and respect for the man before him held him +silent. Here was one of the martyrs of modern social life--a man who +evidently knew himself to be dishonored by his wife,--and who yet, for +the sake of his son, submitted to be daily broken on the wheel of +private torture rather than let the boy grow up to despise and slight +his mother. Whether he were judged as wise or weak in his behavior there +was surely something noble about him--something unselfish and heroic +that deserved recognition. Presently Lord Winsleigh continued in calmer +tones-- + +"I've been talking too much about myself, Errington, I fear--forgive it! +Sometimes I've thought you misunderstood me--" + +"I never shall again!" declared Philip earnestly. + +Lord Winsleigh met his look of sympathy with one of gratitude. + +"Thanks!" he said briefly,--and with this they shook hands again +heartily, and parted. Lord Winsleigh saw his visitor to the door--and +then at once returned to his wife's apartments. She was still absent +from the boudoir--he therefore entered her dressing-room without +ceremony. + +There he found her,--alone, kneeling on the floor, her head buried in an +arm-chair,--and her whole frame shaken with convulsive sobs. He looked +down upon her with a strange wistful pain in his eyes,--pain mingled +with compassion. + +"Clara!" he said gently. She started and sprang up--confronting him with +flushed cheeks and wet eyes. + +"_You_ here?" she exclaimed angrily. "I wonder you dare to--" she broke +off, confused by his keen, direct glance. + +"It _is_ a matter for wonder," he said quietly. "It's the strangest +thing in the world that I--your husband--should venture to intrude +myself into your presence! Nothing could be more out of the common. But +I have something to say to you--something which must be said sooner or +later--and I may as well speak now." + +He paused,--she was silent, looking at him in a sort of sudden fear. + +"Sit down," he continued in the same even tones. "You must have a little +patience with me--I'll endeavor to be as brief as possible." + +Mechanically she obeyed him and sank into a low fauteuil. She began +playing with the trinkets on her silver chatelaine, and endeavored to +feign the most absolute unconcern, but her heart beat quickly--she could +not imagine what was coming next--her husband's manner and tone were +quite new to her. + +"You accused me just now," he went on, "of being a spy. I have never +condescended to act such a part toward you, Clara. When I first married +you I trusted you with my life, my honor, and my name, and though you +have betrayed all three"--she moved restlessly as his calm gaze remained +fixed on her--"I repeat,--though you have betrayed all three,--I have +deliberately shut my eyes to the ruin of my hopes, in a loyal endeavor +to shield you from the world's calumny. Regarding the unhappiness you +have caused the Erringtons,--your own maid Louise Renaud (who has given +you notice of her intention to leave you) told me all she knew of your +share in what I may call positive cruelty, towards a happy and innocent +woman who has never injured you, and whose friend you declared yourself +to be--" + +"You believe the lies of a servant?" suddenly cried Lady Winsleigh +wrathfully. + +"Have not _you_ believed the lies of Sir Francis Lennox, who is less +honest than a servant?" asked her husband, his grave voice deepening +with a thrill of passion. "And haven't you reported them everywhere as +truths? But as regards your maid--I doubted her story altogether. She +assured me she knew what money you took out with you yesterday, and what +you returned with--and as the only place you visited in the morning was +the Brilliant Theatre,--after having received a telegram from Lennox, +which she saw,--it was easy for her to put two and two together, +especially as she noticed you reading the letter you had +purchased--moreover"--he paused--"she has heard certain conversations +between you and Sir Francis, notably one that took place at the +garden-party in the summer at Errington Manor. Spy? you say? your +detective has been paid by you,--fed and kept about your own person,--to +minister to your vanity and to flatter your pride--that she has turned +informer against you is not surprising. Be thankful that her information +has fallen into no more malignant hands than mine!" + +Again he paused--she was still silent--but her lips trembled nervously. + +"And yet I was loth to believe everything"--he resumed half sadly--"till +Errington came and showed me that letter and told me the whole story of +his misery. Even then I thought I would give you one more chance--that's +why I brought him to you and asked you the question before him. One look +at your face told me you were guilty, though you denied it. I should +have been better pleased had you confessed it! But why talk about it any +longer?--the mischief is done--I trust it is not irreparable. I +certainly consider that before troubling that poor girl's +happiness,--you should have taken the precaution to inquire a little +further into the truth of the reports you heard from Sir Francis +Lennox,--he is not a reliable authority on any question whatsoever. You +may have thought him so--" he stopped short and regarded her with +sorrowful sternness--"I say, Clara, you may have thought him so, +once--but _now_? Are you proud to have shared his affections +with--Violet Vere?" + +She uttered a sharp cry and covered her face with her hands,--an action +which appeared to smite her husband to the heart,--for his voice +trembled with deep feeling when he next spoke. + +"Ah, best hide it, Clara!" he said passionately. "Hide that fair face I +loved so well--hide those eyes in which I dreamed of finding my life's +sunshine! Clara, Clara! What can I say to you, fallen rose of womanhood? +How can I--" he suddenly bent over her as though to caress her, then drew +back with a quick agonized sigh. "You thought me blind, Clara! . . ." +he went on in low tones, "blind to my own dishonor--blind to your +faithlessness,--I tell you if you had taken my heart between your hands +and wrung the blood out of it drop by drop, I could not have suffered +more than I have done! Why have I been silent so long?--no matter +why,--but _now_, now Clara,--this life of ours must end!" + +She shuddered away from him. + +"End it then!" she muttered in a choked voice. "You can do as you +like,--you can divorce me." + +"Yes," said Lord Winsleigh musingly. "I can divorce you! There will be +no defense possible,--as you know. If witnesses are needed, they are to +be had in the persons of our own domestics. The co-respondent in the +case will not refute the charge against him,--and I, the plaintiff, +_must_ win my just cause. Do you realize it all, Clara? You, the +well-known leader of a large social circle--you, the proud beauty and +envied lady of rank and fashion,--you will be made a subject for the +coarse jests of lawyers,--the very judge on the bench will probably play +off his stale witticism at your expense,--your dearest friends will tear +your name to shreds,--the newspapers will reek of your doings,--and +honest housemaids reading of your fall from your high estate, will thank +God that their souls and bodies are more chaste than yours! And +last,--not least,--think when old age creeps on, and your beauty +withers,--think of your son grown to manhood,--the sole heir to my +name,--think of him as having but one thing to blush for--the memory of +his dishonored mother!" + +"Cruel--cruel!" she cried, endeavoring to check her sobs, and +withdrawing her hands from her face. "Why do you say such things to me? +Why did you marry me?" + +He caught her hands and held them in a fast grip. + +"Why? Because I loved you, Clara--loved you with all the tenderness of a +strong man's heart! When I first saw you, you seemed to me the very +incarnation of maiden purity and loveliness! The days of our +courtship--the first few months of our marriage--what they were to you, +I know not,--to me they were supreme happiness. When our boy was born, +my adoration, my reverence for you increased--you were so sacred in my +eyes, that I could have knelt and asked a benediction from these little +hands"--here he gently loosened them from his clasp. "Then came the +change--_what_ changed you, I cannot imagine--it has always seemed to me +unnatural, monstrous, incredible! There was no falling away in _my_ +affection, that I can swear! My curse upon the man who turned your heart +from mine! So rightful and deep a curse is it that I feel it must some +day strike home." + +He paused and seemed to reflect. "Who is there more vile, more +traitorous than he?" he went on. "Has he not tried to influence +Errington's wife against her husband? For what base purpose? But +Clara,--he is powerless against _her_ purity and innocence;--what, in +the name of God, gave him power over _you_?" + +She drooped her head, and the hot blood rushed to her face. + +"You've said enough!" she murmured sullenly. "If you have decided on a +divorce, pray carry out your intention with the least possible delay. I +cannot talk any more! I--I am tired!" + +"Clara," said her husband solemnly, with a strange light in his eyes, "I +would rather kill you than divorce you!" + +There was something so terribly earnest in his tone that her heart beat +fast with fear. + +"Kill me?--kill me?" she gasped, with white lips. + +"Yes!" he repeated, "kill you,--as a Frenchman or an Italian would,--and +take the consequences. Yes--though an Englishman, I would rather do this +than drag your frail poor womanhood through the mire of public scandal! +I have, perhaps, a strange nature, but such as I am, I am. There are too +many of our high-born families already, flaunting their immorality and +low licentiousness in the face of the mocking, grinning populace,--I for +one could never make up my mind to fling the honor of my son's mother to +them, as though it were a bone for dogs to fight over. No--I have +another proposition to make to you--" + +He stopped short. She stared at him wonderingly. He resumed in +methodical, unmoved, business-like tones. + +"I propose, Clara, simply,--to leave you! I'll take the boy and absent +myself from this country, so as to give you perfect freedom and save you +all trouble. There'll be no possibility of scandal, for I will keep you +cognizant of my movements,--and should you require my presence at any +time for the sake of appearances,--or--to shield you from calumny,--you +may rely on my returning to you at once,--without delay. Ernest will +gain many advantages by travel,--his education is quite a sufficient +motive for my departure, my interest in his young life being well known +to all our circle. Moreover, with me--under my surveillance--he need +never know anything against--against you. I have always taught him to +honor and obey you in his heart." + +Lord Winsleigh paused a moment--then went on, somewhat musingly;--"When +he was quite little, he used to wonder why you didn't love him,--it was +hard for me to hear him say that, sometimes. But I always told him that +you did love him--but that you had so many visits to makes and so many +friends to entertain, that you had no time to play with him. I don't +think he quite understood,--but still--I did my best!" + +He was silent. She had hidden her face again in her hands, and he heard +a sound of smothered sobbing. + +"I think," he continued calmly, "that he has a great reverence for you +in his young heart--a feeling which partakes, perhaps, more of fear than +love--still it is better than--disdain--or--or disrespect. I shall +always teach him to esteem you highly,--but I think, as matters +stand--if I relieve you of all your responsibilities to husband and +son--you--Clara!--pray don't distress yourself--there's no occasion for +this--Clara--" + +For on a sudden impulse she had flung herself at his feet in an +irrepressible storm of passionate weeping. + +"Kill me, Harry!" she sobbed wildly, clinging to him. "Kill me! don't +speak to me like this!--don't leave me! Oh, my God! don't, don't despise +me so utterly! Hate me--curse me--strike me--do anything, but don't +leave me as if I were some low thing, unfit for your touch,--I know I +am, but oh, Harry! . . ." She clung to him more closely. "If you leave +me I will not live,--I cannot! Have you no pity? Why would you throw me +back alone--all, all alone, to die of your contempt and my shame!" + +And she bowed her head in an agony of tears. + +He looked down upon her a moment in silence. + +"Your shame!" he murmured. "My wife--" + +Then he raised her in his arms and drew her with a strange hesitation of +touch, to his breast, as though she were some sick or wounded child, and +watched her as she lay there weeping, her face hidden, her whole frame +trembling in his embrace. + +"Poor soul!" he whispered, more to himself than to her. "Poor frail +woman! Hush, hush, Clara! The past is past! I'll make you no more +reproaches. I--I _can't_ hurt you, because I once so loved you--but +now--now,--what _is_ there left for me to do, but to leave you? You'll +be happier so--you'll have perfect liberty--you needn't even think of +me--unless, perhaps, as one dead and buried long ago--" + +She raised herself in his arms and looked at him piteously. + +"Won't you give me a chance?" she sobbed. "Not one? If I had but known +you better--if I had understood oh, I've been vile, wicked, +deceitful--but I'm not happy, Harry--I've never been happy since I +wronged you! Won't you give me one little hope that I may win your love +again,--no, not your love, but your pity? Oh, Harry, have I lost +all--all--" + +Her voice broke--she could say no more. + +He stroked her hair gently. "You speak on impulse just now, Clara," he +said gravely yet tenderly. "You can't know your own strength or +weakness. God forbid that _I_ should judge you harshly! As you wish it, +I will not leave you yet. I'll wait. Whether we part or remain together, +shall be decided by your own actions, your own looks, your own words. +You understand, Clara? You know my feelings. I'm content for the present +to place my fate in your hands." He smiled rather sadly. "But for love, +Clara--I fear nothing can be done to warm to life this poor perished +love of ours. We can, perhaps, take hands and watch its corpse patiently +together and say how sorry we are it is dead--such penitence comes +always too late!" + +He sighed, and put her gently away from him. + +She turned up her flushed, tear-stained face to his. + +"Will you kiss me, Harry?" she asked tremblingly. He met her eyes, and +an exclamation that was almost a groan broke from his lips. A shudder +passed through his frame. + +"I can't, Clara! I can't--God forgive me!--Not yet!" And with that he +bowed his head and left her. + +She listened to the echo of his firm footsteps dying away, and creeping +guiltily to a side-door she opened it, and watched yearningly his +retreating figure till it had disappeared. + +"Why did I never love him till now?" she murmured sobbingly. "Now, when +he despises me--when he will not even kiss me?--" She leaned against the +half-open door in an attitude of utter dejection, not caring to move, +listening intently with a vague hope of hearing her husband's returning +tread. A lighter step than his, however, came suddenly along from the +other side of the passage and startled her a little--it was Ernest, +looking the picture of boyish health and beauty. He was just going out +for his usual ride--he lifted his cap with a pretty courtesy as he saw +her, and said-- + +"Good-morning, mother!" + +She looked at him with new interest,--how handsome the lad was!--how +fresh his face!--how joyously clear those bright blue eyes of his! He, +on his part, was moved by a novel sensation too--his mother,--his proud, +beautiful, careless mother had been crying--he saw that at a glance, and +his young heart beat faster when she laid her white hand, sparkling all +over with rings, on his arm and drew him closer to her. + +"Are you going to the Park?" she asked gently. + +"Yes." Then recollecting his training in politeness and obedience he +added instantly--"Unless you want me." + +She smiled faintly. "I never do want you--do I, Ernest?" she asked half +sadly. "I never want my boy at all." Her voice quivered,--and Ernest +grew more and more astonished. + +"If you do, I'll stay," he said stoutly, filled with a chivalrous desire +to console his so suddenly tender mother of his, whatever her griefs +might be. Her eyes filled again, but she tried to laugh. + +"No dear--not now,--run along and enjoy yourself. Come to me when you +return. I shall be at home all day. And,--stop Ernest--won't you kiss +me?" + +The boy opened his eyes wide in respectful wonderment, and his cheeks +flushed with surprise and pleasure. + +"Why, mother--of course!" And his fresh, sweet lips closed on hers with +frank and unaffected heartiness. She held him fast for a moment and +looked at him earnestly. + +"Tell your father you kissed me--will you?" she said. "Don't forget!" + +And with that she waved her hand to him, and retreated again into her +own apartment. The boy went on his way somewhat puzzled and +bewildered--did his mother love him, after all? If so, he thought--how +glad he was!--how very glad! and what a pity he had not known it before! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + "I heed not custom, creed, nor law; + I care for nothing that ever I saw-- + I terribly laugh with an oath and sneer, + When I think that the hour of Death draws near!" + + W. WINTER. + + +Errington's first idea, on leaving Winsleigh House, was to seek an +interview with Sir Francis Lennox, and demand an explanation. He could +not understand the man's motive for such detestable treachery and +falsehood. His anger rose to a white heat as he thought of it, and he +determined to "have it out" with him whatever the consequences might be. +"No apology will serve his turn," he muttered. "The scoundrel! He has +lied deliberately--and, by Jove, he shall pay for it!" + +And he started off rapidly in the direction of Piccadilly, but on the +way he suddenly remembered that he had no weapon with him, not even a +cane wherewith to carry out his intention of thrashing Sir Francis, and +calling to mind a certain heavy horsewhip, that hung over the +mantel-piece in his own room, he hailed a hansom, and was driven back to +his house in order to provide himself with that implement of castigation +before proceeding further. On arriving at the door, to his surprise he +found Lorimer who was just about to ring the bell. + +"Why, I thought you were in Paris?" he exclaimed. + +"I came back last night," George began, when Morris opened the door, and +Errington, taking his friend by the arm hurried him into the house. In +five minutes he had unburdened himself of all his troubles--and had +explained the misunderstanding about Violet Vere and Thelma's consequent +flight. Lorimer listened with a look of genuine pain and distress on his +honest face. + +"Phil, you _have_ been a fool!" he said candidly. "A positive fool, if +you'll pardon me for saying so. You ought to have told Thelma everything +at first,--she's the very last woman in the world who ought to be kept +in the dark about anything. Neville's feelings? Bother Neville's +feelings! Depend upon it the poor girl has heard all manner of stories. +She's been miserable for some time--Duprez noticed it." And he related +in a few words the little scene that had taken place at Errington Manor +on the night of the garden-party, when his playing on the organ had +moved her to such unwonted emotion. + +Philip heard him in moody silence,--how had it happened, he wondered, +that others,--comparative strangers,--had observed that Thelma looked +unhappy, while he, her husband, had been blind to it? He could not make +this out,--and yet it is a thing that very commonly happens. Our nearest +and dearest are often those who are most in the dark respecting our +private and personal sufferings,--we do not wish to trouble them,--and +they prefer to think that everything is right with us, even though the +rest of the world can plainly perceive that everything is wrong. To the +last moment they will refuse to see death in our faces, though the +veriest stranger meeting us casually, clearly beholds the shadow of the +dark Angel's hand. + +"_Apropos_ of Lennox," went on Lorimer, sympathetically watching his +friend, "I came on purpose to speak to you about him. I've got some news +for you. He's a regular sneak and scoundrel. You can thrash him to your +heart's content for he has grossly insulted your wife." + +"_Insulted_ her?" cried Errington furiously. "How,--What--" + +"Give me time to speak!" And George laid a restraining hand on his arm. +"Thelma visited my mother yesterday and told her that on the night +before, when you had gone out, Lennox took advantage of your absence to +come here and make love to her,--and she actually had to struggle with +him, and even to strike him, in order to release herself from his +advances. My mother advised her to tell you about it--and she evidently +then had no intention of flight, for she said she would inform you of +everything as soon as you returned from the country. And if Lady +Winsleigh hadn't interfered, it's very probable that--I say, where are +you going?" This as Philip made a bound for the door. + +"To get my horsewhip!" he answered. + +"All right--I approve!" cried Lorimer. "But wait one instant, and see +how clear the plot becomes. Thelma's beauty had maddened Lennox,--to +gain her good opinion, as he thinks, he throws his mistress, Violet +Vere, on _your_ shoulders--(your ingenuous visits to the Brilliant +Theatre gave him a capital pretext for this) and as for Lady Winsleigh's +share in the mischief, it's nothing but mere feminine spite against you +for marrying at all, and hatred of the woman whose life is such a +contrast to her own, and who absorbs all your affection. Lennox has used +her as his tool and the Vere also, I've no doubt. The thing's as clear +as crystal. It's a sort of general misunderstanding all round--one of +those eminently unpleasant trifles that very frequently upset the peace +and comfort of the most quiet and inoffensive persons. But the fault +lies with _you_, dear old boy!" + +"With _me_!" exclaimed Philip. + +"Certainly! Thelma's soul is as open as daylight--you shouldn't have had +any secret from her, however trifling. She's not a woman 'on +guard,'--she can't take life as the most of us do, in military fashion, +with ears pricked for the approach of a spy, and prepared to expect +betrayal from her most familiar friends. She accepts things as they +appear, without any suspicion of mean ulterior designs. It's a pity, of +course!--it's a pity she can't be worldly-wise, and scheme and plot and +plan and lie like the rest of us! However, _your_ course is plain--first +interview Lennox and then follow Thelma. She can't have left Hull +yet,--there are scarcely any boats running to Norway at this season. +You'll overtake her I'm certain." + +"By Jove, Lorimer!" said Errington suddenly. "Clara Winsleigh sticks at +nothing--do you know she actually had the impudence to suggest that +_you_,--you, of all people,--were in love with Thelma!" + +Lorimer flushed up, but laughed lightly. "How awfully sweet of her! Much +obliged to her, I'm sure! And how did you take it Phil?" + +"Take it? I didn't take it at all," responded Philip warmly. "Of course, +I knew it was only her spite--she'd say anything in one of her tempers." + +Lorimer looked at him with a sudden tenderness in his blue eyes. Then he +laughed again, a little forcedly, and said-- + +"Be off, old man, and get that whip of yours! We'll run Lennox to earth. +Hullo! here's Britta!" + +The little maid entered hurriedly at that moment,--she came to ask with +quivering lips, whether she might accompany Sir Philip in his intended +journey to Norway. + +"For if you do not find the Froeken at Hull, you will want to reach the +Altenfjord," said Britta, folding hands resolutely in front of her +apron, "and you will not get on without me. You do not know what the +country is like in the depth of winter when the sun is asleep. You must +have the reindeer to help you--and no Englishman knows how to drive +reindeer. And--and--" here Britta's eyes filled--"you have not thought, +perhaps, that the journey may make the Froeken very ill--and that when we +find her--she may be dying--" and Britta's strength gave way in a big +sob that broke from the depths of her honest, affectionate heart. + +"Don't--_don't_ talk like that, Britta!" cried Philip passionately. "I +can't bear it! Of course, you shall go with me! I wouldn't leave you +behind for the world! Get everything ready--" and in a fever of heat and +impatience he began rummaging among some books on a side-shelf, till he +found the time-tables he sought. "Yes,--here we are,--there's a train +leaving for Hull at five--we'll take that. Tell Morris to pack my +portmanteau, and you bring it along with you to the Midland +railway-station this afternoon. Do you understand?" + +Britta nodded emphatically, and hurried off at once to busy herself with +these preparations, while Philip, all excitement, dashed off to give a +few parting injunctions to Neville, and to get his horsewhip. + +Lorimer, left alone for a few minutes, seated himself in an easy chair +and began absently turning over the newspapers on the table. But his +thoughts were far away, and presently he covered his eyes with one hand +as though the light hurt them. When he removed it, his lashes were wet. + +"What a fool I am!" he muttered impatiently. "Oh Thelma, Thelma! my +darling!--how I wish I could follow and find you and console you!--you +poor, tender, resigned soul, going away like this because you thought +you were not wanted--not wanted!--my God!--if you only knew how one man +at least has wanted and yearned for you ever since he saw your sweet +face!--Why can't I tear you out of my heart--why can't I love some one +else? Ah Phil!--good, generous, kind old Phil!--he little guesses," he +rose and paced the room up and down restlessly. "The fact is I oughtn't +to be here at all--I ought to leave England altogether for a long +time--till--till I get over it. The question is, _shall_ I ever get over +it? Sigurd was a wise boy--he found a short way out of all his +troubles,--suppose I imitate his example? No,--for a man in his senses +that would be rather cowardly--though it might be pleasant!" He stopped +in his walk with a pondering expression on his face. "At any rate, I +won't stop here to see her come back--I couldn't trust myself,--I should +say something foolish--I know I should! I'll take my mother to +Italy--she wants to go; and we'll stay with Lovelace. It'll be a +change--and I'll have a good stand-up fight with myself, and see if I +can't come off the conqueror somehow! It's all very well to kill an +opponent in battle but the question is, can a man kill his inner, +grumbling, discontented, selfish Self? If he can't, what's the good of +him?" + +As he was about to consider this point reflectively, Errington entered, +equipped for travelling, and whip in hand. His imagination had been at +work during the past few minutes, exaggerating all the horrors and +difficulties of Thelma's journey to the Altenfjord, till he was in a +perfect fever of irritable excitement. + +"Come on Lorimer!" he cried. "There's no time to lose! Britta knows what +to do--she'll meet me at the station. I can't breathe in this wretched +house a moment longer--let's be off!" + +Plunging out into the hall, he bade Morris summon a hansom,--and with a +few last instructions to that faithful servitor, and an encouraging kind +word and shake of the hand to Neville, who with a face of remorseful +misery, stood at the door to watch his departure,--he was gone. The +hansom containing him and Lorimer rattled rapidly towards the abode of +Sir Francis Lennox, but on entering Piccadilly, the vehicle was +compelled to go so slowly on account of the traffic, that Errington, who +every moment grew more and more impatient, could not stand it. + +"By Jove! this is like a walking funeral!" he muttered. "I say Lorimer, +let's get out! We can do the rest on foot." + +They stopped the cabman and paid him his fare--then hurried along +rapidly, Errington every now and then giving a fiercer clench to the +formidable horsewhip which was twisted together with his ordinary +walking-stick in such a manner as not to attract special attention. + +"Coward and liar!" he muttered, as he thought of the man he was about to +punish. "He shall pay for his dastardly falsehood--by Jove he shall! +It'll be a precious long time before he shows himself in society any +more!" + +Then he addressed Lorimer. "You may depend upon it he'll shout 'police! +police!' and make for the door," he observed. "You keep your back +against it, Lorimer! I don't care how many fines I've got to pay as long +as I can thrash him soundly!" + +"All right!" Lorimer answered, and they quickened their pace. As they +neared the chambers which Sir Francis Lennox rented over a fashionable +jeweller's shop, they became aware of a small procession coming straight +towards them from the opposite direction. _Something_ was being carried +between four men who appeared to move with extreme care and +gentleness,--this something was surrounded by a crowd of boys and men +whose faces were full of morbid and frightened interest--the whole +_cortege_ was headed by a couple of solemn policemen. "You spoke of a +walking funeral just now," said Lorimer suddenly. "This looks uncommonly +like one." + +Errington made no reply--he had only one idea in his mind,--the +determination to chastise and thoroughly disgrace Sir Francis. "I'll +hound him out of the clubs!" he thought indignantly. "His own set shall +know what a liar he is--and if I can help it he shall never hold up his +head again!" + +Entirely occupied as he was with these reflections, he paid no heed to +anything that was going on in the street, and he scarcely heard +Lorimer's last observation. So that he was utterly surprised and taken +aback, when he, with Lorimer, was compelled to come to a halt before the +very door of the jeweller, Lennox's landlord, while the two policemen +cleared a passage through the crowd, saying in low tones, "Stand aside, +gentlemen, please!--stand aside," thus making gradual way for four +bearers, who, as was now plainly to be seen, carried a common wooden +stretcher covered with a cloth, under which lay what seemed, from its +outline, to be a human figure. + +"What's the matter here?" asked Lorimer, with a curious cold thrill +running through him as he put the simple question. + +One of the policemen answered readily enough. + +"An accident, sir. Gentleman badly hurt. Down at Charing Cross +Station--tried to jump into a train when it had started,--foot +caught,--was thrown under the wheels and dragged along some +distance--doctor says he can't live, sir." + +"Who is he,--what's his name?" + +"Lennox, sir--leastways, that's the name on his card--and this is the +address. Sir Francis Lennox, I believe it is." + +Errington uttered a sharp exclamation of horror,--at that moment the +jeweller came out of the recesses of his shop with uplifted hands and +bewildered countenance. + +"An accident? Good Heavens!--Sir Francis! Up-stairs!--take him +up-stairs!" Here he addressed the bearers. "You should have gone round +to the private entrance--he mustn't be seen in the shop--frightening +away all my customers--here, pass through!--pass through, as quick as +you can!" + +And they did pass through,--carrying their crushed burden tenderly along +by the shining glass cases and polished counters, where glimmered and +flashed jewels of every size and lustre for the adorning of the children +of this world,--slowly and carefully, step by step, they reached the +upper floor,--and there, in a luxurious apartment furnished with almost +feminine elegance, they lifted the inanimate form from the stretcher and +laid it down, still shrouded, on a velvet sofa, removing the last number +of _Truth_, and two of Zola's novels, to make room for the heavy, +unconscious head. + +Errington and Lorimer stood at the doorway, completely overcome by the +suddenness of the event--they had followed the bearers up-stairs almost +mechanically,--exchanging no word or glance by the way,--and now they +watched in almost breathless suspense while a surgeon who was present, +gently turned back the cover that hid the injured man's features and +exposed them to full view. Was _that_ Sir Francis? that blood-smeared, +mangled creature?--_that_ the lascivious dandy,--the disciple of +no-creed and self-worship? Errington shuddered and averted his gaze from +that hideous face,--so horribly contorted,--yet otherwise deathlike in +its rigid stillness. There was a grave hush. The surgeon still bent over +him--touching here, probing there, with tenderness and skill,--but +finally he drew back with a hopeless shake of his head. + +"Nothing can be done," he whispered. "Absolutely nothing!" + +At that moment Sir Francis stirred,--he groaned and opened his +eyes;--what terrible eyes they were, filled with that look of intense +anguish, and something worse than anguish,--fear--frantic fear--coward +fear--fear that was almost more overpowering than his bodily suffering. + +He stared wildly at the little group assembled--strange faces, so far as +he could make them out, that regarded him with evident compassion,--what +--what was all this--what did it mean? Death? No, no! he thought madly, +while his brain reeled with the idea--death? What _was_ death?--darkness, +annihilation, blackness--all that was horrible--unimaginable! God! he +would _not_ die! God!--who _was_ God? No matter--he would live;--he +would struggle against this heaviness,--this coldness--this pillar of +ice in which he was being slowly frozen--frozen--frozen!--inch by--inch! +He made a furious effort to move, and uttered a scream of agony, stabbed +through and through by torturing pain. + +"Keep still!" said the surgeon pityingly. + +Sir Francis heard him not. He wrestled with his bodily anguish till the +perspiration stood in large drops on his forehead. He raised himself, +gasping for breath, and glared about him like a trapped beast of prey. + +"Give me brandy!" he muttered chokingly. "Quick--quick! Are you going to +let me die like a dog?--damn you all!" + +The effort to move,--to speak,--exhausted his sinking strength--his +throat rattled,--he clenched his fists and made as though he would +spring off his couch--when a fearful contortion convulsed his whole +body,--his eyes rolled up and became fixed--he fell heavily +back,--_dead_! + +Quietly the surgeon covered again what was now nothing,--nothing but a +mutilated corpse. + +"It's all over!" he announce briefly. + +Errington heard these words in sickened silence. All over! Was it +possible? So soon? All over!--and he had come too late to punish the +would-be ravisher of his wife's honor,--too late! He still held the whip +in his hand with which he had meant to chastise that--that distorted, +mangled lump of clay yonder, . . . pah! he could not bear to think of +it, and he turned away, faint and dizzy. He felt,--rather than saw the +staircase,--down which he dreamily went, followed by Lorimer. + +The two policemen were in the hall scribbling the cut-and-dry +particulars of the accident in their note-books, which having done, they +marched off, attended by a wandering, bilious-looking penny-a-liner who +was anxious to write a successful account of the "Shocking Fatality," as +it was called in the next day's newspapers. Then the bearers departed +cheerfully, carrying with them the empty stretcher. Then the jeweller, +who seemed quite unmoved respecting the sudden death of his lodger, +chatted amicably with the surgeon about the reputation and various +demerits of the deceased,--and Errington and Lorimer, as they passed +through the shop, heard him speaking of a person hitherto unheard of, +namely, Lady Francis Lennox, who had been deserted by her husband for +the past six years, and who was living uncomplainingly the life of an +art-student in Germany with her married sister, maintaining, by the work +of her own hands, her one little child, a boy of five. + +"He never allowed her a farthing," said the conversational jeweller. +"And she never asked him for one. Mr. Wiggins, his lawyer--firm of +Wiggins & Whizzer, Furnival's Inn,--told me all about his affairs. Oh +yes--he was a regular "masher"--tip-top! Not worth much, I should say. +He must have spent over a thousand a year in keeping up that little +place at St. John's Wood for Violet Vere. He owes me five hundred. +However, Mr. Wiggins will see everything fair, I've no doubt. I've just +wired to him, announcing the death. I don't suppose any one will regret +him--except, perhaps, the woman at St. John's Wood. But I believe she's +playing for a bigger stake just now." And, stimulated by this thought, +he drew out from a handsome morocco case a superb pendant of emeralds +and diamonds--a work of art, that glittered as he displayed it, like a +star on a frosty night. + +"Pretty thing, isn't it?" he said proudly. "Eight hundred pounds, and +cheap, too! It was ordered for Miss Vere, two months ago, by the Duke of +Moorlands. I see he sold his collection of pictures the other day. +Luckily they fetched a tidy sum, so I'm pretty sure of the money for +this. He'll sell everything he's got to please her. Queer? Oh, not at +all! She's the rage just now,--I can't see anything in her myself,--but +I'm not a duke, you see--I'm obliged to be respectable!" + +He laughed as he returned the pendant to its nest of padded amber satin, +and Errington,--sick at heart to hear such frivolous converse going on +while that crushed and lifeless form lay in the very room +above,--unwatched, uncared-for,--put his arm through Lorimer's and left +the shop. + +Once in the open street, with the keen, cold air blowing against their +faces, they looked at each other blankly. Piccadilly was crowded; the +hurrying people passed and re-passed,--there were the shouts of omnibus +conductors and newsboys--the laughter of young men coming out of the St. +James's Hall Restaurant; all was as usual,--as, indeed, why should it +not? What matters the death of one man in a million? unless, indeed, it +be a man whose life, like a torch, uplifted in darkness, has enlightened +and cheered the world,--but the death of a mere fashionable "swell" +whose chief talent has been a trick of lying gracefully--who cares for +such a one? Society is instinctively relieved to hear that his place is +empty, and shall know him more. But Errington could not immediately +forget the scene he had witnessed. He was overcome by sensations of +horror,--even of pity,--and he walked by his friend's side for some time +in silence. + +"I wish I could get rid of this thing!" he said suddenly, looking down +at the horsewhip in his hand. + +Lorimer made no answer. He understood his feeling, and realized the +situation as sufficiently grim. To be armed with a weapon meant for the +chastisement of a man whom Death had so suddenly claimed was, to say the +least of it, unpleasant. Yet the horsewhip could scarcely be thrown away +in Piccadilly--such an action might attract notice and comment. +Presently Philip spoke again. + +"He was actually married all the time!" + +"So it seems;" and Lorimer's face expressed something very like +contempt. "By Jove, Phil! he must have been an awful scoundrel!" + +"Don't let's say any more about him--he's dead!" and Philip quickened +his steps. "And what a horrible death!" + +"Horrible enough, indeed!" + +Again they were both silent. Mechanically they turned down towards Pall +Mall. + +"George," said Errington, with a strange awe in his tones, "it seems to +me to-day as if there were death in the air. I don't believe in +presentiments, but yet--yet I cannot help thinking--what if I should +find my Thelma--_dead_?" + +Lorimer turned very pale--a cold shiver ran through him, but he +endeavored to smile. + +"For God's sake, old fellow, don't think of anything so terrible! Look +here, you're hipped--no wonder! and you've got a long journey before +you. Come and have lunch. It's just two o'clock. Afterwards we'll go to +the Garrick and have a chat with Beau Lovelace--he's a first-rate fellow +for looking on the bright side of everything. Then I'll see you off this +afternoon at the Midland--what do you say?" + +Errington assented to this arrangement, and tried to shake off the +depression that had settled upon him, though dark forebodings passed one +after the other like clouds across his mind. He seemed to see the +Altenguard hills stretching drearily, white with frozen snow, around the +black Fjord; he pictured Thelma, broken-hearted, fancying herself +deserted, returning through the cold and darkness to the lonely +farm-house behind the now withered pines. Then he began to think of the +shell-cave where that other Thelma lay hidden in her last deep +sleep,--the wailing words of Sigurd came freshly back to his ears, when +the poor crazed lad had likened Thelma's thoughts to his favorite +flowers, the pansies--"One by one you will gather and play with her +thoughts as though they were these blossoms; your burning hand will mar +their color--they will wither and furl up and die,--and you--what will +you care? Nothing! No man ever cares for a flower that is withered,--not +even though his own hand slew it!" + +Had he been to blame? he mused, with a sorrowful weight at his heart. +Unintentionally, had he,--yes, he would put it plainly,--had he +neglected her, just a little? Had he not, with all his true and +passionate love for her, taken her beauty, her devotion, her obedience +too much for granted--too much as his right? And in these latter months, +when her health had made her weaker and more in need of his tenderness, +had he not, in a sudden desire for political fame and worldly honor, +left her too much alone, a prey to solitude and the often morbid musings +which solitude engenders? + +He began to blame himself heartily for the misunderstanding that had +arisen out of his share in Neville's unhappy secret. Neville had been +weak and timid,--he had shrunk nervously from avowing that the notorious +Violet Vere was actually the woman he had so faithfully loved and +mourned,--but he, Philip, ought not to have humored him in these +fastidious scruples--he ought to have confided everything to Thelma. He +remembered now that he had once or twice been uneasy lest rumors of his +frequent visits to Miss Vere might possibly reach his wife's ears,--but, +then, as his purpose was absolutely disinterested and harmless, he did +not dwell on this idea, but dismissed it, and held his peace for +Neville's sake, contenting himself with the thought that, "If Thelma +_did_ hear anything, she would never believe a word against me." + +He could not quite see where his fault had been,--though a fault there +was somewhere, as he uneasily felt--and he would no doubt have started +indignantly had a small elf whispered in his ear the word "_Conceit._" +Yet that was the name of his failing--that and no other. How many men, +otherwise noble-hearted, are seriously, though often unconsciously, +burdened with this large parcel of blown-out Nothing! Sir Philip did not +appear to be conceited--he would have repelled the accusation with +astonishment,--not knowing that in his very denial of the fault, the +fault existed. He had never been truly humbled but twice in his +life,--once as he knelt to receive his mother's dying benediction,--and +again when he first loved Thelma, and was uncertain whether his love +could be returned by so fair and pure a creature. With these two +exceptions, all his experience had tended to give him an excellent +opinion of himself,--and that he should possess one of the best and +loveliest wives in the world, seemed to him quite in keeping with the +usual course of things. The feeling that it was a sheer impossibility +for her to ever believe a word against him, rose out of this inward +self-satisfaction--this one flaw in his otherwise bright, honest, and +lovable character--a flaw of which he himself was not aware. Now, when +for the third time his fairy castle of perfect peace and pleasure seemed +shaken to its foundations,--when he again realized the uncertainty of +life or death, he felt bewildered and wretched. His chiefest pride was +centred in Thelma, and she--was gone! Again he reverted to the miserable +idea that, like a melancholy refrain, haunted him--"What if I should +find her _dead_!" + +Absorbed in painful reflections, he was a very silent companion for +Lorimer during the luncheon which they took at a quiet little restaurant +well known to the _habitues_ of Pall Mall and Regent Street. Lorimer +himself had his own reasons for being equally depressed and +anxious,--for did he not love Thelma as much as even her husband +could?--nay, perhaps more, knowing his love was hopeless. Not always +does possession of the adored object strengthen the adoration,--the +rapturous dreams of an ideal passion have often been known to surpass +reality a thousandfold. So the two friends exchanged but few +words,--though they tried to converse cheerfully on indifferent +subjects, and failed in the attempt. They had nearly finished their +light repast, when a familiar voice saluted them. + +"It _is_ Errington,--I thocht I couldna be mistaken! How are ye both?" + +Sandy Macfarlane stood before them, unaltered, save that his scanty +beard had grown somewhat longer. They had seen nothing of him since +their trip to Norway, and they greeted him now with unaffected +heartiness, glad of the distraction his appearance afforded them. + +"Where do you hail from, Mac?" asked Lorimer, as he made the new-comer +sit down at their table. "We haven't heard of you for an age." + +"It _is_ a goodish bit of time," assented Macfarlane, "but better late +than never. I came up to London a week ago from Glasgie,--and my heed +has been in a whirl ever since. Eh, mon! but it's an awful place!--maybe +I'll get used to't after a wee whilie." + +"Are you going to settle here, then?" inquired Errington, "I thought you +intended to be a minister somewhere in Scotland?" + +Macfarlane smiled, and his eyes twinkled. + +"I hae altered ma opee-nions a bit," he said. "Ye see, ma aunt in +Glasgie's deed--" + +"I understand," laughed Lorimer. "You've come in for the old lady's +money?" + +"Puir body!" and Sandy shook his head gravely. "A few hours before she +died she tore up her will in a screamin' fury o' Christian charity and +forethought,--meanin' to mak anither in favor o' leavin' a' her warld's +trash to the Fund for Distributin' Bible Knowledge among the +Heathen--but she never had time to fulfill her intention. She went off +like a lamb,--and there being no will, her money fell to me, as the +nearest survivin' relative--eh! the puir thing!--if her dees-imbodied +spirit is anywhere aboot, she must be in a sair plight to think I've got +it, after a' her curses!" + +"How much?" asked Lorimer amused. + +"Oh, just a fair seventy thousand or so," answered Macfarlane +carelessly. + +"Well done, Mac!" said Errington, with a smile, endeavoring to appear +interested. "You're quite rich, then? I congratulate you!" + +"Riches are a snare," observed Macfarlane, sententiously, "a snare and a +decoy to both soul and body!" He laughed and rubbed his hands,--then +added with some eagerness, "I say, how is Lady Errington?" + +"She's very well," answered Sir Philip hurriedly, exchanging a quick +look with Lorimer, which the latter at once understood. "She's away on a +visit just now. I'm going to join her this afternoon." + +"I'm sorry she's away," said Sandy, and he looked very disappointed; +"but I'll see her when she comes back. Will she be long absent?" + +"No, not long--a few days only"--and as Errington said this an +involuntary sigh escaped him. + +A few days only!--God grant it! But what--what if he should find her +_dead_? + +Macfarlane noticed the sadness of his expression, but prudently forbore +to make any remark upon it. He contented himself with saying-- + +"Weel, ye've got a wife worth having--as I dare say ye know. I shall be +glad to pay my respects to her as soon as she returns. I've got your +address, Errington--will ye take mine?" + +And he handed him a small card on which was written in pencil the number +of a house in one of the lowest streets in the East-end of London. +Philip glanced at it with some surprise. + +"Is _this_ where you live?" he asked with emphatic amazement. + +"Yes. It's just the cleanest tenement I could find in that neighborhood. +And the woman that keeps it is fairly respectable." + +"But with your money," remonstrated Lorimer, who also looked at the +card, "I rather wonder at your choice of abode. Why, my dear fellow, do +you _know_ what sort of a place it is?" + +A steadfast, earnest, _thinking_ look came into Macfarlane's deep-set, +grey eyes. + +"Yes, I do know, pairfectly," he said in answer to the question. "It's a +place where there's misery, starvation, and crime of all sorts,--and +there I am in the very midst of it--just where I want to be. Ye see, I +was meant to be a meenister--one of those douce, cannie, comfortable +bodies that drone in the pulpit about predestination and original sin, +and so forth a--sort, of palaver that does no good to ony resonable +creature--an' if I had followed out this profession, I make nae doot +that, with my aunt's seventy thousand, I should be a vera comfortable, +respectable, selfish type of a man, who was decently embarked in an +apparently important but really useless career--" + +"Useless?" interrupted Lorimer archly. "I say, Mac, take care! A +minister of the Lord, _useless_!" + +"I'm thinkin' there are unco few meen-isters o' the Lord in this warld," +said Macfarlane musingly. "Maist o' them meen-ister to themselves, an' +care na a wheen mair for Christ than Buddha. I tell ye, I was an altered +man after we'd been to Norway--the auld pagan set me thinkin' mony an' +mony a time--for, ma certes! he's better worthy respect than mony a +so-called Christian. And as for his daughter--the twa great blue eyes +o' that lassie made me fair ashamed o' mysel'. Why? Because I felt that +as a meen-ister o' the Established Kirk, I was bound to be a sort o' +heep-ocrite,--ony thinkin', reasonable man wi' a conscience canna be +otherwise wi' they folk,--and ye ken, Errington, there's something in +your wife's look that maks a body hesitate before tellin' a lee. +Weel--what wi' her face an' the auld _bonde's_ talk, I reflectit that I +couldna be a meen-ister as meen-isters go,--an' that I must e'en follow +oot the Testament's teachings according to ma own way of thinkin'. +First, I fancied I'd rough it abroad as a meesionary--then I remembered +the savages at hame, an' decided to attend to them before onything else. +Then my aunt's siller came in handy--in short, I'm just gaun to live on +as wee a handfu' o' the filthy lucre as I can, an' lay oot the rest on +the heathens o' London. An' it's as well to do't while I'm alive to see +to't mysel'--for I've often observed that if ye leave your warld's gear +to the poor when ye're deed, just for the gude reason that ye canna tak +it to the grave wi' ye,--it'll melt in a wonderfu' way through the hands +o' the 'secretaries' an' 'distributors' o' the fund, till there's +naething left for those ye meant to benefit. Ye maunna think I'm gaun to +do ony preachin' business down at East-end,--there's too much o' that +an' tract-givin' already. The puir soul whose wee hoosie I've rented +hadna tasted bit nor sup for three days--till I came an' startled her +into a greetin' fit by takin' her rooms an' payin' her in advance--eh! +mon, ye'd have thought I was a saint frae heaven if ye'd heard her +blessin' me,--an' a gude curate had called on her just before and had +given her a tract to dine on. Ye see, I maun mak mysel' a _friend_ to +the folk first, before I can do them gude--I maun get to the heart o' +their troubles--an' troubles are plentiful in that quarter,--I maun live +among them, an' be ane o' them. I wad mind ye that Christ Himsel' gave +sympathy to begin with,--he did the preachin' afterwards." + +"What a good fellow you are, Mac!" said Errington, suddenly seeing his +raw Scotch friend with the perverse accent, in quite a new and heroic +light. + +Macfarlane actually blushed. "Nonsense, not a bit o't!" he declared +quite nervously. "It's just pure selfishness, after a'--for I'm simply +enjoyin' mysel' the hale day long. Last nicht, I found a wee cripple o' +a laddie sittin' by himsel' in the gutter, munchin' a potato skin. I just +took him,--he starin' an' blinkin' like an owl at me,--and carried him +into my room. There I gave him a plate o' barley broth, an' finished him +up wi' a hunk o' gingerbread. Ma certes! Ye should ha' seen the rascal +laugh. 'Twas better than lookin' at a play from a ten-guinea box on the +grand tier!" + +"By Jove, Sandy, you're a brick!" cried Lorimer, laughing to hide a very +different emotion--"I had no idea you were that sort of chap." + +"Nor had I," said Macfarlane quite simply--"I never fashed mysel' wi' +thinkin' o' ither folks troubles at a'--I never even took into +conseederation the meanin' o' the Testament teachings till--I saw your +leddy wife, Errington." He paused a moment, then added gravely--"Yes--and +I've aften fancied she maun be a real live angel,--an' I've sought +always to turn my hand to something useful and worth the doin',--ever +since I met her." + +"I'll tell her so," said poor Philip, his heart aching for his lost love +as he spoke, though he smiled. "It will give her pleasure to hear it." + +Macfarlane blushed again like any awkward schoolboy. + +"Oh, I dinna ken aboot that!" he said hurriedly. "She's just a grand +woman anyway." Then, bethinking himself of another subject, he asked, +"Have you heard o' the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy lately?" + +Errington and Lorimer replied in the negative. + +Macfarlane laughed--his eyes twinkled. "It's evident ye never read +police reports," he said--"Talk o' misters,--he's a pretty specimen! +He's been hunted out o' his place in Yorkshire for carryin' on +love-affairs wi' the women o' his congregation. One day he locked +himsel' in the vestry wi' the new-married wife o' one o' his preencipal +supporters--an' he had a grand time of it--till the husband came an' +dragged him oot an' thrashed him soundly. Then he left the +neighborhood--an' just th' ither day--he turned up in Glasgie." + +Macfarlane paused and laughed again. + +"Well?" said Lorimer, with some interest--"Did you meet him there?" + +"That did I--but no to speak to him--he was for too weel lookit after to +need my services," and Macfarlane rubbed his great hands together with +an irrepressible chuckle. "There was a crowd o' hootin' laddies round +him, an' he was callin' on the heavens to bear witness to his purity. +His hat was off--an' he had a black eye--an' a' his coat was covered wi' +mud, an' a policeman was embracin' him vera affectionately by th' arm. +He was in charge for drunken, disorderly, an' indecent conduct--an' the +magistrate cam' down pretty hard on him. The case proved to be +exceptionally outrageous--so he's sentenced to a month's imprisonment +an' hard labor. Hard labor! Eh, mon! but that's fine! Fancy him at +work--at real work for the first time in a' his days! Gude Lord! I can +see him at it!" + +"So he's come to that!" and Errington shrugged his shoulders with weary +contempt. "I thought he would. His career as a minister is ended, that's +one comfort!" + +"Don't be too sure o' that!" said Sandy cautiously. "There's always +America, ye ken. He can mak' a holy martyr o' himsel' there! He may gain +as muckle a reputation as Henry Ward Beecher--ye canna ever tell what may +happen--'tis a queer warld!" + +"Queer, indeed!" assented Lorimer as they all rose and left the +restaurant together. "If our present existence is the result of a +fortuitous conglomeration of atoms,--I think the atoms ought to have +been more careful what they were about, that's all I can say!" + +They reached the open street, where Macfarlane shook hands and went his +way, promising to call on Errington as soon as Thelma should be again at +home. + +"He's turned out quite a fine fellow," said Lorimer, when he had gone. +"I should never have thought he had so much in him. He has become a +philanthropist." + +"I fancy he's better than an ordinary philanthropist," replied Philip. +"Philanthropists often talk a great deal and do nothing." + +"Like members of Parliament," suggested Lorimer, with a smile. + +"Exactly so. By-the-by--I've resigned my candidateship." + +"Resigned? Why?" + +"Oh, I'm sick of the thing! One has to be such a humbug to secure one's +votes. I had a wretched time yesterday,--speechifying and trying to +rouse up clodhoppers to the interests of their country,--and all the +time my darling at home was alone, and breaking her heart about me! By +Jove! if I'd only known! When I came back this morning to all this +misery--I told Neville to send in my resignation. I repeated the same +thing to him the last thing before I left the house." + +"But you might have waited a day or two," said Lorimer wonderingly. +"You're such a fellow of impulse, Phil--" + +"Well, I can't help it. I'm tired of politics. I began with a will, +fancying that every member of the house had his country's interests at +heart,--not a bit of it! They're all for themselves--most of them, at +any rate--they're not even sincere in their efforts to do good to the +population. And it's all very well to stick up for the aristocracy; but +why, in Heaven's name, can't some of the wealthiest among them do as +much as our old Mac is doing, for the outcast and miserable poor? I see +some real usefulness and good in _his_ work, and I'll help him in it +with a will--when--when Thelma comes back." + +Thus talking, the two friends reached the Garrick Club, where they found +Beau Lovelace in the reading-room, turning over some new books with the +curious smiling air of one who believes there can be nothing original +under the sun, and that all literature is mere repetition. He greeted +them cheerfully. + +"Come out of here," he said. "Come into a place where we can talk. +There's an old fellow over there who's ready to murder any member who +even whispers. We won't excite his angry passions. You know we're all +literature-mongers here,--we've each got our own little particular stall +where we sort our goods--our mouldy oranges, sour apples, and +indigestible nuts,--and we polish them up to look tempting to the +public. It's a great business, and we can't bear to be looked at while +we're turning our apples with the best side outwards, and boiling our +oranges to make them swell and seem big! We like to do our humbug in +silence and alone." + +He led the way into the smoking-room--and there heard with much surprise +and a great deal of concern the story of Thelma's flight. + +"Ingenuous boy!" he said kindly, clapping Philip on the shoulder. "How +could you be such a fool as to think that repeated visits to Violet +Vere, no matter on what business, would not bring the dogs of scandal +yelping about your heels! I wonder you didn't see how you were +compromising yourself!" + +"He never told _me_ a word about it," interposed Lorimer, "or else I +should have given him a bit of my mind on the subject." + +"Of course!" agreed Lovelace. "And--excuse me--why the devil didn't you +let your secretary manage his domestic squabbles by himself?" + +"He's very much broken down," said Errington. "A hopeless, frail, +disappointed man. I thought I could serve him--" + +"I see!" and Beau's eyes were bent on him with a very friendly look. +"You're a first-rate fellow, Errington,--but you shouldn't fly off so +readily on the rapid wings of impulse. Now I suppose you want to shoot +Lennox--that can't be done--not in England at any rate." + +"It can't be done at all, anywhere," said Lorimer gravely. "He's dead." + +Beau Lovelace started back in amazement. "Dead! You don't say so! Why, +he was dining last night at the Criterion--I saw him there." + +Briefly they related the sudden accident that had occurred, and +described its fatal result. + +"He died horribly!" said Philip in a low voice. "I haven't got over it +yet. That evil, tortured face of his haunts me." + +Lovelace was only slightly shocked. He had known Lennox's life too well, +and had despised it too thoroughly, to feel much regret now it was thus +abruptly ended. + +"Rather an unpleasant exit for such a fellow," he remarked. "Not +aesthetic at all. And so you were going to castigate him?" + +"Look!" and Philip showed him the horsewhip; "I've been carrying this +thing about all day,--I wish I could drop it in the streets; but if I +did, some one would be sure to pick it up and return it to me." + +"If it were a purse containing bank-notes you could drop it with the +positive certainty of never seeing it again," laughed Beau. "Here, hand +it over!" and he possessed himself of it. "I'll keep it till you come +back. You leave for Norway to-night, then?" + +"Yes. If I can. But it's the winter season--and there'll be all manner +of difficulties. I'm afraid it's no easy matter to reach the Altenfjord +at this time of year." + +"Why not use your yacht, and be independent of obstacles?" suggested +Lovelace. + +"She's under repairs, worse luck!" sighed Philip despondingly. "She +won't be in sailing condition for another month. No--I must take my +chance--that's all. It's possible I may overtake Thelma at Hull--that's +my great hope." + +"Well, don't be down in the mouth about it, my boy!" said Beau +sympathetically. "It'll all come right, depend upon it! Your wife's a +sweet, gentle, noble creature,--and when once she knows all about the +miserable mistake that has arisen, I don't know which will be greatest, +her happiness or her penitence, for having misunderstood the position. +Now let's have some coffee." + +He ordered this refreshment from a passing waiter, and as he did so, a +gentleman, with hands clasped behind his back, and a suave smile on his +countenance, bowed to him with marked and peculiar courtesy as he +sauntered on his way through the room. Beau returned the salute with +equal politeness. + +"That's Whipper," he explained with a smile, when the gentleman was out +of earshot. "The best and most generous of men! He's a critic--all +critics are large-minded and generous, we know,--but he happens to be +remarkably so. He did me the kindest turn I ever had in my life. When my +first book came out, he fell upon it tooth and claw, mangled it, tore it +to ribbons, metaphorically speaking,--and waved the fragments mockingly +in the eyes of the public. From that day my name was made--my writings +sold off with delightful rapidity, and words can never tell how I +blessed, and how I still bless, Whipper! He always pitches into +me--that's what's so good of him! We're awfully polite to each other, as +you observe--and what is so perfectly charming is that he's quite +unconscious how much he's helped me along! He's really a first-rate +fellow. But I haven't yet attained the summit of my ambition,"--and here +Lovelace broke off with a sparkle of fun in his clear steel-grey eyes. + +"Why, what else do you want?" asked Lorimer laughing. + +"I want," returned Beau solemnly, "I want to be jeered at by _Punch_! I +want _Punch_ to make mouths at me, and give me the benefit of his +inimitable squeak and gibber. No author's fame is quite secure till dear +old _Punch_ has abused him. Abuse is the thing nowadays, you know. +Heaven forbid that I should be praised by _Punch_. That would be +frightfully unfortunate!" + +Here the coffee arrived, and Lovelace dispensed it to his friends, +talking gaily the while in an effort to distract Errington from his +gloomy thoughts. + +"I've just been informed on respectable authority, that Walt Whitman is +the new Socrates," he said laughingly. "I felt rather stunned at the +moment but I've got over it now. Oh, this deliciously mad London! what a +gigantic Colney Hatch it is for the crazed folk of the world to air +their follies in! That any reasonable Englishmen with such names as +Shakespeare, Byron, Keats, and Shelley, to keep the glory of their +country warm, should for one moment consider Walt Whitman a _poet_! Ye +gods! Where are your thunderbolts!" + +"He's an American, isn't he?" asked Errington. + +"He is, my dear boy! An American whom the sensible portion of America +rejects. We, therefore,--out of opposition,--take him up. His +chief recommendation is that he writes blatantly concerning +commonplaces,--regardless of music or rhythm. Here's a bit of him +concerning the taming of oxen. He says the tamer lives in a + + "'Placid pastoral region. + There they bring him the three-year-olds and the four-year-olds + to break them,-- + Some are such beautiful animals, so lofty looking,--some are + buff-colored, some mottled, one has a white line running + along his back, some are brindled, + Some have wide flaring horns (a good sign!) look you! the bright + hides + See the two with stars on their foreheads--see the round bodies + and broad backs + How straight and square they stand on their legs--'" + +"Stop, stop!" cried Lorimer, putting his hands to his ears. "This is a +practical joke, Beau! No one would call that jargon poetry!" + +"Oh! wouldn't they though!" exclaimed Lovelace. "Let some critic of +reputation once start the idea, and you'll have the good London folk who +won't bother to read him for themselves, declaring him as fine as +Shakespeare. The dear English muttons! fine Southdowns! fleecy +baa-lambs! once let the Press-bell tinkle loudly enough across the +fields of literature, and they'll follow, bleating sweetly in any +direction! The sharpest heads in our big metropolis are those who know +this, and who act accordingly." + +"Then why don't _you_ act accordingly?" asked Errington, with a faint +smile. + +"Oh, I? I can't! I never asked a favor from the Press in my life--but +its little bell has tinkled for me all the same, and a few of the +muttons follow, but not all. Are you off?" this, as they rose to take +their leave. "Well, Errington, old fellow," and he shook hands warmly, +"a pleasant journey to you, and a happy return home! My best regards to +your wife. Lorimer, have you settled whether you'll go with me to Italy? +I start the day after to-morrow." + +Lorimer hesitated--then said, "All right! My mother's delighted at the +idea,--yes, Beau! we'll come. Only I hope we shan't bore you." + +"Bore me! you know me better than that," and he accompanied them out of +the smoking-room into the hall, while Errington, a little surprised at +this sudden arrangement, observed-- + +"Why, George--I thought you'd be here when we came back from +Norway--to--to welcome Thelma, you know!" + +George laughed. "My dear boy, I shan't be wanted! Just let me know how +everything goes on. You--you see, I'm in duty bound to take my mother +out of London in winter." + +"Just so!" agreed Lovelace, who had watched him narrowly while he spoke. +"Don't grudge the old lady her southern sunshine. Errington! Lorimer +wants brushing up a bit too--he looks seedy. Then I shall consider it +settled--the day after to-morrow, we meet at Charing Cross--morning +tidal express, of course,--never go by night service across the Channel +if you can help it." + +Again they shook hands and parted. + +"Best thing that young fellow can do!" thought Lovelace as he returned +to the Club reading-room. "The sooner he gets out of this, into new +scenes the better,--he's breaking his heart over the beautiful Thelma. +By Jove! the boy's eyes looked like those of a shot animal whenever her +name was mentioned. He's rather badly hit!" + +He sat down and began to meditate. "What can I do for him, I wonder?" he +thought. "Nothing, I suppose. A love of that sort can't be remedied. +It's a pity--a great pity! And I don't know any woman likely to make a +counter-impression on him. He'd never put up with an Italian beauty"--he +paused in his reflections, and the color flushed his broad, handsome +brow, as the dazzling vision of a sweet, piquant face with liquid dark +eyes and rippling masses of rich brown hair came flitting before +him--"unless he saw Angela," he murmured to himself softly,--"and he +will not see her,--besides, Angela loves _me_!" + +And after this, his meditations seemed to be particularly pleasant, to +judge from the expression of his features. Beau was by no means ignorant +of the tender passion--he had his own little romance, as beautiful and +bright as a summer day--but he had resolved that London, with its love +of gossip, its scandal, and society papers,--London, that on account of +his popularity as a writer, watched his movements and chronicled his +doings in the most authoritative and incorrect manner,--London should +have no chance of penetrating into the secret of his private life. And +so far he had succeeded--and was likely still to succeed. + +Meanwhile, as he still sat in blissful reverie, pretending to read a +newspaper, though his thoughts were far away from it, Errington and +Lorimer arrived at the Midland Station. Britta was already there with +the luggage,--she was excited and pleased--her spirits had risen at the +prospect of seeing her mistress soon again,--possibly, she thought +gladly, they might find her at Hull,--they might not have to go to +Norway at all. The train came up to the platform--the tickets were +taken,--and Sir Philip, with Britta, entered--a first-class compartment, +while Lorimer stood outside leaning with folded arms on the +carriage-window, talking cheerfully. + +"You'll find her all right, Phil, I'm positive!" he said. "I think it's +very probable she has been compelled to remain at Hull,--and even at the +worst, Britta can guide you all over Norway, if necessary. Nothing will +daunt _her_!" + +And he nodded kindly to the little maid who had regained her rosy color +and the sparkle of her eyes in the eagerness she felt to rejoin her +beloved "Froeken." The engine-whistle gave a warning shriek--Philip +leaned out and pressed his friend's hand warmly. + +"Good-bye, old fellow! I'll write to you in Italy." + +"All right--mind you do! And I say--give my love to Thelma!" + +Philip smiled and promised. The train began to move,--slowly at first, +then more quickly, till with clattering uproar and puffing clouds of +white steam, it rushed forth from the station, winding through the +arches like a black snake, till it had twisted itself rapidly out of +sight. Lorimer, left alone, looked after it wistfully, with a heavy +weight of unuttered love and sorrow at his heart, and as he at last +turned away, those haunting words that he had heard under the pines at +the Altenfjord recurred again and again to his memory--the words uttered +by the distraught Sigurd--and how true they were, he thought! how +desperately, cruelly true! + +"Good things may come for others--but for _you_, the heavens are empty!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + "Honor is an old-world thing, but it smells sweet to those in + whose hand it is strong."--OUIDA. + + +Disappointment upon disappointment awaited Errington at Hull. +Unfortunately, neither he nor Britta knew of the existence of the good +Norwegian innkeeper, Friedhof, who had assisted Thelma in her +flight--and all their persistent and anxious inquiries elicited no news +of her. Moreover, there was no boat of any kind leaving immediately for +Norway--not even a whaler or fishing-smack. In a week's time,--possibly +later,--there would be a steamer starting for Christiansund, and for +this, Errington, though almost mad with impatience, was forced to wait. +And in the meantime, he roamed about the streets of Hull, looking +eagerly at every fair-haired woman who passed him, and always hoping +that Thelma herself would suddenly meet him face to face, and put her +hands in his. He wrote to Neville and told him to send on any letters +that might arrive for him, and by every post he waited anxiously for one +from Thelma but none came. To relieve his mind a little, he scribbled a +long letter to her, explaining everything, telling her how ardently he +loved and worshipped her--how he was on his way to join her at the +Altenfjord,--and ending by the most passionate vows of unchanging love +and fidelity. He was somewhat soothed when he had done this--though he +did not realize the fact that in all probability he himself might arrive +before the letter. The slow, miserable days went on--the week was +completed--the steamer for Christiansund started at last,--and, after a +terribly stormy passage, he and the faithful Britta were landed there. + +On arrival, he learned that a vessel bound for the North Cape had left +on the previous day--there would not be another for a fortnight. Cursing +his ill-luck, he resolved to reach the Altenfjord by land, and began to +make arrangements accordingly. Those who knew the country well +endeavored to dissuade him from this desperate project--the further +north, the greater danger, they told him,--moreover, the weather was, +even for Norway, exceptionally trying. Snow lay heavily over all the +country he would have to traverse--the only means of conveyance was by +carriole or _pulkha_--the latter a sort of sledge used by the +Laplanders, made in the form of a boat, and generally drawn by reindeer. +The capabilities of the carriole would be exhausted as soon as the +snow-covered regions were reached--and to manage a _pulkha_ +successfully, required special skill of no ordinary kind. But the +courageous little Britta made short work of all these difficulties--she +could drive a _pulkha_,--she knew how to manage reindeer,--she +entertained not the slightest doubt of being able to overcome all the +obstacles on the way. At the same time, she frankly told Sir Philip that +the journey would be a long one, perhaps occupying several days--that +they would have to rest at different farms or stations on the road, and +put up with hard fare--that the cold would be intense,--that often they +would find it difficult to get relays of the required reindeer,--and +that it might perhaps be wiser to wait for the next boat going to the +North Cape. + +But Errington would hear of no more delays--each hour that passed filled +him with fresh anxieties--and once in Norway he could not rest. The idea +that Thelma might be ill--dying--or dead--gained on him with redoubled +force,--and his fears easily communicating themselves to Britta, who was +to the full as impatient as he, the two made up their minds, and +providing every necessary for the journey they could think of, they +started for the far sunless North, through a white, frozen land, which +grew whiter and more silent the further they went,--even as the brooding +sky above them grew darker and darker. The aurora borealis flashed its +brilliant shafts of color against the sable breast of heaven,--the tall +pines, stripped bare, every branch thick with snow and dropping icicles, +stood,--pale ghosts of the forest,--shedding frozen tears--the moon, +more like steel than silver, shone frostily cold, her light seeming to +deepen rather than soften the dreariness of the land--and +on--on--on--they went, Britta enveloped to the chin in furs, steadily +driving the strange elfin-looking steeds with their horned heads casting +long distorted shadows on the white ground,--and Philip beside her, +urging her on with feverish impatience, while he listened to the smooth +trot of the reindeer,--the tinkle of the bells on their harness, and the +hiss of the sledge across the sparkling snow. + +Meanwhile, as he thus pursued his long and difficult journey, rumor was +very busy with his name in London. Everybody--that is, everybody worth +consideration in the circle of the "Upper Ten"--was talking about +him,--shrugging their shoulders, lifting their eyebrows and smiling +knowingly, whenever he was mentioned. He became more known in one day +than if he had served his country's interests in Parliament for years. + +On the very morning after he had left the metropolis en route for +Norway, that admirably conducted society journal, the _Snake_, +appeared,--and of course, had its usual amount of eager purchasers, +anxious to see the latest bit of aristocratic scandal. Often these good +folks were severely disappointed--the _Snake_ was sometimes so +frightfully dull, that it had actually nothing to say against +anybody--then, naturally, it was not worth buying. But this time it was +really interesting--it knocked down--or tried to knock down--at one +blow, a formerly spotless reputation--and "really--really!" said the +Upper Ten, "it was dreadful, but of course it was to be expected! Those +quiet, seemingly virtuous persons are always the worst when you come to +know them, yet who would have thought it!" And society read the +assailing paragraph, and rolled it in its rank mouth, like a bon-bon, +enjoying its flavor. It ran as follows:-- + +"We hear on excellent authority that the Norwegian 'beauty,' Lady +Bruce-Errington, wife of Sir Philip Bruce-Errington, is about to sue for +a divorce on the ground of infidelity. The offending dama in the +question is an admired actress, well-known to the frequenters of the +Brilliant Theatre. But there are always two sides to these affairs, and +it is rumored that the fair Norwegian (who before her marriage, we +understand, was a great adept in the art of milking reindeer on the +shores of her native Fjord) has private reasons of her own for desiring +the divorce, not altogether in keeping with her stated reasons or her +apparent reserve. We are, however, always on the side of the fair sex, +and, as the faithless husband has made no secret of his new liaison, we +do not hesitate to at once pronounce in the lady's favor. The case is +likely to prove interesting to believers in wedded happiness, combined +with the strictest moral and religious sentiments." + +Quite by accident this piece of would-be "smartness" was seen by Beau +Lovelace. He had a wholesome contempt for the _Snake_--and all its +class,--he would never have looked at it, or known of the paragraph, had +not a friend of his at the Garrick pointed it out to him with half a +smile and half a sneer. + +"It's a damned lie!" said Beau briefly. + +"That remains to be proved!" answered his friend, and went away +laughing. + +Beau read it over and over again, his blood firing with honest +indignation. Thelma! Thelma--that pure white lily of womanhood,--was she +to have her stainless life blurred by the trail of such a thing as the +_Snake_?--and was Errington's honor to be attainted in his absence, and +he condemned without a word uttered in his defence? + +"Detestable blackguard!" muttered Lovelace, reverting in his mind to the +editor of the journal in question. "What's his name I wonder?" He +searched and found it at the top of a column--"Sole Editor and +Proprietor, C. Snawley-Grubbs, to whom all checks and post-office orders +should be made payable. The Editor cannot be responsible for the return +of rejected MSS." + +Beau noted the name, and wrote the address of the office in his +pocket-book, smiling curiously to himself the while. + +"I'm almost glad Errington's out of the way," he said half aloud. "He +shan't see this thing if I can help it, though I dare say some +particularly affectionate friend will send it to him, carefully marked. +At any rate, he needn't know it just yet--and as for Lorimer--shall I +tell him! No, I won't. I'll have the game all to myself--and--by Jove! +how I _shall_ enjoy it!" + +An hour later he stood in the office of the _Snake_, courteously +inquiring for Mr. Snawley-Grubbs. Apparently he had come on horseback, +for he held a riding-whip in his hand,--the very whip Errington had left +with him the previous day. The inky, dirty, towzle-headed boy who +presided in solitary grandeur over the _Snake's_ dingy premises, stared +at him inquiringly,--visitors of his distinguished appearance and manner +being rather uncommon. Those who usually had business with the great +Grubbs were of a different type altogether,--some of them discarded +valets or footmen, who came to gain half a crown or five shillings by +offering information as to the doings of their late masters and +mistresses,--shabby "supers" from the theatres, who had secured the last +bit of scandal concerning some celebrated stage or professional +"beauty"--sporting men and turf gamblers of the lowest class,-- +unsuccessful dramatists and small verse writers--these, with now and +then a few "ladies"--ladies of the bar-room, ballet, and demi-monde, +were the sort, of persons who daily sought private converse with +Grubbs--and Beau Lovelace, with his massive head, fine muscular figure, +keen eyes, and self-assertive mien, was quite a novel specimen of +manhood for the wondering observation of the office-boy, who scrambled +off his high chair with haste and something of respect as he said-- + +"What name, sir, please?" + +"Beaufort Lovelace," said the gentleman, with a bland smile. "Here is my +card. Ask Mr. Grubbs whether he can see me for a few minutes. If he is +engaged--editors generally are engaged--tell him I'll wait." + +The boy went off in a greater hurry than ever. The name of Lovelace was +quite familiar to him--he knew him, not as a distinguished novelist, but +as "'im who makes such a precious lot of money." And he was breathless +with excitement; when he reached the small editorial chamber at the top +of a dark, narrow flight of stairs, wherein sat the autocratic Snawley, +smiling suavely over a heap of letters and disordered MSS. He glanced at +the card which his ink-smeared attendant presented him. + +"Ah, indeed!" he said condescendingly. "Lovelace--Lovelace? Oh yes--I +suppose it must be the novelist of that name--yes!--show him up." + +Shown up he was accordingly. He entered the room with a firm tread, and +closed the door behind him! + +"How do you do, my dear sir!" exclaimed Grubbs warmly. "You are well +known to me by reputation! I am charmed--delighted to make the personal +acquaintance of one who is--yes--let me say, who is a brother in +literature! Sit down, I beg of you!" + +And he waved his hand towards a chair, thereby displaying the great +rings that glittered on his podgy fingers. + +Beau, however, did not seat himself--he only smiled very coldly and +contemptuously. + +"We can discuss the fraternal nature of our relationship afterwards," he +said satirically, "Business first. Pray, sir,"--here he drew from his +pocket the last number of the _Snake_--"are you the writer of this +paragraph?" + +He pointed to it, as he flattened the journal and laid it in front of +the editor on the desk. Mr. Snawley-Grubbs glanced at it and smiled +unconcernedly. + +"No I am not. But I happen to know it is perfectly correct. I received +the information on the highest--the very highest and most credible +authority." + +"Indeed!" and Beau's lip curled haughtily, while his hand clenched the +riding-whip more firmly. "Then allow me to tell you, sir, that it is +utterly false in every particular--moreover--that it is a gross +libel,--published with deliberate intent to injure those whom it +presumes to mention,--and that, whoever wrote it,--you, sir, you alone +are responsible for a most mischievous, scandalous, and damnable lie!" + +Mr. Grubbs was in no wise disconcerted. Honest indignation honestly +expressed, always amused him--he was amused now. + +"You're unduly excited, Mr. Lovelace," he said with a little laugh. +"Permit me to remark that your language is rather extraordinary--quite +too strong under the circumstances! However, you're a privileged +person--genius is always a little mad, or shall we say,--eccentric?--I +suppose you are a friend of Sir Philip Errington, and you naturally feel +hurt--yes--yes, I quite understand! But the scourge of the press--the +wholesome, purifying scourge, cannot be withheld out of consideration +for private or personal feelings. No--no! There's a higher duty--the +duty we owe to the public!" + +"I tell you again," repeated Lovelace firmly--"the whole thing is a lie. +Will you apologize?" + +Mr. Grubbs threw himself back in his chair and laughed aloud. + +"Apologize? My dear sir, you must be dreaming! Apologize? Certainly not! +I cannot retract the statements I have made--and I firmly believe them +to be true. And though there is a saying, 'the greater the truth the +greater the libel,' I'm ready, sir, and, always have been ready, to +sacrifice myself to the cause of truth. Truth, truth for ever! Tell the +truth and shame the devil! You are at liberty to inform Sir Philip +Errington from me, that as it is my object--a laudable and praiseworthy +one, too, I think--to show up the awful immorality now reigning in our +upper classes, I do not regret in the least the insertion of the +paragraph in question. If it only makes him ashamed of his vices, I +shall have done a good deed, and served the interests of society at +large. At the same time, if he wishes to bring an action for libel--" + +"You dog!" exclaimed Lovelace fiercely, approaching him with such a +sudden rapid stride that the astonished editor sprang up and barricaded +himself behind his own chair. "You hope for that, do you? An action for +libel! nothing would please you better! To bring your scandalous printed +trash into notoriety,--to hear your name shouted by dirty hawkers and +newsboys--to be sentenced as a first-class misdemenent; ah, no such luck +for you! I know the tricks of your vile trade! There are other ways of +dealing with a vulgar bully and coward!" + +And before the startled Grubbs could realize his position, Lovelace +closed with him, beat him under, and struck the horsewhip smartly cross +his back and shoulders. He uttered a yell of pain and fury, and strove +vigorously to defend himself, but, owing to his obesity, his muscles +were weak and flabby, and he was powerless against the activity and +strength of his opponent. Lash after lash descended regularly and +mercilessly--his cries, which gradually became like the roarings of a +bull of Basban, were unheard, as the office-boy below, profiting by a +few idle moments, had run across the street to buy some chestnuts at a +stall he particularly patronized. Beau thrashed on with increasing +enjoyment--Grubbs resisted him less and less, till finally he slipped +feebly down on the floor and grovelled there, gasping and groaning. Beau +gave him one or two more artistic cuts, and stood above him, with the +serene, triumphant smile of a successful athlete. Suddenly a loud peal +of laughter echoed from the doorway,--a woman stood there, richly +dressed in silk and fur, with diamonds sparkling in her ears and +diamonds clasping the long boa at her throat. It was Violet Vere. + +"Why, Snawley!" she cried with cheerful familiarity. "How are you? All +broken, and no one to pick up the pieces! Serve you right! Got it at +last, eh? Don't get up! You look so comfortable!" + +"Bodily assault," gasped Grubbs. "I'll summons--call the police--call," +his voice died away in inarticulate gurglings, and raising himself, he +sat up on the floor in a sufficiently abject and ludicrous posture, +wiping the tears of pain from his eyes. Beau looked at the female +intruder and recognized her at once. He saluted her with cold courtesy, +and turned again to Grubbs. + +"_Will_ you apologize?" + +"No--I--I _won't_!" + +Beau made another threatening movement--Miss Vere interposed. + +"Stop a bit," she said, regarding him with her insolent eyes, in which +lurked, however, an approving smile. "I don't know who you are, but you +seem a fighting man! Don't go at him again till I've had a word. I say, +Grubbs! you've been hitting at me in your trashy paper." + +Grubbs still sat on the floor groaning. + +"You must eat those words," went on the Vere calmly. "Eat 'em up with +sauce for dinner. The 'admired actress well known at the Brilliant,' has +nothing to do with the Bruce-Errington man,--not she! He's a duffer, a +regular stiff one--no go about him anyhow. And what the deuce do you +mean by calling me an offending dama. Keep your oaths to yourself, will +you?" + +Beau Lovelace was amused. Grubbs turned his watering eye from one to the +other in wretched perplexity. He made an effort to stand up and +succeeded. + +"I'll have you arrested, sir!" he exclaimed shaking his fists at Beau, +and quivering with passion, "on a charge of bodily assault--shameful +bodily assault, sir!" + +"All right!" returned Beau coolly. "If I were fined a hundred pounds for +it, I should think it cheap for the luxury of thrashing such a hound!" + +Grubbs quaked at the determined attitude and threatening eye of his +assailant, and turned for relief to Miss Vere whose smile, however, was +not sympathetic. + +"You'd better cave in!" she remarked airily. "You've got the worst of +it, you know!" + +She had long been on confidential terms with the _Snake_ proprietor, and +she spoke to him now with the candor of an old friend. + +"Dear me, what do you expect of me!" he almost whimpered. "I'm not to +blame! The paragraph was inserted without my knowledge by my +sub-editor--he's away just now, and--there! why?" he cried with sudden +defiance, "why don't you ask Sir Francis Lennox about it? He wrote the +whole thing." + +"Well, he's dead," said Miss Vere with the utmost coolness. "So it +wouldn't be much use asking _him_. HE can't answer,--you'll have to +answer for him." + +"I don't believe it!" exclaimed Mr. Grubbs. "He can't be dead!" + +"Oh, yes, he can, and he _is_," retorted Violet. "And a good job too! He +was knocked over by a train at Charing Cross. You'll see it in to-day's +paper, if you take the trouble to look. And mind you contradict all that +stuff about me in your next number--do you hear? I'm going to America +with a Duke next month, and I can't afford to have my reputation +injured. And I won't be called a 'dama' for any penny-a-liner living." +She paused, and again broke out laughing, "Poor old Snawley! You do look +so sore! Ta-ta!" And she moved towards the door. Lovelace, always +courteous, opened it for her. She raised her hard, bright eyes, and +smiled. + +"Thanks! Hope I shall see you again some day!" + +"You are very good!" responded Beau gravely. + +Either his tone, which was one chill indifference, or some thing in his +look, irritated her suddenly--for a rash of hot color crimsoned her +face, and she bit her lips vexedly as she descended the office-stairs. + +"He's one of your high-and-mighty sort," she thought disdainfully, as +she entered her cosy brougham and was driven away. "Quite too awfully +moral!" She pulled a large, elaborately cut glass scent-bottle out of +the pocket of her cloak, and, unscrewing the gold top, applied it, not +to her nose but her mouth. It contained neat Cognac--and she drank a +goodly gulp of it with evident relish, swallowing a scented bon-bon +immediately afterwards to take away the suspicious odor. "Yes--quite too +awfully moral!" she repeated with a grin. "Not in my line at all! Lord! +It's lucky there are not many such fellows about, or what would become +of _me_? A precious poor business I should make of it!" + +Meanwhile, Lovelace, left alone again with Mr. Grubbs, reiterated his +demand for an apology. Grubbs made a rush for the door, as soon as Miss +Vere had gone, with the full intention of summoning the police, but Beau +coolly placed his back against it with resolute firmness, and flourished +his whip defiantly. + +"Come, sir, none of this nonsense!" he said sternly. "I don't mean to +leave this spot till I have satisfaction. If Sir Francis Lennox wrote +that scandalous paragraph the greater rascal he,--and the more shame to +you for inserting it.--You, who make it your business to know all the +dirty alleys and dark corners of life, must have known _his_ character +pretty thoroughly. There's not the slightest excuse for you. Will you +apologize?--and retract every word of that paragraph, in your next +issue?" + +Grubbs, breathless with rage and fear, glared at him, but made no +answer. + +"If you refuse to comply," went on Beau deliberately, balancing the +horsewhip lightly on his hand, "I'll just tell you what the consequences +will be. I've thrashed you once--and I'll thrash you again. I have only +to give the cue to several worthy fellows of my acquaintance, who don't +care how much they pay for their fun, and each of them in turn will +thrash you. As for an action for libel, don't expect it--but I swear +there shan't be a safe corner in London for you. If, however, you +publish next week a full retraction of your printed lie--why, then +I--shall be only too happy to forget that such an individual as yourself +burdens this planet. There are the two alternatives--choose!" + +Grubbs hesitated, but coward fear made him quail the prospect of +unlimited thrashings. + +"Very well," he said sullenly. "Write what you want put in--I'll attend +to it--I don't mind obliging Miss Vere. But all the same, I'll have +_you_ arrested!" + +Beau laughed. "Do so by all means!" he said gaily. "I'll leave my +address with you!" He wrote rapidly a few lines on a piece of paper to +the following effect-- + +"We have to entirely contradict a statement we made last week respecting +a supposed forthcoming divorce case in which Sir Philip Bruce-Errington +was seriously implicated. There was no truth whatever in the statement, +and we herewith apologize most humbly and heartily for having +inadvertently given credence to a rumor which is now proved to be +utterly false and without the slightest shadow of a foundation." + +He handed this to Grubbs. + +"Insert that word for word, at the head of your paragraphs," he said, +"and you'll hear no more of me, unless you give me fresh provocation. +And I advise you to think twice before you have me arrested--for I'll +defend my own case, and--ruin you! I'm rather a dangerous customer to +have much to do with! However, you've got my card--you know where to +find me if you want me. Only you'd better send after me to-night if you +do--to-morrow I may be absent." + +He smiled, and drew on his gloves leisurely, eyeing meanwhile the +discomfited editor, who was furtively rubbing his shoulder where the +lash had stung it somewhat severely. + +"I'm exceedingly glad I've hurt you, Mr. Grubbs," he said blandly. "And +the next time you want to call me your brother in literature, pray +reflect on the manner in which my fraternal affection displayed itself! +_good_ morning!" + +And he took his departure with a quiet step and serene manner, leaving +Snawley-Grubbs to his own meditations, which were far from agreeable. He +was not ignorant of the influence Beau Lovelace possessed, both on the +press and in society--he was a general favorite,--a man whose opinions +were quoted, and whose authority was accepted everywhere. If he appeared +to answer a charge of assault against Grubbs, and defended his own case, +he certainly would have the best of it. He might--he would have to pay a +fine, but what did he care for that? He would hold up the _Snake_ and +its proprietor to the utmost ridicule and opprobrium--his brilliant +satire and humor would carry all before it--and he, Snawley-Grubbs, +would be still more utterly routed and humiliated. Weighing all these +considerations carefully in his mind, the shrinking editor decided to +sit down under his horsewhipping in silence and resignation. + +It was not a very lofty mode of action--still, it was the safest. Of +course Violet Vere would spread the story all through _her_ particular +"set"--it made him furious to think of this yet there was no help for +it. He would play the martyr, he thought--the martyr to the cause of +truth,--the injured innocent entrapped by false information--he might +possibly gain new supporters and sympathizers in this way if he played +his cards carefully. He turned to the daily paper, and saw there +chronicled the death of Sir Francis Lennox. It was true, then. Well! he +was not at all affected by it--he merely committed the dead man in the +briefest and strongest language to the very lowest of those low and +sulphurous regions over which Satan is supposed to have full sway. Not a +soul regretted Sir Francis--not even the Vere, whom he had kept and +surrounded with every luxury for five years. Only one person, a fair, +weary faced woman away in Germany shed a few tears over the lawyer's +black-bordered letter that announced his death to her--and this was the +deserted wife,--who had once loved him. Lady Winsleigh had heard the +news,--she shuddered and turned very pale when her husband gently and +almost pityingly told her of the sudden and unprepared end that had +overtaken her quondam admirer--but she said nothing. She was presiding +at the breakfast-table for the first time in many years--she looked +somewhat sad and listless, yet lovelier so than in all the usual pride +and assertive arrogance of her beauty. Lord Winsleigh read aloud the +brief account of the accident in the paper--she listened dreamily, still +mute. He watched her with yearning eyes. + +"An awful death for such a man, Clara!" he said at last in a low tone. + +She dared not look up--she was trembling nervously. How dreadful it was, +she thought, to be thankful that a man was dead!--to feel a relief at +his being no longer in this world! Presently her husband spoke again +more reservedly. "No doubt you are greatly shocked and grieved," he +said. "I should not have told you so suddenly--pardon me!" + +"I am not grieved," she murmured unsteadily. "It sounds horrible to say +so--but I--I am afraid I am _glad_!" + +"Clara!" + +She rose and came tremblingly towards him. She knelt at his feet, though +he strove to prevent her,--she raised her large, dark eyes, full of dull +agony, to his. + +"I've been a wicked woman, Harry," she said, with a strange, imploring +thrill of passion in her voice, "I am down--down in the dust before you! +Look at me--don't forgive me--I won't ask that--you _can't_ forgive +me,--but _pity_ me!" + +He took her hands and laid them round his neck,--he drew her gently, +soothingly,--closer, closer, till he pressed her to his heart. + +"Down in the dust are you?" he whispered brokenly. "My poor wife! God +forbid that I should keep you there!" + + + + +BOOK III. + +THE LAND OF THE LONG SHADOW + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + "They have the night, who had, like us, the day-- + We, whom day binds, shall have the night as they-- + We, from the fetters of the light unbound, + Healed of our wound of living, shall sleep sound!" + SWINBURNE. + + +Night on the Altenfjord,--the long, long, changeless night of winter. +The sharp snow-covered crests of the mountains rose in white appeal +against the darkness of the sky,--the wild north wind tore through the +leafless branches of the pine-forests, bringing with it driving pellets +of stinging hail. Joyless and songless, the whole landscape lay as +though frozen into sculptured stone. The Sun slept,--and the Fjord, +black with brooding shadows, seemed silently to ask--where? Where was +the great king of Light?--the glorious god of the golden hair and ruddy +countenance?--the glittering warrior with the flaming shield and spear +invincible? Where had he found his rest? By what strange enchantment had +he fallen into so deep and long a drowsiness. The wind that had rioted +across the mountains, rooting up great trees in its shrieking career +northwards, grew hushed as it approached the Altenfjord--there a weird +stillness reigned, broken only by the sullen and monotonous plash of the +invisible waves upon the scarcely visible shore. + +A few tiny, twinkling lights showed the irregular outline of Bosekop, +and now and then one or two fishing-boats with sable sails and small +colored lamps at mast and prow would flit across the inky water like +dark messengers from another world bound on some mournful errand. Human +figures, more shadowy than real, were to be seen occasionally moving on +the pier, and to the left of the little town, as the eye grew accustomed +to the moveless gloom, a group of persons, like ghosts in a dream, could +be dimly perceived, working busily at the mending of nets. + +Suddenly a strange, unearthly glow flashed over the sombre scene,--a +rosy radiance deepening to brilliant streaks of fire. The dark heavens +were torn asunder, and through them streamed flaring pennons of +light,--waving, trembling, dancing, luminous ribbons of red, blue, +green, and a delicious amber, like the flowing of golden wine,--wider, +higher, more dazzlingly lustrous, the wondrous glory shone aloft, rising +upward from the horizon--thrusting long spears of lambent flame among +the murky retreating clouds, till in one magnificent coruscation of +resplendent beams a blazing arch of gold leaped from east to west, +spanning the visible breath of the Fjord, and casting towards the white +peaks above, vivid sparkles and reflections of jewel-like brightness and +color. Here was surely the Rainbow Bridge of Odin--the glittering +pathway leading to Valhalla! Long filmy threads of emerald and azure +trailed downwards from it, like ropes of fairy flowers, binding it to +the earth--above it hung a fleece-like nebulous whiteness,--a canopy +through which palpitated sudden flashes of amethyst. Then, as though the +arch were a bent bow for the hand of some heavenly hunter, crimson beams +darted across it in swift succession, like arrows shot at the dark +target of the world. Round and round swept the varying circles of +color--now advancing--now retreating--now turning the sullen waters +beneath into a quivering mass of steely green--now beating against the +snow-covered hills till they seemed pinnacles of heaped-up pearls and +diamonds. The whole landscape was transformed,--and the shadowy cluster +of men and women on the shore paused in their toil, and turned their +pale faces towards the rippling splendor,--the heavy fishing-nets +drooping from their hands like dark webs woven by giant spiders. + +"'Tis the first time we have seen the Arch of Death this year," said one +in awed accents. + +"Ay, ay!" returned another, with a sigh. "And some one is bound to cross +it, whether he will or no. 'Tis a sure sign!" + +"Sure!" they all agreed, in hushed voices as faint and far-off as the +breaking of the tide against the rocks on the opposite coast. + +As they spoke, the fairy-like bridge in the sky parted asunder and +vanished! The brilliant aurora borealis faded by swift degrees--a few +moments, and the land was again enveloped in gloom. + +It might have been midnight--yet by the clock it was but four in the +afternoon. Dreary indeed was the Altenfjord,--yet the neighboring +village of Talvag was even drearier. There, desolation reigned +supreme--it was a frozen region of bitter, shelterless cold, where the +poverty-stricken inhabitants, smitten by the physical torpor and mental +stupefaction engendered by the long, dark season, scarcely stirred out +of their miserable homes, save to gather extra fuel. This is a time in +Norway, when beyond the Arctic Circle, the old gods yet have sway--when +in spite of their persistent, sometimes fanatical, adherence to the +strictest forms of Christianity, the people almost unconsciously revert +to the superstitions of their ancestors. Gathering round the blazing +pine-logs, they recount to one another in low voices the ancient legends +of dead and gone heroes,--and listening to the yell of the storm-wind +round their huts, they still fancy they hear the wild war-cries of the +Valkyries rushing past air full gallop on their coal-black steeds, with +their long hair floating behind them. + +On this particular afternoon the appearance of the "Death-Arch," as they +called that special form of the aurora, had impressed the Talvig folk +greatly. Some of them were at the doors, and, regardless of the piercing +cold, occupied themselves in staring languidly at a reindeer sledge +which stood outside one of the more distant huts, evidently waiting for +some person within. The hoofs of the animals made no impression on the +hardened snow--now and again they gently shook the tinkling bells on +their harness, but otherwise were very patient. The sledge was in charge +of a youthful Laplander--a hideous, stunted specimen of humanity, who +appeared to be literally sewed up from head to foot in skins. + +This cortege was evidently an object of curiosity,--the on-lookers eyed +it askance, and with a sort of fear. For did it not belong to the +terrible _bonde_, Olaf Gueldmar?--and would not the Laplander,--a useful +boy, well known in Talvig,--come to some fatal harm by watching, even +for a few minutes, the property of an acknowledged pagan? Who could +tell? The very reindeer might be possessed by evil spirits,--they were +certainly much sleeker and finer than the ordinary run of such animals. +There was something uncanny in the very look of them! Thus the +stupefied, unreasoning Talvig folk muttered, one to another, leaning +drowsily out of their half-open doors. + +"'Tis a strange thing," said one man, "that woman as strong in the fear +of the Lord as Lovisa Elsland should call for one of the wicked to visit +her on her death-bed." + +"Strange enough!" answered his neighbor, blinking over his pipe, and +knocking down some of the icicles pendent from his roof. "But maybe it +is to curse him with the undying curse of the godly." + +"She's done that all her life," said the first speaker. + +"That's true! She's been a faithful servant of the Gospel. All's right +with her in the next world--she'll die easily." + +"Was it for her the Death-Arch shone?" asked an old woman, suddenly +thrusting her head, wrapped in a red woollen hood, out of a low doorway, +through which the light of a fire sparkled from the background, sending +vivid flashes across the snow. + +The man who had spoken last shook his head solemnly. + +"The Death-Arch never shone for a Christian yet," he said gravely. "No! +There's something else in the wind. We can't see it--but it will +come--it must come! That sign never fails." + +And presently, tired of watching the waiting sledge and the passive +Laplander, he retreated within his house, shutting his door against the +darkness and the bitter wind. His neighbors followed his example,--and, +save for two or three red glimmers of light here and there, the little +village looked as though it had been deserted long ago--a picture of +frost-bound silence and solitude. + +Meanwhile, in Lovisa Elsland's close and comfortless dwelling, stood +Olaf Gueldmar. His strong, stately figure, wrapped in furs, seemed almost +to fill the little place--he had thrown aside the thick scarf of wadmel +in which he had been wrapped to the eyes while driving in the teeth of +the wind,--and he now lifted his fur cap, thus displaying his silvery +hair, ruddy features, and open, massive brow. At that moment a woman who +was busying herself in putting fresh pine-logs on the smouldering fire, +turned and regarded him intently. + +"Lord, Lord!" she muttered--"'tis a man of men,--he rejoiceth in his +strength, even as the lion,--and of what avail shall the curse of the +wicked avail against the soul that is firmly established!" + +Gueldmar heard her not--he was looking towards a low pallet bed, on which +lay, extended at full length, an apparently insensible form. + +"Has she been long thus?" he asked, in a low voice. + +"Since last night," replied the woman--no other than Mr. Dyceworthy's +former servant, Ulrika. "She wakened suddenly, and bade me send for you. +To-day she has not spoken." + +The _bonde_ sighed somewhat impatiently. He approached the now blazing +pine-logs, and as he drew off his thick fur driving-gloves, and warmed +his hands at the cheerful blaze, Ulrika again fixed her dull eyes upon +him with something of wonder and reluctant admiration. Presently she +trimmed an oil-lamp, and set it, burning dimly, on the table. Then she +went to the bed and bent over it,--after a pause of several minutes, she +turned and made a beckoning sign with her finger. Gueldmar advanced a +little,--when a sudden eldritch shriek startled him back, almost +curdling the blood in his veins. Out of the deep obscurity, like some +gaunt spectre rising from the tomb, started a face, wrinkled, +cadaverous, and distorted by suffering,--a face in which the fierce, +fevered eyes glittered with a strange and dreadful brilliancy--the face +of Lovisa Elsland, stern, forbidding, and already dark with the shadows +of approaching death. She stared vacantly at Gueldmar, whose picturesque +head was illumined by the ruddy glow of the fire--and feebly shaded her +eyes as though she saw something that hurt them. Ulrika raised her on +her tumbled pillow, and saying, in cold, unmoved tones--"Speak now, for +the time is short," she once more beckoned the _bonde_ imperatively. + +He approached slowly. + +"Lovisa Elsland," he began in distinct tones, addressing himself to +that ghastly countenance still partly shaded by one hand. "I am +here--Olaf Gueldmar. Dost thou know me?" + +At the sound of his voice, a strange spasm contorted the withered +features of the dying woman. She bent her head as though to listen to +some far-off echo, and held up her skinny finger as though enjoining +silence. + +"Know thee!" she babbled whisperingly. "How should I not know the +brown-haired Olaf! Olaf of the merry eye--Olaf, the pride of the Norse +maiden?" She lifted herself in a more erect attitude, and stretching out +her lean arms, went on as though chanting a monotonous recitative. +"Olaf, the wanderer over wild seas,--he comes and goes in his ship that +sails like a white bird on the sparkling waters--long and silent are the +days of his absence--mournful are the Fjelds and Fjords without the +smile of Olaf--Olaf the King!" + +She paused, and Gueldmar regarded her in pitying wonder. Her face changed +to a new expression--one of wrath and fear. + +"Stay, stay!" she cried in penetrating accents. "Who comes from the +South with Olaf? The clouds drive fast before the wind--clouds rest on +the edge of the dark Fjord--sails red as blood flash against the +sky--who comes with Olaf? Fair hair ripples against his breast like +streaming sunbeams; eyes blue as the glitter of the northern lights, are +looking upon him--lips crimson and heavy with kisses for Olaf--ah!" She +broke off with a cry, and beat the air with her hands as though to keep +some threatening thing away from her. "Back, back! Dead bride of Olaf, +torment me no more--back, I say! See,"--and she pointed into the +darkness before her--"The pale, pale face--the long glittering hair +twisted like a snake of gold,--she glides along the path across the +mountains,--the child follows!--the child! Why not kill the child as +well--why not?" + +She stopped suddenly with a wild laugh. The _bonde_ had listened to her +ravings with something of horror, his ruddy cheeks growing paler. + +"By the gods, this is strange!" he muttered. "She seems to speak of my +wife,--yet what can she know of her?" + +For some moments there was silence. Lovisa seemed to have exhausted her +strength. Presently, however, she put aside her straggling white hairs +from her forehead, and demanded fiercely-- + +"Where is my grandchild? Where is Britta?" + +Neither Gueldmar nor Ulrika made any reply. But Britta's name recalled +the old woman to herself, and when she spoke again it was quite +collectedly, and in her usual harsh voice. She seemed to forget all that +she had just uttered, for she turned her eyes upon the _bonde_, as +though she had but then perceived him. + +"So you are come, Olaf Gueldmar!" she said. "It is well--for the hand of +Death is upon me." + +"It is well, indeed, if I can be of service, Lovisa Elsland," responded +Gueldmar, "though I am but a sorry consoler, holding as I do, that death +is the chief blessing, and in no way to be regretted at any time. +Moreover, when the body grows too weak to support the soul, 'tis as well +to escape from it with what speed we may." + +"Escape--escape? Where?" asked Lovisa. "From the worm that dieth not? +From the devouring fame that is never quenched? From the torturing +thirst and heat and darkness of hell, who shall escape?" + +"Nay, if that is all the comfort thy creed can give thee," said the +_bonde_, with a half-smile, "'tis but a poor staff to lean on!" + +Lovisa looked at him mockingly. "And is thine so strong a prop to thy +pride?" she asked disdainfully. "Has Odin so endowed thee that thou +shouldst boast of him? Listen to me, Olaf Gueldmar--I have but little +strength remaining, and I must speak briefly. Thy wife--" + +"What of her?" said the _bonde_ hastily. "Thou knewst her not." + +"I knew her," said Lovisa steadily, "as the lightning knows the tree it +withers--as the sea knows the frail boat it wrecks for sport on a windy +day. Thou haughty Olaf! I knew her well even as the broken heart knows +its destroyer!" + +Gueldmar looked perplexedly at Ulrika. "Surely she raves again?" he said. +Ulrika was silent. + +"Rave? Tell him I do not rave!" cried Lovisa rising in her bed to utter +her words with more strength and emphasis. "May be I have raved, but +that is past! The Lord, who will judge and condemn my soul, bear witness +that I speak the truth! Olaf Gueldmar, rememberest thou the days when we +were young?" + +"'Tis long ago, Lovisa!" replied the _bonde_ with brief gentleness. + +"Long ago? It seems but yesterday! But yesterday I saw the world all +radiant with hope and joy and love--love that to you was a mere +pastime--but with _me_--" She shuddered and seemed to lose herself in a +maze of dreary recollections. "Love!" she presently muttered--"'love is +strong as death,--jealousy is cruel as the grave--the coals thereof are +coals of fire which hath a most vehement flame!' Even so! You, Olaf +Gueldmar, have forgotten what I remember,--that once in that yesterday of +youth, you called me fair,--once your lips branded mine! Could I forget +that kiss? Think you a Norse woman, bred in a shadow of the constant +mountains, forgets the first thrill of passion waked in her soul? Light +women of those lands where the sun ever shines on fresh follies, may +count their loves by the score,--but with us of the North, _one_ love +suffices to fill a lifetime. And was not my life filled? Filled to +overflowing with bitterness and misery! For I loved you, proud Olaf!--I +loved you--" The _bonde_ uttered an exclamation of incredulous +astonishment. Lovisa fixed her eyes on him with a dark scorn. "Yes, I +loved you,--scoffer and unbeliever as you were and are!--accursed of God +and man! I loved you in spite of all that was said against you--nay, I +would have forsaken my creed for yours, and condemned my soul to the +everlasting burning for your sake! I loved you as _she_--that pale, +fair, witch-like thing you wedded, could never love--" Her voice died +away in a sort of despairing wail, and she paused. + +"By my soul!" said the _bonde_, astounded, and stroking his white beard +in some embarrassment. "I never knew of this! It is true that in the hot +days of youth, mischief is often done unwittingly. But why trouble +yourself with these memories, Lovisa? If it be any comfort,--believe me, +I am sorry harm ever came to you through my thoughtless jesting--" + +"It matters not!" and Lovisa regarded him with a strange and awful +smile. "I have had my revenge!" She stopped abruptly,--then went +on--"'Twas a fair bride you chose, Olaf Gueldmar--child of an alien from +these shores,--Thelma, with the treacherous laughter and light of the +South in her eyes and smile! And I, who had known love, made friends +with hate--" She checked herself, and looked full at the _bonde_ with a +fiendish joy sparkling in her eyes. "She whom you wedded--she whom you +loved so well,--how soon she died!" + +There was something so suggestive and dreadful in the expression of her +face as she said this, that the stout heart of the old _bonde_, pulsated +more quickly with a sudden vague distrust and dread. She gave him no +time to speak, but laying one yellow, claw-like hand on his arm, and +raising her voice to a sort of yell, exclaimed triumphantly-- + +"Yes, yes! how soon she died! Bravely, bravely done! And no one ever +guessed the truth--no one ever knew I _killed_ her!" + +Gueldmar uttered a sharp cry, and shook himself free from her touch. In +the same instant his hand flew to the hilt of the hunting-knife in his +girdle. + +"_Killed_ her! By the gods--" + +Ulrika sprang before him. "Shame!" she cried sternly. "She is dying!" + +"Too slowly for me!" exclaimed the _bonde_ furiously. + +"Peace--peace!" implored Ulrika. "Let her speak!" + +"Strike, Olaf Gueldmar!" said Lovisa, in a deep voice, harsh, but all +untremulous--"Strike, pagan, with whom the law of blood is +supreme--strike to the very center of my heart--I do not fear you! I +killed her, I say--and therein I, the servant of the Lord, was +justified! Think you that the Most High hath not commanded His elect to +utterly destroy and trample underfoot their enemies?--and is not +vengeance mine as well as thine, accursed slave of Odin?" + +A spasm of pain here interrupted her--she struggled violently for +breath--and Ulrika supported her. Gueldmar stood motionless, white with +restrained fury, his eyes blazing. Recovering by slow degrees, Lovisa +once more spoke--her voice was weaker, and sounded a long way off. + +"Yea, the Lord hath been on my side!" she said, and the hideous +blasphemy rattled in her throat as it was uttered. "Listen--and hear how +He delivered mine enemy into my hands. I watched her always--I followed +her many and many a time, though she never saw me. I knew her favorite +path across the mountains,--it led past a rocky chasm. On the edge of +that chasm there was a broad, flat stone, and there she would sit often, +reading, or watching the fishing-boats on the Fjord, and listening to +the prattle of her child. I used to dream of that stone, and wonder if I +could loosen it! It was strongly imbedded in the earth--but each day I +went to it--each day I moved it! Little by little I worked--till a mere +touch would have set it hurling downwards,--yet it looked as firm as +ever." Gueldmar uttered a fierce ejaculation of anguish--he put one hand +to his throat as though he were stifling. Lovisa, watching him, smiled +vindictively, and continued-- + +"When I had done all I could do, I lay in wait for her, hoping and +praying--my hour came at last! It was a bright sunny morning--a little +bird had been twittering above the very place--as it flew away, _she_ +approached--a book was in her hand,--her child followed her at some +little distance off. Fortune favored me--a cluster of pansies had opened +their blossoms a few inches below the stone,--she saw them,--and, light +as a bird, sprang on it and reached forward to gather them--ah!"--and +the wretched woman clapped her hands and broke into malignant +laughter--"I can hear her quick shriek now--the crash of the stones and +the crackle of branches as she fell down,--down to her death! Presently +the child came running,--it was too young to understand--it sat down +patiently waiting for its mother. How I longed to kill it! but it sang +to itself like the bird that had flown away, and I could not! But _she_ +was gone--_she_ was silent for ever--the Lord be praised for all His +mercies! Was she smiling, Olaf Gueldmar, when you found her--_dead_?" + +A strange solemnity shadowed the _bonde's_ features. He turned his eyes +upon her steadily. + +"Blessing and honor be to the gods of my fathers!" he said--"I found +her--_living_!" + +The change that came over Lovisa's face at these words was inexpressibly +awful--she grew livid and her lips twitched convulsively. + +"Living--living!" she gasped. + +"Living!" repeated Gueldmar sternly. "Vile hag! Your purpose was +frustrated! Your crime destroyed her beauty and shortened her days--but +she lived--lived for ten sweet, bitter years, hidden away from all eyes +save mine,--mine that never grew tired of looking in her patient, +heavenly face! Ten years I held her as one holds a jewel--and, when she +died, her death was but falling asleep in these fond arms--" + +Lovisa raised herself with a sharp cry, and wrung her hands together-- + +"Ten years--ten years!" she moaned. "I thought her dead--and she lived +on,--beloved and loving all the while. Oh God, God, why hast thou made a +mockery of Thy servant!" She rocked herself to and fro--then looked up +with an evil smile. "Nay, but she _suffered_! That was best. It is worse +to suffer than to die. Thank God, she _suffered_!" + +"Ay, she suffered!" said Gueldmar fiercely, scarce able to restrain +himself from seizing upon the miserable old woman and shaking the +sinking life out of her--"And had I but guessed who caused her +sufferings, by the sword of Odin, I would have--" + +Ulrika laid her hand on his suddenly upraised arm. + +"Listen!" she whispered. A low wailing, like the cry of a distressed +child, swept round and round the house, followed by a gust of wind and a +clattering shower of hailstones. A strange blue light leaped up from the +sparkling log fire, and cast an unearthly glow through the room. A deep +stillness ensued. + +Then--steady and clear and resonant--a single sound echoed through the +air, like a long note played on an exceedingly sweet silver trumpet. It +began softly--swelled to a crescendo--then died delicately away. Gueldmar +raised his head--his face was full of rapt and expectant gravity,--his +action, too, was somewhat singular, for he drew the knife from his +girdle and kissed the hilt solemnly, returning it immediately to its +sheath. At the same moment Lovisa uttered a loud cry, and flinging the +coverings from her, strove to rise from her bed. Ulrika held her +firmly,--she struggled feebly yet determinedly, gazing the while with +straining, eager, glassy eyes into the gloom of the opposite corner. + +"Darkness--darkness!" she muttered hoarsely,--"and the white faces of +dead things! There--there they lie!--all still, at the foot of the black +chasm--their mouths move without sound--what--what are they saying? I +cannot hear--ask them to speak louder--louder! Ah!" and she uttered a +terrified scream that made the rafters ring. "They move!--they stretch +out their hands--cold, cold hands!--they are drawing me down to +them--down--down--to that darkness! Hold me--hold me! don't let me go to +them--Lord, Lord be merciful to me--let me live--live--" Suddenly she +drew back in deadly horror, gesticulating with her tremulous lean hands +as though it shut away the sight of some loathsome thing unveiled to her +view. "Who is it"--she asked in an awful, shuddering whisper--"who is it +that says there is no hell? _I see it_!" Still retreating backwards, +backwards--the clammy dew of death darkening her affrighted +countenance,--she turned her glazing eyes for the last time on Gueldmar. +Her lips twitched into a smile of dreadful mockery. + +"May--thy gods--reward thee--Olaf Gueldmar--even--as +mine--are--rewarding--_me_!" + +And with these words, her head dropped heavily on her breast. Ulrika +laid her back on her pillow, a corpse. The stern, cruel smile froze +slowly on her dead features--gradually she became, as it were, a sort of +ancient cenotaph, carved to resemble old age combined with unrepenting +evil--the straggling white hair that rested on her wrinkled forehead +looking merely like snow fallen on sculptured stone. + +"Good Lord, have mercy on her soul!" murmured Ulrika piously, as she +closed the upward staring eyes, and crossed the withered hands. + +"Good devil, claim thine own!" said Gueldmar, with proudly lifted arm and +quivering, disdainful lips. "Thou foolish woman! Thinkest thou thy Lord +makes place for murderers in His heaven? If so, 'tis well I am not bound +there! Only the just can tread the pathway to Valhalla,--'tis a better +creed!" + +Ulrika looked at his superb, erect figure and lofty head, and a +strangely anxious expression flitted across her dull countenance. + +"Nay, _bonde_, we do not believe that the Lord accepteth murderers, +without they repent themselves of their backslidings,--but if with +penitence they turn to Him even at the eleventh hour, haply they may be +numbered among the elect." + +Gueldmar's eyes flashed. "I know not thy creed, woman, nor care to learn +it! But, all the same, thou art deceived in thy vain imaginings. The +Eternal Justice cannot err--call that justice Christ or Odin as thou +wilt. I tell you, the soul of the innocent bird that perishes in the +drifting snow is near and dear to its Creator--but the tainted soul that +had yonder vile body for its tenement, was but a flame of the evil one, +and accursed from the beginning,--it must return to him from whom it +came. A heaven for such as she? Nay--rather the lowest circle of the +furthest and fiercest everlasting fires--and thither do I commend her! +Farewell!" + +Rapidly muffling himself up in his wraps, he strode out of the house. He +sprang into his sledge, throwing a generous gratuity to the small +Laplander who had taken charge of it, and who now ventured to inquire-- + +"Has the good Lovisa left us?" + +Gueldmar burst into a hard laugh. "_Good_! By my soul! The folks of +Talvig take up murderers for saints and criminals for guides! 'Tis a +wild world! Yes--she has gone--where all such blessed ones +go--to--heaven!" He shook his clenched fist in the air--then hastily +gathering up the reins, prepared to start. + +The Lapp, after the manner of his race, was easily frightened, and +cowered back, terrified at the _bonde's_ menacing gesture and fierce +tone,--but quickly bethinking himself of the liberal fee he clutched in +his palm, he volunteered a warning to this kingly old man with the +streaming white hair and beard, and his keen eyes that were already +fixed on the dark sweep of the rough, uneven road winding towards the +Altenfjord. + +"There is a storm coming, Jarl Gueldmar!" he stammered. + +Gueldmar turned his head. "Why call me Jarl?" he demanded half angrily. +"'Tis a name I wear not." + +He touched the reindeer lightly with his long whip--the sensitive beast +started and sprang forward. + +Once more the Lapp exclaimed, with increased excitement and uncouth +gestures-- + +"Storm is coming!--wide--dark, deep! See how the sky stoops with the +hidden snow!" + +He pointed to the north, and there, low on the horizon, was a lurid red +gleam like a smouldering fire, while just above it a greenish blackness +of cloud hung heavy and motionless. Towards the central part of the +heaven two or three stars shone with frosty brightness, and through a +few fleecy ribbons of greyish mist limmered the uncertain promise of a +faint moon. + +Gueldmar smiled slightly. "Storm coming?" he answered almost gaily. "That +is well! Storm and I are old friends, my lad! Good night!" + +Once more he touched his horned steeds, and with a jingle-jangle of +musical bells and a scudding, slippery hissing across the hard snow, the +sledge sped off with fairy-like rapidity, and in a few moments its one +little guiding lantern disappeared in the darkness like a suddenly +extinguished candle. + +The Lapp stood pondering and gazing after it, with the _bonde's_ money +in his palm, till the cold began to penetrate even his thick +skin-clothing and his fat little body, well anointed with whale-oil +though it was,--and becoming speedily conscious of this, he scampered +with extraordinary agility, considering the dimensions of his +snow-shoes, into the hut where he had his dwelling, relating to all who +choose to hear, the news of old Lovisa Elsland's death, and the account +of his brief interview with the dreaded but generous pagan. + +Ulrika, watching by the corpse of her aged friend, was soon joined by +others bent on sharing her vigil, and the house was presently filled +with woman's religious wailings and prayers for the departed. To all the +curious inquiries that were made concerning the cause of Lovisa's desire +to see the _bonde_ before she died, Ulrika vouchsafed no reply,--and the +villagers, who stood somewhat in awe of her as a woman of singular +godliness and discreet reputation, soon refrained from asking any more +questions. An ambitious young Lutheran preacher came, and, addressing +himself to all assembled, loudly extolled the superhuman virtues of the +dead "Mother of the village," as Lovisa had been called,--amid the +hysterical weeping and moaning of the mourners, he begged them to look +upon her "venerated face" and observe "the smile of God's own peace +engraven there,"--and amid all his eloquence, and the shrieking +excitement of his fanatical hearers, Ulrika alone was silent. + +She sat stern and absorbed, with set lips and lowered eyelids at the +head of the bed whereon the corpse was now laid out, grimly rigid,--with +bound-up jaws, and clasped fingers like stiff, dried bones. Her thoughts +dwelt gloomily and intently on Gueldmar's words--"The Eternal Justice +cannot err." Eternal Justice! What sentence would Eternal Justice pass +upon the crime of murder?--or attempt to murder? "I am guilty," the +unhappy woman reflected, with a strong shudder chilling her veins, +"guilty even as Lovisa! I tried to kill my child--I thought, I hoped it +was dead! It was not my meaning that it should live. And this Eternal +Justice, may be, will judge the intention more than the crime. O Lord, +Lord! save my soul! Teach me how to escape from the condemning fires of +Thine anger!" Thus she prayed and wrestled with her accusing self in +secret--despair and fear raging in her heart, though not a flicker of +her inward agitation betrayed itself outwardly on her stolid, +expressionless features. + +Meanwhile the wind rose to a tearing, thunderous gale, and the night, +already so dark, darkened yet more visibly. Olaf Gueldmar, driving +swiftly homewards, caught the first furious gust of the storm that came +rushing onward from the North Cape, and as it swooped sideways against +his light sledge, he was nearly hurled from his seat by the sudden +violence of the shock. He settled himself more firmly, encouraging with +a cheery word the startled reindeer, who stopped short,--stretching out +their necks and sniffing the air, their hairy sides heaving with the +strain of trotting against the blast, and the smoke of their breath +steaming upwards in the frosty air like white vapor. The way lay now +through a narrow defile bordered with tall pines,--and as the terrified +animals, recovering, shook the tinkling bells on their harness, and once +more resumed their journey, the road was comparatively sheltered, and +the wind seemed to sink as suddenly as it rose. There was a hush--an +almost ominous silence. + +The sledge glided more slowly between the even lines of upright giant +trees, crowned with icicles and draped in snow,--the _bonde_ +involuntarily loosened the reins of his elfin steeds, and again returned +to those painful and solemn musings, from which the stinging blow of the +tempest had for a moment roused him. The proud heart of the old man +ached bitterly. What! All these years had passed, and he, the descendant +of a hundred Vikings, had been cheated of justice! He had seen his +wife,--the treasured darling of his days, suffering,--dying, inch by +inch, year by year, with all her radiant beauty withered,--and he had +never known her destroyer! Her fall from the edge of the chasm had been +deemed by them both an accident, and yet--this wretched Lovisa +Elsland--mad with misplaced, disappointed passion, jealousy, and +revenge,--had lived on to the extreme of life, triumphant and +unsuspected. + +"I swear the gods have played me false in this!" he muttered, lifting +his eyes in a sort of fierce appeal to the motionless pinetops stiff +with frost. The mystery of the old hag's hatred of his daughter was now +made clear--she resembled her mother too closely to escape Lovisa's +malice. He remembered the curse she had called down upon the innocent +girl,--how it was she who had untiringly spread abroad the report among +the superstitious people of the place, that Thelma was a witch whose +presence was a blight upon the land,--how she had decoyed her into the +power of Mr. Dyceworthy--all was plain--and, notwithstanding her +deliberate wickedness, she had lived her life without punishment! This +was what made Gueldmar's blood burn, and pulses thrill. He could not +understand why the Higher Powers had permitted this error of justice, +and, like many of his daring ancestors, he was ready to fling defiance +in the very face of Odin, and demand--"Why,--O thou drowsy god, nodding +over thy wine-cups,--why didst thou do this thing?" + +Utter fearlessness,--bodily and spiritual,--fearlessness of past, +present, or future, life or death,--was Gueldmar's creed. The true Norse +warrior spirit was in him--had he been told, on heavenly authority, that +the lowest range of the "Nastrond" or Scandinavian Hell, awaited him, he +would have accepted his fate with unflinching firmness. The +indestructibility of the soul, and the certainty that it must outlive +even centuries of torture, and triumph gloriously in the end, was the +core of the faith he professed. As he glanced upwards, the frozen +tree-tops, till then rigidly erect, swayed slightly from side to side +with a crackling sound--but he paid no heed to this slight warning of a +fresh attack from the combative storm that was gathering together and +renewing its scattered forces. He began to think of his daughter, and +the grave lines on his face relaxed and softened. + +"'Tis all fair sailing for the child," he mused. "For that I should be +grateful! The world has been made a soft nest for my bird,--I should not +complain,--my own time is short." His former anger calmed a little--the +brooding irritation of his mind became gradually soothed. + +"Rose of my heart!" he whispered, tenderly apostrophizing the memory of +his wife,--that lost jewel of love, whose fair body lay enshrined in the +king's tomb by the Fjord. "Wrongfully done to death as thou wert, and +brief time as we had for loving;--in spite of thy differing creed, I +feel that I shall meet thee soon! Yes--in the world beyond the stars, +they will bring thee to me in Valhalla,--wheresoever thou art, thou wilt +not refuse to come! The gods themselves cannot unfasten the ties of love +between us!" + +As he half thought, half uttered, these words, the reindeer again +stopped abruptly, rearing their antlered heads and panting heavily. +Hark! what was that? A clear, far-reaching note of music seemingly +wakened from the waters of the Fjord and rising upwards, upwards, with +bell-like distinctness! Gueldmar leaned from his motionless sledge and +listened in awe--it was the same sound he had before heard as he stood +by Lovisa Elsland's death-bed--and was in truth nothing but a strong +current of wind blowing through the arched and honeycombed rocks by the +sea, towards the higher land,--creating the same effect as though one +should breathe forcibly through a pipe-like instrument of dried and +hollow reeds,--and being rendered more resonant by the intense cold, it +bore a striking similarity to the full blast of a war-trumpet. For the +worshipper of Odin, it had a significant and supernatural meaning,--and +he repeated his former action--that of drawing the knife from his girdle +and kissing the hilt. "If Death is near me," he said in a loud voice, "I +bid it welcome! The gods know that I am ready!" + +He waited as though expecting some answer--but there was a brief, +absolute silence. Then, with a wild shriek and riotous uproar, the +circling tempest,--before uncertain and vacillating in its +wrath,--pounced, eagle-like, downward and grasped the mountains in its +talons,--the strong pines rocked backwards and forwards as though bent +by Herculean hands, crashing their frosted branches madly together:--the +massive clouds in the sky opened and let fall their burden of snow. Down +came the large fleecy flakes, twisting dizzily round and round in a +white waltz to the whirl of the wind--faster--faster--heavier and +thicker, till there seemed no clear space in the air. Gueldmar urged on +the reindeer, more anxious for their safety than his own--the poor +beasts were fatigued, and the blinding snow confused them, but they +struggled on patiently, encouraged by their master's voice and the +consciousness that they were nearing home. The storm increased in +fury--and a fierce gust of frozen sleet struck the sledge like a strong +hammer-stroke as it advanced through the rapidly deepening +snow-drifts--its guiding lantern was extinguished. Gueldmar did not stop +to relight it--he knew he was approaching his farm, and he trusted to +the instinct and sagacity of his steeds. + +There was indeed but a short distance to go,--the narrow wooded defile +opened out on two roads, one leading direct to Bosekop--the other, steep +and tortuous, winding down to the shore of the Fjord--this latter passed +the _bonde's_ gate. Once out of the shadow of the pines, the way would +be more distinctly seen,--the very reindeer seemed to be conscious of +this, for they trotted more steadily, shaking their bells in even and +rhythmical measure. As they neared the end of the long dark vista, a +sudden bright blue glare quivered and sprang wave-like across the +snow--a fantastic storm-aurora that flashed and played among the +feathery falling flakes of white till they looked like knots and +closters of sparkling jewels. The extreme point of the close defile was +reached at last, and here the landscape opened up wide, rocky and +desolate--a weird picture,--with the heavy clouds above repeatedly +stabbed through and through by the needle-pointed beams of the aurora +borealis,--and the blank whiteness of the ground below. Just as the +heads of the reindeer were turned into the homeward road, half of the +aurora suddenly faded, leaving the other half still beating out its +azure brilliance against the horizon. At the same instant, with abrupt +swiftness, a dark shadow,--so dark as to seem almost palpable,--descended +and fell directly in front of the advancing sledge--a sort of mist that +appeared to block the way. + +Gueldmar leaned forward and gazed with eager, straining eyes into that +drooping gloom--a shadow?--a mere vapor, with the Northern Lights +glimmering through its murky folds? Ah no--no! For him it was something +very different,--a heavenly phantasm, beautiful and grand, with solemn +meaning! He saw a Maiden, majestically tall, of earnest visage and +imperial mien,--her long black hair streamed loose upon the wind--in one +hand she held a shining shield--in the other a lifted spear! On her +white brow rested a glittering helmet,--her bosom heaved beneath a +corslet of pale gold--she fixed her divine, dark eyes full upon his face +and smiled! With a cry of wonder and ecstacy the old man fell back in +his sledge,--the reins dropped from his hands,--"The _Valkyrie_! the +_Valkyrie_!" he exclaimed. + +A mere breathing space, and the shadow vanished,--the aurora came out +again in unbroken splendor--and the reindeer, feeling no restraint upon +them, and terrified by something in the air, or the ceaseless glitter, +of the lights in the sky, started off precipitately at full gallop. The +long reins trailed loosely over their backs, lashing their sides as they +ran--Gueldmar, recovering from his momentary awe and bewilderment, strove +to seize them, but in vain. He called, he shouted,--the frightened +animals were utterly beyond control, and dashed madly down the steep +road, swinging the sledge from side to side, and entangling themselves +more and more with the loose reins, till, irritated beyond endurance, +confused and blinded by the flash of the aurora and the dizzy whirl of +the swiftly falling snow, they made straight for a steep bank,--and +before the _bonde_ had time to realize the situation and jump from the +sledge--crash! down they went with a discordant jangle of bells, their +hoofs splitting a thin, sharp shelf of ice as they leaped +forward,--dragging the light vehicle after them, and twisting it over +and over till it was a mere wreck,--and throwing out its occupant head +foremost against a jagged stone. + +Then more scared than ever, they strove to clamber out of the gully into +which they had recklessly sprung, but, foiled in these attempts, they +kicked, plunged, and reared,--trampling heedlessly over the human form +lying helpless among the shattered fragments of the sledge,--till tired +out at last, they stood motionless, panting with terror. Their antlered +heads cast fantastic patterns on the snow in the varying rose and azure +radiance that rippled from the waving ribbons of the aurora,--and close +to them, his slowly trickling life-blood staining the white ground,--his +hair and beard glittering in the light like frosted silver,--his eyes +fast closed as though he slept,--lay Olaf Gueldmar unconscious--dying. +The spear of the Valkyrie had fallen! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + "Bury me not when I am dead-- + Lay me not down in a dusty bed; + I could not bear the life down there, + With the wet worms crawling about my hair!" + ERIC MACKAY. + + +Long hours passed, and the next day dawned, if the dim twilight that +glimmered faintly across the Altenfjord could be called a dawn. The +snow-fall had ceased,--the wind had sunk--there was a frost-bound, +monotonous calm. The picturesque dwelling of the _bonde_ was white in +every part, and fringed with long icicles,--icicles drooped from its +sheltering porch and gabled windows--the deserted dove-cote on the roof +was a miniature ice-palace, curiously festooned with thin threads and +crested pinnacles of frozen snow. Within the house there was +silence,--the silence of approaching desolation. In the room where +Thelma used to sit and spin, a blazing fire of pine sparkled on the +walls, casting ruddy outward flashes through the frost-covered +lattice-windows,--and here, towards the obscure noon, Olaf Gueldmar awoke +from his long trance of insensibility. He found himself at home, +stretched on his own bed, and looked about him vacantly. In the earnest +and watchful countenance that bent above his pillow, he slowly +recognized his friend, companion, and servant, Valdemar Svensen, and +though returning consciousness brought with it throbs of agonizing pain, +he strove to smile, and feebly stretched out his hand. Valdemar grasped +it--kissed it--and in spite of his efforts to restrain his emotion, a +sigh, that was almost a groan, escaped him. The _bonde_ smiled +again,--then lay quiet for a few moments as though endeavoring to +collect his thought. Presently he spoke--his voice was faint yet +distinct. + +"What has happened, Valdemar?" he asked. "How is it that the strength +has departed from me?" + +Svensen dropped on his knees by the bedside. "An accident, my Lord +Olaf," he began falteringly. + +Gueldmar's eyes suddenly lightened. "Ah, I remember!" he said. "The rush +down the valley--I remember all!" He paused, then added gently, "And so +the end has come, Valdemar!" + +Svensen uttered a passionate exclamation of distress. + +"Let not my lord say so!" he murmured appealingly, with the air of a +subject entreating favor from a king. "Or, if it must be, let me also +travel with thee wherever thou goest!" + +Olaf Gueldmar's gaze rested on him with a musing tenderness. + +"'Tis a far journey," he said simply. "And thou art not summoned." He +raised his arm to test its force--for one second it was uplifted,--then +it fell powerless at his side. "I am conquered!" he went on with a +cheerful air. "The fight is over, Valdemar! Surely I have had a long +battle, and the time for rest and reward is welcome." He was silent for +a little, then continued, "Tell me--how--where didst thou find me? It +seems I had a dream, strange, and glorious--then came a rushing sound of +wheels and clanging bells,--and after that, a long deep silence." + +Speaking in low tones, Valdemar briefly related the events of the past +night. How he had heard the reindeer's gallop down the road, and the +quick jangling of the bells on their harness, and had concluded that the +_bonde_ was returning home at extraordinary speed--how these sounds had +suddenly and unaccountably ceased,--how, after waiting for some time, +and hearing nothing more, he had become greatly alarmed, and, taking a +pine-torch, had gone out to see what had occurred,--how he had found the +reindeer standing by the broken sledge in the gully, and how, after some +search, he had finally discovered his master, lying half-covered by the +snow, and grievously injured. How he had lifted him and carried him into +the house, . . . + +"By my soul!" interrupted the _bonde_ cheerfully, "thou must have found +me no light weight, Valdemar! See what a good thing it is to be a +man--with iron muscles, and strong limbs, and hardy nerve! By the Hammer +of Thor! the glorious gift of strong manhood is never half appreciated! +As for me--I am a man no longer!" + +He sighed a little, and, passing his sinewy hand across his brow, lay +back exhausted. He was racked by bodily torture, but,--unflinching old +hero as he was,--gave no sign of the agonizing pain he suffered. +Valdemar Svensen had risen from his knees, and now stood gazing at him +with yearning, miserable eyes, his brown, weather-beaten visage heavily +marked with lines of grief and despair. He knew that he was utterly +powerless--that nothing could save the noble life that was ebbing slowly +away before him. His long and varied experience as a sailor, pilot, and +traveller in many countries had given him some useful knowledge of +medicine and surgery, and if anything was possible to be done, he could +do it. But in this case no medical skill would have been availing--the +old man's ribs were crushed in and his spine injured,--his death was a +question of but a few hours at the utmost, if so long. + +"Olaf the King!" muttered the _bonde_ presently, "True! They make no +mistakes yonder,--they know each warrior by name and rank--'tis only in +this world we are subject to error. This world! By the gods! . . . 'tis +but a puff of thistle-down--or a light mist floating from the sunset to +the sea!" + +He made a vigorous attempt to raise himself from his pillow--though the +excruciating anguish caused by his movement, made him wince a little and +grow paler. + +"Wine, Valdemar! Fill the horn cup to the brim and bring it to me--I +must have strength to speak--before I depart--on the last great +journey." + +Obediently and in haste, Svensen filled the cup he asked for with old +Lacrima Christi, of which there was always a supply in this far Northern +abode, and gave it to him, watching him with a sort of superstitious +reverence as he drained off its contents and returned it empty. + +"Ah! That warms this freezing blood of mine," he said, the lustre +flashing back into his eyes. "'Twill find fresh force to flow a brief +while longer. Valdemar--I have little time to spend with thee--I feel +death _here_"--and he slightly touched his chest--"cold--cold and heavy. +'Tis nothing--a passing, chilly touch that sweeps away the world! But +the warmth of a new, strong life awaits me--a life of never-ending +triumph! The doors of Valhalla stand wide open--I heard the trumpet-call +last night--I saw the dark-haired Valkyrie! All is well--and my soul is +full of rejoicing. Valdemar--there is but one thing now thou hast to do +for me,--the one great service thou hast sworn to render. _Fulfill thine +oath!_" + +Valdemar's brown cheek blanched,--his lips quivered,--he flung up his +hands in wild appeal. The picturesque flow of his native speech gained +new fervor and eloquence as he spoke. + +"Not yet--not yet, my lord!" he cried passionately. "Wait but a +little--there is time. Think for one moment--think! Would it not be well +for my lord to sleep the last sleep by the side of his beloved +Thelma--the star of the dark mountains--the moonbeam of the night of his +life? Would not peace enwrap him there as with a soft garment, and would +not his rest be lulled by the placid murmur of the sea? For the days of +old time and storm and victory are past--and the dead slumber as stones +in the silent pathways--why would my lord depart in haste as though he +were wrathful, from the land he has loved?--from the vassal who implores +his pardon for pleading against a deed he dares not do!" + +"Dares not--dares not!" cried the _bonde_, springing up half-erect from +his couch, in spite of pain, and looking like some enraged old lion with +his tossed, streaming hair and glittering eyes. "Serf as thou art and +coward! Thinkest thou an oath such as thine is but a thread of hair, to +be snapped at thy pleasure? Wilt thou brave the wrath of the gods and +the teeth of the Wolf of Nastrond? As surely as the seven stars shine on +the white brow of Thor, evil shall be upon thee if thou refusest to +perform the vow thou hast sworn! And shall a slave have strength to +resist the dying curse of a King?" + +The pride, the supreme authority,--the magnified strength of command +that flushed the old man's features, were extraordinary and almost +terrible in their impressive grandeur. If he indeed believed himself by +blood a king and a descendant of kings,--he could not have shown a more +forcible display of personal sovereignty. The effect of his manner on +Valdemar was instantaneous,--the superstitious fears of that bronzed +sea-wanderer were easily aroused. His head drooped--he stretched out his +hands imploringly. + +"Let not my lord curse his servant," he faltered. "It was but a tremor +of the heart that caused my tongue to speak foolishly. I am ready--I +have sworn--the oath shall be kept to its utmost end!" + +Olaf Gueldmar's threatening countenance relaxed, and he fell back on his +pillows. + +"It is well!" he said feebly and somewhat indistinctly. "Thy want of +will maddened me--I spoke and lived in times that are no more--days of +battle--and--glory--that are gone--from men--for ever. More wine, +Valdemar!--I must keep a grip on this slippery life--and yet--I +wander--wander into the--night--" + +His voice ceased, and he sank into a swoon--a swoon that was like death. +His breathing was scarcely perceptible, and Svensen, alarmed at his +appearance, forced some drops of wine between his set lips, and chafed +his cold hands with anxious solicitude. Slowly and very gradually he +recovered consciousness and intelligence, and presently asked for a +pencil and paper to write a few farewell words to his daughter. In the +grief and bewilderment of the time, Valdemar entirely forgot to tell him +that a letter from Thelma had arrived for him on the previous afternoon +while he was away at Talvig,--and was even now on the shelf above the +chimney, awaiting perusal. Gueldmar, ignorant of this, began to write +slowly and with firmness, disregarding his rapidly sinking strength. +Scarcely had he begun the letter, however, than he looked up meaningly +at Svensen, who stood waiting beside him. + +"The time grows very short," he said imperatively. "Prepare everything +quickly--go! Fear not--I shall live to see thee return--and to bless +thee for thy faithful service." + +As he uttered these words he smiled;--and with one wistful, yearning +look at him, Valdemar obediently and instantly departed. He left the +house, carrying with him a huge pile of dry brushwood, and with the air +of a man strung up to prompt action, rapidly descended the sloping path, +thick with hardened snow, that led downwards to the Fjord. On reaching +the shore, he looked anxiously about him. There was nothing in sight but +the distant, twinkling lights of Bosekop--the Fjord itself was like a +black pool,--so still that even the faintest murmur of its rippling +against the _bonde's_ own private pier could be heard,--the tide was +full up. + +Out of the reach of the encroaching waters, high and dry on the beach, +was Gueldmar's brig, the _Valkyrie_, transformed by the fingers of the +frost into a white ship, fantastically draped with threads of frozen +snow and pendent icicles. She was placed on a descending plank, to which +she was attached by a chain and rope pulley,--so that at any time of the +weather or tide she could be moved glidingly downwards into deep +water--and this was what Valdemar occupied himself in doing. It was a +hard task. The chains were stiff with the frost,--but, after some +patient and arduous striving, they yielded to his efforts, and, with +slow clank and much creaking complaint, the vessel slid reluctantly down +and plunged forward, afloat at last. Holding her ropes, Valdemar sprang +to the extreme edge of the pier and fastened her there, and then getting +on board, he untied and began to hoist the sails. This was a matter of +the greatest difficulty, but it was gradually and successfully +accomplished; and a strange sight the _Valkyrie_ then presented, resting +nearly motionless on the black Fjord,--her stretched and frosted canvas +looking like sheeted pearl fringed with silver,--her masts white with +encrusted snow, and topped with pointed icicles. Leaving her for a +moment, Valdemar quickly returned, carrying the pile of dry brushwood he +had brought,--he descended with this into the hold of the ship, and +returned without it. Glancing once more nervously about him, he jumped +from the deck to the pier--thence to the shore--and as he did so a long +dark wave rolled up and broke at his feet. The capricious wind had +suddenly arisen,--and a moaning whisper coming from the adjacent hills +gave warning of another storm. + +Valdemar hurriedly retraced his steps back to the house,--his work with +the _Valkyrie_ had occupied him more than an hour--the _bonde_, his +friend and master, might have died during his absence! There was a cold +sickness at his heart--his feet seemed heavy as lead, and scarcely able +to carry him along quickly enough--to his credulous and visionary mind, +the hovering shadow of death seemed everywhere,--in every crackling twig +he brushed against,--in every sough of the wakening gale that rustled +among the bare pines. To his intense relief he found Gueldmar lying +calmly back among his pillows,--his eyes well open and clear, and an +expression of perfect peace upon his features. He smiled as he saw his +servant enter. + +"All is in readiness?" he asked. + +Valdemar bent his head in silent assent. + +The _bonde's_ face lightened with extraordinary rapture. + +"I thank thee, old friend!" he said in low but glad accents. "Thou +knowest I could not be at peace in any other grave. I have suffered in +thine absence,--the sufferings of the body that, being yet strong in +spite of age, is reluctant to take leave of life. But it is past! I am +as one numbed with everlasting frost,--and now I feel no pain. And my +mind is like a bird that poises for a while over past and present, ere +soaring into the far future. There are things I must yet say to thee, +Valdemar,--give me thy close hearing, for my voice is weak." + +Svensen drew closer, and stood in the humble attitude of one who waits a +command from some supreme chief. + +"This letter," went on the old man, giving him a folded paper, "is to +the child of my heart, my Thelma. Send it to her--when--I am gone. It +will not grieve her, I hope--for, as far as I could find words, I have +expressed therein nothing but joy--the joy of a prisoner set free. Tell +her, that with all the strength of my perishing body and escaping soul, +I blessed her! . . . her and the husband in whose arms she rests in +safety." He raised his trembling hands solemnly--"The gods of my fathers +and their attendant spirits have her young life in their glorious +keeping!--the joy of love and purity and peace be on her innocent head +for ever!" + +He paused,--the wind wailed mournfully round the house and shook the +lattice with a sort of stealthy clatter, like a forlorn wanderer +striving to creep in to warmth and shelter. + +"Here, Valdemar," continued the _bonde_ presently, in fainter accents, +at the same time handing him another paper. "Here are some scrawled +lines--they are plainly set forth and signed--which make thee master of +this poor place and all that it contains." + +A low, choked sob broke from Valdemar's broad breast--he covered his +face with his hands. + +"Of what avail?" he murmured brokenly. "When my lord departs, I am alone +and friendless!" + +The _bonde_ regarded him with kindly pity. + +"Tears from the stout heart?" he inquired with a sort of grave wonder. +"Weep for life, Valdemar--not for death! Alone and friendless? Not while +the gods are in heaven! Cheer thee--thou art strong and in vigorous +pride of manhood--why should not bright days come for thee--" He broke +off with a gasp--a sudden access of pain convulsed him and rendered his +breathing difficult. By sheer force of will he mastered the cruel agony, +though great drops of sweat stood on his brow when he at last found +voice to continue-- + +"I thought all suffering was past," he said with a heroic smile. "This +foolish flesh and blood of mine dies hard! But, as I was saying to thee, +Valdemar--the farm is thine, and all it holds--save some few trifles I +have set down to be given to my child. There is little worth in what I +leave thee--the soil--is hard and ungrateful--the harvest uncertain, and +the cattle few. Even the reindeer--didst thou say they were injured by +their fall last night?--I--I forget, . . ." + +"No harm has come to them," said Svensen hastily, seeing that the very +effort of thinking was becoming too much for the old man. "They are safe +and unhurt. Trouble not about these things!" + +A strange, unearthly radiance transfigured Gueldmar's visage. + +"Trouble is departing swiftly from me," he murmured. + +"Trouble and I shall know each other no more!" His voice died away +inarticulately, and he was silent a little space. Suddenly, and with a +rush of vigor--that seemed superhuman, he raised himself nearly erect, +and pointed outwards with a commanding gesture. + +"Bear me hence!" he cried in ringing tones. "Hence to the mountains and +the sea!" + +With a sort of mechanical, swift obedience, Valdemar threw open the +door--the wind rushed coldly into the house, bringing with it large +feathery flakes of snow. A hand sledge stood outside the porch,--it was +always there during the winter, being much used for visiting the +outlying grounds of the farm,--and to this, Valdemar prepared to carry +the _bonde_ in his herculean arms. But, on being lifted from his couch, +the old man, filled with strange, almost delirious force, declared +himself able to stand,--and, though suffering deadly anguish at every +step, did in truth manage to reach and enter the sledge, strongly +supported by Valdemar. There, however, he fainted--and his faithful +servant, covering his insensible form with, furs, thought he was dead. +But there was now no time for hesitation,--dead or living, Olaf +Gueldmar's will was law to his vassal,--an oath had been made and must be +kept. To propel the sledge down to the Fjord was an easy matter--how the +rest of his duty was accomplished he never knew. + +He was conscious of staggering blindly onward, weighted with a heavy, +helpless burden,--he felt the slippery pier beneath his feet--the +driving snow and the icy wind on his face,--but he was as one in a +dream, realizing nothing plainly, till with a wild start, he seemed to +awake--and lo! he stood on the glassy deck of the _Valkyrie_ with the +body of his "King" stretched senseless before him! Had he brought him +there? He could not remember what he had done during the past few mad +minutes,--the earth and sky whirled dizzily around him,--he could grasp +nothing tangible in thought or memory. But there, most certainly, Olaf +Gueldmar lay,--his pallid face upturned, his hair and beard as white as +the snow that clung to the masts of his vessel--his hand clenched on the +fur garment that enwrapped him as with a robe of royalty. + +Dropping on his knees beside him, Valdemar felt his heart--it still +throbbed fitfully and feebly. Watching the intense calm of the grand, +rugged face, this stern, weather-worn sailor--this man of superstitious +and heathen imaginations--gave way to womanish tears--tears that were +the outcome of sincere and passionate grief. His love was of an +exceptional type,--something like that of a faithful dog that refuses to +leave the grave of its master,--he could contemplate death for himself +with absolute indifference,--but not for the _bonde_, whose sturdy +strength and splendid physique had seemed to defy all danger. + +As he knelt and wept unrestrainedly, a soft change, a delicate +transparency, swept over the dark bosom of the sky. Pale pink streaks +glittered on the dusky horizon--darts of light began to climb upward +into the clouds, and to plunge downward into the water,--the radiance +spread, and gradually formed into a broad band of deep crimson, which +burned with a fixed and intense glow--topaz-like rays flickered and +streamed about it, as though uncertain what fantastic shape they should +take to best display their brilliancy. This tremulous hesitation of +varying color did not last long; the whole jewel-like mass swept +together, expanding and contracting with extraordinary swiftness for a +few seconds--then, suddenly and clearly defined in the sky, a Kingly +Crown blazed forth--a Crown of perfect shape, its five points distinctly +and separately outlined and flashing as with a million rubies and +diamonds. The red lustre warmly tinged the pale features of the dying +man, and startled Valdemar, who sprang to his feet and gazed at that +mystic aureola with a cry of wonder. At the same moment Olaf Gueldmar +stirred, and began to speak drowsily without opening his eyes. + +"Dawn on the sea!" he murmured--"The white waves gleam and sparkle +beneath the prow, and the ship makes swift way through the water! It is +dawn in my heart--the dawn of love for thee and me, my Thelma--fear not! +The rose of passion is a hardy flower that can bloom in the north as +well as in the south, believe me! Thelma--Thelma!" + +He suddenly opened his eyes, and realizing his surroundings, raised +himself half-erect. + +"Set sail!" he cried, pointing with a majestic motion of his arm to the +diadem glittering in the sky. "Why do we linger? The wind favors us, and +the tide sweeps forward--forward! See how the lights beckon from the +harbor!" + +He bent his brows and looked almost angrily at Svensen. "Do what thou +hast to do!" and his tones were sharp and imperious. "I must press on!" + +An expression of terror, pain, and pity passed over the sailor's +countenance--for one instant he hesitated--the next, he descended into +the hold of the vessel. He was absent for a very little space,--but when +he returned his eyes were wild as though he had been engaged in some +dark and criminal deed. Olaf Gueldmar was still gazing at the brilliancy +in the heavens, which seemed to increase in size and lustre as the wind +rose higher. Svensen took his hand--it was icy cold, and damp with the +dew of death. + +"Let me go with thee!" he implored, in broken accent. "I fear nothing! +Why should I not venture also on the last voyage?" + +Gueldmar made a faint but decided sign of rejection. + +"The Viking sails alone to the grave of his fathers!" he with a serene +and proud smile. "Alone--alone! Neither wife, nor child, nor vassal may +have place with him in his ship--even so have the gods willed it. +Farewell, Valdemar! Loosen the ropes and let me go!--thou servest me +ill--hasten--hasten--I am weary of waiting--" + +His head fell back,--that mysterious shadow which darkens the face of +the dying a moment before dissolution, was on him now. + +Just then a strange, suffocating odor began to permeate the air--little +wreaths of pale smoke made their slow way through the boards of the +deck--and a fierce gust of wind, blowing seawards from the mountains, +swayed the _Valkyrie_ uneasily to and fro. Slowly, and with evident +reluctance, Svensen commenced the work of detaching her from the +pier--feeling instinctively all the while that his master's dying eyes +were fixed upon him. When but one slender rope remained to be cast off, +he knelt by the old man's side said whispered tremblingly that all was +done. At the same moment a small, stealthy tongue of red flame curled up +through the deck from the hold,--and Gueldmar, observing this, smiled. + +"I see thou hast redeemed thine oath," he said, gratefully pressing +Svensen's hand. "'Tis the last act of thine allegiance,--may the gods +reward thy faithfulness! Peace be with thee!--we shall meet hereafter. +Already the light shines from the Rainbow Bridge,--there,--there are the +golden peaks of the hills and the stretch of the wide sea! Go, +Valdemar!--delay no longer, for my soul is impatient--it burns, it +struggles to be free! Go!--and--farewell!" + +Stricken to the heart, and full of anguish,--yet serf-like in his +submission and resignation to the inevitable,--Svensen kissed his +master's hand for the last time. Then, with a sort of fierce sobbing +groan, wrung from the very depths of his despairing grief, he turned +resolutely away, and sprang off the vessel. Standing at the extreme edge +of the pier, he let slip the last rope that bound her,--her sails filled +and bulged outward,--her cordage creaked, she shuddered on the +water--lurched a little--then paused. + +In that brief moment a loud triumphant cry rang through the air. Olaf +Gueldmar leaped upright on the deck as though lifted by some invisible +hand, and confronted his terrified servants, who gazed at him in +fascinated amazement and awe. His white hair gleamed like spun +silver--his face was transfigured, and wore a strange, rapt look of pale +yet splendid majesty--the dark furs that clung about him trailed in +regal folds to his feet. + +"Hark!" he cried, and his voice vibrated with deep and mellow clearness. +"Hark to the thunder of the galloping hoofs!--see--see the glitter of +the shield and spear! She comes-ah! Thelma! Thelma!" He raised his arms +as though in ecstacy. "Glory!--joy!--Victory!" + +And, like a noble tree struck down by lightning, he fell--dead! + +Even as he fell, the _Valkyrie_ plunged forward, driven forcibly by a +swooping gust of wind, and scudded out to the Fjord like a wild bird +flying before a tempest,--and, while she thus fled, a sheet of flame +burst through her sides and blazed upwards, mingling a lurid, smoky glow +with the clear crimson radiance of the still brilliant and crown-like +aurora. Following the current, she made swift way across the dark water +in the direction of the island of Seiland, and presently became a +wondrous Ship of Fire! Fire flashed from her masts--fire folded up her +spars and sails in a devouring embrace,--fire, that leaped and played +and sent forth a million showering sparks hissingly into the waves +beneath. + +With beating heart and straining eyes, Valdemar Svensen crouched on the +pier-head, watching, in mute agony, the burning vessel. He had fulfilled +his oath!--that strange vow that had so sternly bound him,--a vow that +was the outcome of his peculiar traditions and pagan creed. + +Long ago, in the days of his youth,--full of enthusiasm for the worship +of Odin and the past splendors of the race of the great Norse +warriors,--he had chosen to recognize in Olaf Gueldmar a true descendant +of kings, who was by blood and birth, though not in power, himself a +king,--and tracing his legendary history back to old and half-forgotten +sources, he had proved, satisfactorily, to his own mind, that he, +Svensen, must lawfully, and according to old feudal system, be this +king's serf or vassal. And, growing more and more convinced of this in +his dreamy and imaginative mind,--he had sworn a sort of mystic +friendship and allegiance, which Gueldmar had accepted, imposing on him, +however, only one absolute command. This was that he should be given the +"crimson shroud" and sea-tomb of his war-like ancestors,--for the idea +that his body might be touched by strange hands, shut in a close coffin, +and laid in the earth to moulder away to wormy corruption,--had been the +one fantastic dread of the sturdy old pagan's life. And he had taken +advantage of Svensen's devotion and obedience to impress on him the +paramount importance of his solitary behest. + +"Let no hypocritical prayers be chanted over my dumb corpse," he had +said. "My blood would ooze from me at every pore were I touched by the +fingers of a Lutheran! Save this goodly body that has served me so well +from the inferior dust,--let the bright fire wither it, and the glad sea +drown it,--and my soul, beholding its end afar off, shall rejoice and be +satisfied. Swear by the wrath and thunder of the gods!--swear by the +unflinching Hammer of Thor,--swear by the gates of Valhalla, and in the +name of Odin!--and having sworn, the curse of all these be upon thee if +thou fail to keep thy vow!" + +And Valdemar had sworn. Now that the oath was kept--now that his +promised obedience had been carried out to the extremest letter, he was +as one stupefied. Shivering, yet regardless of the snow that began to +fall thickly, he kept his post, staring, staring in drear fascination +across the Fjord, where the _Valkyrie_ drifted, now a mass of flame +blown fiercely by the wind, and gleaming red through the flaky +snow-storm. + +The aurora borealis faded by gradual degrees, and the flaming ship was +more than ever distinctly visible. She was seen from the shore of +Bosekop, by a group of the inhabitants, who, rubbing their dull eyes, +could not decide whether what they beheld was fire, or a new phase of +the capricious, ever-changing Northern Lights,--the rapidly descending +snow rendering their vision bewildered and uncertain. Any way, they +thought very little about it,--they had had excitement of another kind +in the arrival of Ulrika from Talvig, bringing accounts of the godly +Lovisa Elsland's death. + +Moreover, an English steam cargo-boat, bound for the North Cape, had, +just an hour previously, touched at their harbor, to land a +passenger,--a mysterious woman closely veiled, who immediately on +arrival had hired a sledge, and had bidden the driver to take her to the +house of Olaf Gueldmar, an eight miles journey through the drifted snow. +All this was intensely interesting to the good, stupid, gossiping +fisher-folks of Bosekop,--so much so, indeed, that they scarcely paid +any heed to the spectacle of the fiery ship swaying suggestively on the +heaving water, and drifting rapidly away--away towards the frosted peaks +of Seiland. + +Further and further she receded,--the flames around her waving like +banners in a battle--further and further still--till Valdemar Svensen, +from his station on the pier, began to lose sight of her blazing +timbers,--and, starting from his reverie, he ran rapidly from the shore, +up through the garden paths to the farm-house, in order to gain the +summit, and from that point of vantage, watch the last glimmering spark +of the Viking's burial. As he reached the house, he stopped short and +uttered a wild exclamation. There,--under the porch hung with sparkling +icicles,--stood Thelma! . . . Thelma,--her face pale and weary, yet +smiling faintly,--Thelma with the glint of her wondrous gold hair +escaping from under her hat, and glittering on the folds of her dark fur +mantle. + +"I have come home, Valdemar!" said the sweet, rich, penetrating voice. +"Where is my father?" + +As a man distraught, or in some dreadful dream, Valdemar approached +her--the strangeness of his look and manner filled her with sudden +fear,--he caught her hand and pointed to the dark Fjord--to the spot +where gleamed a lurid waving wreath of flames. + +"Froeken Thelma--he is _there_!" he gasped in choked, hoarse tones. +"_there_--where the gods have called him!" + +With a faint shriek of terror, Thelma's blue eyes turned toward the +shadowy water,--as she looked, a long up-twisting snake of fire appeared +to leap from the perishing _Valkyrie_,--a snake that twined its +glittering coils rapidly round and round on the wind, and as rapidly +sank--down--down--to one glimmering spark which glowed redly like a +floating lamp for a brief space,--and was then quenched for ever! The +ship had vanished! Thelma needed no explanation,--she knew her father's +creed--she understood all. Breaking loose from Valdemar's grasp, she +rushed a few steps forward with arms outstretched on the bitter, snowy +air. + +"Father! father!" she cried aloud and sobbingly. "Wait for me!--it is I +Thelma!--I am coming--Father!" + +The white world around her grew black--and, shuddering like a shot bird, +she fell senseless. + +Instantly Valdemar raised her from the ground, and holding her tenderly +and reverently in his strong arms, carried her, as though she were a +child, into the house . . . clouds darkened--the snow-storm +thickened--the mountain-peaks, stern giants, frowned through their +sleety veils at the arctic desolation of the land below them,--and over +the charred and sunken corpse of the departed servant of Odin, sounded +the solemn De Profundis of the sea. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + "The body is the storm; + The soul the star beyond it, in the deep + Of Nature's calm. And, yonder, on the steep, + The Sun of Faith, quiescent, round, and warm!" + + +Late on that same night, the pious Ulrika was engaged in prayer. Prayer +with her was a sort of fanatical wrestling of the body as well as of the +soul,--she was never contented unless by means of groans and contortions +she could manage to work up by degrees into a condition of hysteria +resembling a mild epileptic attack, in which state alone she considered +herself worthy to approach the Deity. On this occasion she had some +difficulty to attain the desired result--her soul, as she herself +expressed it, was "dry"--and her thoughts wandered,--though she pinched +her neck and arms with the hard resoluteness of a sworn flagellant, and +groaned, "Lord, have mercy on me a sinner!" with indefatigable +earnestness. She was considerably startled in the midst of these +energetic devotions by a sudden jangling of sledge--bells, and aloud +knocking--a knocking which threatened to break down the door of the +small and humble house she inhabited. Hastily donning the coarse gown +and bodice she had recently taken off in order to administer +chastisement to her own flesh more thoroughly, she unfastened her bolts +and bars, and, lifting the latch, was confronted by Valdemar Svensen, +who, nearly breathless with swift driving through the snow-storm, cried +out in quick gasps-- + +"Come with me--come! She is dying!" + +"God help the man!" exclaimed Ulrika startled. "Who is dying?" + +"She--the Froeken Thelma--Lady Errington--she is all alone up there," and +he pointed distractedly in the direction from whence he had come. "I can +get no one in Bosekop,--the women are cowards all,--all afraid to go +near her," and he wrung his hands in passionate distress. + +Ulrika pulled a thick shawl from the nail where it hung and wrapped it +round her. + +"I am ready," she said, and without more delay, stepped into the waiting +sledge, while Valdemar, with an exclamation of gratitude and relief, +took his place beside her. "But how is it?" she asked, as the reindeer +started off at full speed, "how is it that the _bonde's_ daughter is +again at the Altenfjord?" + +"I know not!" answered Svensen despairingly. "I would have given my life +not to have told her of her father's death." + +"Death!" cried Ulrika. "Olaf Gueldmar _dead_! Impossible! Only last night +I saw him in the pride of his strength,--and thought I never had beheld +so goodly a man. Lord, Lord! That he should be _dead_!" + +In a few words Svensen related all that had happened, with the exception +of the fire-burial in the Fjord. + +But Ulrika immediately asked, "Is his body still in the house?" + +Svensen looked at her darkly. "Hast thou never heard Ulrika," he said +solemnly, "that the bodies of men who follow Olaf Gueldmar's creed, +disappear as soon as the life departs from them? It is a +mystery--strange and terrible! But this is true--my master's +sailing-ship has gone, and his body with it--and I know not where!" + +Ulrika surveyed him steadily with a slow, incredulous smile. After a +pause, she said-- + +"Fidelity in a servant is good, Valdemar Svensen! I know you well--I +also know that a pagan shrinks from Christian burial. Enough said--I +will ask no more--but if Olaf Gueldmar's ship's has gone, and he with +it,--I warn you, the village will wonder." + +"I cannot help it," said Svensen with cold brevity. "I have spoken +truth--he has gone! I saw him die--and then vanish. Believe it or not as +you will, I care not!" + +And he drove on in silence. Ulrika was silent too. + +She had known Valdemar Svensen for many years--he was a man universally +liked and respected at all the harbors and different fishing-stations of +Norway, and his life was an open book to everybody, with the exception +of one page, which was turned down and sealed,--this was the question of +his religious belief. No one knew what form of faith he followed,--it +was only when he went to live with the _bonde_, after Thelma's +marriage,--that the nature of his creed was dimly suspected. But Ulrika +had no dislike for him on this account,--her opinions had changed very +much during the past few months. As devout a Lutheran as ever, she began +to entertain a little more of the true spirit of Christianity--that +spirit of gentle and patient tolerance which, full of forbearance +towards all humanity, is willing to admit the possibility of a little +good in everything, even in the blind tenets of a heathen creed. Part of +this alteration in her was due to the gratitude she secretly felt +towards the Gueldmar family, for having saved from destruction,--albeit +unconscious of his parentage,--Sigurd, the child she had attempted to +murder. The hideous malevolence of Lovisa Elsland's nature had shown her +that there _may_ be bad Lutherans,--the invariable tenderness displayed +by the Gueldmars for her unrecognized, helpless and distraught son,--had +proved to her that there _may_ be good heathens. Hearing thus suddenly +of the _bonde's_ death, she was strangely affected--she could almost +have wept. She felt perfectly convinced that Svensen had made away with +his master's body by some mysterious rite connected with pagan +belief,--she knew that Gueldmar himself, according to rumor, had buried +his own wife in some unknown spot, with strange and weird ceremonials, +but she was inclined to be tolerant,--and glancing at Svensen's grave, +pained face from time to time as she sat beside him in the sledge, she +resolved to ask him no more questions on the subject, but to accept and +support, if necessary, the theory he had so emphatically set +forth,--namely, the mystical evanishment of the corpse by some +supernatural agency. + +As they neared their destination, she began to think of Thelma, the +beautiful, proud girl whom she remembered best as standing on a little +green-tufted hillock with a cluster of pansies in her hand, and +Sigurd--Sigurd clinging fondly to her white skirts, with a wealth of +passionate devotion in his upturned, melancholy, blue eyes. Ulrika had +seen her but once since then,--and that was on the occasion when, at the +threat of Lovisa Elsland, and the command of the Reverend Mr. +Dyceworthy, she had given her Sir Philip Errington's card, with the +false message written on it that had decoyed her for a time into the +wily minister's power. She felt a thrill of shame as she remembered the +part she had played in that cruel trick,--and reverting once more to the +memory of Sigurd, whose tragic end at the Fall of Njedegorze she had +learned through Valdemar, she resolved to make amends now that she had +the chance, and to do her best for Thelma in her suffering and trouble. + +"For who knows," mused Ulrika, "Whether it is not the Lord's hand that +is extended towards me,--and that in the ministering to the wants of her +whom I wronged, and whom my son so greatly loved, I may not thereby +cancel the past sin, and work out my own redemption!" + +And her dull eyes brightened with hope, and her heart warmed,--she began +to feel almost humane and sympathetic,--and was so eager to commence her +office of nurse and consoler to Thelma that she jumped out of the sledge +almost before it had stopped at the farm gate. Disregarding Valdemar's +assistance, she clambered sturdily over the drifted heaps of slippery +snow that blocked the deserted pathways, and made for the +house,--Valdemar following her as soon as he had safely fastened up the +sledge, which was not his own, he having in emergency borrowed it from a +neighbor. As they approached, a sound came floating to meet them--a +sound which made them pause and look at each other in surprise and +anxiety. Some one was singing,--a voice full and clear, though with a +strange, uncertain quiver in it, rippled out in wild strains of minor +melody on the snow-laden air. For one moment Ulrika listened doubtedly, +and then without more delay ran hastily forward and entered the house. +Thelma was there,--sitting at the lattice window which she had thrown +wide open to the icy blast,--she had taken off her cloak and hat, and +her hair, unbound, fell about her in a great, glittering tangle of +gold,--her hands were busy manipulating an imaginary spinning-wheel--her +eyes were brilliant as jewels, but full of pain, terror, and pathos. She +smiled a piteous smile as she became hazily conscious that there were +others in the room--but she went on with her song--a mournful, Norwegian +ditty,--till a sudden break in her voice caused her to put her hand to +her throat and look up perplexedly. + +"That song pleases you?" she asked softly, "I am very glad! Has Sigurd +come home? He wanders so much, poor boy! Father, dear, you must tell him +how wrong it is not to love Philip. Every one loves Philip--and I--I +love him too, but he must never know that." She paused and sighed. "That +is my secret,--the only one I have!" And she drooped her fair head +forlornly. + +Moved by intense pity, such as she had never felt in all her life +before, Ulrika went up and tried to draw her gently from the window. + +"Poor thing, poor thing!" she said kindly. "Come away with me, and lie +down! You mustn't sit here,--let me shut the lattice,--it's quite late +at night, and too cold for you, my dear." + +"Too cold?" and Thelma eyed her wonderingly. "Why, it is summer-time, +and the sun never sets! The roses are all about the walls--I gave one to +Philip yesterday--a little pale rose with a crimson heart. He wore it, +and seemed glad!" + +She passed her hand across her forehead with a troubled air, and watched +Ulrika, who quietly closed the window against the darkness and +desolation of the night. "Are you a friend?" she asked presently in +anxious tones. "I know so many that say they are my friends--but I am +afraid of them all--and I have left them. Do you know why?" and she laid +her hand on Ulrika's rough arm. "Because they tell me my Philip does not +love me any more. They are very cruel to say so, and I think it cannot +be true. I want to tell my father what they say--because he will +know--and if it is true, then I wish to die,--I could not live! Will you +take me to my father?" + +The plaintive, pleading gentleness of her voice and look brought more +tears into Ulrika's eyes than had ever been forced there by her +devotional exercises,--and the miserable Valdemar, already +broken-hearted by his master's death, turned away and sobbingly cursed +his gods for this new and undeserved affliction. As the Italian +peasantry fall to abusing their saints in time of trouble, even so will +the few remaining believers in Norse legendary lore, upbraid their +fierce divinities with the most reckless hardihood when things go wrong. +There were times when Valdemar Svensen secretly quailed at the mere +thought of the wrath of Odin,--there were others when he was ready to +pluck the great god by the beard and beat him with the flat of his own +drawn sword. This was his humor at the present moment, as he averted his +gaze from the pitiful sight of his "King's" fair daughter all desolate +and woe-begone, her lovely face pale with anguish,--her sweet wits +wandering, and her whole demeanor that of one who is lost in some dark +forest, and is weary unto death. She studied Ulrika's rough visage +attentively, and presently noticed the tears on her cheeks. + +"You are crying!" she said in a tone of grave surprise. "Why? It is +foolish to cry even when the heart aches. I have found that,--no one in +the world ever pities you! But perhaps you do not know the world,--ah! +it is very hard and cold;--all the people hide their feelings, and +pretend to be what they are not. It is difficult to live so,--and I am +tired!" + +She rose from her chair, and stood up unsteadily, stretching out her +little cold white hands to Ulrika, who folded them in her own strong +coarse palms. "Yes--I am very tired!" she went on dreamily. "There seems +to be nothing that is true--all is false and unreal--I cannot +understand! But you seem kind,"--here her swaying figure tottered, and +Ulrika drew her more closely to herself--"I think I know you--you came +with me in the train, did you not? Yes--and the little baby smiled and +slept in my arms nearly all the way." A violent shuddering seized her, +and a quiver of agony passed over her face. + +"Forgive me," she murmured, "I feel ill--very ill--and cold--but do not +mind--I think--I am--dying!" She could scarcely articulate these last +words--she sank forward, fainting, on Ulrika's breast, and that devout +disciple of Luther, forgetting all her former dread of the "white witch +of the Altenfjord"--only remembered that she held in her arms a helpless +woman with all the sorrows and pangs of womanhood thick upon her,--and +in this act of warm heart-expansion and timely tenderness, it may be +that she cleansed her soiled soul in the sight of the God she +worshipped, and won a look of pardon from the ever-watchful eyes of +Christ. + +As far as mundane matters were concerned, she showed herself a woman of +prompt energy and decision. Laying Thelma gently down upon the very +couch her dead father had so lately occupied, she sent the distracted +Valdemar out to gather fresh pine-logs for the fire, and then busied +herself in bringing down Thelma's own little bed from the upper floor, +airing it with methodical care, and making it as warm and cosy as a +bird's-nest. While she was engaged in these preparations, Thelma +regained her consciousness, and began to toss and tumble and talk +deliriously; but with it all she retained the innate gentleness and +patience, and submitted to be undressed, though she began to sob +pleadingly when Ulrika would have removed her husband's miniature from +where it lay pressed against her bosom,--and taking it in her own hand +she kissed and held it fast. One by one, the dainty articles of delicate +apparel she wore were loosened and laid aside, Ulrika wondering at the +embroidered linen and costly lace, the like of which was never seen in +that part of Norway,--but wondering still more at the dazzling skin she +thus unveiled, a skin as exquisitely soft and pure as the satiny cup of +a Nile lily. + +Poor Thelma sat resignedly watching her own attire taken from her, and +allowing herself to be wrapped in a comfortable loose garment of white +wadmel, as warm as eider-down, which Ulrika had found in a cupboard +upstairs, and which, indeed, had once belonged to Thelma, she and Britta +having made it together. She examined its texture now with some faint +interest--then she asked plaintively-- + +"Are you going to bury me? You must put me to sleep with my mother--her +name was Thelma, too. I think it is an unlucky name." + +"Why, my dear?" asked Ulrika kindly, as she swept the rich tumbled hair +from the girl's eyes, and began to braid it in one long loose plait, in +order to give her greater ease. + +Thelma sighed. "There is an old song that says--" She broke off. "Shall +I sing it to you?" she asked with a wild look. + +"No, no," said Ulrika. "Not now. By-and-by!" And she nodded her head +encouragingly. "By-and-by! There'll be plenty of time for singing +presently," and she laid her in bed, tucking her up warmly as though she +were a very little child, and feeling strongly inclined to kiss her. + +"Ah, but I should like to tell you, even if I must not sing--" and +Thelma gazed up anxiously from her pillow--"only my head is so heavy, +and full of strange noises--I do not know whether I can remember it." + +"Don't try to remember it," and Ulrika stroked the soft cheek, with a +curious yearning sensation of love tugging at her tough heartstrings. +"Try to sleep--that will be better for you!" And she took from the fire +a warm, nourishing drink she had prepared, and gave it to her. She was +surprised at the eagerness with which the poor girl seized it. + +"Lord help us, I believe she is light-headed for want of food!" she +thought. + +Such indeed was the fact,--Thelma had been several days on her journey +from Hull, and during that time had eaten so little that her strength +had entirely given way. The provisions on board the Black Polly were +extremely limited, and consisted of nothing but dried fish, hard bread, +and weak tea, without milk or sugar,--and in her condition of health, +her system had rebelled against this daily untempting bill of fare. +Ulrika's simple but sustaining beverage seemed more than delicious to +her palate,--she drained it to the last drop, and, as she returned the +cup, a feint color came back to her cheeks and lips. + +"Thank you," she said feebly. "You are very good to me! And now I do +quite know what I wished to say. It was long ago--there was a queen, +named Thelma, and some one--a great warrior, loved her and found her +fair. But presently he grew tired of her face--and raised an army +against her, and took her throne by force, and crowned himself king of +all her land. And the song says that Queen Thelma wandered on the +mountains all alone till she died--it was a sad song--but I forget--the +end." + +And her voice trailed off into broken murmurs, her eyes closed, and she +slept. Ulrika watched her musingly and tenderly--wondering what secret +trouble weighed on the girl's mind. When Valdemar Svensen presently +looked in, she made him a warning sign--and, hushing his footsteps, he +went away again. She followed him out into the kitchen, where he had +deposited his load of pine-wood, and began to talk to him in low tones. +He listened,--the expression of grief and fear deepened on his +countenance as he heard. + +"Will she die?" he asked anxiously. + +"Let us hope not," returned Ulrika, "But there is no doubt she is very +ill, and will be worse. What has brought her here, I wonder? Do you +know?" + +Valdemar shook his head. + +"Where is her husband?" went on Ulrika. "He ought to be here. How could +he have let her make such a journey at such a time! Why did he not come +with her? There must be something wrong!" + +Svensen looked, as he felt, completely perplexed and despairing. He +could think of no reason for Thelma's unexpected appearance at the +Altenfjord--he had forgotten all about the letter that had come from her +to her father,--the letter which was still in the house, unopened. + +"Well, well! It is very strange!" Ulrika sighed resignedly. "But it is +the Lord's will--and we must do our best for her, that's all." And she +began to enumerate a list of things she wanted from Bosekop for her +patient's sustenance and comfort. "You must fetch all these," she said, +"as soon as the day is fairly advanced." She glanced at the clock--it +was just four in the morning. "And at the same time, you had better call +at the doctor's house." + +"He's away," interrupted Valdemar. "Gone to Christiania." + +"Very well," said Ulrika composedly. "Then we must do without him. +Doctors are never much use, any way,--maybe the Lord will help me +instead." + +And she returned to Thelma, who still slept, though her face was now +feverishly flushed and her breathing hurried and irregular. + +The hours of the new day,--day, though seeming night, passed on and it +was verging towards ten o'clock when she woke, raving deliriously. Her +father, Sigurd, Philip, the events of her life in, London, the fatigues +of her journey, were all jumbled fantastically together in her +brain--she talked and sang incessantly, and, like some wild bird +suddenly caged, refused to be quieted. Ulrika was all alone with +her,--Valdemar having gone to execute his commissions in Bosekop,--and +she had enough to do to make her remain in bed. For she became suddenly +possessed by a strong desire to go sailing on the Fjord--and +occasionally it took all Ulrika's strength to hold and keep her from +springing to the window, whose white frosted panes seemed to have some +fatal attraction for her wandering eyes. + +She spoke of things strange and new to her attendant's ears--frequently +she pronounced the names of Violet Vere and Lady Winsleigh with an +accent of horror,--then she would talk of George Lorimer and Pierre +Duprez,--and she would call for Britta often, sometimes +endearingly--sometimes impatiently. + +The picture of her home in Warwickshire seemed to haunt her,--she spoke +of its great green trees, its roses, its smooth sloping lawns--then she +would begin to smile and sing again in such a weak, pitiful fashion that +Ulrika,--her stern nature utterly melted at the sight of such innocent +helpless distraction and sorrow,--could do nothing but fold the +suffering creature in her arms, and rock her to and fro soothingly on +her breast, the tears running down her cheeks the while. + +And after long hours of bewilderment and anguish, Errington's child, a +boy, was born--dead. With a regretful heart, Ulrika laid out the tiny +corpse,--the withered blossom of a promised new delight, a miniature form +so fair and perfect that it seemed sheer cruelty on the part of nature +to deny it breath and motion. Thelma's mind still wandered--she was +hardly conscious of anything--and Ulrika was almost glad that this was +so. Her anxiety was very great--she could not disguise from herself that +Thelma's life was in danger,--and both she and Valdemar wrote to Sir +Philip Errington, preparing him for the worst, and urging him to come at +once,--little aware that the very night the lifeless child was born, was +the same on which he had started from Hull for Christiansund, after his +enforced waiting for the required steamer. There was nothing more to be +done now, thought Ulrika piously, but to trust in the Lord and hope for +the best. And Valdemar Svensen made with his own hands a tiny coffin for +the body of the little dead boy who was to have brought such pride and +satisfaction to his parents, and one day rowed it across the Fjord to +that secret cave where Thelma's mother lay enshrined in stone. There he +left it, feeling sure he had done well. + +Ulrika asked him no questions--she was entirely absorbed in the duties +that devolved upon her, and with an ungrudging devotion strange to see +in her, watched and tended Thelma incessantly, scarcely allowing herself +a minute's space for rest or food. The idea that her present +ministration was to save her soul in the sight of the Lord, had grown +upon her, and was now rooted firmly in her mind--she never gave way to +fatigue or inattention,--every moan, every restless movement of the +suffering girl, obtained her instant and tender solicitude, and when she +prayed now, it was not for herself but for Thelma. + +"Spare her, good Lord!" she would implore in the hyperbolical language +she had drawn from her study of the Scriptures--"As the lily among +thorns, so is she among the daughters! Cut her not off root and branch +from the land of the living, for her countenance is comely, and as a +bunch of myrrh which hath a powerful sweetness, even so must she surely +be to the heart of her husband! Stretch forth Thy right hand, O Lord, +and scatter healing, for the gates of death shall not prevail against +Thy power!" + +Day after day she poured out petitions such as these, and with the +dogged persistency of a soldier serving Cromwell, believed that they +would be granted,--though day after day Thelma seemed to grow weaker and +weaker. She was still light-headed--her face grew thin and shadowy,--her +hands were almost transparent in their whiteness and delicacy, and her +voice was so faint as to be nearly in-audible. Sometimes Ulrika got +frightened at her appearance, and heartily wished for medical assistance +but this was not to be had. Therefore she was compelled to rely on the +efficacy of one simple remedy,--a herbal drink to allay fever,--the +virtues of which she had been taught in her youth,--this, and the +healing mercies of mother Nature together with the reserved strength of +her own constitution, were the threads on which Thelma's life hung. + +Time passed on--and yet there was no news from Sir Philip. One night, +sitting beside her exhausted patient, Ulrika fancied she saw a change on +the wan face--a softer, more, peaceful look than had been there for many +days. Half in fear, half in hope, she watched,--Thelma seemed to +sleep,--but presently her large blue eyes opened with a calm yet +wondering expression in their clear depths. She turned slightly on her +pillows, and smiled faintly. + +"Have I been ill?" she asked. + +"Yes, my dear," returned Ulrika softly, overjoyed, yet afraid at the +girl's returning intelligence. "Very ill. But you feel better now, don't +you?" + +Thelma sighed, and raising her little wasted hand, examined it +curiously. Her wedding and betrothal rings were so loose on her finger +that they would have fallen off had they been held downwards. She seemed +surprised at this, but made no remark. For some time she remained quiet, +steadfastly gazing at Ulrika, and evidently trying to make out who she +was. Presently she spoke again. + +"I remember everything now," she said, slowly. "I am at home, at the +Altenfjord--and I know how I came--and also _why_ I came." Here her lips +quivered. "And I shall see my father no more, for he has gone--and I am +all--all alone in the world!" She paused--then added, "Do you think I am +dying? If so, I am very glad!" + +"Hush my dear!" said Ulrika. "You mustn't talk in that way. Your husband +is coming presently--" she broke off suddenly, startled at the look of +utter despair in Thelma's eyes. + +"You are wrong," she replied wearily. "He will not come--he cannot! He +does not want me any more!" + +And two large tears rolled slowly down her pale cheeks. Ulrika wondered, +but forebore to pursue the subject further, fearing to excite or +distress her,--and contented herself for the present with attending to +her patient's bodily needs. She went to the fire, and began to pour out +some nourishing soup, which she always had there in readiness,--and +while she was thus engaged, Thelma's brain cleared more and more,--till +with touching directness, and a new hope flushing her face, she asked +softly and beseechingly for her child. "I forgot!" she said simply and +sweetly. "Of course I am not alone any more. Do give me my baby--I am +much better--nearly well--and I should like to kiss it." + +Ulrika stood mute, taken aback by this demand. She dared not tell her +the truth--she feared its effect on the sensitive mind that had so +lately regained its balance. But while she hesitated, Thelma +instinctively guessed all she strove to hide. + +"It is dead!" she cried. "Dead!--and I never knew!" + +And, burying her golden head in her pillows, she broke into a passion of +convulsive sobbing. Ulrika grew positively desperate at the sound,--what +_was_ she to do? Everything seemed to go against her--she was inclined +to cry herself. She embraced the broken-hearted girl, and tried to +soothe her, but in vain. The long delirium and subsequent +weakness,--combined with the secret trouble on her mind,--had deprived +poor Thelma of all resisting power, and she wept on and on in Ulrika's +arms till nature was exhausted, and she could weep no longer. Then she +lay motionless, with closed eyes, utterly drained in body and spirit, +scarcely breathing, and, save for a shivering moan that now and then +escaped her, she seemed almost insensible. Ulrika watched her with +darkening, meditative brows,--she listened to the rush of the storm-wind +without,--it was past eleven o'clock at night. She began to count on her +fingers--it was the sixteenth day since the birth of the child,--sixteen +days exactly since she had written to Sir Philip Errington, informing +him of his wife's danger--and the danger was not yet past. Thinking over +all that had happened, and the apparent hopelessness of the case, she +suddenly took a strange idea into her head. Retiring to a distant +corner, she dropped on her knees. + +"O Lord, God Almighty!" she said in a fierce whisper, "Behold, I have +been Thy servant until now! I have wrestled with Thee in prayer till I +am past all patience! If Thou wilt not hear my petition, why callest +Thou Thyself good? Is it good to crush the already fallen? Is it good to +have no mercy on the sorrowful? Wilt Thou condemn the innocent without +reason? If so, thou art not the Holy One I imagined! Send forth Thy +power now--now, while there is time! Rescue her that is lying under the +shadow of death--for how has she offended Thee that she should die? +Delay no longer, or how shall I put my trust in Thee? Send help speedily +from Thine everlasting habitations--or, behold! I do forsake Thee--and +my soul shall seek elsewhere for Eternal Justice!" + +As she finished this extraordinary, half-threatening, and entirely +blasphemous petition, the boisterous gale roared wildly round the house +joining in chorus with the stormy dash of waves upon the coast--a chorus +that seemed to Ulrika's ears like the sound of fiendish and derisive +laughter. + +She stood listening,--a trifle scared--yet with a sort of fanatical +defiance written on her face, and she waited in sullen patience +evidently expecting an immediate answer to her outrageous prayer. She +felt somewhat like a demagogue of the people, who boldly menaces an +all-powerful sovereign, even while in dread of instant execution. There +was a sharp patter of sleet on the window,--she glanced nervously at +Thelma, who, perfectly still on her couch, looked more like a white, +recumbent statue than a living woman. The wind shook the doors, and +whistled shrilly through the crevices,--then, as though tired of its own +wrath, surged away in hoarse murmurs over the tops of the creaking pines +towards the Fjord, and there was a short, impressive silence. + +Ulrika still waited--almost holding her breath in expectation of some +divine manifestation. The brief stillness grew unbearable.. . . Hush! +What was that! Jingle--jangle--jingle--jangle!--Bells! Sledge bells +tinkling musically and merrily--and approaching swiftly, nearer--nearer! +Now the sharp trotting roofs on the hard snow--then a sudden slackening +of speed--the little metallic chimes rang slower and yet more slowly, +till with a decisive and melodious clash they stopped! + +Ulrika's heart beat thickly--her face flushed--she advanced to Thelma's +bedside, hoping, fearing,--she knew not what. There was a tread of firm, +yet hurried, footsteps without--a murmur of subdued voices--a +half-suppressed exclamation of surprise and relief from Valdemar,--and +then the door of the room was hastily thrown open, and a man's tall +figure, draped in what seemed to be a garment of frozen snowflakes, +stood on the threshold. The noise startled Thelma--she opened her +beautiful, tired, blue eyes. Ah! what a divine rapture,--what a dazzling +wonder and joy flashed into them, giving them back their old lustre of +sunlight sparkling on azure sea! She sprang up in her bed and stretched +out her arms. + +"Philip!" she cried sobbingly. "Philip! oh my darling! Try--try to love +me again! . . . just a little!--before I die!" + +As she spoke she was clasped to his breast,--folded to his heart in that +strong, jealous, passionate embrace with which we who love, would fain +shield our nearest and dearest from even the shadow of evil--his lips +closed on hers,--and in the sacred stillness that followed, Ulrika +slipped from the room, leaving husband and wife alone together. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + "I have led her home, my love, my only friend; + There is none like her, none! + And never yet so warmly ran my blood, + And sweetly on and on, + Calming itself to the long-wished-for end, + Full to the banks, close on the promised good." + TENNYSON. + + +Britta was in the kitchen, dragging off her snow-wet cloak and fur +mufflers, and crying heartily all the while. The stalwart Svensen stood +looking at her in perplexity, now and then uttering a word of vague +sympathy and consolation, to which she paid not the slightest heed. The +poor girl was tired out, and half-numb with the piercing cold,--the +excitement which had kept her up for days and days, had yielded to the +nervous exhaustion, which was its natural result,--and she kept on +weeping without exactly knowing why she wept. Throughout the long and +fatiguing journey she had maintained unflinching energy and +perseverance,--undaunted by storm, sleet, and darkness, she had driven +steadily over long miles of trackless snow--her instinct had guided her +by the shortest and quickest routes--she seemed to know every station +and village on the way,--she always managed to obtain relays of reindeer +just when they were needed,--in short, Errington would hardly have been +able to reach the Altenfjord without her. + +He had never realized to its full extent her strong, indomitable, +devoted character, till he saw her hour after hour seated beside him in +the _pulkha_, her hands tightly gripping the reins of the horned +animals, whose ways she understood and perfectly controlled,--her +bright, bird-like eyes fixed with watchful eagerness on the bewildering +white landscape that opened out incessantly before her. Her common sense +was never at fault--she forgot nothing--and with gentle but respectful +firmness she would insist on Sir Philip's taking proper intervals of +rest and refreshment at the different farms they passed on their road, +though he, eager to press on, chafed and fretted at every little delay. +They were welcomed all along their route with true Norse hospitality, +though the good country-folk who entertained them could not refrain from +astonishment at the idea of their having undertaken such a journey at +such a season, and appeared to doubt the possibility of their reaching +their destination at all. And now that they had reached it in safety, +Britta's strength gave way. Valdemar Svensen had hastily blurted out the +news of the _bonde's_ death even while she and Sir Philip were alighting +from their sledge--and in the same breath had told them of Thelma's +dangerous illness. What wonder, then, that Britta sobbed hysterically, +and refused to be comforted,--what wonder that she turned upon Ulrika as +that personage approached, in a burst of unreasonable anger. + +"Oh dear, oh dear!" she cried, "to think that the Froeken should be so +ill--almost dying! and have nobody but _you_ to attend to her!" + +This, with a vindictive toss of the brown curls. Ulrika winced at her +words--she was hurt, but she answered gently-- + +"I have done my best," she said with a sort of grave pathos, "I have +been with her night and day--had she been a daughter of my own blood, I +know not how I could have served her with more tenderness. And, surely, +it has been a sore and anxious time with me also--for I, too, have +learned to love her!" + +Her set mouth quivered,--and Britta, seeing her emotion, was ashamed of +her first hasty speech. She made an act of contrition at once by putting +her arms round Ulrika's neck and kissing her--a proceeding which so much +astonished that devout servant of Luther, that her dull eyes filled with +tears. + +"Forgive me!" said the impetuous little maiden. "I was very rude and +very unkind! But if you love the Froeken, you will understand how I +feel--how I wish I could have helped to take care of her. And oh! the +_bonde_!"--here she gave way to a fresh burst of tears--"the dear, good, +kind, brave _bonde_! That he should be dead!--oh! it is too cruel--too +dreadful--I can hardly believe it!" + +Ulrika patted her consolingly on the shoulder, but said nothing--and +Valdemar sighed. Britta sought for her handkerchief, and dried her +eyes--but, after a minute, began to cry again as recklessly as ever. + +"And now"--she gasped--"if the Froeken--dies--I will die too. I will--you +see if I don't! I _w-w-won't_ live--without her!" + +And such a big sob broke from her heaving bosom that it threatened to +burst her trimly laced little bodice. + +"She will not die," said Ulrika decisively. "I have had my fears--but +the crisis is passed. Do not fret, Britta--there is no longer any +danger. Her husband's love will lift the trouble from her heart--and +strength will return more speedily than it left her." + +And turning a little aside on the pretence of throwing more wood on the +fire, she muttered inaudibly, "O Lord, verily thou hast done well to +grant my just demand! Even for this will I remain Thy servant for ever!" +After this parenthesis, she resumed the conversation,--Valdemar Svensen +sitting silently apart,--and related all that had happened since +Thelma's arrival at the Altenfjord. She also gave an account of Lovisa +Elsland's death,--though Britta was not much affected by the loss of her +grandmother. + +"Dreadful old thing!" she said with a shudder. "I'm glad I wasn't with +her! I remember how she cursed the Froeken,--perhaps her curse has +brought all the trouble--if so, it's a good thing she's dead, for now +everything will come right again. I used to fancy she had some crime to +confess,--did she say anything wicked when she was dying?" + +Ulrika avoided a direct reply to this question. What was the good of +horrifying the girl by telling her that her deceased relative was to all +intents and purposes a murderess? She resolved to let the secret of old +Lovisa's life remain buried with her. Therefore she simply answered-- + +"Her mind wandered greatly,--it was difficult to hear her last words. +But it should satisfy you, Britta, to know that she passed away in the +fear of the Lord." + +Britta gave a little half-dubious, half-scornful smile. She had not the +slightest belief in the sincerity of her late grandmother's religious +principles. + +"I don't understand people who are so much _afraid_ of the Lord," she +said. "They must have done something wrong. If you always do your best, +and try to be good, you needn't fear anything. At least, that's my +opinion." + +"There is the everlasting burning," began Ulrika solemnly. + +"Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Britta quite impatiently. "I don't believe +it!" + +Ulrika started back in wonder and dismay. "You don't believe it!" she +said in awed accents. "Are you also a heathen?" + +"I don't know what you mean by a heathen," replied Britta almost gaily. +"But I can't believe that God, who is so good, is going to everlastingly +burn anybody. He couldn't, you know! It would hurt Him so much to see +poor creatures writhing about in flames for ever--we would not be able +to bear it, and I'm quite sure it would make Him miserable even in +heaven. Because He is all Love--He says so,--He couldn't be cruel!" + +This frank statement of Britta's views presented such a new form of +doctrine to Ulrika's heavy mind that she was almost appalled by it. God +_couldn't_ burn anybody for ever--He was too good! What a daring idea! +And yet so consoling--so wonderful in the infinite prospect of hope it +offered, that she smiled,--even while she trembled to contemplate it. +Poor soul! She talked of heathens--being herself the worst type of +heathen--namely, a Christian heathen. This sounds incongruous--yet it +may be taken for granted that those who profess to follow Christianity, +and yet make of God, a being malicious, revengeful, and of more evil +attributes than they possess themselves,--are as barbarous, as +unenlightened, as hopelessly sunken in slavish ignorance as the lowest +savage who adores his idols of mud and stone. Britta was quite +unconscious of having said anything out of the common--she was +addressing herself to Svensen. + +"Where is the _bonde_ buried, Valdemar?" she asked in a low tone. + +He looked at her with a strange, mysterious smile. + +"Buried? Do you suppose his body could mix itself with common earth? +No!--he sailed away, Britta--away--yonder!" + +And he pointed out through the window to the Fjord now, invisible in the +deep darkness. + +Britta stared at him with roundly opened, frightened eyes--her face +paled. + +"Sailed away? You must be dreaming! Sailed away! How could he--if he was +dead?" + +Valdemar grew suddenly excited. "I tell you, he sailed away!" he +repeated in a low, hoarse whisper. "Where is his ship, the _Valkyrie_? +Try if you can find it anywhere--on sea or land! It has gone, and he has +gone with it--like a king and warrior--to glory, joy, and victory! +Glory--joy--victory!--those were his last words!" + +Britta retreated, and caught Ulrika by the arm. "Is he mad?" she asked +fearfully. + +Valdemar heard her, and rose from his chair, a pained smile on his face. + +"I am not mad, Britta," he said gently. "Do not be afraid! If grief for +my master could have turned my brain, I had been mad ere this,--but I +have all my wits about me, and I have told you the truth." He +paused--then added, in a more ordinary tone, "You will need fresh logs +of pine--I will go and bring them in." + +And he went out. Britta gazed after him in speechless wonder. + +"What does he mean?" she asked. + +"What he says," returned Ulrika composedly. "You, like others, must have +known that Olaf Gueldmar's creed was a strange one--his burial has been +strange--that is all!" + +And she skillfully turned the conversation, and began to talk of Thelma, +her sorrows and sufferings. Britta was most impatient to see her beloved +"Froeken," and quite grudged Sir Philip the long time he remained alone +with his wife. + +"He _might_ call me, if only for a moment," Britta thought plaintively. +"I do so want to look at her dear face again! But men are all alike--as +long as they've got what _they_ want, they never think of anybody else. +Dear me! I wonder how long I shall have to wait!" So she fumed and +fretted, and sat by the kitchen-fire, drinking hot tea and talking to +Ulrika--all the while straining her ears for the least sound or movement +from the adjoining room. But none came--there was the most perfect +silence. At last she could endure it no longer--and, regardless of +Ulrika's remonstrances, she stole on tip-toe to the closed door that +barred her from the sight of her heart's idol, and turning the handle +softly, opened it and looked in. Sir Philip saw her, and made a little +warning sign, though he smiled. + +He was sitting by the bedside, and in his arms, nestled against his +shoulder, Thelma rested. She was fast asleep. The lines of pain had +disappeared from her sweet face--a smile was on her lips--her breath +came and went with peaceful regularity,--and the delicate hue of a pale +rose flushed her cheeks. Britta stood gazing on this fair sight till her +affectionate little heart overflowed, and the ready tears dropped like +diamonds from her curly lashes. + +"Oh, my dear--my dear!" she whispered in a sort of rapture when there +was a gentle movement,--and two star-like eyes opened like blue flowers +outspreading to the sun. + +"Is that you, Britta?" asked a tender, wondering voice--and with a +smothered cry of ecstacy, Britta sprang to seize the outstretched hand +of her beloved Froeken, and cover it with kisses. And while Thelma +laughed with pleasure to see her, and stroked her hair. Sir Philip +described their long drive through the snow, and so warmly praised +Britta's patience, endurance, and constant cheerfulness, that his voice +trembled with its own earnestness, while Britta grew rosily red in her +deep shyness and embarrassment, vehemently protesting that she had done +nothing,--nothing at all to deserve so much commendation. Then, after +much glad converse, Ulrika was called, and Sir Philip seizing her hand, +shook it with such force and fervor that she was quite overcome. + +"I don't know how to thank you!" he said, his eyes sparkling with +gratitude. "It's impossible to repay such goodness as yours! My wife +tells me how tender and patient and devoted you have been--that even +when she knew nothing else, she was aware of your kindness. God bless +you for it! You have saved her life--" + +"Ah, yes, indeed!" interrupted Thelma gently. "And life has grown so +glad for me again! I do owe you so much." + +"You owe me nothing," said Ulrika in those harsh, monotonous tones which +she had of late learned to modulate. "Nothing. The debt is all on my +side." She stopped abruptly--a dull red color flushed her face--her eyes +dwelt on Thelma with a musing tenderness. + +Sir Philip looked at her in some surprise. + +"Yes," she went on. "The debt is all on my side. Hear me out, Sir +Philip--and you too,--you 'rose of the northern forest', as Sigurd used +to call you! You have not forgotten Sigurd?" + +"Forgotten him?" said Thelma softly. "Never! . . . I loved him too +well!" + +Ulrika's head dropped. "He was my son!" she said. + +There was a silence of complete astonishment. Ulrika paused--then, as no +one uttered a word, she looked up boldly, and spoke with a sort of +desperate determination. + +"You see you have nothing to thank me for," she went on, addressing +herself to Sir Philip, while Thelma, leaning back on her pillows, and +holding Britta's hand, regarded her with a new and amazed interest. +"Perhaps, if you had known what sort of a woman I am, you might not have +liked me to come near--_her_." And she motioned towards Thelma. "When I +was young--long ago--I loved--" she laughed bitterly. "It seems a +strange thing to say, does it not? Let it pass--the story of my love, my +sin and shame, need not be told here! But Sigurd was my child--born in +an evil hour--and I--I strove to kill him at his birth." + +Thelma uttered a faint cry of horror. Ulrika turned an imploring gaze +upon her. + +"Don't hate me!" she said, her voice trembling. "Don't, for God's sake, +hate me! You don't know what I have suffered! I was mad, I think, at the +time--I flung the child in the Fjord to drown;--your father, Olaf +Gueldmar, rescued him. I never knew that till long after;--for years the +crime I had committed weighed upon my soul,--I prayed and strove with +the Lord for pardon, but always, always felt that for me there, was no +forgiveness. Lovisa Elsland used to call me "murderess;" she was +right--I was one, or so I thought--till--till that day I met you, Froeken +Thelma, on the hills with Sigurd,--and the lad fought with me." She +shuddered,--and her eyes looked wild. "I recognized him--no matter how! +. . . he bore my mark upon him--he was my son,--_mine_!--the deformed, +crazy creature who yet had wit enough to love _you_--you, whom then I +hated--but now--" + +She stopped and advanced a little closer to Thelma's bedside. + +"Now, there is nothing I would not do for you, my dear!" she said very +gently. "But you will not need me any more. You understand what you have +done for me,--you and your father? You have saved me by saving +Sigurd,--saved _me_ from being weighed down to hell with the crime of +murder! And you made the boy happy while he lived. All the rest of my +days spent in your service could not pay back the worth of that good +deed. And most heartily do I thank the Lord that he has mercifully +permitted me to tend and comfort you in the hour of trouble--and, +moreover, that He has given me strength to speak and confess my sin and +unworthiness before you ere I depart. For now the trouble is past, I +must remove my shadow from your joy. God bless you!--and--try to think +as kindly as you can of me for--for Sigurd's sake!" + +Stooping, she kissed Thelma's hand,--and, before any one had time to +speak a word, she left the room abruptly. + +When, in a few minutes, Britta went to look after her, she was gone. She +had departed to her own house in Bosekop, where she obstinately +remained. Nothing would induce her to present herself again before Sir +Philip or Thelma, and it was not till many days after they had left the +Altenfjord that she was once more seen about the village. And then she +was a changed being. No longer harsh or forbidding in manner, she became +humble and gentle,--she ministered to the sick, and consoled the +afflicted--but she was especially famous for her love of children. All +the little ones of the place knew her, and were attracted by her,--and +the time came when Ulrika, white-haired, and of peaceful countenance, +could be seen knitting at her door in the long summer afternoons +surrounded by a whole army of laughing, chattering, dimpled youngsters, +who would play at hide-and-seek behind her chair, and clamber up to kiss +her wrinkled cheeks, putting their chubby arms round her neck with that +guileless confidence children show only to those whom they feel can +appreciate such flattering attentions. Some of her acquaintance were +wont to say that she was no longer the "godly" Ulrika--but however this +might be, it is certain she had drifted a little nearer to the Author of +all godliness, which--after all,--is the most we dare to strive for in +all our differing creeds. + +It was not long before Thelma began to recover. The day after her +husband arrived, and Ulrika departed, she rose from her bed with +Britta's assistance, and sat by the blazing fire, wrapped in her white +gown and looking very fragile, though very lovely, Philip had been +talking to her for some time, and now he sat at her feet, holding her +hand in his, and, watching her face, on which there was an expression of +the most plaintive and serious penitence. + +"I have been very wicked!" she said, with such a quaint horror of +herself that her husband laughed. "Now I look back upon it all, I think +I have behaved so very badly! because I ought never to have doubted you, +my boy--no--not for all the Lady Winsleighs in the world. And poor Mr. +Neville! he must be so unhappy! But it was that letter--that letter in +your own writing, Philip!" + +"Of course!" he answered soothingly. "No wonder you thought me a +dreadful fellow! But you won't do so again, will you, Thelma? You will +believe that you are the crown and centre of my life--the joy of all the +world to me?" + +"Yes, I will!" she said softly and proudly. "Though it is always the +same, I never do think myself worthy! But I must try to grow very +conceited, and assure myself that I am very valuable! so that then I +shall understand everything better, and be wiser." + +Philip laughed. "Talking of letters," he said suddenly, "here's one I +wrote to you from Hull--it only got here today. Where it has been +delayed is a mystery. You needn't read it--you know everything in it +already. Then there's a letter on the shelf up there addressed in your +writing--it seems never to have been opened." + +He reached it down, and gave it to her. As she took it, her face grew +very sad. + +"It is the one I wrote to my father before I left London," she said. And +her eyes filled with tears. "It came too late!" + +"Thelma," said Sir Philip then, very gently and gravely, "would you +like--can you bear--to read your father's last words to you? He wrote to +you on his death-bed, and gave the letter to Valdemar--" + +"Oh, let me see it!" she murmured half-sobbingly. "Father,--dear father! +I knew he would not leave me without a word!" + +Sir Philip reverently opened the folded paper which Svensen had +committed to his care that morning, and together they read the _bonde's_ +farewell. It ran as follows:-- + + "THELMA, MY BELOVED," + + "The summons I have waited for has come at last, and the doors of + Valhalla are set open to receive my soul. Wonder not that I + depart with joy! Old as I am, I long for youth--the everlasting + youth of which the strength and savor fails not. I have lived + long enough to know the sameness of this world--though there is + much therein to please the heart and eye of a man--but with that + roving restlessness that was born within me, I desire to sail new + seas and gaze on new lands, where a perpetual light shines that + knows no fading. Grieve not for me--thou wilt remember that, + unlike a Christian, I see in death the chiefest glory of + life--and thou must not regret that I am eager to drain this cup + of world-oblivion offered by the gods. I leave thee,--not + sorrowfully,--for thou art in shelter and safety--the strong + protection of thy husband's love defends thee and the safeguard + of thine own innocence. My blessing upon him and thee! Serve him, + Thelma mine, with full devotion and obedience--even as I have + taught thee,--thus drawing from thy womanlife its best measure of + sweetness,--keep the bright shield of thy truth untarnished--and + live so that at the hour of thine own death-ecstasy thou mayest + depart as easily as a song-bird soaring to the sun! I pass hence + in happiness--if thou dost shed a tear thou wrongest my + memory,--there is naught to weep for. Valdemar will give me the + crimson shroud and ocean grave of my ancestors--but question him + not concerning this fiery pomp of my last voyage--he is but a + serf, and his soul is shaken to its very depths by sorrow. Let + him be--he will have his reward hereafter. And now farewell, + child of my heart--darling of mine age--clear mirror in which my + later life has brightened to content! All partings are brief--we + shall meet again--thou and I and Philip--and all who have loved + or who love each other,--the journey heavenwards may be made by + different roads, but the end--the glory--the immortality is the + same! Peace be upon thee and on thy children and on thy + children's children!" + "Thy father, + OLAF GUeLDMAR." + +In spite of the brave old pagan's declaration that tears would wrong his +memory, they dropped bright and fast from his daughter's eyes as she +kissed again and again the words his dying hand had pencilled,--while +Errington knew not which feeling gained the greater mastery over +him,--grief for a good man's loss, or admiration for the strong, heroic +spirit in which that good man had welcomed Death with rejoicing. He +could not help comparing the _bonde's_ departure from this life with +that of Sir Francis Lennox, the man of false fashion, who had let slip +his withered soul with an oath into the land of Nowhere. Presently +Thelma grew calmer, and began to speak in hushed, soft tones-- + +"Poor Valdemar!" she said meditatively. "His heart must ache very much, +Philip!" + +Philip looked up inquiringly. + +"You see, my father speaks of the 'crimson shroud,'" she went on. "That +means that he was buried like many of the ancient Norwegian sea +kings;--he was taken from his bed while dying and placed on board his +own ship to breathe his last; then the ship was set on fire and sent out +to sea. I always knew he wished it so. Valdemar must have done it +all--for I,--I saw the last glimpse of the flames on the Fjord the night +I came home! Oh, Philip!" and her beautiful eyes rested tenderly upon +him, "it was all so dreadful--so desolate! I wanted--I prayed to die +also! The world was so empty--it seemed as if there was nothing left!" + +Philip, still sitting at her feet, encircled her with both arms, and +drew her down to him. + +"My Thelma!" he whispered, "there _is_ nothing left--nothing at all +worth living for,--save Love!" + +"Ah! but that," she answered softly, "is everything!" + + * * * * * * + +Is it so, indeed? Is Love alone worth living for--worth dying for? Is it +the only satisfying good we can grasp at among the shifting shadows of +our brief existence? In its various phases and different workings, is +it, after all, the brightest radiance known in the struggling darkness +of our lives? + +Sigurd had thought so,--he had died to prove it. Philip thought +so,--when once more at home in England with his recovered "treasure of +the golden midnight" he saw her, like a rose refreshed by rain, raise +her bright head in renewed strength and beauty, with the old joyous +lustre dancing in her eyes, and the smile of a perfect happiness like +summer sunshine on her fair face. Lord Winsleigh thought so;--he was +spending the winter in Rome with his wife and son,--and there among the +shadows of the Caesars, his long, social martyrdom ended, and he +regained what he had once believed lost for ever--his wife's affection. +Clara gentle, wistful, with the softening shadow of a great sorrow and a +great repentance in her once too-brilliant eyes, was a very different +Clara to the dashing "beauty" who had figured so conspicuously in London +society. She clung to her husband with an almost timid eagerness as +though she dreaded losing him--and when he was not with her, she seemed +to rely entirely on her son, whom she watched with a fond, almost +melancholy pride, and who responded to her tenderness though proffered +so late, with the full-hearted frankness of his impulsive, ardent +nature. She wrote to Thelma asking her pardon, and in return received +such a sweet, forgiving, generous letter as caused her to weep for an +hour or more. But she felt she could never again meet the clear regard +of those beautiful, earnest, truthful eyes--never again could she stand +in Thelma's presence, or call her friend--that was all over. Still Love +remained,--a Love, chastened and sad, with drooping wings and a somewhat +doubting smile,--yet it was Love-- + + "Love, that keeps all the choir of lives in chime-- + Love, that is blood--within the veins of time." + +And Love, no matter how abused and maltreated, is a very patient god, +and even while suffering from undeserved wounds, still works on, doing +magical things. So that poor Edward Neville, the forsaken husband of +Violet Vere, when he heard that that popular actress had died suddenly +in America from a fit of delirium tremens brought on by excessive +drinking, was able, by some gentle method known only to Love and +himself, to forget all her frailties--to obliterate from his memory the +fact that he ever saw her on the boards of the Brilliant Theatre,--and +to think of her henceforth only as the wife he had once adored, and who, +he decided in vague, dreamy fashion, must have died young. Love also +laid a firm hand on the vivacious Pierre Duprez--he who had long scoffed +at the _jeu d'amour_, played it at last in grave earnest,--and one bright +season he introduced his bride into Parisian society,--a charming little +woman, with very sparkling eyes and white teeth, who spoke French +perfectly, though not with the ''haccent' recommended by Briggs. It was +difficult to recognize Britta in the _petite elegante_ who laughed and +danced and chattered her way through some of the best _salons_ in Paris, +captivating everybody as she went,--but there she was, all the same, +holding her own as usual. Her husband was extremely proud of her--he was +fond of pointing her out to people as something excessively precious and +unique--and saying--"See her! That is my wife! From Norway! Yes--from +the very utmost north of Norway! I love my country--certainly!--but I +will tell you this much--if I had been obliged to choose a wife among +French women--_ma foi!_ I should never have married!" + +And what of George Lorimer?--the idle, somewhat careless man of "modern" +type, in whose heart, notwithstanding the supposed deterioration of the +age, all the best and bravest codes of old-world chivalry were written? +Had Love no fair thing to offer _him_? Was he destined to live out his +life in the silent heroism of faithful, unuttered, unrequited, unselfish +devotion? Were the heavens, as Sigurd had said, always to be empty? +Apparently not,--for when he was verging towards middle age, a young +lady besieged him with her affections, and boldly offered to be his wife +any day he chose to name. She was a small person, not quite five years +old, with great blue eyes and a glittering tangle of golden curls. She +made her proposal one summer afternoon on the lawn at Errington Manor, +in the presence of Beau Lovelace, on whose knee sat her little brother +Olaf, a fine boy a year younger than herself. She had placed her dimpled +arms round Lorimer's neck,--and when she so confidingly suggested +marriage to her "Zordie," as she called him, she was rubbing her rosy, +velvety cheek against his moustache with much sweet consideration and +tenderness. Lovelace, hearing her, laughed aloud, whereat the little +lady was extremely offended. + +"I don't tare!" she said, with pretty defiance. "I do love oo, Zordie, +and I will marry oo!" + +George held her fondly to his breast as though she were some precious +fragile flower of which not a petal must be injured. + +"All right!" he answered gaily, though his voice trembled somewhat, "I +accept! You shall be my little wife, Thelma. Consider it settled!" + +Apparently she did so consider it, for from that day, whenever she was +asked her name, she announced herself proudly as "Zordie's 'ittle wife, +Thelma"--to the great amusement of her father, Sir Philip, and that +other Thelma, on whom the glory of motherhood had fallen like a new +charm, investing both face and form with superior beauty and an almost +divine serenity. But "Zordie's wife" took her _sobriquet_ very +seriously,--so much so, indeed, that by-and-by "Zordie" began to take it +rather seriously himself--and to wonder whether, after all, marriages, +unequal in point of age, might not occasionally turn out well. He +condemned himself severely for the romanticism of thinking such +thoughts, even while he indulged in them, and called himself "an old +fool," though he was in the actual prime of manhood, and an exceedingly +handsome fellow withal. + +But when the younger Thelma came back at the age of sixteen from her +convent school at Arles,--the same school where her mother had been +before her,--she looked so like her mother, so very like, that his heart +began to ache with the old, wistful, passionate longing he fancied he +had stilled for ever. He struggled against this feeling for a while, +till at last it became too strong for him,--and then, though he told +himself it was absurd,--that a man past forty had no right to expect to +win a girl's first love, he grew so reckless that he determined to risk +his fate with her. One day, therefore, he spoke out, scarcely knowing +what he said, and only conscious that his pulses were beating with +abnormal rapidity. She listened to his tremulous, rather hesitating +proposal with exceeding gravity, and appeared more surprised than +displeased. Raising her glorious blue eyes--eyes in which her mother's +noble, fearless look was faithfully reflected, she said simply, just in +her mother's own quaint way-- + +"I do not know why you talk about this at all. I thought it was all +settled long ago!" + +"Settled!" faltered Lorimer astonished,--he was generally +self-possessed, but this fair young lady's perfect equanimity far +surpassed his at that moment--"Settled! My darling! my child--I am so +much older than you are--" + +"I don't like _boys_!" she declared, with stately disdain. "I was your +wife when I was little--and I thought it was to be the same thing now I +am big! I told mother so, and she was quite pleased. But of course, if +you don't want me--" + +She was not allowed to finish her sentence, for Lorimer, with a sudden +rush of joy that almost overpowered him, caught her in his arms and +pressed the first lover's kiss on her pure, innocently smiling lips. + +"Want you!" he murmured passionately, with a strange sweet mingling of +the past and present in his words. "I have always wanted--Thelma!" + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thelma, by Marie Corelli + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THELMA *** + +***** This file should be named 3823.txt or 3823.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/2/3823/ + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. 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