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Full text of "Thelma : a Norwegian princess"

ALPHA LIBRARY.

Thelma

A Norwegian Princess

By

Marie Corelli.

*

Chicago and New York:

Rand, McNally & Company,

Publishers.

THELMA.

BOOK I.

THE LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN.

CHAPTER I.

Dream by dream shot through her eyes, and each
Outshone the last that lightened.

SWINBUBNE.

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 center of the magnificent orb, shot length-
wise across the Alten Fjord, 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 light-
ing tiny bonfires on their summits. Away in the distance a
huge mass of rock stood out to view, its rugged lines trans-
figured 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
death-like stillness no breath of wind stirred a ripple on the
water. The whole scene might well have been the

6 THELMA.

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 Alten Fjord, 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 appear-
ance, 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 op-
posite 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 increas-
ing luster, while an array of clouds of the deepest purple hue
swept gorgeously together beneath the sun as though to form
his footstool.

"One 1 might imagine that the trump of the Kesurrection 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 Eesurrection
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 eradi-
cate. And there was something impressive in the sight of the
majestic orb holding such imperial revel at midnight some-

THELMA. 7

thing almost unearthly in the light and life of the heavens, as
mmpared with the reverential and seemingly worshiping
-ik'nce 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 re-
turned to him with haunting persistence. It was, for him, one
of those sudden halts in life which we all experience an in-
stant 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 unaccount-
able force within us, that enables us to stand with such calm,
smiling audacity on our small pin's point of the present, be-
tween the wide dark gaps of past and future; a small hush
in which the gigantic engines of the universe appear to re-
volve no more, and the immortal soul of man itself is subjected
and overruled by supreme and eternal thought. Drifting
a way on those delicate imperceptible lines that lie between
reality and dream-land, 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 sor-
row, 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, noise-
less 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
am of melody, and the listener stood amazed and en-
chanted 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 row-
ing along, and singing as she rowed, but there was no sign of

8 THELMA.

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 toward
the water's edge from a rocky cave that jutted upon the fjord,
and, full of curiosity, he stepped toward the arched entrance,
when all suddenly and unexpectedly a girl sprung 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 in-
dignant 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. Re-
covering 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, eying 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 its 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 some-
how 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

THELMA.

it between us." And, jumping lightly out of her boat,
she grasped its edge firmly with her strong white hands, ex-
elaiming gayly as she did so: "Pushl"

Thus adjured, he lost no time in complying with her re-
quest, 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 sprung 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 traveling coat to the lux-
urious rug of fine fox-skins 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 noth-
ing 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 encour-
ages in the feminine nature all those things soon do away
with the pellucid clearness and steadfastness of the eye tin-

10 THELMA.

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 evi-
dently 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 com-
passion.

"If you do not love life itself," she said, "you love the beau-
tiful 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 toward 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 lus-
ter 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 luster 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, faint-
ing, 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 marvelous 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, metal-

THELMA. 11

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
ell'ect of the sky seemed to have stolen into her eyes, making
them ^hine with witch-like brilliancy the varied radiance
Hashing about her brought into strong relief the pureness of
her profile, drawing as with a fine pencil the outlines of her
le forehead, sweet mouth, and rounded chin. It touched
scarlet of her bodice, and brightened the quaint old silver
ps she wore at her waist and throat, till she seemed no
ger an earthly being, but more like some fair wandering
sprite from the legendary Norse kingdom of Alfheim, the
"abode of the Luminous Genii."

She was gazing upward heavenward 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 Raphael or Correggio; then reluc-
tantly and with a deep sigh she turned her eyes toward 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.

Etirred by an impulse he could not resist, he laid one hand
iningly on the rim of her boat.
\.re you going now?" he asked.
~.ie 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 mid-
summer night's dream without some clew as to her origin and
<l< '-filiation. "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," ho replied, soinewh.it abashed. "I mean no
offence. We have watched the midnight sun together, and
and I thought"

He paused, feeling very foolish, and unable to conclude ]\\<
ntence.

12 THEbMA.

She looked at him demurely from under her long, curling
lashes.

"You will often find a peasant girl on the shores of the
Alten Fjord 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 hrows 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 pro-
jected far into the fjord. It reached them; it grew less and
less it disappeared. At the same time the luster of the
heavens gave way to a pale, pearl-like uniform gray 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 cas-
cade 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.

S;

,

THELMA.

CHAPTER II.

Viens done je te chanterai des chansons que les esprits des
imetieres m'ont apprises! MATUBIN.

"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-
Krrington, 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
" :ughters he, the admired, long-sought-after "eligible," was

iddenly rebuffed, flouted by whom? A stray princess, or a
peasant? he vaguely wondered, as he lighted a cigar and
strolled up and down on the shore, meditating, with a puzzled,
Imost annoyed expression on his handsome features. He

as not accustomed to slights of any kind, however trifling,
his position being commanding and enviable enough to at-
tract 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 spoiled 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 in-
difference 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."

U THELMA.

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 sub-
ject 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 in.
dolent disposition, he happened to be quite alone on this par-
ticular 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 ex-
perience of it had chanced in this wise. Lorimer the languid,
Lorimer the lazy, Lorimer who had remained blandly un-
moved and drowsy through all the magnificent panorama of
the Norwegian coast, including the Sogne Fjord and the top-
pling 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 Alten Fjord, then at its loveli-
est 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 Sei-
land, and also declared his resolve to try the nearly impossible
ascent of the great Jedke glacier.

Errington laughed at the idea. "Doirt 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

THELMA.

15

he can't be persuaded to go to bed. I know his feelings per-
fectly; and I want to survey his gloriously inebriated face
from another point of view. Don't laugh, Phil; Fm 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 toward the coast of the adjacent is-
lands, her owner was left, at his desire, to the seclusion of a
quiet nook on the shore of the Alten Fjord, where he suc-
ceeded in making a bold and vivid picture of the scene before
him. The colors of the sky had, however, defied his palate,
and after one or two futile attempts to transfer to his canvas a
few of the gorgeous tints that illumined 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 awhile. "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 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

16 THELMA.

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 neighbor-
ing 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 habita-
tion, 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 lighted 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-
burned 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. Eight 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 caroling of
the birds, and all the cheerful noises of awakening nature.
Silence, chillness and partial obscurity are depressing influ-
ences, and the warm blood flowing through his veins ran a
trifle more slowly and coldly as he felt the sort of uncomfort-
able eerie sensation which is experienced by the jolliest and
most careless traveler when he first goes down to the cata-
combs in Rome. A sort of damp, earthy shudder creeps
through the system, and a dreary feeling of general hopeless-
ness 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 de-
scended 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

THELMA.

17

nlmasi like iron. It was black with age, and covered with
(juaint carvings and inscriptions, but in the middle, standing
cut 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 fash-
ion 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 w r ere mocking him, a
demon whose merriment was intense but also horrible. He
heard the unpleasantly jeering repetition with a kind of care-
li-ss 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 appro-
priate, and as far as I can remember there's no rhyme to it in
the English language. Thelma!" and he lingered on the pro-
nunciation 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 rreakfng 1 sound rewarded his efforts, and inch by inch the
door opened into what at first appeared immeasurable

18 THELMA.

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, leav-
ing 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, re-
lighted 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 construc-
tion 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 iridescent 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,
sun-flowers, hearts, crossed daggers, ships and implements of
war, all faithfully depicted with extraordinary neatness and
care, as though each particular emblem had served some spe-
cial purpose.

Sir Philip walked along very slowly, delighted with his dis-
covery, 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

THELMA. 19

places! and they are imbedded in strong mortar, too, as if the
work wen* meant to be indestructible."

Full of pleased interest, he pursued his way, winding in and
out through different arches, all more or less richly orna-
mented, till he came to a tall, round column, which seemingly
supported the whole gallery, for all the arches converged
t o ward it. It was garlanded from top to bottom with 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 per-
ceive 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 luster
sparkling on one side of the shell-work, however, at last at-
tracted 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 eccen-
tric 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 re-
mained uncovered, for he saw at a glance that the place was
sat red. 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 ambor,
malachite and mother-o'-pearl. It was covered with the in-
comprehensible emblems of a by-gone creed worked in most
exquisite shell patterns, but on it as though in solemn pro-
test 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.

20 THELMA.

but what chiefly interested Errington was the central object
of the place a coffin or rather a plain granite sarcophagus
which was placed on the floor lying from north to south.
Upon it in strange contrast to the somber 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. Over-
coming 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 exclama-
tion. 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 pre-
cipitation he had, in his fancy, actually associated her, so
full of radiant health and beauty, with what was probably a
moldering corpse in that hermetically sealed tenement of
stone. This idea was unpleasant, and jarred upon his feel-
ings. 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 be-

THELMA.

21

can 10 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. Eefreshed by it, he rapidly over-
came the sensation of giddiness, and began to retrace his
steps through the winding arches, thinking with some satis-
faction 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 stand-still by the sound of a wild "Halloo!" The light
vanished; it reappeared. It vanished again, and again ap-
peared, 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 re-
mained motionless, waiting for an explanation of this un-
looked-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 toward him
with its head downward, bearing aloft in one skinny hand a
smoking pine-torch, from which the sparks flew like so many
fire-flies. 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 feature? were of
almost feminine fineness, and from under his shaggy brows
gleamed a restless pair of large, full, wild blue eyes. TTis
thick, rough, flaxen hair was lonir and curly, and lump in dis-
ordered profusion over his deform<-<l shoulders. His dress
was of reindeer skin, very fancifully cut, and ornamented with

22 THELMA.

beads of different colors, and twisted about him, as though in
an effort to be artistic, was a long strip of bright scarlet
woolen material, which showed up the extreme pallor and ill-
health of the meager countenance, and the brilliancy of the
eyes that now sparkled with rage as they met those of Erring-
ton. 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 apolo-
gize." And forthwith he began to speak in the simplest Eng-
lish words, he could choose, taking care to pronounce them
very slowly and distinctly.

"I can not 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 mid-
night, and the thing you seek is the life of Sigurd. Yes-
it is true. The spirit can not lie. You must kill, you must
steal. See how the blood drips, drop by drop, from the heart

THELMA. 23

of Sigurd! And the jewel you steal ah, what a jewel! you
shall not find such another in Norway!"

Ili> excited voice sunk by degrees to a plaintive and forlorn
whisper, and dropping his torch with a gesture of despair on
.round, he looked at it burning, with an air of mournful
d utter desolation. Profoundly touched, as he immediately
od the condition of his companion's wandering wits,
rington spoke to him soothingly.

mistake me," he said, in gentle accents; "I would not
1 anything from you, nor have I come to kill you.* See,"
d he held out his hand, "I wouldn't harm you for the world.
didn't know this cave belonged to you. Forgive me for
ving entered it. I am going to rejoin my friends. Good-
el"

The strange, half-crazy creature touched his outstretched
nd timidly and with a sort of appeal.
"Good-bye, good-bye!" he muttered. "That is what they
say even the dead good-bye, but they never go never,
! You can not be different to the rest. And you do not
ish to hurt poor Sigurd?"

"Certainly not, if you are Sigurd," said Philip, half laugh-
g; "I should be very sorry to hurt you."
"You are sure?" he persisted, with a sort of obstinate eager-
"Vou have eyes which tell truths; but there are other
gs which are truer than eyes things in the air, in the
. in the waves, and they talk very strangely of you. I
ow you, of course. I knew you ages ago long before I saw
u dead on the field of battle, and the black-haired Val-
rie galloped with you to Valhalla. Yes, I knew you long
fore that, and you knew me, for I was your king, and you
my vassal, wild and rebellious not the proud, rich
Englishman you are to-day."

Brrington started. How could this Sigurd, as he called

aware of either his wealth or nationality?
The dwarf observed his movement of surprise with a cun-

oilc,

_ r urd is wise Sigurd is bravo. Who shall deceive him?
e 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."

24 THELMA.

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 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 sunk,
and rose again in weird, sorrowful minor echoes.

"Hear her/' murmured Sigurd, plaintively. "She is always
complaining; it is a pity she can not 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 re-
moval 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 clew 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 sunk
lower, "what should you do with Thelma? She is dead."

And, as if possessed by a sudden access of frenzy, he bran-
dished 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

THELMA. 25

fulfilled the time is not yet ripe. Why seek to hasten my
endr 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 ad-;,
venture the more puzzled he became. As a rule, he believed \
more in the commonplace than in fhe romantic most people
do. But truth to tell, romance is far more common than th
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
^rations 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 suffi-
ciently interested! and curious to be desirous of sifting the
malt or to its foundation.

It \vas. however, somewhat of a relief to him when he again
reaeheo! the outer cavern. He replaced the lamp on the shelf
where he had found it, and stepped once more into the bril-
liant light of the very early dawn, which then had all the
splendor of full morning. There was a deliriously balmy
wind, the blue sky was musical with a chorus of larks, and

26 THELMA.

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 ex-
plorations. Gathering together his rug and painting materi-
als, 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 toward 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 gentlemen played pitch-
and-toss with pebbles. They was main hungry too, and eat a
mighty sight of 'am and pickles. 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 sun-
light, 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 deso-
late 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.

THELMA.

27

CHAPTEK III.

Hast any mortal name,

Fit appellation for this dazzling frame,

Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth?

KEATS.

"Tliis 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
IV I low, 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 ad-
venture. 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, gayly.
'Tut 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 w r oman I have ever known.
This is a forest-empress, a 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!
iliai accounts for it! Nice stuff, but a little too strong."

Krrin^ton 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 everythinir he looked -up and inquired, calmly:

"This is not a yarn, is it?"

2S THELMA.

"A yarn!" exclaimed Philip. "Do you think I would in-
vent 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!" inter-
rupted 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 his color height-
ened. "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 maim bring her hame!'

THELMA. 29

And here you have found her, or so it appears. What's to
coine 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 a*
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 Du-
prez; 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 man-
ners, 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 spoiled only child of
an eminent French banker, and had very little to do but enjoy
himself, and that he did most thoroughly, without any calcu-
lation or care for the future. On all points of taste and opin-
ion 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 any-
thing, 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 ball!
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 mafoi! no!
Lorimer, he laugh, he yawn so! He say, 'Not for me to-

30 THELMA.

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 ecstasy.

"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 re-
mainin' stock still, as it were, when it's his plain duty to set
below the horizon. Mysel', I think it's been fair overrated.
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 York-
shire. 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, whv
should!?" '

"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.

THELMA. 31

world what for? I have five hundred a year, and when my
mother goes over to the majority (long distant be that day,
i'i>r J 'm very fond of the dear old lady) I shall have five thou-
sand 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 di-
vine. 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 num-
skulls will call you a 'rare powerfu' 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 n,ania,"
returned Lorimer, meditatively. "That was a neat idea about

P coffins though. I never hoped to dine off a coffin."
f Ah! you mean the Taverne de 1'Enfer?" exclaimed Du-
prez. "Yes; the divine waitresses wore winding-sheets, and
the wine was served in imitation skulls. Excellent! I re-
member; 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 Sandy's own,

I ''which, mon cher Pierre, means all the horrors in your lan-
guage; affreux, epottvantable, 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;

32 THBLMA,

brown curls, laughing eyes and little mouth; ha, ha! but she
was well worth kissing!"

"I'd rather follow my 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 1'Enf er just now," said Erring-
ton, 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 toward
the eastern sky. He was a stalwart specimen of Norse man-
hood, tall and strongly built, with thoughtful, dignified fea-
tures, and keen, clear hazel eyes. His chestnut hair, plenti-
fully 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 land, and since then the management
of the "Eulalie" had been entirely intrusted to him. Though
an eminently practical sailor, he was half a mystic, and be-
lieved 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 Erring-
ton 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 lighted cigar from his mouth, and

^HELMA. 83

passed his rough hand across his forehead in a sort of grave
perplexity.

"It is a matter in which 1 am foolish," he said at last, "for
my ways have always gone far from the ways of women.
Girls there are plenty, 1 suppose, but " he mused with pon-
dering patience for awhile. Then a broad smile broke like
Minshine over his imbrowned countenance, as he continued:
"Now, gentlemen, I do remember well, it is said that at Bose-
kop yonder are to be found some of the homeliest wenches in
all Norway."

Errmgton'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 smiling.

"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

gerly.

"No, sir! There are no antiquities of any sort; and as for

ves there are plenty, but only the natural formations of the

a, 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!"

Krrington shook him off good-humoredly.

"Can you tell me," he said, addressing Valdemar again in
distinct accents, "whether there is any place, person, or tiling
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
'n deference to the name.

"The Froken Thelma!" lie exclaimed, in low tones. "Is it

ssible that you have seen her?"

"AIi. George, what do you say now?" cried Krrington, <le-
ghtedly. "Yes, yes, Valdemar; the Froken Thelnia. as you
3

J4 THBLMA.

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 sunk a little, and his face grew more and more somber.
"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 fath-
er, Olaf Guldmar, 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 in-
terested as he had formerly been incredulous.

The pilot leaned lightly over the rail of the deck and pointed
toward 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 wel-
come."

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 sha'n'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

I

THELMA. 35

your journey, gentlemen, you have been welcomed gladly, as
you know. But Olaf Guldmar is not like the rest of us; he has
the pride and fierceness of olden days; his manners and cus-
tom- an- 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 ex-
plain 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
ttu-y 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. a-
the hot color mounted to his face in spite of himself. "It is

36 THELMA.

all idle curiosity, nothing else. After what Svensen told us,
I'm quite as anxious to see this gruff old bonde as his daugh-
ter."

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 boozum 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 Guld-
mar heavens! what a name! before you will be allowed to
make love to his fair chee-ild. Then don't forget the mad-
man 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 bear-
ing 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.

CHAPTEE 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

I

II

I

THELMA. 37

Miave alacrity lie always displayed in the consumption of suc-
culent eatables, lie 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 endeavor-
ing to retreat behind his puffy cheeks as though painfully
aware of its own insignificance and he had little, sharp, fer-
ret-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 shal-
low 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, some-
what of the tinge of a dusty potato before it is washed clean.
It was neatly brushed and parted in the middle with mathe-
matical precision, while from the back of his head it was
brought in two projections, one on each side, like budding
wings behind his ears. It was impossible for the most fastidi-
ous critic to find fault with the Keverend Mr. Dyceworthy's
hands. He had beautiful hands, white, soft, plump and well-
shaped his delicate filbert nails were trimmed with punctil-
ious care, and shone with a pink luster 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 proportion 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 camo
little short of being adored by the women of his own particular
lect, who crowded to listen to his fervent discourses, and
camo away from them on the verge of hysteria, so profoundly
moved were their sensitive souls by his damnatory doctrines.
Tin- men were more reluctant in their admiration, yet even
they were always ready to admit "that he was an excellent fel-
low, with his heart in the right place."

38 THELMA.

He had a convenient way of getting ill at the proper seasons,
and of requiring immediate change of air, whereupon his grate-
ful flock were ready and willing to subscribe the money neces-
sary 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 traveling
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 Dyce-
worthy as a zealous member of the Lutheran persuasion, and,
moreover, as one who had in his youth lived for some years in
C'hristiania 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-car-
riage and an agreeable pecuniary douceur in exchange for his
services proposals which the Reverend Charles eagerly ac-
cepted. 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 ask-
ing 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 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 ministers servants were
most punctual in their services; the minister's phaeton conven-
iently 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 com-
fortable as comfortable as a truly pious fat man deserves to
be, and all the work he had to do was to preach twice on Sun-
days, 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

THELMA. 39

him he preached to please himself loving above all things
t<> 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,
us 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 super-
ior 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 con-
trary, 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 hope-
lessly damned."

And he smiled again more sweetly than before, as though
the idea of hopeless damnation suggested some peculiarly
agreeable reflections. And folding 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 en-
graved on the back of it, and after some trouble Mr. Dyce-
worthy spelled 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, "un-
less "

What alternative suggested itself to his mind was not pre-
cisely 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 there-
in with mild approval. With the extreme end of his handker-
chief he tenderly removed two sacrilegious crumbs that pre-
sumed 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

40 THELMA,

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 to-
gether in a methodical way, without clattering so much as a
plate or spoon, and, piling them compactly on the 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 lighted 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 gos-
pel 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 per-
dition they are not precisely what are termed witches, Ul-
rika."

"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, Ul-
rika. You are not acquainted with the great advancement of
recent learning."

"May be, may be," and Ulrika turned to go; but she mut-
tered 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

T HELM A.

41

garden the roses were all wide awake. A soft moisture glit-
tered 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 comfort-
able 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 dem-
onstrated now and then by an irrepressible almost trium-
phant cornet-blast from that trifling elevation of his counte-
nance 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 flutter-
ing 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 excite-
ment.

"The gentlemen from the yacht," he murmured to himself,
hastily settling his collar and cravat, and pushing up his
i -1 1 rriibic wings of hair more prominently behind his ears. "I
never thought they would come. Dear me! Sir Philip Er-
rington himself, too! I must have refreshments instantly."

And he hurried from the room, calling his orders to TJlrika
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-
liumoredly aside, and allowed himself and his friends to be

42 THELMA.

marshaled 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, cozy 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 overfeeding,
others by constant overstarving; it is all one to Him appar-
ently! How do you know which among His servants He likes
best, the fat or the lean?"

Sandy Macf arlane, 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 betok-
ened 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 "

"Lebongaillard!" 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 overeating; his exit from life was so undignified!"

"Shut up, Duprez," said Errington, severely. "You don't
please Mr. Dyceworthy by your fooling."

"Oh, pray do not mention it, Sir Philip," murmured the
reverend gentleman with a mild patience. "We must accus-
tom 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 prom-
ises."

"Ye must understand, Mr. Dyceworthy/' said Macfarlane in

THELMA. 43

his slow, deliberate manner, "that ye have before ye a young
Frenchman who doesna believe in onything except himseF
and even as to whether he himsel' is a mon or a myth, he has
his doots verra 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
UK' to be a myth the moving shadow of a dream imagine!

I how perfectly poetical!"
"You talk too much to be a dream, my boy," laughed Er-
rington, 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 seri-
ous; "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 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
<lo\\ n, 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 courtesy, she departed as
noiselessly as she had come not, however, without leaving
a disagreeable impression on Errington's mind.

r" Rather a stern Phyllis, that waiting-maid of yours," he re-
marked, 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 Christ! ?"

"Luorima Christ i!" exclaimed Duprez. "You do not surely
that in Xorway?"

44 THELMA.

"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 comprehen-
sion 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 min-
ister must be a fine connoisseur. Are there many other fami-
lies 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 inexplica-
ble 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 Guldmar 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. Dyce-
worthy 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

THELMA. 45

tew! It is God's will that they should store it up; it is
will that they should show an example of unselfishness, that.
tlu-v should Hit 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 tin-
Lord to likewise suck the sweetness from the flowers of th<
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 has-
tened to seize the opportunity that presented itself for break-
ing away from the party.

"If you will excuse us for twenty minutes or so, Mr. Dyce-
worthy," 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 straw-
berries."

The reason for their departure was so simply and naturally
i:m'ii 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 whisky, 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 in which they were going, would certainly not
havo discoursed on the pleasures of bee-keeping with the calm-
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-

46 THELMA.

Metropolis," while Errington and Lorimer returned to the
shore of the fjord, where they had left their hoat 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 curi-
osity," he said, lifting his hat, and pushing back the cluster-
ing 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 dear fellow, don't pretend to be so deplorably ignorant!
Surely you know that a trumpery village or a twopenny 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,

THELMA. 47

began to examine the surroundings with keen interest. They
were close to the great crag "shaped like a giant's helmet," as
Yaldcmar 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 me-
dusae, with their long feelers or tendrils, looking like torn
skeins 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 occa-
sionally 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 indicated 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 dis-
tances, 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,
and 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 farthest ring of the convenient pier, they caught the
distant sound of the plaintive "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

48 THELMA.

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 as-
cending narrow way that guided them up from the sea-shore,
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 whir-
ring 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 tiptoe, 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
lips. Surprise and admiration held him absolutely silent.

CHAPTEE 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 frame-work, curiously and elaborately carved, and black
as polished ebony. Flowers grew all about it sweet pease,
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 dove-cote, where some of the

, ,.,,4-4-1-n.

THELMA. 49

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, spread-
ing up their pinions like miniature sails, to catch the warmth
and luster.

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 the 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
spun 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 vise-like firm-
ness, as a warning to him to be silent, while they both stepped
further 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 con-
veniently caressed. Still gently smoothing its feathers, sho
leaned further out among the clambering wealth of blossoms,
and called in a low, penetrating tone: "Father! father! is that

YOU?"

50 THELMA.

There was no answer; and, after waiting 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 ab-
sorbed fascination.

Suddenly her sweet lips parted, and she sung 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 mourn-
ful wind.

Her voice was pure as the ring of fine crystal deep, liquid
and tender, with a restrained passion in it that stirred Erring-
ton'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 observa-
tion now, if only for the sake of shaking off his unwonted
sensations; and he took a step or two backward for that pur-
pose, 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 loath, 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 sung
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

THBLMA. ftl

their hearts and entangled them in a web of delicious reveries.

"Talk of Ary Schell'er's Gretchen!" murmured Lorimer,
\\ i 1 1 1 a sigh. " \V hat a miserable, pasty, milk-and- watery young
person she is beside that magnificent, unconscious beauty! I
-ivr in, Phil! I admit your taste. I'm willing to swear that
.-he's a sun-angel if you like. Her voice has -convinced me of
that"

At that instant the song ceased. Errington turned and re-
garded 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 under-tone. "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 appear-
ance."

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 travelers and have lost our
way. The bonde can but flay us. The operation, I believe, is
painful, but it can not last long."

"George, you are incorrigible. Suppose we go back and t ry
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 win-

52 THELMA.

clow," 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 dur-
ing 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 Guldmar."

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 sap-
lings, 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 per-
fect 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 as-
sumed 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 further-
more 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, gray 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

I

THBLMA. 53

jacket all made of reindeer skin, thickly embroidered with
curious designs worked in coarse thread and colored bual>;
while thrown carelessly over his shoulders and knotted at his
waist was a broad scarf of white woolen 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 stall
of pine, which was notched all over with quaint letters and
figures, and terminated in a curved handle at the top. Ih-
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 Guldmar. 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. Guldmar."

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. "\Y< i
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 ran-
ruled the land such people as they that dwell there would
have been put to sharpen my sword on the grindstone, or to

54 THBLMA.

wait, hungry and humble, for the refuse of the food left from
my table."

He 'spoke with extraordinary heat and passion it was evi-
dently necessary to soothe him. Lorimer took a covert glance
backward over his shoulder toward the lattice window, and saw
that the white figure at the spinning-wheel had disappeared.

"My dear Mr. Guldmar," 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 re-
mains 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 cer-
tainly 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. Guldmar," he said, with persuasive cour-
tesy, "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. Erring-

I

THELMA. 55

ton listened with unruffled patience. He heard himself, his
pleasures, his wealth, his rank thus made light of without the
teaat offense. He met the steady gaze of the bonde quietly,
and slightly bent Ms head as though in deference to his
remarks.

"You are quite right," he said, simply. "We modern men
are but pygmies compared with the giants of old time. Eoyal
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. Guldmar, 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 Guldmar 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 ges-
ture 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
ii i> 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 feat-
ures, were quick to respond to his friendly greeting, and the
bonde, picking up and resheathmir his hunting-knife as if he
had done nothing at all out of the common, motioned them

56 THELMA.

toward 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 won-
dered 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' awhile ago
remember that."

Olaf Guldmar 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

I

THELMA. 57

of dark polished pine hung ;i large collection of curiously
>hapcd weapon.^ 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 Wal-
laee.

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 de-
lighted 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 senti-
ment 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 a
heterogeneous 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 sur-
prised 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 the pine wood, and the other
smaller one, close to the entrance door, from which the fjord
was distinctly visible, were sufficient pictures in thems<
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
mantel-shelf was a quantity of curious old china that seemed
to have been picked up from all parts of the world most of it

58 THELMA.

was undoubtedly valuable. In one dark corner stood an an-
cient harp, then there was the spinning-wheel itself a curi-
osity 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 in-
clined 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,
avoiding 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 Guldmar 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 my-
self 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 re-
turned, 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 un-
deniably pretty, she was not Thelma. She was short and
plump, with rebellious nut-l)rown locks, that rippled about
her face and from under her close white cap with persistent
untidiness. Her cheeks were as round and red as love-apples,
and she had dancing blue eyes that appeared forever engaged
in good-natured efforts to outsparkle each other. She wore
a spotless apron, lavishly trimmed with coquettish little

THELMA. 59

Marched frills her hands were, unfortunately, rather large
;ind coarse but her smilo, as she set down the tray and
courtesied respectfully to the young men, was charming, dis-
<-loMn<r. as it did, tiny teeth as even and white as a double
row ut' small pearls.

'That is well, l>ritta," said Guldmar, 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 sunk.
Thelma had gone gone, most probably, for one of those er-
ratic 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 bonders 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. Guldmar noticed the young baronet's abstrac-
tion, 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 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 than I am mysrlf.
The days we live in are insignificant; the chronicle of our
paltry doings will be skipped by future readers of the coun-
trv's history. Among a society of particularly useless men, I
I'd 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

60 THELMA.

the dark background of the outer passage a figure that hesi-
tated on the threshold, and then advanced noiselessly and
with a reluctant shyness. The old bonde turned around 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 un-
grateful 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!"

THKLMA. 61

The words were a literal translation of a salutation perfectly
common in many parts of Norway a mere ordinary expres-
sion of politeness; but, uttered in the tender, penetrating tones
of the most musical voice they had ever heard, and accom-
panied by the warm, frank, double hand-clasp 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 platitudes, such as "Delighted, I'm
sure;" or, "Most happy aw, 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 school-boy,
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 em-
barrassment 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 toward 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 cus-
toms, and rose 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 jeal-
ousy 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, laujrhinjr softly:

"Drink it all, father! if you leave a drop, you kno\v tlu-M-
gentlemen will quarrel with us, or you with them."

"That is true!" said Olaf Guldmar, with great gravity; "but

62 THELMA.

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 evidence 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 ges-
ture 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 hither, 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 toward him, "I heard of you
first through my pilot one Valdemar Svensen."

"Ha, ha !" cried old Guldmar, with some excitement, "there
is a fellow who can not 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 look-
ing 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 fat<

THELMA. 6t

cruel fate to have none to love in all the wide world. Noth-
ing can be more cruel!"

Guldmar surveyed her humorously. "Hear her!" he said.
"She talks as if she knew ail 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 yes "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 un-
reasonable and extraordinary grudge he seemed to bear toward
the venerable bonde for accepting that kiss with so little ap-
parent emotion!

" I lush, father!" she said. "These friends can see too plain-
ly how much you spoil me. Tell me" and she turned with a
sudden pretty imperiousness to Lorimer, who started at her
voice as a race-horse 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. Dyce-
worthy's remarks concerning those who were "ejected with
good reason from respectable society" might not, after all,
have applied to the Guldmar family. Indeed, it now seemed
an absurd and improbable supposition. Therefore he replied
cautiously:

"The Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy, I think, has some knowl-
edge of you. Is he not a friend of yours?"

These simple words had a most unexpected effect. Olaf
Guldmar sprung 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 of mine 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 Dyce-

I

64 THELMA.

worthy? 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 command-
ing 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 con-
sidered 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 un-
looked 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, re-
fined voice broke the silence.

"You are in error, Mr. Guldmar," 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 can not 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

THELMA, 65

toward your father or yourself? Our visit has proved unlucky,,
but"

Thelina interrupted him by laying her fair little hand on his
arm with a wistful, detaining gesture, which, though seem-
ingly 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 spilled; how then, if
we are friends, should we part in coldness ? Father, it is you
to be ashamed not these gentlemen, who are strangers to
the Alten Fjord, and know nothing of Mr. Dyce worthy or any
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 swallow-
ing 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 Dyce-
\\nrthy by the gates of Valhalla, I feel as if my own house
would not hold me! No, no; don't go yet! Nearly ten?
\\Y11, 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
5

66 THELMA.

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 num-
ber of birds were singing in full chorus. Old Guldmar 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 be-
havior 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 sym-
pathy with some undeclared grief; then she looked at Erring-
ton with a sort of wistful appeal. Philip's heart leaped as
he met that soft, beseeching glance, which seemed to en^

i

THELMA.

at his patience with the old man for her sake he felt him-
self drawn into a bond of union with her thoughts, and in his
innermost soul he swore as knightly a vow of chivalry and
re verence 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
Guldmar, after a long and apparently sorrowful pause, re-
sumed his conversation.

"Yes/' he said, "Thelma is a Catholic, though here she has
scarcely any opportunity for performing the duties of her re-
ligion. It is a pretty and a graceful creed well fitted for wom-
en. 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. Guldmar,
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
shipwreck, 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!"

Guldmar smiled dubiously; but Thelma looked at the speak-
er with astonished, regretful eyes.

"I am sorry," she said, simply. "You must be often un-
happy."

Lorimer was not disconcerted, though her evident pity
caused an unwonted 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.

Guldmar laughed. "You are an odd lad," he said good-
humoredly. "You are in the morning of life; there are ah\ av<
mists iff the morning as there are in the evening. In the light
of your full manhood you will see these things differently.

68 THELMA.

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 con-
science! I don't think I have one Fm sure I have no pas-
sions. I have always been too lazy to encourage them, and
as for moral law I adhere to morality with the greatest strict-
ness, because if a fellow is immoral he ceases to be a gentle-
man. 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 seri-
ously, Mr. Guldmar," 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 Guldmar, 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 every-
body."

"That is so," said Guldmar, thoughtfully. "I visited Lon-
don 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 re-
fused 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

THELMA.

69

strong and fearless, and defiant of evil the faith that is sup-
posed 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 1 can yes! rooted firm and fast
and however much some of the more timorous feign to con-
ceal it in the tacit acceptance of another creed, there are those
who can never shake it off, and who never desire to forsake it.
1 am one of these few. Shame must fall on the man who
willfully deserts the faith of his w r arrior-ancestry! Sacred to
me forever 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. Guldmar? There's a fel-
low 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 Guldmar 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, fad-
ing 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 mold 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
and bettor far the' dark summoning eyes of a beauteous
Valkyrie than the grinning skull and cross-bones, the Chris-
tian emblem of mortalitv. Thelma thinks and her mother

70 THELMA.

before her thought also that different as my way of belief is
to the accepted 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 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 exami-
nation, 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 can not prevent me from trying
to make myself agreeable to you. I warn you, Mr. Guldmar,
I shall visit you pretty frequently! Such men as you are not
often met with."

Olaf Guldmar 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?"

Guldmar nodded a grave assent".

"Yes," she continued, demurely counting on her little white

THELMA.

71

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 ex-
claimed in surprise as Errington scowled and clinched his fist
in a peculiarly threatening manner.

"I should like to knock him down!" he said briefly, under
his breath.

Old Guldmar laughed and looked at the young baronet ap-
provingly.

"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-mor-
row, 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 toward both her and her father.

(Jnldmar 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 Thel-
ma'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-bvo. They left her then,
standing under the porch, shading her brow with one hand

72 THELMA.

from the glittering sunlight as she watched them descending
the winding path to the shore, accompanied by her father,
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 turn 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, Froken?" 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 win-
dow, and rested on the majestic darkness of the overshadow-
ing, solemn pines.

CHAPTER VII.

In mezzo del mio core c'e" una spina;
Non c'6 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 Guldmar stood
on the edge of his little pier to watch them out of sight. So,
till their boat turned the sharp corner of the projecting 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 breath lessness in the air;

THELMA. 73

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 sur-
rounding mountains mysterious shapes, formed of purple and
^ray mist, rose up and crept softly downward, winding in and
out deep valleys and dark ravines, like wandering spirits sent
on some secret and sorrowful errand. After awhile 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, care-
lessly; "and I was also going to remark that we hadn't seen
your mad friend up at the Guldmar 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 worshiper, 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 sud-
denly accepted a high trust, in which there was not only pride,
but tenderness. Lorimer shook himself together, as he him-
self 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
< h, old boy?"

Km'npton flushed hotly, but caught Lorimer's hand and
pressed it witli tremendous fervor,

74 THELMA.

"By Jove, Pll 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 mustache doubtfully, "I don't know quite what's the mat-
ter 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 my-
self all these years for nothing? Look here" and he carefully
drew out the little withering bunch of daisies he had pur-
loined "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 senti-
ment 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 ecstatic, or I shall be called upon
$0 ridicule you in the interests of common sense. Say 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 i," 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 Guldmar must have exchanged a dozen such mes-
sages 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,

THELMA.

75

some day the mild luster of friendship may beam. The girl
is beautiful extraordinarily so; but I'm not a 'man o' wax,'
as Juliet's gabbling old nurse >ays not in the least impres-
sionable."

And forthwith he resumed his oar, saying, briskly, as he did

"Phil, do you know those other fellows must be swearing
at us pretty forcibly for leaving them so long with Dycc-
worthy. 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, ges-
ticulating 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 clum-
sier 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 at-
tended, 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 mari-
ner 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 be-
gan 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 dear 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

not wa

76 . THELMA.

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, man clier, that amiable re-
ligious 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 gray 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 fair dose indeed. Then, doun he sat, an' fell to con-
vairsing 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 thocht
I wad try him wi' the whusky I had ma pocket-flask wi' me
an' oh, 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 drappi-
kie" 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 up-
roariously 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, impost-
ure Man is the only god, Woman his creature and subject.
Again man and woman, conjoined, make up divinity, neces-
sity, 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

THELMA.

77

hi in so cruel a thought had no place in our hearts! Then he
i- amorous yes! the good fat man is amorous. He would
have become a priest, but on close examination of the con-
aials 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 dis-
gusted.

"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 re-
sist, if Dyceworthy's fat person is oixce 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
throw 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 sup-
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 anld Silenus has better taste. He says there's^ 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 her-
self to catch him, as he says she's an eye like a warlock for a
really strong, good-looking fellow like himself," and Macfar-
lane chuckled audibly. "May be he'll take pity on her, may

78 THELMA.

be he won't; the misguided lassie will be sairly teased by him
from a' he tauld us in his cups. He gave us her name the
oddest in a 7 the warld for sure I canna just remember it."

"I can," said Duprez, glibly. "It struck me as quaint and
pretty Thelma, Guldmar!"

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 Guldmars
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 Guldmar 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 descrip-
tion Mr. Dyceworthy giyes of her."

Duprez and Macfarlane exchanged astonished looks.

"Are ye quite sure," the latter ventured to remark, cautious-
ly, "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. Du-
prez hummed a verse of a French chansonnette under his
breath and smiled. Lorimer glanced at him with a lazy amuse-
ment.

"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 Men! 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' thocht a wee before inviting pairsons o' unsettled an'
dootful chairacter "

"Who says they are?" demanded Errington, half angrily.
"The drunken Dyceworthv?"

THELMA.

79

"He was no sae drunk at the time he tauld us," persisted
Macfarlane, in his most obstinate, most dictatorial manner.

->e, 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. i non cher Errington. This gentleman named Guldmar 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
Guldmar: '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 Guldmar, 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 satisfac-
tion.

Errington's brow grew somber. "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 Guldmar was suspected,
as you say, why didn't somebody arrest him on the charge?"

"Because, ye see," replied Macfarlane, "there was not suffi-
cient proof to warrant such a proceeding. Moreover, the
actual meenister of the parish declared it was a' richt, an'
said this Guldmar was a mon o' vera queer notions, an,' may
be, had buried his wife wi' certain ceremonies peculiar to him-
self 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.
'.Hi' laughed.

"That's very likely," he said; "Mr. Guldmar is a character.
He follows the faith of Odin, and not even Dyceworthy can
convert him to Christianity!"

Macfarlnne stared with a sort of stupefied solemnity.

80 THELMA.

"Mon!" he exclaimed, "you 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 Guldmar is an Odinite. In this
blessed, enlightened nineteenth century of ours, when Chris-
tians 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 gentle-
man, living beyond the Arctic circle, who is perfectly satisfied
with his existence not only that, he thinks death the great-
est 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 daugh-
ter, 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 Guldmar
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!"

THELMA. 81

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
fiu'cur, what I say! It is not my story it is not I I know
not Mademoiselle Guldmar. But as her beauty is considered
superhuman, they say it is the devil who is herparfumenr, 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 they must be about here ugly fools too,
if they think beauty is a sign of witchcraft. I wonder Dyce-
worlliy 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, seri-
ously. "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, rais-
ing 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 a
very firm firmest when drunk!" And he laughed gayly.

Krrington 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 Guldmars 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 stairway leading to the lower part
of the yacht, and Macfarlane asked, as he followed his host:

"Is the lass vera bonny, did ye say?"

"Bonny's not the word for it this time," said Lorimer,
coolly answering instead of Errington. "Miss Guldmar 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,"

82 THELMA.

and he regarded the little Frenchman critically, "let me see
you may possibly reach up to her shoulder certainly not be-
yond 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 man-
aged 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. Eallied on this morose humor, he rose, shook him-
self 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; when asked he confessed he could
"strum a little," and he hardly 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 9 est lean, ca!" he murmured.

I

THELMA. M

Krrington 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
f.-uv and form rose up again before his mind. Absorbed in a
reverie, he almost started when Lorimer ceased playing, and
said, lightly:

'Ty by, boys! I'm off to bed! Phil, don't wake me so
abominably early as you did this morning. If you do, friend-
ship 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 Du-
prez and Macfarlane rise from the table, he added, cour-
teously, "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 femmef 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, un-
able 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 re-
solve 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,
\vitli a single effort, proves him to be weaker than a blade of
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 man-
hood ;md sclt'-respect, he can not 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 per-
petual victory first fear and shame then desire and pas-
sion then conquest and possession. And afterward? Ah
afterward the papm deity is powerless a higher God, a grand-
er force, a nobler creed must carry love to its supreme and best
fulfillment.

THELMA.

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 per-
pendicularly 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 sifting as the bristling points
of lifted spears. Away to the south a solitary wreath of pur-
ple vapor floated slowly as though lost from some great moun-
tain 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 the sea
and sky, grew more and more absorbed and serious. The
scornful words of the proud old Olaf Guldmar rankled in his

CO]
COl

or

n

ai
al
ti

!

THELMA. 85

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 akin 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 traveled and amused himself he had studied languages
and literature he had made many friends, but after all said
and done, the bonders cutting observations had described him
correctly enough. The do-nothing, care-nothing tendency,
mmon to the very wealthy in this age, had crept upon him
unconsciously; the easy, cool, indifferent nonchalance com-
mon 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
ime to reform all this to rouse himself to an effort to gain
or himself some honor, some distinction, some renown that
hould 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? here 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 par-
ticular moment? Was it because this Norwegian maiden's
grand blue eyes had met his with such beautiful trust and
candor?

JHe had known many women, queens of society, titled bean-
es, brilliant actresses, sirens of the world with all their
witcheries in full play, and he had never lost his self-p*
sion 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

86 THELMA.

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 hues 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 frame-work
of the "Eulalie" a circumstance which explained the sound
which had attracted his attention. The boat was not unoccu-
pied there was some one in it lying straight across the seats,
with face turned upward 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, ly-
ing 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, aston-
ished 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 ob-
served in the stern 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

THELMA. 87

the masses of dark cloud that had striven to conceal his
beauty and now, like a warrior clad in golden armor, sur-
mounted and trod down his enemies, shining forth in all his
splendor. With that rush of brilliant effulgence, the appar-
ently lifeless Sigurd stirred he opened his eyes, and as they
\\eiv turned upward, he naturally, from his close vicinity to
the side of the "Eulalie," met Errington's gaze fixed inquir-
ingly and somewhat anxiously upon him. He sprung up with
such sudden and fierce haste that his frail boat rocked danger-
>usly, and Philip involuntarily cried out:

"Take care!"

Sigurd stood upright in his swaying skiff and laughed
jornfully.

"Take care!" he echoed, derisively. "It is you who should
ike care! You poor miserable moth on the edge of a mad
torm! It is you to fear^not I! See how the light rains over
le broad sky. All for me! Yes, all the light, all the glory
>r me; all the darkness, all the shame for you!"

Krrington listened to these ravings with an air of patience

id pitying gentleness; then he said, with perfect coolness:

"You are quite right, Sigurd! You are always right, I am

ire. Come up here and see me; I won't hurt you! Come
long!"

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
Krrington 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 witli
him, and he fingered their soft leaves thoughtfully. Suddenly

s eyes flashed.

"Von are alone here?" he asked, abruptly.

Fearing to scare his strange guest by the mention of hi-
companions, Errington answered simply:

"Yes, quite alone just now, Sigurd."
SiVurd look a step closer toward him. "Are you not afraid?"
<;iid. 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?"

Ml I

"

88 THELMA.

"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 can not 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 Guldmars, 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 connected-
ly 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 noble-
man. 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!"

T HELM A. 89

Ili< steady tone seemed to have some compelling influence
on the confused mind of the half-witted creature, who an-
L readily and at once:

"Of whom should I speak but Thelma? Thelrna, the beau-
tiful 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 can not 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 meager hand on his chest.

"How strong you are how broad and brave!" he exclaim-
ed, with a sort of childish admiration. "And can yon 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
(J u Id mar were incorrect he had evidently laid the remains of
liis 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
burn ing 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 Guldmars? Thinking
this, he replied to the dwarfs 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 tho
seas, and the Alten Fjord need know you no more! Spread
your white sails!" and he pointed excitedly up to the tall taper-

youi

90 THELMA.

ing 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 fjelds
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 ocean
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 plead-
ing. 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 Alten Fjord and its now most fasci-
nating 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 gray eyes and with the startling quickness com-
mon 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 pan-
sies, while his voice sunk 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-

THBLMA. 91

faced to the sky, they never droop or languish; they have no
is. save liir 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? Noth-
ing! 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 imperative-
ness; "I can not 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, w r alking steadily to the gang-
way. "I can hear her! There are the roses to water, and the
- 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 contemptu-
ously.

"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
wav to Valhalla!"

92 THELMA.

"Oh, I dare say there are no end of ways/' said Erring-
ton, 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 Guldmars' 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 be-
lieves 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 pre-
sented 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.

THELMA. 93

CHAPTER IX.

Our manners are infinitely corrupted, and wonderfully incline to
the worse; of our customs, there are many barbarous and mon-
strous. MONTAIGNE.

The next day was very warm and bright, and that pious
mtheran divine, the Rev. Charles Dyceworthy, was seriously
icumbered by his own surplus flesh material, as he wearily
>wed himself across the fjord toward Olaf Guldmar's private
ier. As the perspiration bedewed his brow, he felt that
[eaven had dealt with him somewhat too liberally in the way
>f fat he was provided too amply with it ever to excel as an
irsman. The sun was burning hot, the water was smooth
oil, and very weighty it seemed to resist every stroke of his
lumsily wielded blades. Altogether it was hard, uncongenial
rork and, being rendered somewhat flabby and nerveless by
lis previous evening's carouse with Macfarlane's whisky, Mr.
rceworthy was in a plaintive and injured frame of mind.
[e 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 worshipers 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.

94 THBLMA.

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 undigni-
fied 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? Pleas-
ant 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 inten-
tions toward Thelma Guldmar, 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. Con-
trary 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. Somewhat 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 some time before he was
answered, repeating his summons violently at frequent inter-
vals, and swearing irreligiously under his breath as he did so.

THELMA. 95

Jut at last the door was fluug 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 soap-suds, akimbo on her sturdy
lit tk' hips, with an air that was decidedly impertinent.

"Well, what do you want?" she demanded, with rude ab-
ruptness.

M r. Dyce worthy regarded her in speechless dignity. Vouch-
p.-ifing 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 Froken Thelma I desire to speak."

Britta laughed and tossed her rough brown curls back from
forehead. Mischievous dimples came and went at i;he
iers of her mouth indications of suppressed fun.

"The Froken is out too," she said, demurely. "It's time
had a little amusement; and the gentlemen treat her as if
were a queen!"

Mr. Dyceworthy started, and his red visage became a trifle

der.

"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 contemptu-
ous up-and-down sort of look at the Lutheran minister's port-
ly form. "Sir Philip Errington was here with his friend yes-
t'Tcluy evening and stayed a long time and to-day a fine boat
with four oars came to fetch the master and Froken Thelma,
and they are all gone for a sail to the Kaa Fjord, or some
other place near here I can not 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 Froken
nothing is too good for her!"

Mr. Dyceworthy's face was the picture of dismay. This was

96 THELMA.

a new turn to the course of events, and one, moreover, 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 Froken that I have found something which be-
longs to her, and that when she wishes to have it I will myself
bring it."

Britta looked across. "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 accom-
plishing 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 anywhere but air, air, air! no
birds, no flowers, no trees, no sunshine! All gone with her
011 the sparkling, singing water!" and he swung his arms
round violently, and snapped his fingers in the minister's face.
"What an ugly man you 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 door-way 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

I

THELMA, 97

Britta!" lie 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
iKeu worthy. "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.
Ho ilew away so quickly I could not follow him; but I know
wlu- re lie 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 gold 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 Rev. 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
pron with the air of a trustful child.

"lie'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 swet-p 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 ,dad of it at any rate, she's
at deal too kind-hearted to shut this poor boy up in a
house for madmen! He'd die if lie 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.

98 THELMA.

"You talk too glibly, young woman/' he said. "It is neces-
sary 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
reopened; but on second thoughts he decided that it was be-
neath 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 harassed 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 posi-
tion of affairs. He was quite aware of Thelma Guldmar's ex-
ceptional 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 hay-
makers and fishermen were the only persons of the male sex
who had ever been within the precincts of Olaf Guldmar's
dwelling, and 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 unwel-
come. He had gathered together as much as he could all the
scraps of information concerning them: how Olaf Guldmar
was credited with having made away with his wife by foul
means; how nobody ever 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 pre-
dominant, he had resolved in his own mind that here was a

THELMA. 99

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.
Dvceworthy's laudable ambitions. There was no rival to op-
ium, 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 pre-
tensions, should he make any.

"How did he find her out?" thought the Rev. Charles, as he
dolefully pulled his craft along. "And that brutal pagan
Guldmar, too, who pretends he can not endure strangers!"

And as he meditated, a flush of righteous indignation crim-
soned 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 dis-
grace, 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

I her place was still empty.
Mean \vhile, 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 nad 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-
fat -ed Ulrika. She was crouched on the earth floor in an atti-
tude of utter debasement, at the feet of her companion an
dame of tall and imposing appearance, who, standing
erect, looked down upon her with an air of mingled contempt

100 THELMA.

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 luster, as they rested on the pros-
trate 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 Guldmar, 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 de-
serted 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, and leave
her there, to sink or swim according to her nature!"

"I know," murmured Ulrika, humbly, raising herself slight-
ly 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 Hilcl-
mar Bjorn were herded home when she passed by. Now they
are seized by the murrain plague! Tell your good saint

THELMA. 101

I )\vt' worthy these things; if he can find no cure, 1 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 man-
ner.

"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
tlu-y 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 vio-
lently. 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 Guldmar is in-
deed 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 neighbor-
hood 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 checks the
transparency of her flesh the glittering light in her eyes. th>
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

102 THELMA.

(lull soul was on fire once! But I when I was young, I had
beauty such as you never had, and I loved Olaf Guldmar."

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 Guldmar 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 knew
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 "hut 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 noth-
ing, we will. And if all fails, come to me again; and remem-
ber! 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 disappear-
ing. On returning to the minister's dwelling, she found that
Mr. Dyceworthy had not yet come back from his boating ex-
cursion. 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 convul-
sion. She groaned and tortured the tears from her eyes; she
pinched her own flesh till it was black and blue, and scratched

THELMA. 103

it with her nails till it bled and she prayed inaudibly, but
with evident desperation. Sometimes her gestures were fran-
-t onetimes 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 reclothed herself, and with her usual calm, immov-
able aspect though smarting sharply 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.

CHAPTEK 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 glitter-
ing shield toward 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. Dyce-
worthy entered his house, fatigued, perspiring, and ill-tem-
pered at the non-success of his day. All on board the yacht
were at dinner a dinner of the most tasteful and elegant de-
scription, such as Sir Philip Errington well knew how to order
and superintend and Thelma, leaning against the violet vel-
vet cushions that were piled behind her for her greater oa?e,
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 earno
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

104 THELMA,

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 courte-
ous to her, kept somewhat in the background, and appeared
more anxious to render himself agreeable to old Olaf Guldmar
than to win the good graces of his lovely daughter. The girl
was delighted with everything on board the yacht she ad-
mired 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 ves-
sel; 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 ad-
miration. 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 delight-
edly. "I am sure we shall be able to amuse you, Miss
Guldmar."

"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 courtesy, 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 in-
terest 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

THELMA. 1U5

were thoroughly delighted with her father, Olaf Guldmar.
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 un-
d heartiness that it was impossible to be dull in his com-
pany 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 Guldmars on board
the "Eulalie" was depicted in his face, but who prudently
forbore 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, where-
upon, to his surprise, Thelma had answered him in the same
tongue though with a different and much softer pronuncia-
tion. 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 Aries, 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 fit thing for a woman it is too heavy and common-
place. 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 con-
sideration with me. I wanted her disposition trained, and her
bodily health attended to. I said to those good women at
Aries: '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 tem-
per 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

100 THELMA,

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 uncon-
scious 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 cham-
pagne, her fair 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 a swift attention.

"Do you know any one of the name of Sigurd?" he was say-
ing, "a poor fellow whose wits are in heaven, let us hope for
they certainly are not on earth."

Olaf Guldmar'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 conversa-
tion. "Do you know he actually visited me on board here
last night, and begged me to go away from the Alten Fjord
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 can not 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 con-
tinued, 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

THELMA. 107

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 throw-
ing 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, warn-
ing, pitiful, appealing sort of expression! There was no re-
sisting 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 witli
flowers in the morning that she might tread on them as she
passed by."

The old bonde 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,

at a loss

108 THELMA.

seemed particularly shallow and frothy. This Mile. G-uldm'ar,
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 con-
trary, 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 femi-
nine sex beside 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 un-
flinching pride of the ancien regime made its name honored
throughout the world. An odd direction indeed for Pierre
Duprez's reflections to wander in he, who never reflected on
either past or future, but was content to fritter away the pres-
ent as pleasantly as might be and the only reason to which
his unusually serious reverie could be attributed was the pres-
ence 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 unhe-
roic 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 gayly 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 un-
selfish 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. Macfar-
lane, meditatively watching the girl from under his pale eye-

THELMA. 109

lashes, tliouglit of Mr. Dyceworthy's matrimonial pretensions
with a humorous smile hovering on his thin lips.

"Ma eertes! the fellow has an unco' gude opeenion o'
hi nisei'," he mused. "He might as well offer his hand in
marriage to the queen while he's aboot it he wad hae just as
nmrkle chance o' acceptance."

Meanwhile, Errington, having learned all he wished to
know concerning Sigurd, was skillfully drawing out old Olaf
(iuldmar, and getting him to give his ideas on things in gen-
eral, 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 Guldmar. "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 unnat-
ural and most unwholesome; moreover, it is almost destitute of
Art in its highest forms and is not its confessed watchword
Mho 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
auain 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 bet-
ter and untried direction?" asked Errington.

Olaf (Juldmar shook his head emphatically. "You can't do
it," he said, decisively. "Everything in every way has been
Ix-irun 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

110 THELMA.

new. Norway, for example, lias 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 heen a Viking,
Mr. Guldmar, had you lived in the old days," he said, with a
smile.

"I should indeed!" returned the old man, with an uncon-
sciously haughty gesture of his head; "and no better 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 Guldmar, 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 oh Guldmar, more gently, "there
is much in our ancient Norwegian history that is forgotten or
ignored by students of to-day. The travelers 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 Norsemen and carried away to see 'the place where
the sun slept in winter.' Most probably he came to this very
spot, the Alten Fjord at any rate, the ancient Greeks had

THELMA. Ill

good words to say for the 'Outside Northwinders,' as they
\ alk'd us Norwegians, for they reported us to be 'persons liv-
ing in peace with their gods and themselves.' Again, one of
tin* 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 Lori-
mer. "But I say, Mr. Guldmar, 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 recol-
lection of them. I know Henry VIII. got rid of his wives
cxpcditiously 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 seem firmly
impressed on my memory to the exclusion of everything else
that might possibly be more important."

Old Guldmar 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 Guldmar, I am not pretending in the
least. I'm no scholar. Errington is, if you like! If it hadn't
1 '<!! 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 pub-
lished some poems."

"Be quiet, George!" exclaimed Errington, with a v<
laugh. "You are boring Miss Guldmar to death!"

"What is boring?" asked Thelma, gently, and then turning
ler eyes full on the young baronet, she added, "I like to hear

112 THELMA.

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
Guldmar," 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 Guldmar, 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.

Guldmar's keen eyes lighted on him with fiery impetuous-
ness.

"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 depth, as expect to find a man without an im-
mortal 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

THELMA. 113

any truth in the doctrine of another life than this one? "I
only thocht ye might have perhaps questioned the probabeel-
ity o't, in your own mind."

"I never question Divine authority/' replied Olaf Guldmar;
"I pity those that do!"

"And this Divine authority," asked 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
Guldmar "in the mysteries of the universe about me the
glory of the heavens the wonders of the sea! You have per-
haps 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 can not 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.

Guldmar laughed. "Well, not quite!" he admitted can-
didly; "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 res-
ignation to Guldmar'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 unspoiled by any
of the varied "systems" of torture invented by singing-masters
for the ingenious destruction of the delicate vocal organ. She
sung 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, marvelous One!

114 THELMA.

"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 till old Guld-
mar translated them for their benefit, they could feel the in-
tensity 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 can not 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, depreca-
tory 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 has a voice, Miss Guldmar," said Erring-
ton. "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 toward her, with many assurances of
their delight and admiration; but she put all their compli-
ments aside with a little gesture that was both incredulous
and peremptory.

THELMA. 115

"You must not say so many things in praise of me," sin-
.slid, with a Mvil't 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 can not understand the words
tln-v say, just as you can not 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, 1'autre fois

Dans un bois,

Ma main preludait a peine;
Une colombe descend

En passant,
Blanche sur le luth d'gbene.

"Mais au lieu d'accords touchants,

De doux chants,
La colombe ge"missante
Me demande par pitie"

Sa moiti6
Sa moide" loin d'elle absente!"

She sung 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 afterward you shall leave us
when you will."

Guldmar acquiesced in this arrangement before his daugh-
ter 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 crim-
son. The young men grouped themselves together at the
prow of the vessel in order to smoke their cigars without an-
noyance to Thelma. Old Guldmar 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
- fixed on the burning splendors of the heavens.

H THELMA.

"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 warm-
est 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 Alten Fjord
as a dream and our names will be forgotten. That is nat-
ural!"

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
back! The heart and impetuosity of Borneo 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 mo-
ment to rival 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:

THELMA. 117

"I shall never forget the Alten Fjord or you, Miss Guld-
niar. Don't you know there are some things that can not be
forgotten ? such as a sudden glimpse of fine scenery, a beau-
tiful 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 traveled 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 Aries, 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 Eng-
lish Channel to Brest then by the Bay of Biscay to Bayonne.
Uayonne seemed to me very lovely, but we left it soon, and
traveled a long way by land, seeing all sorts of wonderful
tilings, till we came to Aries. And though it is such a long
route, and not one for many persons to take, I have traveled
to Aries 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 un-
derstand!" she said. "My mother came from Aries."

"She was French, then?" he exclaimed, with some surprise.

"No," she answered, gravely. "She was Norwegian, l>e-
cause 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!"

Krrington apologized at once with some embarrassment, and
per color than usual on his face. She looked up at him
quite frankly.

118 THELMA.

"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 not 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 Guldmar, 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 Aries!"

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 Guldmar. Your father is going to
show us how to do it in 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 Guldmar, women are going in for everything now-
adays! Hunting, shooting, bull-fighting, dueling, horsewhip-
ping, lecturing Heaven knows what! They stop at nothing
salmon-spearing is a mere trifle in the list of modern femi-
nine 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 witli
surprise.

"The men would not allow them?" he repeated, slowly.

THELMA. 119

"Oh, Miss Guldmar, little do you realize the state of things at
the present day! The glamour 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 thunder-bolt 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 can not make
me think your funny thoughts; it is no use!" And she laugh-
ed 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 Guldmar, giving himself a
shake like an old lion, as he broke off a rather tedious conver-
sation 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
us 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 Guld-
mar 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
a liveable to you; it is a grand sight well worth seeing. To-
morrow we shall meet again for the salmon-spearing I war-
rant 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
wandering to Thelma, who was just then shaking hands
with his friends and bidding them farewell.

Guldmar laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "That

120 THELMA.

means till you are tired of tlie place/'' he said, good-humored-
ly. "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 mo-
ment 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, hur-
riedly, 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 dis-
appear over the gleaming water, till the very last glimpse of
Thelma's crimson hood had vanished, and they turned to
rejoin their companions, who were strolling up and down
smoking.

"BeUecomme un angel" said Duprez, briefly. "In short, I
doubt if the angels are so good looking!"

"The auld pagan's a fine scholar," added Macfarlane, medi-
tatively. "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

THELMA. 121

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.

CHAPTEE XI.

Tu vas faire im beau rve,
Et t'enivrer d'un plaisir dangereux.

Sur ton chemin I'Stoile qui se ISve
Longtemps encore Sblouira tes 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 Guldmars was fast ripening into a pleas-
ant intimacy. It had grown customary for the young men to
spend that part of the day which, in spite of persistent sun-
shine, they still called evening, in the comfortable, quaint
parlor of the old farm-house looking at the view through the
rose-wreathed windows listening to the fantastic legends of
Xorway as told by Olaf Guldmar or watching Thelma's pict-
uresque 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 do-
cile 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 lis-
tened to the conversation around him, or was utterly indiffer-
ent 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
done, and devoted his attention more entirely to Thelnia.

<- i. U J I Tfl

alone, am

122 THELMA.

One evening, after supper at the farm-house, Lorimer, who
for some time had been watching Philip and Thelma convers-
ing together in low tones near the open window, rose from his
seat quietly, without disturbing the hilarity ^f the bonde, who
was in the middle of a rollicking sea-story, told for Macfar-
lane'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 lighted 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 creat-
ure of the piece! By Jove, I wish I were a soldier! I'm cer-
tain 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 magnani-
mous! 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, anyhow! Dear old Phil! I wonder
whether "

What he would have said was uncertain, for at that moment

THELMA. 123

he was considerably startled by the sight of a meager, pale
peering through the ported pine-boughs a face in which
two wild eyes shone with a blue-green glitter like that of new-
ly sharpened steel.

"Halloo, Sigurd!" said Lorimer, good-naturedly, as he rec-
ognized his visitor. "What are you up to? Going to climb
a 'tree?"

Sigurd pushed aside the branches cautiously and approach-
ed. 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
ynii! I never grieve- don't know how to do it. What is
grief?"

"To love!" answered Sigurd, promptly. "To see a beauti-
ful 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
In 'iivens are empty? You know it!"

Lorimer flushed hotly, and then grew strangely pale. After
n 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 feature-.
laid his weak-looking white hand on the young man's arm
id said, in a lower tone:

124 THELMA.

"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, gray-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, Sig-
urd the spirits have made a mistake again! Come along let
us join the others."

But Sigurd would not accompany him. He sprung away
like a frightened animal, in haste, and abruptly plunging into

THELMA, 125

the depths of a wood that bordered on Olaf Guldmar's
grounds, was soon lost to sight. Lorimer looked after him in
a little perplexity.

"1 wonder if he ever gets dangerous?" he thought. "A fel-
low with such queer notions might do some serious harm with-
out 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 oppor-
tunity 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 herself 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 indefinable 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
\\ii\\ sadness. She looked up now and then from the printed
page, and her gaze wandered over the stretch of the scented,
i lower-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
IG 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 lan-
guage and glow of color that distinguishes the writings of tin 1
"mkespeare of France. Within the house Britta was singing

126 THELMA.

cheerily at her work, and the sound of her song alone disturbed
the silence. Two or three pale-blue butterflies danced drowsi-
ly in and out a cluster of honeysuckle that trailed downward,
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 peace-
ful 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 upward, and the
demure kitten, scared out* of its absurd self -consciousness,
scrambled hastily up the nearest little tree. The intruder on
the quietude of Guldmar's domain was the Eev. Mr. Dyce-
worthy and as Thelma, standing erect in the porch, beheld
him coming, her face grew stern and resolute, and her eyes
flashed disdainfully.

Ignoring the repellent, 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, Froken. 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 fath-
er is not in, Mr. Dyceworthy."

The Eeverend 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, Froken, 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

THELMA. 127

Mr. Dyceworthy to speak. He hummed and hawed several
limes, and settled his stiff collar once or twice as though it
hurt him; finally he said, with an evident effort:

"J have found a a trinket of yours a trifling toy which,
perhaps, you would be glad to have again." And he drew
can-fully 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 posses-
sion. "Concerning this," he went on, holding it up before
her, "I am grievously troubled and would fain say a few
-ary words "

She interrupted him, reaching out her hand for the cross as
she spoke.

"That was my mother's crucifix," she said, in solemn, in-
finitely 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 sun-
shine athwart a cloud.

Mr. Dyce worthy's breath came and went with curious rapid-
ity. 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, Froken 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. ^'Friend-
ship is very rare. To be friends, one must have similar tastes
ami sympathies many things which we have not and which
we shall never have. I am slow to call any person my friend."

Mr. I )vcc worthy's small, pursy mouth drew itself into a
ti.irht, thin line.

<cept," he said, with a suave sneer, "except when 'any

person' happens to be a rich Englishman with a handsome

and easy manners! then you are not slow to make

friends, Froken on the contrary, you are remarkably quick!"

128 THBLMA,

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 asked abruptly, and with an air
of surprise.

The minister's little ferret-like eyes dropped under their
puffy lids, and he fidgeted on the seat with uncomfortable em-
barrassment. He answered her in the mildest of mild voices.

"You are unlike yourself, niy dear Froken!" 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, fy!" 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 gentlemen you
are so often seen with. Notably concerning Sir Philip Erring-
ton the evil 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. Tru-
ly, 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 run-
ner nearing the winning-post.

"Oh, you wrong yourself, my dear Froken," 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

THELMA, 129

his emotion, he added, with the gravity of a butcher present-
ing an extortionate bill, "liut first before my own humble
desires for your salvation first, ere I go further in converse,
it behooveth 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. Dyce-
worthy, in his most pompous and ponderous manner, "you say
belonged to your unhappy mother "

"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 ten-
derness 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 incredu-
lity. He was not fond of sentiment in any form, and the
girl's dreamy, pensive manner annoyed him. Death "beauti-
ful"? 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 in-
feetious disorder, and he had never been known to attend a
dent h-bed. And now, in answer to Thelma, he nodded piously
;ind 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
rame 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 carved sem-
bin nee of the Lord's limbs! Yen, truly, it hath oft been eon-

dered as damnatory to the soul more especially in the cases

Hdered as

'

130 THELMA.

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 si-
lent, but a faint smile gleamed on her face.

"Wherefore," he went on, "I do abjure 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. Cath-
olic signifies universal. God forbid a universal papacy! You
are not 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, ris-
ing 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. Froken Thelma!" and Mr. Dyceworthy's voice deep-

THELMA.

131

ened in solemnity, "there is a way which the Lord hath whis-
pered in mine ears a way that pointeth to the white robe and
the crown of glory a way by which you shall possess the in-
ner 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
of timidity in her would have given him an increase of hardi-
hood. 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, Froken," he said, sweetly, "and
I should be loath not to give you a plain answer. That way
that glorious way of salvation for you is through me!"

And his countenance shone with 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 toward you, Froken Thelma even as
Jacob's desire was toward Rachel! Let me see this hand!''
1U' made a furtive grab at the white taper fingers that played
listlessly with the jasmine leaves on the porch, but the irirl
dextrously 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 abeurdly sentimental air of reproach. "It is shy it will

132 THELMA.

not clasp the hand of its protector! Do not be afraid, Froken!
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 toward 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 blaz-
ing upon him. Her voice, clear as a bell ringing in frosty air,
cut through the silence like the 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 Eeverend Charles Dyceworthy con-
sidered 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 shrunk 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, sprung 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 spirit! My dear, my dearest
Froken 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 unreason-
able 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

THBLMA. 133

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 around 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 indul-
gently.

"Very pretty very pretty indeed!" he mildly observed,
eying 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 senti-
ment, to bend under his weighty body, and the inanely ama-
tory 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 thorough-
ly indignant to take the matter in a humorous light.

"Love you!" she exclaimed, with a movement of irrepres-
sible loathing. "You must be mad! I would rather die than
marry you!"

Mr. Dyceworthjr's face grew livid and his little eyes spark-
led vindictively; but he restrained his inward rage, and mere-
ly 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 liter-
ally, might mean that you reject my honorable offer. The
question is, do they mean this? I can not I will not believe
that you would foolishly stand in the way of your own salva-
tion" and he shook his head with doleful gentleness. "More-
over, Froken 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 respect-

124 TMKLMA.

ability such as I propose, is the only way to restore your rep-
utation which, alas! is sorely damaged, and "

Mr. Dyceworthy stopped abruptly, a little alarmed, a^
suddenly cast aside her 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 with-
out 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 fin-
gers delicately together, and looked at her with a benevolent
compassion "and they call it a withcraft 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 pool best to disabuse their minds of the suspicions
against you, I find it is a matter in which I, though an 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 dextrously 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 Froken 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 indis-
c.\'c<:{ companionship with these worldly young men who are
visiting the fjord for their idle pastime? Ah, dear, dear!

THELMA.

iis is i ml<rd a heavy scandal and a sore burden to my soul
I'm- up to this time I have, in spite of many faults in your dis-
position, considered you were at least of a most maidenly ;n;d
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 fash-
ion the hour's toy of this Sir Philip Errington! P'roVm
Thelma, E would never have believed it of you!" And he
dn-w 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 BO that she confronted Mr. Dyce-
\vorthy 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 mat-
ter? 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, Froken Thelma.
but," and here he shook his forefinger at her with a pre-
tended playfulness, "I will permit no more converse with Sir
I Mi i lip Krrington; no, no! I can not allow it! I can not,
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 some-
thing to be angry with, and you you are nothing! Neither
man nor beast for men are brave, and beasts tell no lies!
Your wife! 1!" and she laughed aloud then with a gesture
of command: "(Jo!" 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-opin-
ionated of men, even though his conscience' wen- envelope,!
in a moral leather rasing of hypocrisy and arroirance. And,
notwithstanding his invariable air of mildness, Mr. Dyce-

111 <l LAAUJ

notwiths

136 THELMA,

worthy had a temper. That temper rose to a white heat just
now every drop of blood receded from his countenance and
his soft hands clinched 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 af-
flicted to see you thus, Froken! I am amazed I am dis-
tressed! Such language from your lips! oh, fy, fy! 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 on 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 char-
ity, speak warningly to Sir Philip concerning "

But Thelma did not permit him to finish his sentence. She
sprung forward like a young leopardess, and with a magnifi-
cent outward sweep of her arm motioned him down the garden
path.

"Out of my sight coward!" she cried, and then stood wait-
ing for him to obey her, her whole frame vibrating with in-
dignation 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, Froken!" 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, Froken 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,

THELMA. 137

standing erect in the porch, tall, fair, and royal 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
Yt-i!'' 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 toward 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 fast-
ened it to a small silver chain she wore, and then a shadow
crept 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
I'altrrin.ii steps she turned away from the warm stretch of gar-
den, brilliant with blossom, and entered the house. There
\\as a sense of outrage and insult upon her, and though in her
soul she treated Mr. Dyceworthy's observations with the con-
tempt they deserved, his coarse allusion to Sir Philip Erring-
ton had wounded her more than she cared to admit to herself.

Once in the quiet sitting-room, she threw herself on her
by her father's arm-chair, and laying her proud little,
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 Lov.-"<
~>urnm<r linger touches the pulse and marks its slow or rapid

burning (i

138 THELMA.

beatings. And Thelma wept as many of her sex weep, with-
out knowing why, save that all suddenly she felt herself most
lonely and forlorn like Sainte Beuve's

"Colombe gmissante,
Qui demande par pitie

Sa moitie",
Sa moitie loin d'elle absente!"

CHAPTEE XII.

"A wicked will,
A woman's will; a cankered grandam's will!"

Xing John.

"By Jove!"

And Lorimer, after uttering this unmeaning exclamation,
was silent out of sheer dismay. He stood hesitating and look-
ing in at the door of the Guldmars' 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 tiptoe 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, trem-
blingly. "Sir Philip"

THELMA. 139

"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 Guldmar it is really
nothing!"

"Oh, but indeed it is something!" she said, with true wom-
anly 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 spoiled 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 uttered a howl as if
some one had shot him, and away he rushed into the woods
MS 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
U'inr (jiK'cr sonu'tiines. But what have you been doing with
yourself during our ahsenee?" And he regarded her with

140 THELMA.

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 Guldmar, 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 c the
good religious,' as Pierre calls him. You know what boring
means now, Miss Guldmar, 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 ex-
pression 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 Guldmar! I had no idea you were a ^bad,
fierce' person I shall get afraid of you I shall, really!"

THELMA. 141

"Ah, you laugh!" and sin- 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
(iuldmar, 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 clinched his fist as he exclaimed:

"Impudent donkey! What a jolly good thrashing he de-
serves! and I shouldn't be surprised if he got it one of these
days! And so, Miss Guldmar" and he studied her face with
M>me solicitude "you were very angry with him?"

"Oh, yes!" she replied, "but when I told him he was a cow-
ard, 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
uirls you have seen in London for I could not bear that Sir
1'hilip should think me wicked!"

"Wicked!" and Lorimer drew a long breath. "Good heav-
If you knew what Phil's ideas about you are, Miss
[uldmar

"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
(very li.irht and shadow on the fair, upturned, innocent face.

"Yes!" she continued, with some eagerness, "I see you are!
Well, it is the same thing 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
Tong it is not wise for me to show when I am happy. I do

141 THELMA.

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 un-
consciously to herself, laid hare the secret of her soul to his
eyes and though his heart heat 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 be-
fore him.

"My dear Miss Guldmar," 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 every-
body 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 ceremoni-
ous 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 inter-
rupted a pleasant conversation!" And he gave a little forced
laugh of feigned amusement, but evident v ( exation.

"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."

THELMA. 143

I imagine!" retorted Errington, with an effort to be
siivastic, 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 can not 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
: f 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 Guldmar's great
arm-chair with a slight sigh.

"Well ?" said Lorimer, inquiringly.

**\Voll!" 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
I in si and present!"

And he laughed again a little huskily this time, for there
a sudden unaccountable and unwished-for lump in his

troat, and a moisture in his eyes which he had not bargained

>r. Philip looked up, and silently held out his hand, which

mmer as silently clasped. There was a moment's hesita-
tion, 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
M'M.sition, isn't it? A sort of hot, prickly, 'have-at-thee-vil-
laiif sort of thing; must be frightfully exhausting! But why
you should indulge this emotion at my expense is what I can
not, for the life of me, understand!"

A1UU, J.U1 UJ

144 THELMA.

"Well/' murmured Errington, rather abashed, "you see, her
hands were in yours "

"As they will be again, and yet again, I trust!" said Lori-
mer, 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 Du-
prez leaning on her arm, and her father and Macf arlane follow-
ing.

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 bonders 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 impro-
vised 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 gayety was
undiminished, and he laughed as he answered:

"Cliere 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 Tiis benefit. With deft, soft fingers she laid bare the
throbbing wound washed and dressed it carefully and skill-
fully and used, withal, such exceeding gentleness that Du-
prez 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."

II

THELMA. 145

"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 afterward.

"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.

"Xever 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 as-
tonishment. It opened such a wide vista of impossibilities to
his mind.

Meanwhile old Guldmar 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 al-
ways 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!"

"May be, may be!" and the old farmer shook his head doubt-
fully. "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
ini.uht do it, and be sorry for it directly afterward. 'Tis little
list- to cry when the mischief is done and I confess I do not
like his present humor."

" l\v the bye," observed Lorimer, "that reminds me! Sigurd
lias taken an uncommonly strong aversion to Phil. It's curi-
ous, hut it's a fact. Perhaps it is that which upsets his
nrrv.

"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 Alton Fjord, and I re-
fused 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
he very ill heeau>e it is natural for every one to like you."
io

141 THELMA.

She spoke in perfect good faith and innocence of heart; but
Errington's eyes flashed and he smiled one of those rare, ten-
der smiles of his which brightened his whole visage.

"You are very kind to say so, Miss Guldmar!"

"It is not kindness; it is the truth!" she replied, frankly.

At that moment a very rosy face and two sparkling eyes
peered inquiringly in at the door.

"Yes, Britta!" Thelma smiled; "we are quite ready!"

Whereupon the face disappeared, and Olaf Guldmar led the
way into the kitchen, which was at the same time the dining-
room, and where a substantial supper was spread on the pol-
ished pine table. The farmer's great arm-chair was brought
in for Duprez, who, though he declared he was being spoiled
by too much attention, seemed to enjoy it immensely; and
they were all, including Britta, soon clustered round the hos-
pitable 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 gayly. Macfarlane vied
with the ever-gallant Duprez in making a few compliments to
Britta, who was pretty and engaging enough to merit atten-
tion, and who, after all, was something more than a mere ser-
vant, possessing, as she did, a great deal of her young mis-
tress's affection and confidence, and being always treated by
Guldmar 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 Guldmar!"

There was a sudden silence. Each one looked at the other
in surprise. Again the voice called:

"Olaf Guldmar!"

"Well!" roared the bonde, testily, turning sharply round in
his chair. "Who calls me?"

"I do!" and the tall, e'maciated figure of a woman advanced
and stood on the threshold, without actually entering the

THELMA. 147

room. She dropped the black shawl that enveloped her, and
in so doing disunkivd her hair, which fell in white, straggling
locks about her withered i'eutured, and her dark eyes gleamed
maliciously as she fixed them on the assembled party. Britta,
on perceiving her, uttered a faint shriek, and without con-
sidering 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 un-
welcome?"

"Unwelcome I know I am," replied Lovisa, disdainfully
noting the terror of Britta and the astonished glances of
Hrrington 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 Guldmar 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 daugh-
ter! restore to me the erring creature who should be the
prop of my defenseless age, had not your pagan spells alien-
ated 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 her-
self than to Guldmar; 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 slit' will: free also to stay with us, \vhnv 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

148 THELMA.

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 maid-
en'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 Men fait! C'est joliment
Men dit! Mais je crois Men!"

Lovisa seemed unmoved; she raised her head and looked at
Guldmar.

"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 Guldmar, 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 allu-
sion "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 gen-
tle surprise. Lovisa smiled malignantly.

THELMA. 149

"You know me, I think!" said Lovisa. "You have seen me
before?"

"Often," answered Thelina, 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 Guldmar, angrily.
"She is as 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 toward
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 the effort she
exclaimed :

"Stand forth, Thelma Guldmar! 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 the table.

"Anything to soothe her, poor soul!" she whispered, as she
loft Errington's side and advanced toward Lovisa, till she wa<
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
easing my curse upon you! My eurse upon the beaut v of

ceasing-

150 THELMA.

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 a wild gesture, she turned and
left the house. The spell of stupefied silence was broken
with her disappearance. Old Guldmar prepared to rush after
her and force her to retract her evil speech Errington was
furious, and Britta cried bitterly. The lazy Lorimer was ex-
cited 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 Guldmar, 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! Eaise 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

I

THELMA. 151

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 vol-
umes 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, fy!" 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 grandmamma.
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, through-
out 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
(Jlasgie, wha sits in her chair a' day wi' ae finger on the
Bible. She says she's gaun straight to heaven by special in-
vitation o' the Lord, leavin' a' her blood relations howl in'
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 worst for 't as yet
an' it's dootful whether she's any the better."

an' it

152 THELMA.

"And yet Lovisa Elsland used to be as merry and lissome a
lass as ever stepped," said Guldmar, 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 rest-
less 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 bonny
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
sunk 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 any-
how 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 Guldmar, "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 disfigur-

ing bandages in the contemplation of the little plump figure
! in its close fitting scarlet bodice and the tempting rosy
lips that were in such close proximity to his touch.

"It' 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 hap-hazard, without
knowing, or possibly caring, whether his replies were intelligi-
ble or incoherent. His thoughts were dream-like and bril-
liant 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 pass-
ing 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
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 lu's ears than the sound
<>f the sea breaking on the beach below. He glanced at the
girl the fair and innocent creature who had, in his imagina-
tion, risen to a throne of imperial height from whence she
on Id bestow on him death or salvation. How calm she
seemed! She was listening with courteous patience to a long
story of Marfarlane'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

154 THELMA.

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, heed-
less of the surprise his action excited.

"Halloo, Phil, where are you off to?" cried Lorimer. "Wait
forrneP

"Tired of our company, my lads?" said Guldmar, 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 con-
fusion, "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. Guldmar, 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 beau-
tiful. 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 suf-
fered?" 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 Guldmar.
"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

I

THELMA. 155

departure, raising their hats to Thelrna as they turned down
tlu 1 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 Guldmar'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 Eng-
lish 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.

156 THELMA.

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 Guldmar slumbered soundly, and the
golden midnight sunshine lighted up every nook and gable of
the farm house 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 meager pale
face, and wide-open wild blue eyes upturned to the fiery bril-
liancy of the heavens. Sigurd had come home Sigurd was
repentant, sorrowful, ashamed and broken-hearted.

CHAPTEE XIII.

O Love! 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.

EEIC 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 heavi-
ness 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 Yaldemar 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

THELMA. 157

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
a rin in arm, keeping a sharp lookout for the first glimpse of
tin- returning boat which had been sent off to fetch The! ma
and her father. Errington looked vexed and excited Lori-
i mer bland and convincing.

"I can't help it, Phil!" he said. 'It's no use fretting and
fuming at me. It's like Dyceworthy's impudence, of course
but there's no doubt he proposed to her and it's equally cer-
tain 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.
I "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.
I "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
1 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 feel-
ings well under control.

"But why persist in looking at the gloomy side of the pic-
ture?" he said, at last. "Suppose she loves you?"

"Suppose an angel flew down from heaven!" replied Philip,

158 THBLMA.

with rather a sad smile. "My dear fellow, who am I that I
should flatter myself so far? If she were one of those ordi-
nary women to whom marriage is the be-all and the 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 friend-
ship she may have for me by telling her of a love which might
prove unwelcome?"

Lorimer looked at him with a 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 per-
ception. 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 for-
est/ as he calls her and that you are to be the robber. Hence
his dislike to you. Dear me!" and Lorimer lighted 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 an<
was waving his French newspaper energetically to the a]
proaching visitors. Errington hastened to the gangway wit!
a brighter flush than usual on his handsome face, and hit
heart beating with a new sense of exhilaration and excitement
If Lorimer's hints had any foundation of truth if Theli
loved him ever so little how wild a dream it seemed! wlr
not risk his fate? He resolved to speak to her that very da]
if opportunity favored him and, having thus decided, fel
quite masterful and heroic about it.

TIIELMA. Ii9

This feeling of proud and tender elation increased when
Thelma stepped on deck that morning and laid her hands in
his. For, as lie greeted her and her father, he saw at a glum <
that she was slightly changed. Some restless dream must
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-
;sion. 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 Guldmars 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 courtesy 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 inhabi-
tants of every little farm and hamlet on the shores stopped for
awhile 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
ni.nht. He is very, very sorry to have hurt you!"

"He need not apologize," said Duprez, cheerfully. "I am
dcliirhted he gave me this scar, otherwise I am confident he
would have put out the eye of the Phil-eep. And that would
have been a misfortune! For what would the ladies in Lon-
don say if le l<'<"(. Krrington returned to them with one eye!
Mon Dieu! they would all be a a cJesrsjmir!"

Thelma looked up. Philip was standing at some little <li<-
mce with Olaf Guldmar and Lorimer, talking and laughing
ivly. His cap \vaa pushed slightly off his forehead, and tin

160 THELMA.

sun shone on his thick dark chestnut curls; his features,
warmly colored by the wind and sea, were lighted 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; t had she been like any ordi-
nary woman, bent on conquest, he would have taken mis-
chievous 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 differ-
ent sentiment.

et ''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 charm-
ing 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

"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 made-
moiselle, it is a grand thing to have plenty of money believe
me!"

Thelma shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps," she answered,
indifferently. "But one can not spend much on one's self,
after all. The nuns at Aries 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 al-
ways cheerful."

"The nuns! ah, mon Dieuf" cried Duprez. "The darlings
know not the taste of joy they speak of what they can not
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.

THELMA. 161

"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
In-art 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 our-
selves better."

"What highly moral converse is going on here?" inquired
Lorimer, strolling leisurely up to them. "Are you giving
Duprez a lecture, Miss Guldmar? 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
laujrh, 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 Guldmar?"

"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 Erring! on ap-
proaching, arm in arm with Olaf Guldmar, "come and admire
this young lady's power of perception. She declares I am not
siu-li a fool as I look!"

'N' ! Thelma, shaking her fol it him, "you

now very well that T did not put it in that way. "But is if not

know YCP

162 THELMA.

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
he quite different to what they are?"

"I should say it was a very common fault," replied Erring-
ton. "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
am sure of that!" And he clapped his hand heartily on his
friend's shoulder.

Lorimer flushed slightly, hut made no remark, and at that
moment Macfarlane emerged from the saloon, where the writ-
ing of his journal had till now detained him. In the general
hand-shaking and salutations which followed, the conversa-
tion took a different turn, for which Lorimer was devoutly
thankful. Her 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 heing in sus-
pense ! My mind will he 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 marvelous creatures, when they
are once brought to understand that they are men not

THELMA. 163

sts! One will take a few words and harmonize them into a
song or a verse that clings to the world forever; another will
mix a few paints and daub 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 Eng-
lishman."

"He must have traveled," returned Guldmar, positively.
**Xo 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 wonder-
ful 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
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."

!" \Veel," said Macfarlane, "I can give ye a direct contradeec-
tion 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.
1 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
mo!"

"Scotland I never saw," said ("Juldmar. "From all T have

164 THELMA.

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 win-
ters; 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 Lori-
mer, with a smile. "But it's no use appealing to me on such
matters, Miss Guldmar. 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 'every-
thing was nothing, and nothing was everything.' 'You are
sure that is so?' I would say to him. 'My dear young friend
hie I am positive! I have hie worked out the problem
with hie 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 that 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

I

THELMA.

slate-colored sea. By Errington's orders the yacht slack-

I, 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 breathleea 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 skele-
ton 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 Guldmar, 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 Guldmar, 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
nuiv exist, and it's no use offending them."

'And what do you mean by the berg-folk?" inquired Mac-
farlane.

"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 purga-
tory."

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
u think you will suffer purgatory?"

166 THELMA.

"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 Guldmar. "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 Mne 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 Curs-
ing 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 cir-
.cles 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?" asked the girl, sur-
prised.

"Yes, there are undoubtedly! Free-thinking, stump-orator,
have-your-rights sort of creatures. You don't know anything
about them, Miss Guldmar 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

THELMA. 16f

minutes the "Eulalie" resumed her usual speed, and bore
swiftly on toward Soroe. This island, dreary and dark in the
distance, grew somewhat more inviting in aspect on a nearer
approach. Now and then a shaft fell on some glittering point
of feldspar 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, liter-
ally hung all over with stalactites.

"1 never heard of this cave/' said Guldmar, fixing a keen
eye on the pilot. "Art thou a traveler'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 pres-
ence 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
1 lands, he dare not refuse it. Odd, isn't it? or so it seems to
you," and Guldmar 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
though too much given to dreams."

A gay chorus of laughter here broke from the little group
on deck, of which Thelma was the center and Guld-
mar 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

168 THELMA.

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 Guldmar regarded him fixedly,
with a musing and doubtful air. But whatever the old man
thought, he said nothing. He merely held the young bar-
onet'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 expres-
sion 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 gran-
deur of the scene. The rocks on that portion of Soroe ap-
peared 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 for-
tresses of nature a shining stretch of beach had formed itself,
on which the fine white sand mixed with crushed feldspar
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 thou-
sands 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 sea birds
refused to make their homes in the black clefts of such steep
and ban-en rocks.

At the entrance of the little cave Guldmar 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

THELMA.

ii j.j

s

cli

pilot's advice, Errington and his friends had provided them-
selves 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 dia-
monds. 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

emselves 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:

"Voila! A queen's throne! Come, Mademoiselle Guldmar,
you must sit in it!"

"But I am not a queen," laughed Thelma. "A throne is for
a king, also will not Sir Philip sit there?"

"There's a compliment for you, Phil!" cried Lorimer, wav-
ing 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 me 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 appealing wonder in her troubled eyes. He drew
closer and pressed her hand more tightly; again 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 sur-
rounded her with shouts of mingled mirth and admiration.

"Ye just look fine!" said Macfarlane with undisguised de-
li irht. "She'd mak' a grand picture, wouldn't she, Erring-
ton?"

Philip gazed at her, but said nothing his heart was too full.
Sitting there among the glittering, intertwisted and suspended
n.rks with the blaze from the ton-lies flashing on her win-
some face and luxuriant hair with that half-troubled, half-
happy look in her eyfl, and an uncertain shadowy smilo

170 THELMA.

quivering on her sweet lips, the girl looked almost danger-
ously 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 Lorimer, too, was silent, battling bravely against
wild desires that were now, in his opinion, nothing but dis-
loyalty to his friend. Old Guldmar's hearty voice aroused
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 may be 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! Al-
kns, marchons Pierre! Mr. Guldmar exacts our obedience!
Phil, you take care of the queen!"

And skillfully pushing on Duprez and Macfarlane before
him, he followed Guldmar, 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 sprung 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

i

THELMA. 171

her 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

"Ouick, 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

cycle of slow revolving years. Timidly she lifted her head.

e was very pale, and her breath came and went quickly.

e gazed at her in speechless suspense and saw as in a vision
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 rose-leaf 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

rth or heaven.

"You love me, Thelma?" he murmured in a sort of wonder-
rapture. "I can not believe it, sweet! Tell me you love

She looked up. A new unspeakable glory flushed her face,
d her eyes glowed with the mute eloquence of awakening

ion.

"Love you?" she said in a voice so low and sweet that it
iuht have been the whisper of a passing fairy. "Ah, yes!
ore than my life!"

CHAPTER XIV.

Sweet hands, sweet hair, sweet cheeks, sweet eyes, sweet mouth;
Each singly wooed and won!

DANTE ROSSETTI.

"Halloo, ho!" shouted Guldmar, vociferously, peering buck
into the shadows of the cavern from whence the figures of his
daughter and Kmngton 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 assist. -.1
'helma with irrave and eeivni<>ni<>u- politnios to CFOflfl

1 lu'lnia \vi

172 THELMA.

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/' ob-
served 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 sunk a little; but, noticing that
the old bonde was studying his daughter with a slight air of
vexation and surprise, he lo} T ally 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 gayly 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 sud-
denly to Mr. Guldmar," 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 pas-
sage through them, the threatening darkness spread with
steady persistency, especially to the northern side of the hori-
zon, where Storm hovered in the shape of a black wing

I

THIOLMA.

1 with coppery crimson. As they reached the yacht a
silver glare of lightning sprung 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 (Juldniar, followed and the vessel was soon
plunging through waves of no small height on her way back
to the Alten Fjord. 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 Guldmar?" 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

ft 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!"
he paused, and a bright blush crimsoned her cheeks; then

ing 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 toward the instrument. "And your voice, Miss Guld-
mar, 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 gayly. "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

II

peneirai

174 THELMA.

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 Guldmar, left the saloon with
him. Once outside the -door, 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 Guldmar 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 toward the south the sky was clearing, and arrowy
beams of pale gold fell from the hidden sun with a soothing
and soft luster on the breast of the troubled water.

Guldmar looked about him, and heaved a deep sigh of re-
freshment. 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 ele-
ments 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. May be the world is getting old and used up, may be
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 upward from the saloon. She was singing a French
song, and the refrain rang out clearly:

"Ah! le doux son d'un baiser tendre!"

THELMA. 175

Errington paused abruptly in his speech, and turning
toward a little closed and covered place on deck which was half
cabin, half smoking room, and which he kept as his own
]>rival<> sam-tiim, he unlocked it, saying:

"Will you come in here, sir? It's not very spacious, but T
think it's just the place for a chat especially a private one."

Guldmar 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 can not put it into suit-
able 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 eager-
ness. "How can I help loving her! She is the best and love-
lirsi girl I have ever seen! Believe me I would make her
happy If

"And have you thought, young man," returned Guldmar,
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.
Guldmar 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 "

176 THELMA.

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 love-making. 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 "

"1 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 rever-
ence."

Guldmar 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

in

I

THELMA. 177

is, nevertheless, as this present world would judge, beneath
ou in social standing? I say, have you thought of this?"

Philip smiled proudly. 'Vertainly, sir, I have not thought
of any such triile as the opinion of society if that is what you
mean. 1 have no relatives to please or displease no friend-
in t he truest sense of the word except Lorimer. I have a long
ist of acquaintances undoubtedly infinite bores, most of
I'm and whether they approve or disapprove of my actions
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, re-
ret having married her."

"Regret!" cried Philip, excitedly, then quieting down, he
id, gently: "My good friend, I do not think you understand
e. You talk as if Thelma were beneath me. Good God!
t is I who am infinitely beneath her. I am utterly unworthy
if her in every way, I assure you and I tell you so frankly,
have led a useless life, and a more or less selfish one. I have
rincipally sought to amuse and interest myself all through it.
*ve had my vices too, and have them still. Beside Thelma's
ocent white soul mine looks villainous! But I can honestly
y I never knew what love was till I saw her and now -
ell! I would give my life away gladly to save her from even
small sorrow."

"I believe you I thoroughly believe you!" said Guldmar.
[ 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 dar-
ling when I was gone for she is fair to look upon, and there
are many human wolves ready to devour such lambs. Still,
mv lad, you must learn all. Do you know what is said of me
in P.os.'k'op?"

Krrington 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 my 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, Hrik Krlandsen. was the captain of a stout
"orwegian bark, running eon-tantly between these wild

12

178 THELMA.

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 Aries, 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 Aries, 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 journey-
ings to and fro, to see the little maiden that was growing up
in the convent at Aries. 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 in-
terest.

"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
learned that I generally spoke English, and as there happened
to be an English nun in the convent, she studied that lan-
guage 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

THELMA. 179

tliat is saying a great deal! We lived a solitary happy life-
hut we did mil mix with our neighbors our creeds were
(lifl'erent our ways apart from theirs. We had some time of
perl'eel happiness together. Three years passed before our
child was born, and then" the bonde paused awhile, and again
M tinned "then my wife's health grew frail and uncertain.
She liked to be in the fresh air, and was fond of wandering
a I x nit 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
tli ere white and motionless little Thelma meanwhile saft
smilingly on the edge of the rock, assuring me that her mother
had gone to sleep 'down there.' Well!" and Guldmar 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
lip: ure 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 marvelous
praee 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?"

P" 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 <:<> ip it is generally scandalous, and seldom
true. Besides, j took your face on trust as you took mine."
"Then," declared Guldmar, with a smile, "I have nothing

ISO THELMA.

more to say except" and he stretched out both hands
"may the great gods prosper you? 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. Guldmar looked at him,
laughed a little, and sighed.

"She loves thee?" he said, relapsing intothe thee and thou
lie 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 can not believe it!"

"Ah, well, thou mayst believe it truly," said Guldmar, "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 Guldmar 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 Guldmar, gently. "What have I to do
with it? She has given herself to thee! Love has over-
whelmed 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 re-
grets 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 sup-
pressed emotion.

Errington pressed his arm. "Our house shall be yours, sir!"
he said eagerly. "Why not leave this place and come with
us?"

Guldmar shook his head. "Leave Norway!" he said
"leave the land of my fathers turn my back on these moun-
tains and fjords and glaciers? 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

THELMA. 181

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 rolled gradually away in clouds that were
tumbling one over the other at the extreme edge of the north-
ern 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 eter-
nity! 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 can not 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 crossways," and he illustrated
his lesson. "He is a dignitary of the Church, you perceive.
Bien! it follows that he can not go in a straight line if you
observe them well, you will see that all the religious gentle-
men play at cross purposes. You are very quick, Mademoi-
selle Culdmar 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?" si 10 asked, feeling a little embarrassed, as Sir Philip
eamo and sat beside her, looking at her with an undoubtedly
composed air of absolute proprietorship.

"Why? Enfin,(\\Q reason is simple!" answered Pierre, "tin. 1
queen is a woman everything must ,L r ive way to her wish!"

"And the kin^? v she inquired.

"Ah! Lepnucrc Roi! He can do very little almost uoth-

182 THELMA.

ing! 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/ 5 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
Guldmar has put the matter excellently! Chess is for those
who intend to form republics. All the worry and calculation
all the moves and pawns, bishops, knights, castles, and
queen 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 power-
ful, better and braver than all their subjects, should thev
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-humor-
cdly. "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 queen or a washer-woman."

"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, gayly. "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 un-
washed, beer-drinking, gin-swilling classes who clamor for
shortened hours of labor, and want work to be expressly in-
vented for their benefit, don't suffer a bit more than Albert
Edward, who is supposed to be rolling idle in the very lap of

I

THELMA. 183

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!"

(Juki mar 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 em-
press of all nations! No crown but a point, no royal robe
save ink! It is certain that as long as Madame la Plume gam-
bols freely over her realms of paper, so long must kings and
autocrats shake in their shoes and be uncertain of their
thrones. Mon Dieul if I had but the gift of writing, I would

nquer the world!"

There are an immense number of people writing just now,
rre," remarked Lorimer, with a smile, "yet they don't do
ch 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. "Tf
there were a man bold enough to declare truths and denounce
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 Guldmar!

I think it has a tolerable harvest of them every year a har-

. 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 Alten Fjord."

They all rose, threw on their caps, and left the saloon, with
tin- exception of Errington, who lingered behind, watching his
opportunity, and as Thelma followed her father, he called her
back softly:

"Thelmal"

She hesitated, and then turned toward him her father sa\v
her movement, smiled at her, and nodded kindly, as he i
through the saloon doors and disappeared. With a beating

184 TI-IELMA.

heart, she sprung 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 can not say it properly!" she said. "There is no lan-
guage 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!" sh<
murmured with a slight tremor; "it is terrible!"

"What is terrible, my sweet one?" asked Errington, draw
ing her more closely, and holding 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 in-
expressible 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

IJ A W LI

jj

it WI

THHLMA. 185

s brain, S!K- moved gently from his embrace and smiled
proudly, vet >\v<vlly.

"Worthy of inc?'\shc said M'l'lly and wmideringly. "It is I
will pray to be made worthy of you! You must not put

wrongly, Philip!"

lie 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

r

"Yes!" she answered simply, "I know it, "because I am like
iy mother. But it is not anything to be beautiful unless
e is loved and then it is different! I feel much more beau-
ul now, since you think me pleasant to look at!"
Philip laughed and caught her hand. "What a child you
he said. "Now let me see this little finger." And he
ned from his watch chain a half-hoop ring of brilliants,
his belonged to my mother, Thelma," he continued, gently,
nd since her death I have always carried it about with me.
resolved never to part with it except to ' He paused and
ipped it on the third finger of her left hand, where it sparkled
avely.

She gazed at it in surprise. "You part with it now?" she
asked, with wonder in her accent. "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!
1 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
e was about to say something further when suddenly Lon-
er 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 the face of a death-shot, lie advanced with his usual lan-
guid step and nonchalant air, and removing his cap, bowed
t avely and courteously.
"Let me be the first to offer my congratulations to the
ture Lady Errington! Phil, old man! 1 wish you joy!"

&"

II

186 THELMA.

CHAPTEE XV.

Why, sir, in the universal game of double-dealing, shall not the
cleverest tricksters play each other false by nap-hazard, and so be-
tray their closest secrets, to their own and their friends' infinite
amazement ? CONGREVE.

When Olaf Guldmar 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 farm-house, they saw Sigurd curled
up under the porch, playing idly with the trailing rose
branches, but, on hearing their footsteps, he looked up, utter-
ed a wild exclamation, and fled. Guldmar tapped his own fore-
head significantly.

"He grows worse and worse, the poor lad!" he said, some-
what 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 en-
gagement, 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 deso-
late hut on the mountains, and around them lay unbroken
tracts of frozen snow. They were descended from the gods,

THELMA. 187

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 sung, 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 toward
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, whis-
tling 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,
delightfully 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 dreamed of
me often?" "Will you love me always, always, always?" and
so on ad infinitum. "Ridiculous rubbish!" exclaims the
\\ould-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 rub-
hish" 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

188 THELMA.

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 dream-like wonders that, like some heavenly picture-
scroll, unrolled slowly and radiantly before them. And so
they murmur 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 w^hich he had puzzled himself so often was resolved at
last-r-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 uni-
verse! 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 Guldmar 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 en-
gaged 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 world!"

"Je lecrois Men!" 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

THELMA. 189

suit me; but if I were inclined to captivity, I should like
Mademoiselle Guldmar for my beautiful jailer. And beauti-
ful she is, mon Dieu! beyond all comparison!"

Lorimcr was silent, so was Macfarlane. After a pause, Du-
prez 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 gray eyes
sparkling with mischief. " 'T would 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 Lori-
mer, 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 Guld-
mars' 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 outvied 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."*

190 THELMA.

"All men are her favorites with the exception of one her
husband!" observed Errington, gayly. "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 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 deep-
est 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 Guldmar addressed his daughter in a soft
tone.

"Thou art 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 meager 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 Gul'dmar, 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,

THELMA. 191

"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 sunk again into
nii'lancholy monotony and he added: "Mistress, you are
killing poor Sigurd!"

Thelma's face grew 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 can not 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
befo're 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. Guld-
mar 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 can not be for long!"

"No, not for long!" cried Sigurd, raising his head brightly.
"That is true not for long! Mistress, will you come to-mor-
row with me and gather flowers? You used to love to wander
with your poor boy in the fields but you have forgotten and
I can not find any blossoms without you! They will not show
themselves unless you come! Will you, dear, beautiful mis-
tress! 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, pre-
occupied air, he moved away, walking on tiptoe as though he

192 THELMA.

feared to interrupt the sound of some soft invisible music.
Guldmar sighed as he watched him disappear.

"May the gods make us thankful for a clear brain when we
have it!" he said, devoutly; 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 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 farm-house 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 net-work of dark branches. Now and
then he smiled as though he saw some beatific vision some-
times 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

THELMA. 193

conception of God was indefinable; his dreams of heaven,
chaotic minglings of fairy-land with Valhalla but he some-
how felt that wherever Thelma's holy aspirations turned,
tin-re 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 ;md 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 hearts-
case flowers we can not 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 Guldmar'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 em-
ployer's daughter.

"May be, may be!" 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 l<n<>
Lovisa is the wisest woman we have in these parts thatV
true! The ghTe a witch, for sure!"

And they resumed their work in gloomy silence. Not m-
of them would have willingly labored on Olaf GuldmarV land
had not the wages he offered them been above the usual rait of
hire and times were bad in Norway. But otherwise, the
superstitions fear of him was so great that his fields might
have gone uutilled and his crops ungathered however. a<
13

194 THELMA.

matters stood, none of them could deny that he was a good
paymaster, and just in his dealings with those whom he em-
ployed.

Thelma and Sigurd took their way in silence across a per-
fumed stretch of meadow-land the one naturally fertile spot
in that somewhat barren district. Plenty of flowers blossomed
at their feet, hut 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 trans-
parent 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 crack-
ling 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 at his gesticulations, and came
toward him; to her utter astonishment she found herself con-

THELMA.

193

fronted by old Lovisa Elsland and the Rev. Mr. Dyceworthy's
servant, Ulrika. On both women's faces there was a curious
expression of mingled fear, triumph, and malevolence. Lo-
vi.si was the first to break the silence.

"At last!" she croaked, in a sort of slow, monotonous tone.
**Ai last, Thelma Guldmar, the Lord has delivered you into
my hands!"

Thelma drew Sigurd close to her, and slipped one arm round
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 chok-
ing with passion. "If I had my fingers at your throat, you
should then see if I am feeble! I " Ulrika pulled her by the
a rin, 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 contempt-
uously to the staring Sigurd. "Do you understand? You
tust 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
ytrii shall not stay among us. Go quickly take the blight
and pestilence of your presence elsewhere! Go! or if you
will not"

c '\Ve shall burn, burn, burn, and utterly destroy!" inter-
rupted Lovisa, with a sort of eldritch shriek. "The strong
pine rafters of Olaf Guldmar's dwelling shall be kindled into
llaine to light the hills with crimson, far and near! Not a
plank shall be spared! not a vestige of his pride be left "

op!" 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

196 THELMA.

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 axe a witch! the village knows it Mr. Dyce-
worthy knows it! Mr. Dyceworthy says we shall he 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 happi-
ness? 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
Alten Fjord 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 val-

THELMA. 197

iant. dwarf at last released her from his clutches; and, to.
liis long, fair locks over his misshapen shoulders, laughed
loudly and triumphantly with delight at his victory. "Lo
Lovisa Klsland! this is your doing; you brought this upon
mo! I may die now, and you will not carel Oh, Lord, Lord,
havo mercy "

Suddenly she stopped; her eyes dilated her face grew pale
with the sickening pallor of fear. Slowly she raised her hand
and pointed to Sigurd his fantastic dress had become dis-
ordered in the affray, and his jacket was torn open, and on
his 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.
"Xo 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 to
tho wondering Thelma, and spoke in low and trembling ac-
cents, without a trace of her former anger.

"They say you are wicked," she said, slowly, "and that the
devil has your soul already, 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
chost then. He has lived with us ever since."

I Irika looked at her searchingly then bent her head
wht-thor in _Tatitude or despair it was difficult to say.

"Lovisa Elsland," she said, monotonously, "I am going
homo. I can not help you any longer! I am tired ill."
Ili-iv she suddenly broke down, and, throwing up her arms
with a wild gesture, she cried: "Oh, God, God! oh, God!"
and burst into a stormy passion of s<>!>s and tear-.

Thelma, touched by her utter misery, would have offered
'lation, but Lovisa repoll.'d her with a fierce gesture.
>!" said the old woman, harshly. "You have cast your

198 THELMA.

spells upon her I am witness of your work! And shall you
escape just judgment? 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 can not 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 toward 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.

"Oh, Lord, have mercy upon me! Oh, Lord, forgive me!"
she moaned. "I did not know it how could I know?"

Lovisa grew so impatient that she seized her by the shoul-
der 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 hand
above her head, crying: "My son, my son! The child I

THELMA. 199

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
jil ways 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,
hut 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 con-
tempt and malice.

"As the parents are, so are the children!" she said, scorn-
fully. "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 Guldmars. Whatever their
faults, they saved my child!"

"Is that so great a blessing?" asked Lovisa, ironically.
"It makes your threat useless," answered Ulrika. "You
can not 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 can not 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
(Juldmar relate the story of the child's rescue to any one that
jiskod him? Would you like all Bosekop to know of your
intrigue with an escaped criminal, who was afterward caught
and hung? The virtuous Ulrika the zealous servant of the
Gospel the pious, praying Ulrika!" and the old woman trem-
bled 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!"

200 THELMA.

CHAPTER XVI.

II 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 Dieu, d'avoir pitie de moil Old Breton Ballad.

In a few more days Thelma's engagement to Sir Philip
Brace-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' happiness was charm-
ing to witness. It reached the astonished and reluctant ears
of the Eev. 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 main-
tained so strong a hold on the primitive and prejudiced minds
of the people, was that {he reckless young Englishman would
rue the day on which he wedded "the white witch of the Alten
Fjord."

Guldmar 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 unfavor-
ably criticised, and it would have been difficult to find a
merrier group than that assembled one fine morning in front
of Guldmar'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 pic-
turesque appearance, particularly Sigurd, who stood 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 solici-
tude.

THELMA. 201

"I've a good mind not to go at all/' he whispered in her ear.
"I'll mi ue 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
wjii eh me spinning, and you would grow so very sleepy!
Mow, 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 gayly. "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 Guldmar, at this juncture,
"keep the gates bolted and doors barred while we are absent.
Kemember, thou and Britta must pass the night alone here
we can not 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 n-ate when we have gone. This done, I have no fear of
thy safety. Now/' and he kissed his daughter heartily, "now,

202 THELMA.

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 water-falls! 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 Guldmar. "Are ye sure that wee cljap kens whaur he's
gaun? He'll no lead us into a ditch an' leave us there, mis-
takin'itforthefall?"

Guldmar 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 Guldmar, 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 be-
trothed to his arms, kissed her fondly.

"Take care of yourself, darling!" he murmured and then
hurrying away he rejoined his friends, who had discreetly re-
frained from looking back, and therefore had not seen the
lovers embrace.

Sigurd, however, had seen it, and the sight apparently gave

earn

THELMA. 203

impetus to his movements, for he sprung up the adjacent
hill with so much velocity that those who followed had some
dillk-ulty to keep up with him and it was not till they were
out of sight of the farm-house 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.

"Froken 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 curi-
osity, 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
spun 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;
''hut T am sure great ladies do not spin. Because, as I said to
you, Froken, this Jansena's mistress was a great lady, and she
nrvrr did anything no! nothing at all but she put on won-
derful dresses, and sat in her room, or was driven about in a
t-arria<:e. And that is what you will do also, Froken!"

204 THELMA.

"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 Froken," 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 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 mis-
tress, whose simple, almost severe tastes would, she instinct-
ively 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 doubt-
fully. The impulsive Britta sprung 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'
rippling wealth of hair.

"Diamonds!" she murmured to herself in a sort of satisfied

eu

THELMA. 205

soliloquy. "Diamonds, like those you have on your finger,
l-Yokcii 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 Froken we shall

"We?" queried Thelma with surprised emphasis.

Her little maid blushed vividly, and looked down demurely,
twisting and untwisting the string of her apron.

"Yes, Froken," 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 plead-
ing 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 cor-
ner of the same house where you were to sew for you. and sec
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 around Britta's waist, and tried to soothe her 1 > v
every loving word she could think of.

"Hush, Britta, dear! you must not cry!" she said, tenderly.
"What did Philip say?"

lie said," jerked out Britta, convulsively, "that I was a
little g-girl, and that he was g-glad I wanted to g-go!"
her 1wo sparkling wet eyes peeped out of the apron
in<iuiringly, and seeing nothing but the sweetest affection on
Thelina's attentive face, she went on more steadily. "II' 1
p-pinched my cheek, and he laughed and he said he would
rather have me for your maid than anybody there!"

And tin's last exclamation was uttered with so much defiance

206 THELMA.

tli at 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, Froken," 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 wag-
gle 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 re-
proach 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 en-
trusted with her education had fulfilled their task with more
than their customary zeal they were interested in the beauti-
ful Norwegian child for the sake of her mother, who had also

THELMA. 207

their charge. One venerable nun, in particular, had
*ml a (U-cj) and lasting benefit on her, for, seeing ln-r
extraordinary beauty, and forestalling the dangers and temp-
tations 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 beau-
1 if ul 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 sensi-
tive and thoughtful nature, sunk 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 chas-
tity, humility and obedience these were the laws of God,
fixed and immutable, which no one dared break without com-
mitting 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 false-
hood! how would she meet it? It was a question she never
asked herself she thought London a sort of magnified Chris-
iiania, or at best, the Provencal town of Aries 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
1 icrself of the enormous metropolis crowded to excess with its
glad and sorrowful, busy and idle, rich and poor millions.
Kngland itself floated before her fancy as a green, fertile,
embowered island where Shakespeare had lived and it de-
lighted her to know that her future home, Errington Manor,
was siluated in Warwickshire, Shakespeare's county. Of the
Mu-iety that awaited her, she had no notion she was pre-
pared to "keep house" for her husband in a very simple way-
to spin his household linen, to spare him all trouble and ex-

208 THELMA.

pense, 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 spun with Britta on that peaceful
afternoon, were widely different to the destined reality that
every day approached her more nearly.

Meanwhile, while the two girls were at home and undis-
turbed in the quiet farm-house, the mountaineering party,
headed by Sigurd, were well on their way toward the great fall
of Njedegorze. They had made a toilsome ascent of the hills
by the side of the Alten Eiver they had climbed over craggy
bowlders 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 toward Errington. Lori-
mer, who for reasons of his own had kept a close watch on
Sigurd ever since his friend's engagement to Thelma, was
surprised a*nd 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,
chattering 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, tnough 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 wonder
of waters 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, sprung lightly on a jutting crag, and, putting botlv

THELMA. 209

hands to his mouth, uttered a peculiar, shrill, and far-reaching
cry. Clear above the turmoil of the restless waters, that cry
\\as echoed back eight distinct times from the surrounding
- a nd hills. Si <:i ml laughed triumphantly.

"You see!" he exclaimed, as he resumed his leadership of
tlu party, "they all know me! They are obliged to answer
me when I call they dare not disobey!" And his blue eyes
Hashed with that sudden wild fire that generally foretold some
access of his particular mania.

Krrington 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?"

*T>y all means!" answered Sir Philip, gayly. "Anywhere
you choose to go!"

Sigurd seemed satisfied, and lapsing into the calm, com-
posed 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 thunder-
ous 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 enor-
mous 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 snaking it to and fro like a
long ilowing veil in the air. Sigurd paused and pointed for-
wrfrd.

"Njedegorze!" he cried.

14

210 THELMA.

They all pressed on with some excitement. The ground
vibrated beneath their feet with the shock of the falling tor-
rent, and the clash and roar 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 rock around them breathless with
climbing, and well-nigh tired 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 travelers who might choose that way to
journey to the Alten Fjord 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, un-
broken sheet of foam! A myriad rainbows flashed in the
torrent and vanished, to reappear again instantly with re-
doubled luster while the glory of the evening sunlight glit-
tering on one side of the fall made it gleam like a sparkling
shower of molten gold.

"Njedegorze!" cried Sigurd, again, giving a. singularly musi-
cal pronunciation to the apparently uncouth name. "Come!
still a little further to the top of the fall!"

Olaf Guldmar, 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 endur-
ance, 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 whisky 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 pos-
sibly discompose.

"Done up eh, Sandy?" he inquired.

"Done up!" growled Macfarlane. "D'ye think I'm a Norse-
man or a jumping Frenchy?" This with a look of positive
indignation at the lively Dnprez, who, if tired, was probably

THELMA. 211

too vain to admit it, for he was strutting about, giving vent to
Ins genuine admiration of the scene before him with the
utmost freshness ;m<l enthusiasm. "I'm just a plain Scotch-
man, an' no such a fule at elimbin' 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
I cap in' goat I tell ye, I ha vena been used to 't." Here he
< 1 re \\- 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 water-fall. 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
.-lira in for one second till he also stood on the platform, without
hcinor heard or perceived by either Sigurd or Philip. Their
backs were turned to him, and he feared to move or speak,
i sudden surprised movement on their parts should have

212 THELMA.

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 whirl-
ing 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 him-
self 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 excite-
ment, "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,

THELMA. 213

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 toward the fleecy whirl of white
water, and saw at once with an artist's quick eye what his sick-
brain companion meant by the Elf-danz, in the fantastic twist-
ing, gliding shapes tossed up in the vaporous mist of the fall.
"JJut 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 lie
was surprised by a sudden, strange convulsion of Sigurd's
countenance his blue eyes flashed with an almost phosphor-
escent luster his pale skin flushed darkly 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 toward 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 bewil-
dered to speak. His friend loosened him and laughed rather
forcedly a slight tremble of his lips was observable under his
fair mustache.

'T>y Jove, Phil," he remarked in his usual nonchalant man-
ner, "that was rather a narrow shave! Fortunate I happened
to he there!"

Krrin^toii na/ed about him confusedly. ''Where's Sigurd?"
he

214 THELMA.

"Gone! Ean 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 sifters his affection is by no means
fraternal if it were only that "

"I see!" and Philip's eyes filled with a look of grave com-
passion. "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

THELMA. 215

observing sort of fellow fond of putting two and two together
and making four of them when 1 wasn't too exhausted and the
weather wasn't too hot for the process. Sigurd's rather at-
tached to me indulges me with some specially private rav-
ings now and then. I soon found out his secret, though I
believe the poor little chap doesn't understand his own feel-
ings himself."

"Well," said Errington, thoughtfully, "under the circum-
stances you'd better not mention this affair of the fall to
Guldmar. 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 recollec-
tion were too painful, and exclaimed, suddenly: "Good God!
If I had lost you!"

Krrington clapped one hand on his shoulder.

"Well! What if you had?" he asked 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 Guld-
mar, Duprez, and Macfarlane were waiting rather impatiently
for them.

"Where's Sigurd?" cried the bonde.

"(Jone for a ramble on his own account," answered Erring-
ton, readily. "You know his fancies!"

"1 wish his fancies would leave him," grumbled Guldmar.
"lie 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 kitehon-
boy. I can light a fire, and can also sit beside it when it is
properly kindled. More I can not promise. As the house-
maids say when they object to assist the cook it would be
beneath me."

216 THELMA.

"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 manu-
factured 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 gypsy 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 Mac-
farlane 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 sung songs in turn and told
stories Olaf Guldmar, in particular, related eerie legends of
the Dovre-f jelde, and many a striking story 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 re-
marked 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 re-
turned. 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 travelers 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, listen-
ing to the stormy discourse of the fall; but at last his eyelids
yielded to the heaviness that oppressed them, and he sunk
into a light slumber.

Meanwhile the imperial sun rode majestically downward 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

THELMA. 217

218 THELMA.

"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 crim-
son 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 hurried 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 Guldmar
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 sav-
ing 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 immi-
nent 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 caught sight of the figures advancing to his rescue,
and was waving them back with eloquent gestures 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 stran-
gers 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 dis-
traught Sigurd, and he turned his head toward them, shaking
back his long fair hair with his old favorite gesture and laugh-
ing in apparent glee. Then he suddenly raised his arms, and,

THELMA. 219

clasping bis hands together, poised himself as though he were
sonic willed tiling about to ily.

"Sigurd! Sigurd!" shouted (iuldmar, his strong voice trem-
ulous \\itli n ii^ruish. "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 irresolu-
tion, Krrington and Lormu-r 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, ingulfed and
lost forever! Gone with all his wild poet fancies and wan-
dering 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
A 11- Wise and the All-Loving One, whose ways are too glori-
ously 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
Yalhalla, 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 fo 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 ivsriiing Sigurd's frail

220 THELMA.

corpse from the sharp teeth of the jagged rocks, that, piercing
upward 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
Avhile they kept an eager lookout the light in the heavens
slowly changed. From burning crimson it softened to a ten-
der 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. Guld-
mar spoke first in a voice broken by deep emotion.

"'Tis all over with him, poor lad!" he said, and tears glit-
tered 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 f or 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, talk-
ing 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 mysteri-
ous 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

THELMA, 221

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 im-
possible of explanation. He thought, too, with a sort of gen-
erous remorse, of that occasion when Sigurd had visited him
on board the yacht to implore him to leave the Alten Fjord.
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 pro-
found pity for the hidden sufferings, the tortures and in-
explicable 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 per-
plexing 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!"

Krrington made no answer, and they relapsed into silence
silence which was almost unbroken save by an occasional deep
sigh from Olaf Guldmar, 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

222 THELMA.

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 instinct-
ively 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
under-flow may be 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, 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. Macf arlane 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 sepulcher!" said Lorimer, dreamily eying for
the last time the sweeping flow of the glittering torrent. "Bet-
ter 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

THELMA. 223

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."

; -.\re 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 Alten Fjord was continued all day
with but one or two interruptions for rest and refreshment. It
was decided that on reaching home, old Guldmar should pro-
ceed 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 famil-
inr farm-house through the branches of the trees that sur-
rounded 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 Guldmar
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 Guldmar. 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 the shore, my lad, and see if Thelma's boat
is missing, while I search the garden."

224 THELMA.

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 Guldmar, who was making the
whole place resound with his shouts of "Thelma!" and
"Britta!" though he shouted altogether in vain.

"May be," he said, dubiously, on hearing of the missing
boat "May be 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 some-
thing 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 toward the orchard."

Guldmar shook his head and drew his fuzzy white brows
together in a 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 aloof 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 Lo visa'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 Guldmar shook his head. " 'Tis a long way, my lads

THELMA. 225

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 particu-
larly shrewd.

"I should certainly advise ye to try Bosekop first," he re-
marked cautiously. "Mr. Dyceworthy might be able to pro-
vide ye with valuable information."

"Dyceworthy!" roared the bonde, becoming inflammable at
once. "He knows little of me or mine, thank the gods! and
1 should not by choice step within a mile of his dwelling.
\Vliat makes you think of him, sir?"

Lorimer laid a hand soothingly on his arm.

"Now, my dear Mr. Guldmar, don't get excited! Mac is
riii'ht. 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. Bemuse you see Lorimer hesitated and turning to
Errington, "You tell him, Phil! you know all about it."

"The fact is," said Errington, while Guldmar gazed from
one to the other in speechless amazement, "Thelma hasn't
told you because she knew how angry you'd be but Dyce-
worthy 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 fanner 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!'' II is eyes blazed and he clinched 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 con-
found 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 Duprex he had disappeared.

"Why, where has he gone?" demanded Lorimer in some
surprise.

'"I < anna tell," replied Maefarlane. "lie just slipped awa'
18

226 THBLMA.

while ye were haverin' about Dyceworthy he'll may be join
us at the shore."

To the shore they at once betook themselves,, and were soon
busied in unmooring Guldniar's own rowing-boat, which, as
it had not been used for some time, was rather a tedious busi-
ness moreover, they noted with concern that the tide was
dead against them.

Duprez did not appear the truth is, that he had taken it
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 ges-
ticulations and cries. That plump buxom figure that tum-
bled 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 Froken! The old
villain! Wait till I get at him!"

"But, my lee-tie child!" expostulated Pierre, climbing up
into the queer vehicle, "what is all this? I am in astonish-
ment 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 ex-

THELMA. 227

citement "a wicked, wicked plot! This afternoon Mr. Dyce-
\\ -urthy'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 Froken 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!"

Uritta 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
Froken 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
bum 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 Froken? She screamed and clapped
her hands like a mad woman! she said that the Froken 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

ure 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
Froken. What did she mean, do you think?"

Duprez did not answer he made a strange grimace and
shru<r<r ( >d his shoulders. Then he seized the whip and lashed
the pony.

"Faster, faster, ///</// <:h*-r!" he cried to that much-astonished,

well-intentioned animal. "It is not a time to sleep, ma foil 9 '

Britta "My little one, y.m -hall see, We 0hftlJ dis-

228 THELMA.

turb 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 tiptoe entered the minister's garden,
fragrant with roses and mignonette, and then, attracted by the
sound of voices, went up straight 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, Froken Thelma," Duprez started, "you yourself
came hither unto my dwelling, a woman all unprotected, to a
man equally unprotected and who, though an humble minis-
ter 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 pun-
ished? 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

rolling

THELMA. 229

MIIV! And we talk of onr 'betrothed husband,' do we? Tin
tut! Put that dream out of your mind, my dear girl Sir
J'hilip Krure-Krringion will have nothing to do with you al'trr
your little escapade of to-night! Your honor is touched yea,
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. Dyce-
\\orthy made this assertion in a tone of injured honesty.
"Why should I! No no! You came here of your own ac-
cord 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
lu-lit've anything you say against me; you, a reputed witch,
and I, a minister of the gospel. For your father I care noth-
ing, 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. Dyce worthy laughed sneeringly. "God will help
you!" he exclaimed as though in wonder. "As if God ever
helped a Roman! Froken 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, and
whose clinched 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 BonDieu? No
not quite, not yet!" And still pinioning him with one hand,
he dragged at his collar with the other till he succeeded, in
i-pilc of tho minis-tor's unwieldy efforts to defend himself, in
rolling him down upon the floor, where he knelt upon him in

230 THELMA.

triumph. " Voila! Je saisfaire la loxe, 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, "Kun, mademoiselle,, run !
The little Britta, is outside, she has a pony-cart she will drive
you home. I will stay here till Phil-eep comes. I shall enjoy
myself! I will begin Phil-eep will 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 wel-
come and the carriole, with the two girls safely in it, was
soon on its rapid way back to the farm. Meanwhile, Olaf
Guldmar, 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 him-
self up as he walked into a positive volcano of wrath. Find-
ing 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, appar-
ently in a close embrace one large and cumbrous, the other
small and slight. Sometimes they shook each other some-
times 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 re-
cumbent figure of the minister. "Ah! and there is our Phil-
eep, and Sandy, and Monsieur Guldmar! 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

THELMA. 231

Sundays it is bad to be so fat he will be so exceedingly
suffering!"

Errington could not forbear smiling at Pierre's equa-
nimity.

"But what has happened!" he asked. "Is Thelma here?"

"She was here," answered Duprez. "The religious had de-
coyed her here by means of some false writing supposed to
In from you. He kept her locked up here the whole after-
noon. 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 rever-
end gentleman slowly struggled to his feet, moaning with
pain, he demanded, "What have you to say for yourself, sir?
J)C thankful if I do not give you the horsewhipping you de-
serve, you scoundrel!"

"Let me get at him!" vociferated Guldmar 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, mourn-
fully, "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 entrance-
ments "

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
lot at all that the number of the ungodly outweigheth that of
" righteous! Alas! 'why do the heathen rage so furiously

232 THELMA.

together?' Why, indeed! Except that 'in their hearts they
imagine a vain thing!' I pardon you, Sir Philip, I freely par-
don 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 can not 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 Guldmar disrespectfully, I'll thrash you within an inch
of your life!"

Mr. Dyceworthy blinked feebly, and drew out his hand-
kerchief.

"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 where my ministrations are welcome, as appeal-
ing to that portion of the people who follow the godly Luther.
Oh, yes!" and he smiled cheerfully-i "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 ser-
vants 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,

IH- Sill

THELMA. 233

i-rawling coward-like between earih 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 Dyce-
worthy 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 was 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 asked, 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
Guldmar. "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 Guldmar, 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 can not curse me again! the Lord be
thanked 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, thor-
oughly mystified then placing his ami through Erringtoifs.
id impatiently: "You'iv right, my lad! We've had

234 THELMA.

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 hack 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
tranquillity 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 luster 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 Guldmar, 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 forever! Sigurd her play-
mate 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 adven-
ture in Mr. Dyceworthy's house had vexed his proud spirit.
He knew well enough that the minister's apology meant noth-
ing 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

I

THBLMA. 235

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
In-, 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
tranquillity, and became a scene of bustle and excitement.
Moreover, to the astonishment of the Bosekop folk, the sailing
bn<r known as the "Valkyrie" belonging to Olaf Guldmar,
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 Guldmars were going away going to leave the Alten
Fjord!

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 in-
formation as to what was about to happen. The Eev. Mr.
Dyceworthy was confined to his bed "from a severe cold" as
In- said, and therefore was unable to perform his favorite mis-
-i"ii of spy so that when, one brilliant morning, Bosekop was
startled by the steam-whistle of the "Eulalie" blowing furi-
ously, and echoing far and wide across the surrounding rocky
islands, several of the lounging inhabitants paused on the
>hore or sauntered down to the rickety pier to see what was
the cause of the clamor. Even the long-suffering minister
rawled out of bed and applied his fat, meek visage to his
window, from whence he could command an almost uninter-
rupted view of the glittering water. Great was his amaze-
ment, and discomfiture to see the ma^nilicent yacht moving
majestically out of the fjord, with (iuldmar's brig in tow be-

236 THELMA.

hind her, and the English flag fluttering gayly from her mid-
dle mast, as she courtesied 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 fast-receding shores of the
Alten Fjord 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 Idssing 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 after-
ward 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 Alten Fjord
and the station of Bosekop was rapidly disappearing. Olaf
Guldmar 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

THELMA. 237

keen fond glance the stretch of the vanishing scenery.
"Though when once you are safe married at Christiania,
YahU'inar 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 wander-
ing 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 Alten Fjord
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 Guldmar, as he had just stated, purposed making a voy-
age 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 Is-
lands and all the magnificent scenery extending thence to
( 'hristiansund, while the inhabitants of Bosekop looked in vain
for their return to the Alten Fjord.

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 excite-
ment and by and by, the rightful minister of Bosekop came
back to his duties and released the Rev. Charles Dyceworthy,
who straightway returned to his loving flock in Yorkshire. It
was difficult to ascertain whether the aged Lovisa was satis-
fied or wrathful at the departure of the Guldmars with her
grand-daughter Britta in their company she kept herself

grand-

238 THELMA.

almost buried in her hut at Talvig, and saw no one but TJlrika,
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 uncom-
promising gloom.

Little by little, the gossips ceased to talk about the dis-
appearance of the "white witch" and her father little by lit-
tle they ceased to speculate as to whether the rich Englishman,
Sir Philip Errington, really meant to marry her a consum-
mation 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 the 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 de-
serted porch and fading flowers.

Meanwhile a thrill of amazement, incredulity, disappoint-
ment, 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 begun 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 Guldmar,
Bonde, of the Alten Fjord, Norway. No cards."

THELMA.

BOOK II.

THE LAND OF MOCKERY,

CHAPTER I.

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 an-
nouncement of his marriage in the 'Times.' :

240 THELMA.

"Ah, yes, yes! 5 ' And Mr. Rush-Marvelle smiled a propitia-
tory 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?"

"Bead 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. Kush-Marvelle,
rearing her head and heaving her ample bosom to and fro in
rather a tumultuous manner. "Of course it was to be ex-
pected 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 com-
mon 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 stayed 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 soci'ety! Good
heavens! He must be mad! He will be laughed at wherever
he goes!"

Mr. Kush-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 arose
from her chair and shook out the voluminous train of her
silken breakfast-gown, an elaborate combination of crimson
with gray chinchilla fur. "I shall have to call on the creature
just imagine it! It is most unfortunate for me that I hap-

THELMA. 241

to be one of Bruce-Errington's oldest friends otherwise I
might have passed him over in some way as it is 1 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. Kush-Marvelle permitted himself to smile faintly.

"Let us hope she will not turn out so badly," he said, sooth-
ingly "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 admira-
tion 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 ex-
tremely 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 War-
wickshire the house is going to rack and ruin, in my opin-
ion."

"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?"
r l'h is query was put by Mr. Marvelle, with his head very much
on one side, and his bilious eyes blinking drowsily.

"1 don't know about repairs/' replied Mrs. Marvelle. "It is
a magnificent place, and certainly the grounds are ravishing.
P>ut one of the best rooms in the house is the former Lady
Kn -ington'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
jMTlVctly morbid! It's just the same thing with his father's
library he won't have that touched cither and the coiling
II

242 THELMA.

wants fresh paint, and the windows want new curtains and
all sorts of things ought to be done. Marcia would have man-
aged all that splendidly she'd have had everything new
throughout Americans are so quick, and there's no nonsensi-
cal 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 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. Mar-
velle. "Did she take it to heart when she heard he was
married?"

"I Should think not," replied Mrs. Marvelle, loftily. "She
had 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. Mar-
velle 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

THELMA. 243

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?" in-
quired Mr. Marvelle, folding up the "Times" in a neat parcel,
preparatory to taking it with him in order to read it in peace
on liis 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, 1 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 sud-
denly 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
^irl. 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

244 THELMA.

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 ex-
tent 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 flunky
threw open the door with a virtuously severe expression on
his breakfast-flushed countenance an expression which re-
laxed 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 re-
tired slowly to a small anteroom, 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.

THELMA. 245

Meanwhile ^Jrs. Marvelle, ill her way across the great hall
to the a boo-d\var" had been interrupted and nearly knocked
down by the playful embrace of a handsome boy, who sprung
out upon her suddenly with a shout of laughter a boy oi'
about twelve years old, with frank, bright blue eyes and clus-
tering dark curls.

"Halloo, Mimsey!" cried this young gentleman. "Here
von 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 im-
aginary 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!
J'ni 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 ?"
.slid 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
(lustcrini: 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 fat!

Lord Winsleigh smiled. Mr>. Rush-Marvelle shook her
In ad with a sort of mild reproachful

"Hi 1 really ought to go to school,'' she said, feigning sever-
ity. "You will find him too much for yon. WinsleiLrh, in a
little while."

246 THELMA.

"I think not," replied Lord Winsleigh, though an anxious
look troubled for an instant the calm of his deep-set gray 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 noble-
man re-entered his library, his young son clinging to his arm
and pouring forth boyish confidences which seemingly re-
ceived 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. Arriv-
ing 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
sprung up in haste from her luxurious reading chair, where
she was having her long dark 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 in 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 con-
sidered, as she was, one of the reigning beauties of the day.
Her full dark eyes were of a bewitching and dangerous soft-
ness her complexion was pale, but of such a creamy, trans-

THELMA. 247

parent 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 ravish-
ing 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 under foot, with an air of insolent superiority, the
feelings of women less fair and fortunate. Most of her sex
envied her but Mrs. Bush-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 ram-
bled 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 theater. You've been all the night
at Winsleigh Court by the bye, 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 don't believe it! And

248 THELMA.

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 Tost' 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 sprung 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 peas-
ant 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 fin-
gers! 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 obser-
vations, but she merely observed, mildly:

"Well, then, you will leave cards?"

"Certainly!"

"Very good so shall I," and Mrs. Marvelle sighed resign-
edly. "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 Lori-
mer 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!
would have done anything for him! He might have trodden
me down under his feet! He knew it well enoughcold,
cruel, heartless cynic as he was and is! Yes, I loved him!
but I hate him now!"

THELMA. 249

And she stamped her foot (o 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 reck I < !
lust think of your husband "

"My husband!" and a cold gleam of satire played round
Lady Winsleigh'fl 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. Eush-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 luncheon 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 sueh 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 iiupiirod. "You
sent me a card, but I forgot the date."

250 THELMA.

"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 was placed on the table with a
flourish.

"Order the carriage at half-past three," commanded Lady
Winsleigh. "And tell Mrs. Marvelle's coachman that lie
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. Mar-
velle. "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 of 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 be-
longings 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 Clupps'
when they had a band to play in the back-yard, and every-
body 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

THELMA. 251

which both she and Mrs. Marvelle evidently enjoyed, flavored
an it was with the high spice of scandal concerning their most
i in mediate and mutual friends, who were, after much interest-
ing discussion, one by one condemned as of "questionable"
repute and uncertain position. Then Lady Winsleigh sum-
moned her maid and was arrayed cap-a-pie in "carriage toilet/''
while Mrs. Marvelle amused herself by searching the columns
of "Truth" for some new tit-bit of immorality connected with
the royal nobility of England. And at half-past three pre-
cisely, the two ladies drove off together in an elegant victoria,
(I raw 11 by a dashing pair of grays, with a respectable apoplec-
tic coachman on the box, supported by the stately Briggs, in
all the glory of the olive-green and gold liveries which distin-
guished the Winsleigh equipage. By her ladyship's desire,
they were driven straight to Prince's Gate.

"\Ve may as well leave our cards together," said Clara, with
a malicious little smile, "though I hope to goodness the crea-
tuiv 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 spoiled 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 mis-
tress. "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
thai sent it clanging loudly through the corridors of the
stately mansion. The door was instantly opened by a respect-
able man with gray hair and a gentle, kindly face, who was
dressed plainly in black, and who eyed the gorgeous ]>
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 reeponso

252 THELMA.

to the condescending inquiries of Briggs. "She left the house
about half an hour ago!"

Briggs thereupon handed in the cards, and forthwith re-
ported 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 hox, 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 fashion-
able society and when they entered the park, both she and
Lady Winsleigh kept a sharp lookout for the first glimpse of
the quiet gray and silver of the Bruce-Errington liveries.
They watched, however, in vain it was not yet the hour for
the crowding of the Eow 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 mustache 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 appar-
ently without looking he had lazily drooping eyes, but a swift
nnder-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 yoii here ten minutes ago? You never saw such a

THELMA. 253

si u lit in your life! Thought the whole How 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
ca lit- 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 excite-
ment 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 Francis, readily. "The
loveliest woman in the world, I should say! Phil was beside
her he looks in splendid condition and that meek old secre-
tary fellow sat opposite Neville isn't that his name? Any-
how 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 ex-
quisitely 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' 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

I'll come fo '-night you know

254 THELMA.

we're bound for the theater 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 Wins-
leigh looked vexed Mrs. Marvelle bewildered.

"Do you think?" inquired the 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 toilet 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
theater, 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 tousled curls and flushed cheeks.

Lord Winsleigh laughed. "Eeally, 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 bed-clothes,
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 tor! God bless you!"

THELMA. 255

256 THELMA.

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 servants'
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 'tain't 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. "Ex-
cited 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 house-maids, 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 French woman, 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 satisfac-
torily "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 decan-
ter 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 f;if

THELMA. 257

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
Mile," and was compelled to restrain her mirth.

"Lor', Mr. Briggs!" she gasped, wiping the moisture from
her eyes, "you are a reglar one, aren't you! Mussy on us!
you ought to put all wot you say in the papers you'd make
your fortin!"

"May be, may be, Flopsie," returned Briggs, with due dig-
nity. "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 etincelcr
t:<-!nln\ Yes, I comprehend! Miladi is one great spark-el!
But one must be a very good jewel to spark-el always yes
-not a sham!"

A nd she nodded a great many times, and ate her salad very
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 witli a gratified air, and Briggs settled his
ying her anew with fresh interest.

"Wot a witness you would be in a divorce ca>e!" he con-
tinued, enthusiastically. "You'd be in your helement!"

"1 should I should indeed!" exclaimed mamzelle, with
sudden excitement then as suddenly growing calm, she made
a rapid gestuiv with her hands: "But there will he no divor.-c.
Milord Winsleiirh is a fool!"

Ui'i.^us appeared doubtful ahoiit this, and meditated for a
long time over his third gl; M with the profound |

itr of a philosopher.

258 THELMA.

"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 gentle-
man 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 professional 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.

CHAPTEE II.

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
sunshiny morning room, fragrant with flowers and melodious
with the low piping of a tame thrush in a wide 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 plum-
age on his plump breast to ruffle up with suppressed emotion
and gratitude.

Philip was pretending to read the "Times," but the huge,

THELMA. 259

self-iinportant 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
Minlighl *t miming through the window and finally he throw
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 refill 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, gayly, "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 the news is never certain it may not even
be true."

Her husband looked at her fondly; his thoughts were evi-
dently very far away from newspapers and their contents.

As she met his gaze the rich color flushed her soft cheeks
and her eyes dropped 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 marvelous 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 con-
tented submission. She was neither weak nor timid her
character, molded on grand and simple lines of duty, saw the
laws of nature in their true light, and accepted them without

260 THELMA.

question. It seemed to her quite clear that man was the
superior, woman the inferior, creature, and she could not un-
derstand 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 be-
wildered at first by the wealth and dainty luxury with which
Sir Philip had delighted to surround her. She had been mar-
ried 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 con-
cluded they had all gone on their several ways old Guldmar
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 traveled to Hamburg, and
through Germany to the Schwarzwald, where they spent their
honey-moon 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 water-falls or watching the crim-
son sunset burning redly through the darkness of the branches
and in the moonlight 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
song to a paradise too sweet to name! Days of high ecstasy
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 em-
braced her, and her husband's kiss met hers in all the rapture
of victorious tenderness, she would often question lu-r^lf ;i-

THELMA. ^1

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
oi' his existence. His eyes delighted in her beauty but more
than this, he reveled in and reverenced the crystal-clear purity
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 treas-
ure of inestimable value fraught with divine meanings. Grad-
ually, 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 engen-
dered, his heart grew light and joyous his eyes more lustrous
his step gay and elastic and his whole appearance was that
of a 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 in-
telligent, 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 grace-
ful submissiveness submissiveness which, far from humiliat-
ing 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 worshiper of her womanly sweet-
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 wordly prog-

262 THELMA.

nostieations had come true the simple gowns her mistress
had worn at the Alten Fjord 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 hy as souvenirs
of the old days, and were replaced by toilets 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
"Froken" 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 un-
bounded 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 wonder-
ment.

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

THELMA. 263

to the occasion in all her glory, and resolved that Miladi
Bruce-Errington's dresses should be the wonder and envy of
nil who beheld them.

"For," said madame, with a grand air, "it is to do me jus-
tice. 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
MS iniladi. And they will pay!" Madame shook her head with
such 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 success-
ful in all her designs, that "Miladi," who did not as a rule
show more than a very ordinary interest in her toilet, found it
impossible not to admire the artistic taste, harmonious color-
ing, and exquisite fit of the few choice gowns supplied to her
from the "Maison Rosine" and on only 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 por-
tion of the costume in her hand with an air of doubt and
wonderment. At last she turned her grave blue eyes inquir-
ingly 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 per-
ceive it is for the evening wear it is decollete it is to show
everybody miladi's most beautiful 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 infin-
ite amazement of the vivacious Rosine. "You think I would
show myself to people half clothed? How is it possibl*
would not so disgrace myself! It would bring shame to my
husband!"

Madame was almost speechless with surprise. What strange

264 THBLMA.

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
can not think he would wish me to appear in it as you have
made it but " She paused, and taking up the objection-
able 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 out-
rageous 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 does not seem much of it, does there, dar-
ling?" 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 wea 1 * what you wish, even if it is uncom-
fortable to myself."

"Look here, my pet," and he encircled her waist fondly
with his arm, "Kosine 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
Eosine'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."

vants <

THELMA. 265

He kissed her. "You want me to issue a command about
this 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,
in y \vife, thus sayeth your lord and master Despise the vul-
gar 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 Eosine 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!"

Miladi's manner was so gracious and winning that Madame
Rosine found it impossible not to smile in a soothed and molli-
fied 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
homo to his fine old manor in "Warwickshire. Thelm.-fs
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 ser-
vants of the place welcomed their new mi<tross with marked

266 THELMA.

respect and evident astonishment at her beauty, though, when
they knew her better, they marveled 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 pro-
foundly 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 com-
fort 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 subsist-
ence 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 clew 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-Erring-
ton. 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 story through a mutual friend, he de-
cided, 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 per
annum. The astonished Neville could not at first believe in

THELMA. 267

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
meditative turn of mind. To him, literature and music were
precious as air and light he handled the rare volumes on the
Krrington 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 enchant-
ment thus engendered. Nor did he lack his supreme com-
forter, music there was a fine organ at the lower end of the
long library, and seated at his beloved instrument, he whiled
away many an hour steeping his soul in the divine and
solemn melodies of Palestrina and Pergolese, 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 by-gone 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 for-
giveness, explaining everything, and summoning him once
more to her side. He found a true and keenly sympathizing
friend in Sir Philip, to whom he had become profoundly at-
tached 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 announce-
ment of his patron's marriage but all forebodings as to the
character and disposition of the new Lady Bruce-Errington
lied like mist before sunshine when he saw Thelma's fair face
and felt her friendly hand-clasp.

Kvery 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 IXT
dress, and to listrn for her bright "(iood-inoniing. Mr. \< -
ville!" with a sensation of the kindest pleasure. It was a sort,

268 THELMA.

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 ex-
claimed:

"Why, we used to sing that at Aries!" 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 can not 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. Erring-
ton 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 day-time 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 Lon-
don, 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 be utterly bored
and exhausted at the end thereof in fact, she did not see the
necessity of knowing many people her husband was all-suffi-
cient 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

THELMA. 269

;nv, on me then I go and leave my little card and yours,
i-.\ plaining 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!"

Krrington 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 reasons to be contented with the excitement her

CBsence had created there but he was a little astonished at
dy 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 Winslrigh 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 par-
ticular 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:

270 THELMA.

"By the bye, 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 crowd-
ing 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 indigest-
ible supper and and that's all!"

She laughed and shook her head reproachfully.

"I can not believe you, my naughty boj'!" 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 Wins-
leigh 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, abrupt-
ly. "I like it it suits you."

"Of course I will wear it if you wish," she answered, laugh-
ing 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 dis-
satisfied 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 to-night, and you shall tell me afterward how you like
it. I shall be curious to know what you think of Lady
Winsleigh."

THELMA. 271

"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 Lon-
don 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 overmuch 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
torn-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 afterward 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 Par-
ton, the housekeeper, received her with much respect and
affection, and duly instructed her on every point of the domes-
tic management and daily expenditure, so that she was thor-
oughly 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 ser-
vant in her household, she very firmly checked all extrava-
gance 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-

272 THELMA.

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 reprinted page, when a light touch on his shoulder
startled him a soft, half -laughing voice inquired:

"Philip! Do I please you?"

He sprung 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

THELMA. 273

you look, for nothing can ever make you vain. You are beau-
tiful! you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,
and you look your very best to-night. 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 1 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.

"Yes, 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 to-night there's no help for it. You see we've ac-
cepted 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 attend-
ance with a long cloak of pale blue plush lined with white fur,
in which she tenderly enveloped her beloved "Froken," her
rosy face beaming with affectionate adoration as she glanced
from the fair diamond-crowned head down to the point of the
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 toilet 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 unat-
tended on her return. But she said nothing she wailed at

13

274 THELMA.

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 gray head emphatically.

"Of course not!" said Britta, with a sort of triumphant de-
fiance. "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 youth-
ful 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

THELMA. 275

young chap? then one lias a little patience with them and
tlk'v come all right."

I Jut. Jiritta had become meditative again. She went slowly
up into her mistress' room, and began arranging the few
trifles that had been left in disorder.

"Just fancy!" she said to herself "some one may hate the
Froken 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 III.

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 at-
tending an aristocratic "crush" an extensive, sweeping-off-
of-old-scores "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 upstairs 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

276 THELMA.

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 nurse-maids collect
to stare at it and when tired of staring, pass and repass under
it with peculiar satisfaction the beggar, striving 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 beg-
gar 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 can not 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 de-
struction 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

THELMA. 277

they are miserable enough as it is, believe it! their t<>\> arc
to brittle, and snap in their feeble hands so easily, that one is
inclined to pity them! And Awning Avenue, with its bor-
rowed 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 traveling 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 gentle-
man's patronage and sympathy thus frankly expressed. And
on this particular night of the grand reception he stands, lean-
ing on his broom and munching his candy, a delighted specta-
tor of the scene in Park Lane the splendid equipages, the
prancing horses, the glittering liveries, the excited cabmen,
the magnificent toilets 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 un-
touched 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 dessert. 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
ini.irht 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 lean-
ing, as though exhausted, against the balusters, with a univer-

278 THELMA.

sal 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 Wins-
leigh's "at home," half expecting to be allowed to make love
to their hostess, and so have something to boast of afterward
others are of the middle-aged complacent type who, though
infinitely bored, have condescended to "look in" for ten min-
utes 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 cer-
tainly 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 kerchief 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 fascinat-
ing figures the one plump and matronly, with gray 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 be-
witchingly 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 vew

THELMA. 279

were in Pa-ar is! Ma, would yew have concluded to find Lord
Al<ry 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 observ-
ant clear-headed magpie.

"Oh, yes! I dare say!" she remarks with airy scorn.
" 'Spect me to believe yew! Wall! 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 theater, 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 fisher-
woman 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 can not tell you, Miss Marcia," he replies almost
nervously. "I hear at the club that that Lady Bruce-
Errmgton 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
i-nnvded drawing-room, where Lady Winsleigh, radiant in
ruby velvet and rose-brilliants, stands receiving her guests,

280 THELMA.

with a cool smile and nod for mere acquaintances and a mean-
ing 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 whis-
per trifling nothings in her tiny white ear, and even once ven-
tures to arrange more tastefully a falling cluster of pale roses
that rests lightly on the brief shoulder-strap (called by court-
esy a sleeve) which keeps her ladyship's bodice in place.

Mrs. Eush-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 par-
ticular 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 con-
fessed, 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 sur-
veys 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!" Pie 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 Czar!" Another rapid movement and a
pompous gold watch is thrust before the bewildered gaze of

1 HELM A. 281

his livelier. "From my bubils in I>aris! I am bianist J am
here to bla\ !"

And raking his fingers through his long locks, he stares
defiantly around him. Mr. Rnsh-Marvelle is a little fright-
ciu-d. This is an eccentric personage he must be soothed.
Fvidently he must be soothed!

"Yes, yes, I quite understand!" he says, nodding persua-
sively at the excited genius. "You are here to play. Exactly!
Yes, yes! We shall all have the pleasure of hearing you pres-
ent ly. Delightful, I'm sure. You are the celebrated Herr

"Machtenklinken," adds the pianist haughtily. "Ze cele-
brated Machtenklinken!"

"Yes oh er yes!" And Mr. Marvelle grapples desper-
ately with this terrible name. "Oh, er yes! I er know you
by reputation, Herr er Machten Oh, er yes! Pray ex-
cuse 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, grin-
ning into each other's faces with praiseworthy and polite per-
tinacity, 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, smirk-
ing 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 Man -i;>.
with a knowing twinkle of her dark eyes. "He'll hang round

282 THELMA.

here presently! Why there's Mr. Lorimer worrying in at
the door- way!"

"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 has fair host-
ess, who receives him with rather a supercilious uplifting of
her delicate eyebrows.

"Dear me, Mr. Lorimer, you are quite a stranger!" she ob-
serves, 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 ba.ck 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 Mce, from which delightful spot we
returned three weeks ago."

Lady Winsleigh laughs. "I did not ask you for a categori-
cal 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. Eush-Marvelle, in her stately way.

"Several times. I have dined with him and Lady Erring-
ton 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 flashed angrily. "Sir Philip is

I

THELMA. :.'*:*

all very well he is by birth a gentleman Imt the person he
!ia> married is not a lady, and it is an exceedingly unpleasant
duty for me lo have to receive her."

A faint tinge of color flushes Lorimer's brow. "I think/' he
-lowly, "I think you will find yourself mistaken, Lady
\Vinslci>-li. I believe Here he pauses, and Mrs. Kush-
.Marvelle lixcs 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 piti-
less 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 dis-
dained and flouted by fair ladies because his clothes were poor
and shabby, yet for whom they now practice 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
J-]nrlish Urine 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 con-
scious air of a beauty who knows she is nearly perfect Mrs.
makes a faint endeavor to settle the lace more

284 THELMA.

modestly over her rebellious bosom Marcia smiles coquet-
tishly, 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. Mar-
velle 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 smoothes
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 han'd on Lorimer's shoulder.
"Why, George, old boy, I thought you were playing the duti-
ful 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 argu-
ment 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 win-
ning 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.

THELMA. 285

"Perhaps I've made a mistake," he says, "but the Duke of
1 1 ox well 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 gentle-
man" indicating Sir Francis Lennox, who bit his mustache
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 house-maids 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 group near the door fall apart staring and struck momen-
tarily 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 throai a>
though a very tight string were suddenly drawn round it to
almost strangling point and it is certain that she feuls a-
though she must scream, hit somebody with her fan, and ru-h
from the room in an undignified ra^o. Hut -lie .-liokes back

286 THELMA.

these, purely feminine emotions she smiles and extends her
jeweled 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 languorous 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 gayly with Lorimer and
Beau Lovelace.

"Indeed, yes!" answers Thelma, in that soft, low voice of
hers, which has 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 marvelous, innocent eyes of hers and
smiles why does Lady Winsleigh shrink from that frank and
child-like 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!"

These ladies bow stiffly while Thelma responds to their
prim salutations 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 hus-
band!" 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. 287

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
ves 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
liini 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 seemed 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. Kush-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
M r oman 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 gra-
cious! what next? Marcia Van Clupp is strongly inclined to
-, and Mrs. Van Clupp is indignantly conscious that the
Erriiigton diamonds far surpass her own, both for size and
luster.

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 Lovelacewhile Miss Van Clupp.

288 THELMA.

thinking of the relentless gift of satire with which that bril-
liant 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 impossi-
ble 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 mak-
ing 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 jeweled 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 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 per-
son of the lovely woman to whom he was holding forth.
Van Olupp stared mightily snrp]y HIP Nonv<--i;in

THBLMA, 289

peasant would not understand Beau's similes for they were
( mainly 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 de-
scribe her intense admiration of books that were so indelicately
realistic! "He is jealous of other writers, I suppose/' sin-
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 can not
be great. Shakespeare I know he is the glory of all the
world, of course I think him as noble as Homer. Then for
AV alter Scott I love all his beautiful stories I have read
them many, many times, nearly as often as I have read Homel-
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 dutout!
Monsieur, Us divines pensees que vous avez donnees.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 more-
over, 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 dia-
monds 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 near-
ly 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
will be the rage this BeaMtti" "\\'u must ask her to

19

290 THELMA.

come to us!" "Do ask Lady Winsleigh to introduce us!"
"She must come to our house!" and so on. And Lady Wins-
leigh 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 vul-
gar 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-for-
gotten 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
mustache with one hand, absorbed in watching Thelma, who,
seated in an easy-chair which Beau Lovelace had found for
her, was talking and laughing gayly 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 won-
der if he thinks I care! He may play hired lackey 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, smooth-
ing her vexed brow, swept her ruby velvets gracefully up to
that quarter of the room. Before she could speak, the cele-
brated Herr Machtenklinken confronted her with some stern-
ness.

"Your ladyshib vill do me- ze kindness to remember," he
said, loftily, "zat I am here to blay! Zere has been no obbor-
tunity ze biano could not make itself to be heard in zis fery

THELMA. 291

nioch noise. It is bossible your ladyshib shall require not zu
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 indifferen t
to your advantages then all I can say is, so am I! You arc,
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 im Himmel!" he gasped, in a sort of infuriated sot to
voce. "Ze emberor himself would not have speak to me so!
I come here as a favor her ladyshib do not offer me one
pfennig 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-na-
turedly. "We want you to play. There is a lady here who
heard you in Paris quite recently she admires you im-
mensely. 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 much 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,
\\hciv IK 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 Lamoureaux's con-
certs 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 heiv
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

292 THELMA.

treated as a friend and a gentleman. Up to this moment, at
all the "at homes" and "assemblies/' he had not been consid-
ered 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 com-
mand 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 inter-
est 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
toward 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,

THELMA.

293

'( YmviTsation can be continued afterward." He then noddrd
cheerfully toward Herr Machtenklinken, who, inspired by this
open encouragement, started oft' 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 re-
sponded 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 Czar 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 prais-
ing 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 lan-
guorous gaze on Thelma's face, murmuring, "You will not be
uel as to refuse us such delight?"

"No, of course not!" answered the girl, greatly surprised at
all these unnecessary entreaties. "I am always pleaded to

all th<

294 THELMA.

sing." And she drew off her long loose gloves and seated her-
self 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 toward the piano, staring
with a curious fascination at her beautiful face and diamond -
crowned hair. One moment and her voice, in all its passion-
ate, 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 be-
wildered.

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 drear solemnity of the Altenguard hills, the
glittering expanse of the fjord, the dear old farm-house 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 em-
brasure 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 unspoiled 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 Kush-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 won-
der," 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 Matchtenklinken was overcome with
admiration.

"It is a voice of heaven!" he said in a rapture.

The fair singer was surrounded with people.

THELMA. 295

"I hope," said Mrs. Van Clupp, with her usual ill-bred eager-
ness to ingratiate herself with the titled and wealthy, "I hope
you will conic 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 oome.
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 some-
what mortified, and knew not what to answer. This Nor-
wegian 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 around Thelma's
waist.

"You must come to me, my dear," she said with real kind-
ness 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 loath she had been to meet Philip's "peas-
ant" 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,
i ng her hand.

' So I will so I will!" and Mrs. Rush-Marvelle nodded

296 THELMA.

beamingly, and made her way up to Lady Winsleigh, saying,
"By-by, 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, im-
patiently. "You are intense! 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!"

THELMA. 297

"Let mo escort you to your carriage," said her noble ho.-t,
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
da iv 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 Thehna 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 for-
ward 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 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
\\ith her fur cloak, and being the last to shake hands with Sir
Philip as he sprung in beside his wife, and called to the coach-
man "Home!" The magic word seemed to affect the horses,
tor they started at a brisk trot, and within a couple of minutes
the carriage was out of sight. It was a warm star-lighted
evening and as Lm'imer 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.
Tnrhnvs won't wrin ( u his secret out of him." Aloud he said:

298 THELMA.

"I say, haven't we had enough of this? Don't let us sup here
nothing but unsubstantial pastry and claret-oup the latter
abominable mixture would kill me. Come on to the Club, will
you?"

Lorimer gladly assented they got their overcoats from the
officious Briggs, tipped him handsomely, and departed arm in
arm. The last glimpse they caught of the Winsleigh festivi-
ties was Marcia Yan 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 near
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 sev-
eral 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 in-
variable 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

THBLMA. 299

nest 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 re-
ceiving 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 can not
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 IV.

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 be-
fore 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 em-
1 lowered seclusion of Krrington Manor, the dear old house in
irreen-wooded Warwickshire. But the "season" claimed her
its frothy gayeties were deemed incomplete without her no
"at home" was considered "the" thing unless she was present.
She became the center of a large and ever- widening social
circle painters, poets, novelists, wits, savants, and celebrities
of hiirh distinction crowded her rooms, striving- to entertain

300 THELMA.

her as well as themselves with that inane small talk and gos-
sip too often practiced hy the wisest among us and thus sur-
rounded, 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 sor-
row, 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 dys-
pepsia and discontentment. She found that even poets, whom
she had fondly deemed were the angel-guides among the chil-
dren 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 enter-
tained 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 tw r o
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

I

THELMA. 301

;ij>art with their hacks turned to one another for the remainder
of the evening, their attitude was so uncompromising that it
\\as no wonder the gentle Thelma felt quite dismayed and
wretched at the utter failure of the rencontre.'

"They would not be sociable!" she afterward complained
to Lady \\insleigh. "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 worshiper 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 woman-
hood 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 in-
dill'erence, as though they were mere bits of household furni-
ture others, having nothing better to do, "went in" for
spiritualism the low spiritualism that manifests itself in the
turning of tables and moving of sideboards not the higher
spiritualism of an improved, perfected, and saint-like way of
life and those 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
se\ within them foolish human flowers without fragrance.

302 THELMA.

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 por-
traits 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 in-
dubitably 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, so long as she can find a fool ready to settle her
dress-maker'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 vari-
ous 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 commonplace
sentence-writing of Walt Whitman why members of Parlia-
ment talked so much and did so little why new poets, how-
ever nobly inspired were never accepted unless they had in-
fluential friends on the press why painters always married
their models or their cooks, and got heartily ashamed of them
afterward 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

THELMA. 303

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 bright-
1 or 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 prepense against Errington, whose
coldness to herself in past days had wounded her vanity, and
partly for private jealousy of Thelma's beauty and attractive-
ness.

Within a short time she had completely won the girl's con-
fidence and affection. Sir Philip, forgetting his former sus-
picions of her, was touched and disarmed by the attachment
and admiration she openly displayed toward his young wife.
She and Thelma were constantly seen together, and Mrs. Rush-
Marvelle, far-sighted as she generally was, often sighed doubt-
fully 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 abet-
ting 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 police-
men 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. Mar-
velle sufficiently well to be willing to please her. But, in
truth, these rich and vulgar Yankees seemed to her mind l i ss
to be esteemed than the peasants of the Alten Fjord, who in
many instances possessed finer tact and breeding than old Van
( 'lupp, the man of many dollars, whose father had been noth-
ing 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 trac-
ing back their ancestry to these virtuous old gentlemen! The

304 THELMA.

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 uphol-
sterer'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 por-
trait 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 line-
age 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 un-
reasonable 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, re-
ject 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

THELMA. 305

mind him, Thelma! lie won't bite, I assure you he means
no harm. It's only his little way of making himself agree-
able!"

George Lorimer, during this particular "London season,"
lied the field of action, and went to Paris to stay with Pierre
Ihiprez. He felt thnt 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 charm-
ing 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 delight.

And Thelma was often now in need of rest. As the season
drew toward its close, she found herself strangely tired and
dispirited. The life she was compelled to lead was all un-
suited 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? Be-
cause 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 aru'iie about trifles and air their whims and follies with-
out 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
20

306 THELMA.

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 55 and a "career" he must have in
order to win distinction for his wife's sake. Therefore, sum-
moning 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 his 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/ 5 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 medita-
tive 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:

"Froken!" she paused Thelma seemed not to hear her
"Froken, has anything vexed or grieved you to-day?"

Thelma started nervously. "Vexed me grieved me?" she
repeated. "No, Britta why do you ask?"

"You look very tired, dear Froken," 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

THELMA. 307

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
1 her fair head against Britta's shoulder and smile- 1
faintly. At that moment a light tap was heard outside, and a
\oiee 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 sprung 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 whis-
pered, 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 Theater 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
\\ e 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

308 THELMA.

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, Fm 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 philoso-
phers!"

"You really mean that?" she asked, half timidly.

"I really mean that," he answered fondly. "Little skeptic!
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 theater."

"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 scenes of the
performance the stage-effects were so pretty and the dancing
so graceful that she nearly forgot the bewildered astonishment

THELMA. 309

>he had at lii>t felt at the extreme scantiness of apparel worn
by the ladies of the ballet. They represented birds, bees,
butterflies, and 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 theater
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 per-
formance and wished to remain, why then politeness de-
manded that Thelma should not interfere with her pleasure by
taking an abrupt leave. So she resumed her seat, but with-
drew herself far behind the curtain of the box, in a corner
where the stage was almost invisible to her eyes. Her hus-
band 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 y" he
said in a strange, coarse whisper. "Outside the box away
from the ladies a matter of importance!"

lie looked as if he were about to faint. He gasped rather
than spoke these words; his face was while as death, and his
had a confused and bewildered stare.

310 THELMA.

"Certainly!" answered Philip, promptly, though not with-
out 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 ex-
travagantly before the foot-lights, pointing her toe in the
delighted face of the stalls and singing 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 toward
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 are not ad-
mitted!" And Clara Winsleigh laughed. "Don't look so
shocked, for heaven's sake, Thelma you don't want .your

THELMA. 311

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
(Iriselda though you are!"

Thelma's face grew very pale, and her hand closed more
lightly 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 toward 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 iVdin-s. They left the theater,
and were soon on their way home, though Thelma was rather

312 THELMA.

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 toward home, Philip, turning toward
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, ten-
derly 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 theater-going this season. The
heat and noise and glare are too much for you."

"Philip," said Thelma, suddenly. "Did you really go be-
hind 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 mat-
ter 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 an-
other 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 persist-
ently in her ears.

On reaching home Philip went straight to Neville's little
study and remained in earnest converse with him for a long
time, while Thelma went to bed, and lay restless among her
pillows, puzzling her brain Avith 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 plain-
tively 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!"

THELMA. 313

M earns hik', Lalv \Viusleigh, in the seclusion of her own
boudoir, penned a brief note to Sir Francis Lennox as follows:

"DEAR OLD LKNNIE I saw you in the stalls at the theater this
evening, though you pretended not to see me. What a fickle
creature you are! not that I mind in the very least. The vir-
tuous 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 Eenaud, 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 mis-
tress were subjected to the same process even these 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 mali-
cious, she was an altogether admirable attendant for a lady of
rank and fashion, her skill as a coiffeur and needlewoman
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* incomings and out-
goings, tempers and tears to watch her looks, her smiles and
frown? 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 a discharged footman or valet?

314 THELMA.

Briggs, for instance, had tried his hand at a paragraph or two
concerning the "Upper Ten/ 5 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 ques-
tion to which the answer must remain forever 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 state-
ments were received with gusto by at least half aristocratic
London, and implicitly believed as having emanated from the
"best authorities." And Louise Eenaud having posted her
mistress' 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 theaters 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, ex-
hibiting 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, mam-
zelle!" he added, admiringly, as Louise Eenaud studied the
portrait attentively. "But with all 'er advantages, you would
not call 'er a lady. No that term would be out of the ques-
tion. 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 emphat-

THELMA. 315

it-ally. "Then, if she is >u, what makes that proud Seigneur
Bruce-Errington visit her?" Here she shook her fingers at
.Brings. "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. HeleuM, and smiled again that smile which was nothing
but a sneer. Uriggs rubbed his nose contemplatively.

"Little Francis can go ennywheres," he said at last. "]!<'<
laid out a good deal of tin on Vi and others of 'er purfession.
You can not 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.

<r Well," resumed Briggs, "Sir Philip may, like hothers, con-
sider 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 Wins-
leigh 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, com-
placently. "It certainly spoils us! 'When lovely woman
stoops to folly' the hold, hold story!"

"You will r-r-r-emember," said mamzelle, suddenly step-
ping up very close to him and speaking with a strong accent,
"what I have said to-night! Monsieur Briggs, you will r-re-
member! There will be mees-cheef! Yes there will be
mees-cheef to Sieur Bruce-Errington, and when there is I
I, Louise Eenaud I know who ees at the bottom of eet !"

Sid THELMA.

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 dessay! Whenever a lot
of women gets together, there's sure to be mischief. Dear
creeturs! They love it like the best Cliquot! 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 him-
self 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 an-
swer 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!"

CHAPTEE V.

If thou wert honorable,

Thou wouldst 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 bril-
liant, warm, radiant with flowers, melodious with the songs of

I

THELMA. 317

the heaven-aspiring larks, and the sweet, low trill of the
forest-hidden nightingales. Wonderful and divine it is to
liear the wild chorus of nightingales that sing beside Como in
tin- 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 pas-
sionately 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 wan-
der 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 culminating
point in the English Shakespeare and the Warwickshire
lanes, decked simply with hawthorn and sweet-brier 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
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 awhile would

318 THELMA.

talk very grandly about the way in which he meant to speak
in Parliament.

"They want dash and fire there/' he said, "and these quali-
ties must be united with good common sense. In addressing
the House, you see, Thelma, one must arouse and interest the
men no t 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 pos-
sible. 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 Par-
liament?"

"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 Eomans, and acting upon them?"

"Ah, do not ask me why," said Thelma, with a plaintive lit-
tle shake of her head "for I can not 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

THELMA. 319

that. But, after all, trade is the great moving-spring of na-
tional 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
? or themselves, not what is best for the whole country, with
11 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 Erring-
ton, 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
iamond 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 can not all be wise and that it seems
a pity the wisest and grandest 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

320 THELMA,

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 Raphael'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 home-
ward 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 gate-ways 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 toward the
close of August there came an interruption to their felicity.
Courtesy had compelled Bruce-Errington and his wife to in-
vite a few friends down to visit them at the manor before the
glory of the summer-time was past and first among the

THELMA. 321

guests came Lord and Lady Winsleigh and their bright boy,
Krnest. Her ladyship's maid, Louise Renaud, of course, ac-
companied 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 Erring-
ions 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 'W^rPhil-eep," and made
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 jasmine 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
Guldmar had been invited to the manor at this period. Er-
rington wrote many urgent letters, and so did Thelma, en-
treating him to come, for nothing would have pleased Sir
Philip more than to have introduced the fine old Odin wor-
shiper among his fashionable friends, and to have heard him
bluntly and forcibly holding his own among them, putting
their faint and languid ways of life to shame by his manly,
honest and vigorous utterance. But Guldmar had only just
returned to the Alten Fjord 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 Ms fathers and as for the farm-
house, '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, Val-
demar Svensen and I, for sake of company, have resolved to
dwell Inirether in it, and truly w- have nrariv >ettled down to

322 THELMA.

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 hap-
piness 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 house-
hold that of Edward Neville. Since the night at the Bril-
liant, when he had left the theater 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 shrunk away from Thelma as though she
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 be-
havior 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 per-
suade 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 atten-
tion.

On one of the last and hottest days in August, a grand
garden-party was given at the manor. All the country 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 seek-
ing land on which to graze all wearing their sweetest pro-
pitiatory smirk all gushing forth their admiration of "that
darling Lady Errington" all behaving themselves in the ex-
ceptionally 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 Lon-
don, become less than the minnows in a vast ocean,

THELMA. 323

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, men-
tion 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 talk-
ing 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 ripen-
ing magnificent!" And so on. For in truth this is "a mad
world, my masters" and there is no accounting for the in-
expressibly 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 admira-
tion. 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 mar-
quees 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 ap-
parently too much absorbed in eacli 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 exliaustless
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,

324 THELMA.

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 mustache,
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 twopence 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 this 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 be-
come gentleman-lackey 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 luster.

"Gently, Clara! Draw it mild!" he said, languidly.
"Don't irritate me, or I may turn crusty! You know, if T
chose, I could open Bruce-Errington's eyes rather more widely
than you'd like with respect to the devoted affection you en-
tertain for Iiis beautiful wife." She winced a little \\t this

THELMA. 325

ol)M.'rvaiion he saw it and laughed then resumed: "At
nt Pm really in the best of humors. The reason 1 wanted
ic speak to you alone for a minute or two was that I'd some-
thing 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
l>iv; ist and the flush on her cheeks signs of the strong repres-
-ioii 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 sus-
picions. 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 greenroom 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 apart-
ments in Arundell Street, Strand. She told me so herself
we're rather intimate, you know though of course she re-
fused to mention the object of his visit. Honor among
thieves!" and he smiled half mockingly.

Lady Winsleigh seemed absorbed, and walked on like one

326 THELMA.

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 mustache 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 bar-
gain'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 ter-
rifically 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!"

THELMA. 327

And with another sarcastic laugh, she moved forward to-
ward 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 from behind made
him start nervously. It was Louise Eenaud, 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, an
she overtook her mistress on the lawn, that lady seemed sur-
prised, 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
nt 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
courtesy 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 w'ere too prosaic for society bantams
who require refined surroundings in which to crow their as-
sertive platitudes. Yet it was a peaceful nook and there were
household odors of mint and thyme and sweet marjoram
which wore pleasant to the soul of Briggs, and reminded him
of roast goose on Christmas-day, with all its attendant succu-
lent 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 stock-

328 THELMA.

ings fitted them well, and they had a very neat and shapely ap-
pearance.

"I 'ave developed/ 5 he murmured to himself. "There ain't
a doubt ahout it! One week of country air, and I'm a differ-
ent man; the effecks of overwork 'ave disappeared. Flopsie
won't know these legs of mine when I get hack they've im-
proved 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 per-
ceived 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 elabo-
rately 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 ex-
cellent '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.

TiiELMA.

329

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 conver-
sation.

"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
'ighly 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 aris-
tocracy. Coming from Norway, and '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,
everythink your lady wears is chick!"

"Really!" said Britta, with a wondering 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," re-
marked Briggs, majestically. "Your stay in the gay metrop-
olis was probably short. Now, I 'ave been there many times
ah, Paris, Paris!" he paused in a sort of ecstasy, 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 ex-
cites my nerves."

"Then you shouldn't go there," said Britta, bravely, 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 satis-
li i <l, yet penitent look. "It is only a sort of breaking out a
Jit of 'iirh spirits. Hall men are so at times! It's chick to run

330 THELMA.

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 ex-
plain," 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 his companion. "She'd beat Violet Vere on 'er own.
ground." Eaising 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 in-
formation 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 handwrit-
ing on every letter that arrives who laugh and talk in their
kitchens over things that their credulous masters and mis-
tresses imagine are unknown to all the world save themselves

THELMA. 331

who will judge the morals of a duke, and tear the reputa-
tion 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 your-
self 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 to-
gether with Beau Lovelace and Lord Winsleigh. At a little
distance, under the shadow of a noble beech, sat Mrs. Rush-
Ma rvelle 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 Errington fete, you'll lose him! You mark
my words!"

Marcia had dutifully promised to do her best, and she was
now 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. There-
fore 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.
"Ilr's a man that want's ruling, and ruled he shall be!"

And Mrs. Knsh-Marvelle and Mrs. Van Clupp observed her

332 THELMA.

maneuvers 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 mer-
riment 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 in-doors the fine old pict-
ure-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 her-
self 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 Alt en Fjord 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 spun, 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 her-
self 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 la#y 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

O'J

serious f f

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 re-
duce everything by means of close argument to its smallest
standpoint, and the world, life, and time are no more than a

THELMA.

333

pinch of snuff for some great Titanic 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 lightening 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 metaphor-
ically, '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 travestie 'Hamlet,' 'where be his stories now?'
Learn, from the deep oblivion into which poor Kathumus's
literary efforts have fallen, the utter mockery and uselessncss
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 care-
fully compiled by newspaper authorities, to the delight of the
reao!ing public. Only the other day I learned for the first time
that my father was a green-grocer, who went in for selling
coals by the half-hundred and thereby made his fortune my
mother was an unsuccessful oyster-woman who failed igno-
ininiously 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 contra-
dict them for the world I find my biographies so original!
They are the result of that celebrity which Winsleigh thinks

i joy able."

"But assertions of that kind are libels," said Errington.
"You could prosecute."

"Too much trouble!" declared Beau. "Besides, five jour-

234 THELMA.

nals 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 ap-
proached with a light woollen 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 dis-
courteous. 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 in-doors, 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, gayly.

The others were silent. Lord Winsleigh's thoughts, what-
ever 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.

THELMA. 335

CHAPTER VI.

La rose du Jardin, comme tu sais, dure peu, et la saison des
roses est bien vite Scoutee! 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 elabo-
rately 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 Wins-
leigh declared she must have some rest, or she would be quite
unequal to the gayeties of the approaching evening, and
Thelma herself was not scrrry to escape for a little from her
duties as hostess so the two remained together for some time
in earnest conversation, 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
awhile, Errington began to miss his wife, and, growing im-
patient, 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 Wins-
leigh, 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 J I was very foolish "

336 THELMA.

"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 plain-
tive 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 ten-
der 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 sen-
tence 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 partly
hidden. Her husband approached on tiptoe, and lightly kissed
her forehead. She did not stir she appeared to sleep pro-
foundly.

THELMA. 337

Toor 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."

A nd he stole quietly out of the room, and meeting Britta on
the stairs told her on no account to let her mistress be dis-
turbed 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 passion-
ately on the pillow where his hand had leaned. Then she
rose languidly from her 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 can not 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 ano? fro.

"It can not be!" she said, half aloud "it is altogether un-
like 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! per-
haps that is why he thought life so wearisome when he first
came to the Alten Fjord ah! the Alten Fjord!"

A choking sob rose in her throat, but she repressed it. "I
must not 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

338 THELMA.

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 down-stairs, 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 to 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 around 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
particularly effusive, .almost too much so.

"Your headache has quite gone, dearest, hasn't it?" she in-
quired, sweetly.

Thelma eyed her gravely. "I did not suffer from 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 treasurehouses discovered by Aladdin.
Every tree glittered with sparkling clusters of red, blue, and
green light every flower-bed was bordered with lines and cir-
cles of harmless flame, and the fountains tossed up tall
columns of amber, rose, and amethyst spray against the soft

II

I

THELMA. 339

blue darkness of the sky in which a lustrous golden moon had
just risen. The brilliancy of the illumination showed up several
dark figures strolling in couples about the grounds romantic
persons evidently who were not to be persuaded to come in-
doors, 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
Boda 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 he was at all un-
steadied 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 sport, 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-luster
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, nerv-
ously fumbling with the string of his eye-glass. "It's im-
possible to forget your face, Miss Marcia!"

She was silent, and kept that face turned from him so long

240 THELMA.

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 al-
most 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 toward him, and oh, thou mischievous Puck, that some-
times 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

THELMA. 341

risk of breaking his most valuable eyeglass, and felt his poor
weak soul in a quiver of excitement at this novel and delicious
sensation,

"\Ve are we are of that sort!" he declared, courageously.
"\Vliy should you doubt it, Marcia?"

"I'll 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 trans-
atlantic 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 flat-
tered 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

342 THELMA.

right to be ambitious, she was that one! And while 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 mar-
riage 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 cen-
turies, 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 es-
corted 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.

I

THELMA. 343

Marcia's eyes twinkled. "Guess he came in as gently as a
lamb!" she said.

They understood her. Mrs. Kush-Marvelle rose from her
(hair in her usual stately and expansive 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 recommend-
ing a quiet pony.

"That's so!" said Marcia, carelessly. "I guess we'll pull to-
gether 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 check 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' afterward. 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 diffi-
cult 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
!i 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

344 THELMA.

"Yankee gel" was touched to a certain softness and serious-
ness 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 now position as affianced lover to so charm-
ing a creature.

Meanwhile George Lorimer and Pierre Duprez were chat-
ting together in the library. It was very quiet there the
goodly row of books, the busts of poets and philosophers
the large, placid features of Pallas Athene crowning an an-
tique 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 Us yeux d'enfant that we be-
held 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 thegrandes dames here to-day! She is charming and she
is true! Ma foil 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 ~bell& Thelma's mind and Britta, who sees
her always, feels it but she can not 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 sud-
denly appeared at the doorway, and a musical voice addressed
them.

"Why, what are you both doing here, away from every-
body?" and Thelma smiled as she approached. "You are her-
mits, or you are lazy! People are going in to supper. Will
you not come also?"

"Mafoi!" exclaimed Duprez; "I had forgotten! I havn

I

T HELM A. 345

promised your most charming mother, cJier Lorimcr, to tak.>
her in to this same supper. J must fly upon the wings of
chivalry!"

And with a laugh, he hurried off, leaving Thelma and Lori-
mer alone together. She sunk 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 moun-
tains, 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 im-
ploringly. "Oh, it will break my heart! Oh, the Alten
Fjord!" 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 wet, wild 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 thai 1 heard something which grieved me."

346 THELMA.

"What was it?" asked Lorimer, remembering Duprez's
recent remark.

"Oh, I would not tell you/' she said eagerly, drying her eyes
and endeavoring to smile, "because I am sure it was a mis-
take, 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 can not 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 sung 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?"

THELMA. 347

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 down-
fall 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, U J
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 noise-
lessly, his footsteps making no sound on the thick velvet-pile
carpet, and he stood 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," con-
tinued 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

348 THELMA.

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 entertain-
ing 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.

CHAPTEE VII.

A generous fierceness dwells with innocence,
And conscious virtue is allowed some pride.

DBYDEN.

The melancholy days of autumn came on apace, and by and
by the manor was deserted. The Bruce-Errington establish-
ment 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 depres-
sion 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. Eush-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 capri-
cious 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. Eush-
Marvelle heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the twain safely

I
I

THELMA. 349

married and off to the Continent on their honeymoon trip
Maivia all sparkling and triumphant, Lord Algy tremulous
and feebly ecstatic.

"Thank Heaven that's over!" she said to her polite and serv-
ile husband. "I never had such a troublesome business in
my life! That girl's been nearly two seasons on my hand-.
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
( 'lupp paid me the last hundred this morning. And poor Mrs.
Van riupp is so very grateful!" She sighed placidly, and ap-
peared to meditate. Then she smiled sweetly and, approach-
ing 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 delight-
ful!"

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 ex-
cept Lady Winsleigh, who was more often with her now than
ever. In fact, her ladyship was more like one of the Erring-
ton household than anything else she came so frequently and
>tayed so long. She seemed sincerely attached to Thelma,
and Thelma herself, too single-hearted and simple to imagine
that such all'tjction could be feigned, gave her in return what
Lady \Yinsleigh had never succeeded in winning from any
woman a pure, trust ing. and utterly unsuspecting love, such
as she would have lavished on a twin-born sister. But there
flrae one pen-on who was not deceived by Lady WinsleighV
charm oi' manner and grace of speech. This was Britta. Her
keen eye? flashed a .-<rl of nnut tered defiance into her lady-
>hip's beautiful, dark languishing ones she distrusted her.
and viewed the intimacy between her and the "I'Yoken" with
entire di>l'a\or. Once she ventured to -\pre.^ something of
her feeling on the matter to Thelma but Thelma had looked

350 THELMA.

so gently wondering and reproachful that Britta had not cour-
age to go on.

"I am 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/ 5

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 Kenaud, 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 gray 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 shrunk 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 remarks seemed to embarrass Philip he colored and
seemed confused.

"Does he? Oh, I suppose he sleeps badly. Yes, I remem-
ber, 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, com-
passionately. "His eyes do look so full of sorrow." She
paused and added, musingly: "Almost like Sigurd's eyes
sometimes,"

THELMA. 351

"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 con-
vrrsation 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 Yere, and Sir Philip's sup-
posed admiration for that notorious stage siren.

"1 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 be-
lieve 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 Ids 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! Unfaith-
ful! 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.

32 THELMA.

"I would never believe it!" she said, solemnly. "Never,
unless I heard it from his own lips, or saw it in his own writ-
ing, 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 "in-
fidelity," 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 is it 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 as good as ever, but I I should have ceased to seem pleas-
ant 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 compunc-
tion pricked her conscience. Why destroy all that beautiful

THBLMA, 353

faith? Why wound that grandly trusting nature? The feel-
ing 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 some-
how got connected with that of the leading actress at the Bril-
liant, and more than Lady Winsleigh began to make jocose
whispering comments on his stage "amour" comments be-
hind his back, which he was totally unaware of. Nobody knew
quite how the rumor had first been started. Sir Francis Len-
nox seemed to know a good deal about it, and he was ail
"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
Xeville were going to attend 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,
shr 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 pleas-
antly on her ears, she smiled, thinking how quaint and almost
incongruous her simple instrument of industry looked armm-
all the luxurious furniture and costly knick-knacks by which
she was surrounded.

"I ought to have one of my old irmvn> ^n" she half mur-
mured, glancing down at the pale blue silk rohe she wore "I
inn too fine to spin!"

And she almost laughed as the \vhvl lle\v round swiftly
under her uraeeful nmniimlaii.m-. l.isi.-ning to its whir,
23

354 THELMA.

whir, whir, 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 state-
liness 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 tempta-
tions 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 Theater."

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 amuse-
ment there, perhaps, and that will do him good. He has been
working so hard!"

She paused. He said nothing, and she went on more cheer-
fully 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 sunk lazily back
in an easy chair, and stroked his mustache slowly. He knew
that his random hit about the theater had struck home but
she allowed the arrow to pierce and possibly wound her heart
without showing any outward signs 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 amiisement." he responded,

THELMA. 355

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 re-
tired, 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 Fm not in your way?" he asked suddenly. Shu
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 unfortu-
nate?"

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 extraordi-
nary incongruity of a feminine creature who was actually timl
of admiration.

She made no reply the wheel went round faster than be-
fore. Presently Lennox set aside his emptied cup, and draw-
ing his chair a little closer to hers, asked:

"When does Errington retvm-'"

356 THELMA.

"I can not tell you/' she answered. "He said that he might
be late. Mr. Neville was 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 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 up-
right 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 theater 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 inter-
posed.

"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 impatiently a very well-feigned
expression of friendly concern and sympathy on his features.
TlicTnia sloofl motionless, a little bewildered her head

THELMA. 357

throbbed achingly, and there was a sick sensation of numbness
ing about her.

"1 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 mo. 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 ad-
vanced 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 theater 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!
"Jut, unfortunately, the proofs are all against you. Truth is
ith, however much you may wish to blind your eyes to its

mnifestations. I sincerely wish Sir Philip were present to

SS8 THELMA.

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. Keturn-
ing, 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-ting 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! Pres-
ently, a slight shiver ran through her frame; she sighed, and
a little moan escaped her. Gradually, as warmth and sensa-
tion 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 sprung 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

THELMA. 359

fai utness, she pushed back her hair from her brows and re-
garded him with a sort of puzzled horror.

1 1 1 > 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.
"Matehless 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.
A 1 1 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 unrestrain-
edly.

"Oh, 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 toward the bell. He looked at her with
an evil leer.

"Stop a moment!" he said, coolly. "Just one moment be-
fore you ring. Pray consider! The servant can not possibly
enter, as the door is locked."

"You dared to lock the door!" she exclaimed, a sudden fear
(hilling her heart as she remembered similar maneuvers on
the part of the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy then another
tli ought crossed her mind, and she began to retreat toward a
large painted panel of Venus disporting among Cupids and
dolphins in the sea. Sir Francis sprung to her side, and

360 THELMA,

caught her arm in an iron grip his face was aflame with
haffled spite and vindictiveness.

"Yes, I dared!" he muttered with triumphant malice. "And
I dare 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 loos-
ened his grasp. She rushed to the Venus panel, and to his
utter discomfiture and amazement saw it open and close be-
hind 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 sprung 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 every-
where 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 false-
hood 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

THELMA. 361

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 an-
swered 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 danc-
ing 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 anteroom
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 expansive 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, comfortable
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-
ilrubbs smiled, and fixed a pair of elegant gold-rimmed eye-
glasses on his inflamed crimson nosr.

"1 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."

362 THELMA.

"Never mind!" returned Sir Francis, indifferently. "Next
week will do as well."

And he furtively watched Mr. Snawley-Grubbs while he
perused the penciled scrawl. That gentleman, however, as
editor and proprietor of the "Snake" a new, but highly suc-
cessful 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, ven-
turing 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 I 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 up stairs 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

THELMA. 363

smart throbbing across the eyes, where Thelma's ringed hum I
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 reputa-
tion 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 who are 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 Thelina 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 dur-
ing 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 hus-
band everything the instant he returned. It was she who had
rung the bell which had startled Sir Francis, and she was sur-
prised that her summons was not answered. She rang again,
and Britta appeared.

"1 wanted Morris," said Thelma, quickly.
"He thought it was the drawing-room bell," responded
llritta. meekly, for her "Froken" looked very angry. "I saw
him in the hall just now, letting out Sir Francis Lennox."
"lias he gone?" demanded Thelma, eagerly.
Britta's wonder increased. "Yes, Froken!"
Thelma caught her arm. "Tell Morris never, never to let
him inside the house again never!" and her blue eyes flashed
wruthfully. "He is a wicked man, Britta! You do not know
how wicked he is!"

"Oh, yes, I do!" and Britta regarded her mistress sk-ad-
I'astly. "I know quite well! But, then, I must not speak! If
1 dared, I could tell you some strange things, dear Froken

364 THELMA.

but you will not hear me. You know you do not wish me to
talk about your grand new friends, Froken, 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 differ-
ent to life in Norway and we can not all at once under-
stand " 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 upstairs.
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 himself 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 Alten Fjord," she said.

Britta smiled. "Yes, indeed, Froken! 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 look-

THELMA. 365

ing at the flicker of rosy light flung on the ceiling from the
little suspended lamp in her oratory. All snow and darkness
at the Alten Fjord! How strange the picture seemed! She
thought of her mother's sepulcher 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 Aries 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 per-
sistently 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 feel-
ing 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
Vrre!" 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
staircase. She recognized her husband's firm tread, and under-
stood that he was followed by Neville, whose sleeping apart-
ment 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
> r oice replied. "Such a disgraceful "

Here his words sunk 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

266 THELMA.

her arms to welcome him, and he hastened to her with an ex-
clamation of tenderness and pleasure.

"My darling! Not asleep yet?"

She smiled hut there was something very piteous in her
smile had the dim light enahled him to perceive it.

"No, not yet, Philip! And yet I think I have heen dream-
ing of the Alten Fjord/'

"Ah! it must he cold there now/' he answered, lightly.
"It's cold enough here, in all conscience. To-night there is a
hitter east wind, and snow is falling."

She heard this account of the weather with almost morhid
interest. Her thoughts instantly hetook themselves again to
Norway, and dwelt there. To the last before her aching
eyes closed in the slumher 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
Alten Fjord!" -

CHAPTER VIII.

Le temps ou nous nous sommes aimes n'a gure dure\ jeune
fille; il a passe comme un coup de vent! Old Breton Ballad.

The next morning dawned cold and dismal. A dense yel-
low fog hung over the metropolis like a pall the street-lamps
were lighted, but their flare scarcely illumined the thorough-
fares, and the chill of the snow-burdened air penetrated into
the warmest rooms, and made itself felt even by the side of
the brightest fire. Sir Philip woke with an uncomfortable
sense of headache and depression, and grumbled as surely
every Englishman has a right to grumble, at the uncompro-
mising 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 to-night.

THELMA. 367

You'll be all alone, Thelma. 1 wish you'd go to the Win-
leighs!"

"Why?" said Thelma, quietly. "I shall much prefer to he
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 house-
hold 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

368 THELMA.

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 ap-
parently 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 Eenaud, 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 car-
riage her unexpected order, "To the Brilliant Theater,
Strand," was sufficient to startle Briggs, and cause him to ex-
change 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 Theater." She raised her
voice, and spoke with distinct emphasis. There was no mis-
taking her. Briggs touched his hat in the same instant he
winked at Louise, and then the carriage rolled away.

At night the Brilliant Theater is a pretty little place com-
fortable, cozy, 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 mingled with a chronic, all-pervading smell of
beer beer, which the stranger's sensitive nose detects direct-
ly, 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 "breakdown" 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

THELMA. :)<;<*

iiapely legs all this overflow of genius on her part drew
crowds to the Brilliant nightly, and the grateful and happy
1 1 in nagers 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 dust-
man, 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 re-
fused to their own wives and daughters-r-royal bignesses
thought it no shame to be seen lounging near her stage dress-
ing-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 theater, as she issued her 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 clicking 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 ex-
cessive embonpoint, but this rather endeared her to her admir-
ers 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.
24

370 THELMA.

"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 he "

"Such a pair of optics, love, you've never, never seen
One my mother blacked last night, the t'other it is green!"

sung Violet, to the infinite delight of all the unwashed-look-
ing supernumeraries and ballet-girls who were scattered about
the stage, talking and laughing.

"Shut up, Tommy!" she continue^. "You're always talk-
ing 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 your 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 de-
parted 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! Ad-
vance retreat left, right! Very well, indeed! Arms up a
little more, Miss Jenkins so! toes well pointed courtesy
retire! One, two, three! swift slide to the left wing for-
ward! 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 center 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 a 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 whoa!" And in a trice 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 eyeglass and surveyed

I

THELMA. 371

the top of his head. "You want a wig, my dear do you, in-
deed! 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 sprung down from her
position, managing to give him a smart hit on the nose as she
did so and leaping to the center of the stage, she posed her-
self to commence her dance, when Tommy came creeping
back in his slow and dismal fashion, bearing something in i
powter 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, a 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. "Oh, 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 sniveling idiot! Who makes the
Brilliant draw? Y^ou or I? Tell me that, you staring old "

Here Tommy, who had for some minutes been vainly en-
deavoring 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

l i 11 w M44

When s

372 THELMA.

had watched her evolutions with much delight in spite of the
ahuse 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 minc-
ingly across the stage with such a ludicrous air of prim pro-
priety that all her associates burst out laughing and applauded
her vociferously. She turned and courtesied to them demure-
ly 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 re-
ceive 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, inno-
cent, 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 bonbons 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 be-
longing 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 1" 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 Yere! 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 yon
in the hope that you may perhaps be able to give me a little

THELMA. 373

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 ac-
quainted 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 in-
sulting 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 quon-
dam 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 her-
self 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,

374 THELMA.

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 hless you! I know how he's getting talked about
because he comes here and serves 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 ex-
pression 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 ad-
mitted; 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," interposed 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 sub-
stantial"

"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

THELMA. 375

loud laugh. "Besides, what's the good of pretending?
Money's the only thing worth having it pays your butcher,
baker, and dress-maker 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 re-
peated, "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 foot-lights more open and above-
board than I am!"

And her eyes flashed defiantly.

"She's been drinking!" thought Lady Winsleigh, disgusted-
ly. 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 f" 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

376 THELMA.

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 gather-
ing her furs about her. "I could talk with you all the morn-
ing, 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 o'f 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 med-
dle 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 en-
velope 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. Halloo! 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 of you a
favor could you kindly, very kindly lend ^me' ten shillings till

THELMA. 377

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,
Impd'ully, 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 kncw
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'll tell the manager we've got a beggar at the Bril-
liant. Don't stare at me like that! Go to the d 1 with

you!"

Tommy slunk off abashed and trembling, and the Vere be-
gan to sing, or rather croak, a low comic song, while she
threw over her shoulders a rich mantle glittering with em-
broidered trimmings, and poised a coquettish Paris model hat
on her uptwisted 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 theater, 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 run-
ning through what money they had as fast as they could go.

Lady Winsleigh, on her way home, was tormented by sun-
el IT uncomfortable thoughts and sharp pricks of conscience,
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 play-
ing 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 incrimi-
nating epistle any lawyer would have said as much while
blandly pocketing his fee for saying it. It was written oil' in
evident haste, and ran as follows:

378 THELMA.

"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 can not 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-EBBINGTON. "

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 her 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 sen-
timent. She was, without knowing it, such an adept in
society humbug that she even humbugged herself. She be-
trayed 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 resi-

THELMA. 379

dence, that she carried with her on the box of her brougham
a private detective in the person of Briggs. Perched
stiffly on his ^at, 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. lie had his own notions of propriety he considered
that his mistress had no business whatever to call on an actress
<>f Violet Vere's repute and he resolved that whether he were
iv 1 1 roved for overofficiousness 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
i \vry mention of the circumstance which had given rise to it
namely, the discussion about Violet Vere. She merely ex-
plained that she had suddenly fainted, in which condition Sir
Frauds 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."

T< You didn't think of that, child, when you struck Lennox
yourself," returned Mrs. Lorimer, laughing. "And I guaran-
tee you gave him a good hard blow and serves him right!
Xever mind what comes of it, my dearie just tell your hus-
band 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.

380 THELMA.

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. Lori-
mer, you can not, 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 peo-
ple who are much together sometimes get tired tired of see-
ing 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 hus-
bands 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 satis-
fied 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 hands in mine

THELMA. 381

an( j 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 under-
stand 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 clear 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 petu-
lant, wrong-headed notions that clod the brains of idle, fash-
ionable, 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 no-
tions 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 him-
self 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 tin- days of fond shepherds and languishing
shepherdesses arc past!"

Thelma laughed, too, and soon felt ashamed of her dej
sion. The figure of Violet \ ere now and then danced before
lu-r like a mocking u ill-o'-the-\visp; but her pride forbade her
to mention this the actual ;>oiuxv of all her vague troitl*

She left Mrs. Lorimer's house, which was near Holland
Park, about four o'clock, and as she w;i- g (.'hunk

Street, Ken-ington. pbf badr !IT eoachmnn driye up to tin-

382 THBLMA.

Carmelite Church there, familiarly known as the "Carms."
She entered the sacred edifice, where the service of benedic-
tion was in progress; and, kneeling down, she listened to the
exquisite strains of the solemn music that pealed through the
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 heartfelt 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, for-
give 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 lit-
tle 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,

THELMA. 383

- \\V11, perhaps I've a reason for my gravity. And so your
husband is away?"

"Yes. He went quite early this morning a telegram sum-
moned 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 sunk 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 theater, indeed, 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 he 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 com-
parisons, Thelma. There is a wide difference between Mary
Anderson and Violet Vere. Besides, Mr. Lovelace is a bache-
lor he can do as he likes and go where he likes without ex-
citing comment. However, whether you are angry with me

384 THELMA.

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 morn-
ing."

Thelma's hand trembled as she took the paper.

"Why should I read it?" she faltered, mechanically.

Lady Winsleigh raised her eyebrows and frowned im-
patiently.

"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 can not 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 handwrit-
ing. "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 fever-
ish light.

"Nothing!" she replied.

"Nothing?" repeated her ladyship with emphatic astonish-
ment.

"Nothing against Philip," continued the girl, steadily.
"For the blame is not his, but mine! That he is weary and
heart-broken must be my fault though I can not yet under-
stand what I have done. But it must be something, because

THELMA. 385

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 my-
self, 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 shrunk 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 hus-
band'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 wistf ulness.

"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 can not 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 hus-
band'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, believ-
ing in my darling's truth as I believe in God!"

Her voice broke, and a hard sob choked her utterance,
once Lady Winsleigh's conscience smote her for once she felt
ashamed, and dared not offer consolation to the innocent Mul
she had so wantonly stricken, For a minute or two there

25

386 THELMA.

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
toward 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 Wins-
leigh left her.

CHAPTER IX.

my lord, O Love,

1 have laid my life at thy feet;
Have thy will thereof

For what shall please thee is sweet!

SWINBUBNE.

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 gather-
ing around her her long fur mantle that she had not as yet
taken off. Catching sight of the letter where it lay, a gleam-
ing speck of white on the rich dark hues of the carpet, she
picked it up and read it through again calmly and compre?
hensively then folded it up carefully as though it were some-?

THELMA. 387

thing of inestimable value. Her thoughts were a little con-
fused 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 thi>
change in him had been effected moreover, she never imag-
ined that the letter he had written could refer to any one but
himself. Hers was a nature that accepted facts as they ap-
peared she never sought for ulterior motives or disguis<-i
meanings. True, she could not understand her husband V
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 can not
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 cus-
toms 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 gen-
tle 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,

388 THELMA,

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 lamp-light in the
long mirror opposite, she recognized that she was fully attired
in out-door costume all save her hat, which she had taken off
at 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 immedi-
ately answered it.

"I shall not dine at home," she said in her usual gentle
voice. "I am going to see some friends this evening. I may
not be back till till late."

"Very well, my lady," and Morris retired without seeing
anything remarkable in his mistress' 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 fre-
quent presence there. How cozy 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 lighted 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 and 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 hesi-
tate or weep. She sat down to her desk and wrote a few

THELMA. 389

hriei' liiH's to JUT father; this letter she addressed and stamped
n-jidy for posting.

Then for awhile 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 restle !\ .
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 centered. Piteous, passion-
ate 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 com-
posed than before. She folded and sealed it, then put it out
of sight and rang for Britta. That little maiden soon ap-
peared, and seemed surprised to see her mistress still in
walking costume.

"Have you only just come in, Froken?" she ventured to
inquire.

"No, I came home some time ago," returned Thelma,
gently. "But I was talking to Lady Winsleigh in the draw-
ing-room, and as I am going out again this evening I shall
not require to change my dress. I want you to post this let-
ter for me, Britta."

And she held out the one addressed to her father, Olaf
Guldmar. Britta took it, but her mind still revolved the
question of her mistress' 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 1 am
going." She paused abruptly, and Britta looked at her in-
quiringly.

"Are you tired, Froken Thelma?" she asked. "You are so
pater

"I have a slight headaehe," Thelma answered. "It is noth-

390 THELMA.

ing it will soon pass. I wish you to post that letter at once,
Britta."

"Very well, Froken." 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 Wins-
leigh'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, Froken!"

"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 in 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

I

THELMA. 391

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 fettered night and 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 hreath sobbingly, "the left-off rap-
ture 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 pub-
lic, 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 un-
desired."

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. 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 her-
self 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 trem-

392 THELMA.

bled 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 esti-
mation, 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 oppor-
tunity; but Thelma could not alter her strange nature, and,
with her, obedience meant the extreme letter of the law of
uttei? 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 bv

THELMA. 393

i he male loungers sauntering near the doors of the restaurant
and hotel made her shrink and tremble for shame. She had
never traveled 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 Alten Fjord. 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 her sleep the awakening, bitter
as death, was still to come.

Presently a great rush of people began to stream toward
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 sud-
denly 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 ii.

394 THELMA.

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 bye, 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 awhile. I'll ask
him!"

And having lighted their Havanas 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 lighted station,
and taking a hansom, was driven, as she requested, to the
Midland. Here the rather gloomy aspect of the place op-
pressed her as much as the garish bustle of Charing Cross had

THELMA. Mo

hewildered her but she was somewhat relieved when she
learned thai a train for Hull would start in ten minutes.
IliiiTvinir to the ticket-oiHce, 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 crea-
ture traveling 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 woolen wrap with
much kindly earnestness of manner.

"I am quite warm, thank you," said Thelma, gently, accept-
ing the shawl, however, to please her fellow-traveler. "It is
a headache I have which makes me look pale. And I am
\ery, very tired!"

Her voice trembled a little she sighed and closed her <
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 marriau- 1
with Philip been' all a dream? perhaps she had never left the
Alten Fjord after all! Perhaps she would wake up presently
and see the old farm-house <iiiite urn-handed, with the doves
living about the roof, and Sigurd wandering under the pines,

396 THELMA.

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 spark-
ling on the water, and the "Eulalie" at 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 dabbling
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

And she smoothed her ruffled hair, and sitting up erect, en-
deavored to smile. Her companion eyed her pale face com-
passionately, 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, be-
came 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?"

I

THELMA. 397

"Yes," Thelma answered, a slight tinge of color warming
her fair pale cheeks.

"Your husband, may be, 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 con-
tinuous, 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 toward 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 sprung to certain death wlu-u
suddenly the sleeping baby woke, and, opening its mild blue
eyes, gazed at her.

She met its glance as one fascinated, and almost uncon-
sciously her fingers dropped from the door-handle. The little

398 THELMA.

baby still looked at her in dream-like, 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 curved 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 en-
tanglement of her thoughts became unraveled 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 consola-
tion, 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 north-
ward. Her fellow-traveler woke up as they were nearing
their destination, and, seeing her holding the baby, was pro-
fuse 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 ac-
quainted with her father. At first, when this worthy individ-
ual saw a lady arrive, alone, young, richly dressed, and with-

THELMA. 399

out luggage, he was inclined to be suspicious; but as soon as
she addressed him in Norwegian, and told him who she was,
hi' greeted her with the utmost deference and humility.

"The daughter of Jarl Guldmar," 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 Froken, 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 ex-
pressions of his native speech, "that this is the sleeping time
of the sun! Even at 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
can not 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 Froken," 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.
A steam cargo-boat leaves for Hammerfest and the North
Cape to-morrow it will pass the Alten Fjord. No doubt you
could go with that, if you so chose 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 will be a woman on board yet "

400 THELMA.

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 1 can."

"It does not seem to me a kindness at all," returned Fried-
hof with frank bluntness. "I would be loath to sail the seas
myself in such weather. And I thought you were so grandly
married, Froken Guldmar 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 sick-
ening smell of whale-oil. The captain, a gruff, red-faced fel-
low, 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, eying 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 ad-
dressing 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

THELMA. 401

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
Ion 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 dis-
appeared, 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 dark-
ness as of death at the Alten Fjord!"

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 iriountainous billows and a tempest of
sleet, snow, and tossing foam across the wild North Sea.

"Good God!" cried Errington, impatiently. "What's the
matter? Speak out!"

lit 1 had just arrived home. He had barely set foot within
his own door, and full of lovcr-likr ardor aiid eagetB6tt was

26

CHAPTEE X.

What of her glass without her? The blank gray
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.

402 THELMA.

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 can not guess! My lady
went out last night at a little before eight o'clock and and
she has never come home at all! We can not 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 sooth-
ingly 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 away to Lady Winsleigh's," answered Morris.
"She says it is there the 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, deso-
late 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

THELMA. 403

1 ir;i vy silence. He looked about him vacantly. All sorts of
dark forebodings crowded on his mind. She must have met
\\ith some accident, he thought with a shudder, for that she
would depart from him in this sudden way on her own accord
and 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 of 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 noth-
ing 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 ad-
dressed 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 inclosed 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 can not
bear to think about it but it seems that you are tired of your

404 THELMA.

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 Lon-
don 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 Alten Fjord, 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 can
not 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 fin-
ished reading this letter was more powerful than reverent.
Stinging tears darted to his eyes he pressed his lips passion-
ately on the fair writing.

"My darling my darling!" he murmured. "What a miser-
able 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.

y es y 0ur fault!" shouted Errington almost beside him-
self 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, furi-
' ously down on the table. Neville shrunk and shivered his
gray head drooped he stretched out his hands appealingly.

THELMA. 405

"For God's sake. Sir Philip, tell HK I what I've done?" In;
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 dis-
covered her in that shameless actress, didn't I want to tell
Thelma about it that very night? and didn't you beg me
not to do so? Your silly scruples stood in the way of even--
thing! I was a fool to listen to you a fool to meddle in your
a Hairs 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 implor-
ing 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 be-
half! It looks like it too looks exactly as if I were pleading
for myself and breaking my heart over that detestable 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 hands, 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 Theater, when, with 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 i'astidiou- aversion from the
of confiding to any one but Sir Philip the miserable

406 THELMA.

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 him-
self. 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 to 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 trace
back broken friendships and severed loves, to that one thing
"only a misunderstanding!"

The tenderest relations are often the most delicate and sub-
tle, 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 morning
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 for Nor-
way 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

I

THELMA. 407

glance of the most despairing reproach and indignation. lie
sprung 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 Froken meant to do when she said good-byo
to me last night, I could have prevented her going I could
I would have told her all I knew, 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 lip she began to feel a little fright-
ened. "She has always hated the Froken, 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 child-like candor. "And they've
heard all sorts of wicked things. Lady Winsleigh was always
talking to Sir Francis Lennox about the Froken and now
theyVe 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 hus-
band of her own all the time! It is so very strange!" And
the little maiden's perplexity appeared to border on distrac-
tion. "They would think such a woman quite mad in Nor-
way. But what is worse than anything is that you you, Sir
Philip oh! I won't believe it," and she stamped her foot pas-

408 THELMA.

sionately, "I can't believe it! and yet everybody says that
you go to see a dreadful, painted dancing woman at the
theater, and that you like her better than the Froken 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
wnt 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 Froken;" 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. "Eash! My good fel-
low, 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' 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.

THELMA. 409

"liritla," said Neville suddenly, "that actress is my wife!"

Ilrit t a started, and her round eyes opened wide.

"Your wife, Mr. Neville?" the exclaimed.

Neville took off bis spectacles and polished them nervouslv.
"Yes, Britta my wife!"

She looked at him in amazed silence. Neville went on rub-
bing his glasses, and continued in rather dreamy, tremulous
accents:

"Yes, I lost her years ago. 1 thought she was dead. But
I found her on the stage af the Brilliant Theater. 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 Froken?"

"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 appear on the stage! So pained,
so sorry, so ashamed! and she wanted to leave the theater 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 trem-
bled more and more, and he could not go on. There was a
silence of some minutes, during which Britta appeared ab-
sorbed in meditation, and Neville furtively wiped his eyes.

Presently lie spoke again more cheerfully. "It'll soon be
all right again, Britta!" and he nodded encouragingly. "Sir

410 THELMA.

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 mur-
mured. "Oh, if I had only thought or guessed why it was
written!"

"Isn't it rather a bad time of the year for Norway?" pur-
sued Neville. "Why, there must be snow and darkness "

"Snow and darkness at the Alten Fjord!" 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 Alten Fjord 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 dar-
ling! 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 com-
fort he could suggest to the disconsolate Britta was that at
that time of the 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, there-
fore, 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 Erring-
ton'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.

THELMA. 411

"Which it puzzles ine/' soliloquized the owner of the shapely
calves. "It clo, indeed. Yci 1 feels very much for Sir Philip.
1 said to rio]ie this morning '1/Iopsie, I feels for 'im!' Yes
1 used them very words. Only, of course, he shouldn't 'ave
gone on with Vi. She's a fine woman certainly but skitti>h
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 usual gravity.

"I was about to write to you, Errington," he began, and then
he 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 had 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 his 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 wit'* 1 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 of his nature of which his c:
friends had never dreamed, and he was somewhat taken aback

412 THELMA.

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 astonish-
ment. 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. Erring-
ton followed him in silence. He knocked at the door of his
wife's room. In response to her "Come in!" they both en-
tered. 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 Theater 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

THELMA. 413

"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.

"Kxcuse me, Sir Philip! I am not accustomed to be spoken
to in this extraordinary manner. You forget yourself. lily
husband, I think, also forgets himself! I know nothing what-
ever about Violet Vere I'm not fond of the society of
actresses. Of course, I've heard about your admiration f oi-
lier that is common town- talk though my informant on \\\\<
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 Theater 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, haught-
ily. "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 von ask your
dear friend, George Lorimer, about her? !!< is madly in love
with her, as everybody knows she is probably the same with
him!"

"Clara, Clara!" exclaimed Lord Winsleigh in accents ol' def-p
reproach. "Shame on you! Shame!"

Her ladyship laughed amusedly, "Please don't be tra.L

414 THELMA.

she said; "it's too ridiculous! Sir Philip has only himself to
blame. Of course, Thelma knows about his frequent visits to
the Brilliant Theater. 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 for-
got 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 her-
self up imperiously.

Then turning to her husband, she said: "Have the good-
ness to take your excited friend away, my lord! I am going
out I have a great many engagements this morning, and I
really can not 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; but
after all, ( ce n' est que la verite qui Wesse!' "

And she smiled maliciously.

CHAPTEE XI.

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.

EEIC MACKEY'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 center. 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

THELMA. 415

the petty vengeance she had designed; she had destroyed his
happiness, for a time, at least. If she could but shake his be-
lief in his wife! she thought, vindictively. To that end she
had thrown out her evil hint respecting Thelma's affection for
George Loriraer, 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 eying 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 but 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 twenty pounds the letter
which she afterward took with her own hands to your wife."
Lady Winsleigh uttered an angry exclamation. "Don't inter-
rupt 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 ut-
terly 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 ques-

416 THELMA.

tion 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 toward 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 chill 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 under-
stand 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 charac-
ter that he, Philip, could not as yet comprehend something
that certainly puzzled him, and filled him with vague uneasi-
ness.

"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 unhappi-
ness. But P 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,"

THELMA. 417

"Pardon me," said Erriugton, 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
t he last moment I almost refused to believe it." He paused, and
thm 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 Phillip.

"Upon my soul, Winsleigh," he exclaimed, with a sudden
fervor, "I fancy you're a man greatly wronged!"

Lord Winsleigh smiled slightly. "You only fancy?" ho
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 clinched almost unconsciously. "I hope you understand,
Krrington, 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 horse- whipping
they, all come to pretty much the same thing all involve
public scandal for the name of the woman, who may be un-
happily 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!"

Krrington said nothing. Pity and respect for the man
fore him held him silent. He was one of the marty
modern social life a man who evidently knew himself to be
dishonored by his wife and who yet. for the >ake of hi
submitted to' be daily broken on the wheel of private torture
rather than let the boy grow up to d .nd slight his

mother. Whether he were judged as wise or weak in hi

27

418 THELMA.

havior there was surely something noble about him some-
thing unselfish and heroic that deserved recognition. Pres-
ently 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 apart-
ments. 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 sprung up con-
fronting 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 sud-
den 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 sunk 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

THELMA. 419

three" she moved restlessly as his calm gaze remained fixed
on lier "1 repeat though you have betrayed all three, 1 h;i\<-
deliberately shut my eyes to the ruin of my hopes, in a
( M( leaver 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 inten-
tion to leave you), told me all she knew of your share in what
I may call positive cruelty toward a happy and innocent
woman who has never injured you, and whose friend you de-
clared 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 Theater 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 read-
ing 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
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 thank-
ful 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 loath 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 con-
fessed it! But why talk about it any longer? the mischief is
done I trust it is not irreparable. I certainly consider that

420 THELMA.

before troubling that poor girl's happiness you should have
taken the precaution to inquire a little further into the truth
of the report 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 be-
tween 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 witticisms at your expense
your dearest friends will tear your name to shreds the news-
papers will reek of your doings and honest housemaids,
reading of your fall from your high estat\ 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

THELMA. 421.

to my name think of him as having hut one thing to blush
for the memory of his dishonored mother!"

"Cruel cruel!" she cried, endeavoring to check her soh~,
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 m*
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
can not 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 traitor-
ous than he?" he went on. "Has he not tried to influence
Errington's wife against her husband? For what base pur-
pose? 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 can not talk any more! I I am
tired!"

"Clara," said her husband, solemnly, with a strange lirht
in his eyes, "I would rather kill you than divorce you!"

There was something so terribly earnest in his tone that lu-r
heart beat fast with fear.

"Kill me? kill me?" she gasped, with white lips.

"Yes!" ho repeated, "kill you as a Frenchman or an

Italian would and take the consequences. Yes though an

ishman, I would rather do this than drag your frail poor

\vomanhood through the mire of public scandal! I ha\->

perhaps, a strange nature, but such as I am, I arn. There a \v.

422 THELMA.

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 the 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!
Fll 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 for 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, with-
out 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 make 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

THELMA. 423

low thing, unfit for your touch I know I am, but oh,
Harry !" She clung to him more closely. "If you leave mo
I will not live I can not! Have you no pity? Why would
you throw me back alone all, all alone, to die of your con-
tempt and my shame!"

And she bowed her head in an agony of tears.

He looked down upon her for 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, be-
cause 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 de-
cided 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, per-
haps, 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.

424 THELMA.

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, sob-
bingly. "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
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 sen-
sation 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 this so suddenly tender mother of his, what-
ever 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

THBLMA. 125

on hers with a frank and unaffected heartiness. She held him
f;i>( 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
: i.ra in to her own apartment. The boy went on his way some-
what 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 XII.

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

Ellington'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 unbur-
dened himself of all his troubles, and had explained the inisiui-

426 THELMA.

derstanding about Violet Vere, and Thelma's consequent
flight. Lorimer listened with a look of genuine pain and dis-
tress on his honest face.

"Phil, you have been a fool!" he said, candidly. "A posi-
tive fool, if you'll pardon ine 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! JDe-
pend upon it, the poor girl has heard all manner of stories.
She's been miserable for some time Duprez j^ticed 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 ob-
served 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
should inform you of everything as soon as you returned from

I

THELMA. 4li7

the county. And if Lady Winsleigh hadn't intei-fen-d. iffl
very probable that I say, where are you going?" This as
Philip made a bound for the door.

"To get my horsewhip!" in- answered.

''All ri.^ht I approve!" cried Lorimcr. "But wait one in-
stant, and see how clear the plot becomes. Thelma's L
has maddened Lennox. To gain her good opinion, as lie
thinks, he throws his mistress, Violet Vere, on your shoulders
(your ingenuous visits to the Brilliant Theater gave him a
capital pretext for this) and as for Lady Winsleigh's shaiv
in the mischief, it's nothing but mere feminine spite ap
you for marrying at all, and hatred of the woman whose life
is such a contrast to her own, and who absorbs all your affec-
tion. 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 gen-
eral 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 must
of us do, in military fashion, with ears pricked for the ap-
proach 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 Krrington suddenly, ''Clara Wins-
leigh 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 a i all/' responded Philip, warmly.

428 THELMA.

"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. Halloo! here's Britta!"

The little maid entered hurriedly at that moment she
came to ask with quivering lips, whether she might accom-
pany Sir Philip on his intended journey to Norway.

"For if you do not find the Froken at Hull, you will want
to reach the Alten Fjord," said Britta, folding her 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 Froken
very ill and that when we find her she may be dying;"
and Britta's strength gave way in a great big sob that broke
from the depths of her honest, affectionate heart.

"Don't don't talk like that, Britta!" cried Philip, passion-
ately. "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 rum-
maging 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 Mid-
land 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

THKLMA. 429

wanted not wanted! my (jod! if you only knew how on.-
man at least has wanted and yearned for you ever siii- IK-
SEW 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 expres-
sion 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, Errinu-
ton entered, equipped for traveling, and whip in hand. His
imagination had been at work during the past few minuu-.
exaggerating all the horrors and difficulties of Thelma's jour-
ney to the Alten Fjord, 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 han-
som and with a few last instructions to that faithful >
tor, 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 con-
taining him and Lorimer rattled rapidly toward the abode of
Sir Francis Lennox, but on entering Piccadilly the vehicle was
compelled to go so slowly on account of the traffic that
Krrington, who every moment grew more and more impatient,
could not stand it.

430 THELMA.

"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 hur-
ried along rapidly, Errington every now and then giving a
fiercer clinch 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 false-
hood 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 ob-
served. "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 Len-
nox rented over a fashionable jeweler's shop, they became
aware of a small procession coming straight toward them from
the opposite direction. Something was being carried between
four men who appeared to move with extreme care and gentle-
ness 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, in-
dignantly. "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
jeweler, 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, car-
ried a common wooden stretcher covered with a cloth, under

THELMA. 431

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 Cha-
ring 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 jeweler came out of the recesses of his shop with
uplifted hands and bewildered countenance.

"An accident? Good heavens! Sir Francis! Upstairs!
take him upstairs!" 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 coun-
ters, where glimmered and flashed jewels of every size and
luster 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 femi-
nine elegance, they lifted the inanimate form from the
stretcher and laid it down, still shrouded, on a velvet sofa, re-
moving 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 door-way, completely
overcome by the suddenness of the event they had followed
the bearers upstairs 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 con-
torted, yet otherwise death-like in its rigid stillness. There
was a grave hush. The surgeon still bent over liim touching

432 THELMA.

here, probing there, with tenderness and skill but finally lie
drew back with a hopeless shake of the head.

"Nothing can be done," he whispered. "Absolutely noth-
ing!"

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 always 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 an-
guish till the perspiration stood in large drops on his fore-
head. 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 clinched his fists and made
as though he would spring off his couch when a fearful con-
tortion convulsed his whole body his eyes rolled up and be-
came fixed he fell heavily back dead! i\\

Quietly the surgeon covered again what was now nothing
nothing but a mutilated corpse.

"It's all over!" he announced, 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

THELMA. 433

yonder pah! he could not bear to think uf it, and lie turned
away, faint* and dizzy. He IVlt, rather than saw, the stair-
cast-, down which he dreamily went, followed by Lorimer.

'I 'he 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 suc-
cessful 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
jeweler, 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
Krrington 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
jeweler. "And she never asked him for one. Mr. Wiggins,
his lawyer firm of Wiggins & Whizzer, FurnivaPs 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 hun-
dred. However, Mr. Wiggins will see everything fair, I've no
doubt: I've just wired 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 emer-
alds and diamonds a work of art, that glittered as he displ
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
-Y. -rytliing 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
2$

434 THELMA.

but Fm not a duke, you see Fm obliged to be respectable! 1 *
He laughed as he returned the pendant to its neSt of padded
amber satin, and Errington sick at heart to hear such frivo-
lous 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. Picca-
dilly was crowded; the hurrying people passed and repassed
there were the shouts of omnibus conductors and newsboys
the laughter of young men coming out of the St. James'
Hall Eestaurant; all was as usual as, indeed, why should it
not? What matters the death of one man in a million? un-
less, 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 no more. But Errington could not im-
mediately forget the scene he had witnessed. He was over-
come 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 I" 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, unpleas-
ant. 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 toward 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. T

THELMA. 435

don't believe in presentiments, but yet yet I can not help
thin kino- 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 t< r-
rible! 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. Afterward 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 riirht? 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 mor-
bid musings which solitude engenders?

Ho began to blame himself heartily for the misunderstand-
ing 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

436 THELMA.

actually the woman he had so faithfully loved and mourned
but he, Philip, ought not to have humored him in these fas-
tidious 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 ac-
cusation 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 uncer-
tainty of life or death, he felt bewildered and wretched. His
chief est pride was centered in Thelma, and she was gone!
Again he reverted to the miserable idea that, like a melan-
choly refrain, haunted him "What if I should find her dead!"

Absorbed in painful reflections, he was a very silent com-
panion for Lorimer during the luncheon. which they took at a
quiet little restaurant well known to the habitues of Pall Mall

THELMA. 437

and Regent Street. Lorimcr 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, perhaj
more, knowing his love was hopeless. Not always does pos-
session of the adored object strengthen the adoration the
rapturous dreams of an ideal passion have often been known to
surpass reality a thousand-fold. So the two friends excha i
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 bet-
ter 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 awfu' place! may be 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 IV w
hours before she died she tore up her will in a scream in' fury
o' Christian charily and forethought ineanin' to mak anither
in favor o' leavin' a' her warld's trash to the Fund for Distrih-
utin' Bible Knowledge among the Heathen but she never
had time to fulfill her intention. She went oil' like a lamb
and there bein.u 1 no will, her money fell to me, as the n<
surviviif relative. Eh! the puir thing! if her dees-imhodied

438 THELMA.

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 Macfar-
lane, carelessly.

"Well done, Mac!" said Errington, with a smile, endeavor-
ing to appear interested. "You're quite rich, then? I con-
gratulate you!"

"Eiches 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, exchang-
ing a quick look with Lorimer, which the latter at once under-
stood. "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 pru-
dently forbore to make any remark upon it. He contented
himself with saying:

"Well, 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 re-
turns. 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 amaze-
ment.

"Yes. It's just the cleanest tenement I could find in that
neighborhood. And the woman that keeps it is fairly re-
spectable."

"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?"

THELMA. 439

A steadfast, earnest, thinking look came into Macfarlane's
deep-set eyes.

-Yes, I do know, pairfectly," he said, in answer to the ques-
tion. "It's a place where there's misery, starvation, and crimn
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 meen-ister
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 reasonable crea-
ture an' if I had followed oot this profession, I mak nae doot
that, with my aunt's seventy thousand, I should be a vera
comfortable, respectable, selfish type of a man, who was de-
cently embarked in an apparently important but really use-
less 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 world," 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 mon 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 * v .at I
couldna be a meen-ister as meen-isters go, an' that I must
e'en follow oot the Testament's teachings according to in a
own way o' thinkin'. First, I fancied I'd rough it abroad ;i>
a mees-ionary, 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 whilo
I'm alive to see to't mysel' for I've often observed thai
leave your warld's iroar 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'

440 THELMA.

an' 'distributors' o' the fund, till there's naething left for
those ye meant to benefit. Ye maunna think Fm gaun to do
ony preachin' business down at the 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 HimseP gave sympathy to begin with He did
the preachin' afterward."

"What a good fellow you are, Mac!" said Errington, sud-
denly 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 teach-
ings till I saw your leddy wife, Errington." He paused a
moment, then added gravely: "Yes, and I've 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,"

THELMA. 441

Mact'arlane Mushed again like any awkward school-'

"Oh, J dinna ken about that!" he .-aid, hurriedly. "fi
ju.-t a urund woman any way." Then, bethinking himself <>!'
another subject, he asked: "Have you heard o' the Reverend
Mr. iKeeworthy lately?"

Krringtoii and Lorimer replied in the negative.

Macfarlane laughed his eves twinkled. "It's evident ye
never read police reports," he said. "Talk o' meen-i^t<
he's a pretty specimen! He's been hunted out o' his place in
Yorkshire for carryin' on love affairs wi' the women o' hi*
congregation. One day he locked himseP 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 neighbor-
hood, 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 I did, but no to speak to him; he was far 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 with mud,
an' a policeman was embracin' him vera affectionately by th'
ami. IK- 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 sen-
tenced to a month's imprisonment an' hard labor. Haul
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 shoul-
ders 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. "Th
always America, ye ken. He can mak' a holy martyr o' liiin-
sel' there. He may gain as muckle a reputation as Henry
Ward Beecher ye can never 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 re-

442 THELMA.

suit of a fortuitous conglomeration of atoms, I think the atoms
ought to have heen more careful what they were about, that's
all I can say."

They reached the open street, where Macf arlane shook hands
and went his way, promising to call on Errington so 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," re-
plied Philip. "Philanthropists often talk a great deal and do
nothing."

"Like members of Parliament," suggested Lorimer, with a
smile.

"Exactly so. By the bye, I've resigned my candidateship."

"Eesigned? 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 clod-hoppers to the inter-
ests of their country and all the time my darling at home
was alone, and breaking her heart about me. By Jove! if Fd
only known! When I came back this morning to all this mis-
ery, 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,

THELMA. 443

"Come out of here,'' he said. "Come into a place where ire
can talk. There's an old fellow over there who's ready to
murder any member who even whispers. We won't exi-ii'-
his angry passions. You know we're all literature-mongers
here we've each got our own little particular stall where wo
sort our goods our mouldy oranges, sour apples, and indigest-
ible nuts and we polish them up to look tempting to the pub-
lic. It's a great business, and we can't bear to be looki
while we're turning our apples with the best side outward,
and boiling our oranges to make them swell and seem big!
\Ye 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 re-
peated visits to Violet Vere, no matter on what business,
would not bring the dogs of scandal yelping about your heels.
J wonder you didn't see how you were compromising your-
self."

"He never told me 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 squab-
bles by himself ?"

"He's very much broken down," said Errington. "A hope-
less, 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."

PK-au Lovelace started back in amazement. "Dead! You
don't say so! Why, he was dining last night at the Criterion
I saw him tin

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 Len-

444 THELMA.

11 ox's life too well and had despised it too thoroughly to feel
much regret now it was thus abruptly ended.

"Bather 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 Alten Fjord at this time of year."

"Why not use your yacht, and be independent of ob-
stacles?" suggested Lovelace.

"She's under repairs, worse luck!" sighed Philip, despond-
ingly. "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 peni-
tence, 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 ear-shot. "The best and most generous
of men! He's a critic all critics are large-minded and gener-
ous, 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

THELMA. 445

it to ribbons, metaphorically speaking, and waved the frag-
ments mockingly in the eyes of the public. From that day
my name was made my writing sold off with delightful
rapidity, and words can never tell how I blessed and how 1
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 helping me along. He's really a
first-rate fellow. But I haven't yet attained the summit of
my ambition" and here Lovelace broke of! with a sparkle of
fun in his clear steel-gray eyes.

"Why, what else do you want?" asked Lorimer, laughing.

"I want," returned Beau, solemnly, "I want to be jeered at
by Tunch.' I want Tunch' 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 Tunch' has abused
him. Abuse is the thing nowadays, you know. Heaven for-
bid that I should be praised by Tunch'! That would he
frightfully unfortunate!"

Here the coffee arrived, and Lovelace dispensed it to his
friends, talking gayly the while in an effort to distract Erring-
ton 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 thunder-
bolts!"

"He's an American, isn't he?" asked Errington.

"He is, my dear boy! An American whom tin-
portion of America rejects. We, therefore out of opposinmi
take him up. His chief recommendation is that h- writes
blatantly concerning commonplaces regardless of music or
rhythm. Here's a bit of him concerning the taming of oxen.
lie says the tamer lives in a

" 'Placid pastoral region.

There they bring him the three-year-olds and the four-year-ohls
to break them

446 THELMA.

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 jar-
gon 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 them-
selves declaring him as fine as Shakespeare. The dear Eng-
lish muttons! fine Southdowns! fleecy baa-lambs! once let
the press-bell tinkle loudly enough across the -fields of litera-
ture, 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. Lori-
mer, 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 accom-
panied 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

THELMA. 417

while he spoke. "Don't grudge the old lady her southern
sunshine, Errington! Lorimer wants brushing up a bit too
lie looks seedy. Then I shall consider it settled the day
after to-morrow we meet at Charing Cross morning tidal ex-
press, of course never go by night service across the Chan-
nel 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 tliis, 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.

448 THELMA.

The train canie 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 "Froken." 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
Alten Fjord 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 heav-
ens are empty!"

CHAPTEE XIII.

Honor iq an old-world thing, but it smells sweet to those in
whose hand it is strong. QUID A.

Disappointment upon disappointment awaited Errington at
Hull. Unfortunately, neither he nor Britta knew of the ex-
istence 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

THELMA. 449

was no boat of any kind leaving immediately for Norway
not even a whaler or fishing-smack. In a week's time pos-
sibly later there would be a su-amer starting for Christ ian-
sund, and for this Errington, though almost mad with im-
patience, 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 her-
self would suddenly meet him face to face and put her hand-
in his. He wrote to Neville and told him to send on any let-
ters 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 worshiped
her, how he was on his way to join her at the Alten Fjord
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 terrible, stormy
passage, he and the faithful Britta were landed there.

On arrival he learned that a vessel bound for the North
(ape had left on the previous day there would not be an-
other for a fortnight. Cursing his ill-luck, he resolved to
reach the Alten Fjord by land, and began to make arrange-
ments accordingly. Those who knew the country well en-
deavored 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
diflieulties she could drive a pulkha she knew how to inan-

.vindeer she entertained not the slightest doubt of 1

aide to overcome all the obstacles on the way. At the same

time, sho frankly told Sir Philip that the journey would be a

IOHLT one. perhaps occupying <-v"ral davs that they would

20

450 THELMA.

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 rein-
deer 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 Nor-
way 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 seem-
ing 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 jour-
ney, rumor was very busy with his name in London. Every-
body 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 Parlia-
ment for years.

On the very morning after he had left the metropolis on
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

THELMA. 451

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 bl<
formerly spotless reputation and "really really!" said tin-
Upper Ten, "it was dreadful, but of course it was to be ex-
pected! Those quiet, seemingly virtuous persons are al
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-Erringtou, wife of Sir Philip Bruce-
Krrington, is about to sue 'for a divorce on the ground of in-
fidelity. The offending dama in the question is an admired
actress, well known to the frequenters of the Brilliant Theater.
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 rein-
deer on the shore of her native fjord) has private reasons of
her own for desiring the divorce not altogether in keeping
with her stated reasons for her apparent reserve. We are,
however, always on the side of the fair sex, and, as the faith-
less husband has made no secret of his new liaison, we do not
hesitate to at once pronounce in the lady's favor. The
is likely to prove interesting to believers in wedded happi
combined with the strictest moral and religious sentiments."

Quite by accident this piece of would-be "smartness"
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

"It'> a damned lie!" said Beau, briefly.

"That ivmain.s to be proved!" answered his friend, and \\vnt
away laughing.

Beau read it over and over again, his blood firing with
honest indignation.

Thelma! Tlu'lma 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 p]rriiigt oil's honor to bo at-
tainted in his absence, and he condemned without a wm<l
uttered in his defense?

452 THELMA.

"Destestable 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 pay-
able. The editor can not be responsible for the return of re-
jected 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 enjov
it!"

An hour later he stood in the office of the "Snake," courte-
ously 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 in-
quiringly visitors of his distinguished appearance and man-
ner 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 theaters, who had secured the last bit of scandal con-
cerning some celebrated stage or professional "beauty"
sporting men and turf gamblers of the lowest class un-
successful 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

THELMA. 453

lor a few minute.-. It' he is engaged editors generally ;ire
'n^aged tell him I'll wait."

The boy went off in a greater hurry than ever. The name
ovelace 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 pre-
sented 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 toward a chair, thereby display in .<:
the great rings that glittered on his podgy fingers.

Beau, however, did not seat himself he only smiled
coldly and contemptuously.

"We can discuss the fraternal nature of our relationship
afterward," he said, satirically. "Business first. Pray, sir"-
here he drew from his pocket the last number of the "Snake 1 "
"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 his desk. Mr. Snawley-Grubbs glanced
at it and smiled unconcernedly.

"No, I am not. But I happen to know it is perfectly cor-
rect. I received the information on the highest the
highest and most credible authority."

-Indeed!" and Beau's lip curled haughtily, while his hand
clinched the horsewhip more firmly. "Then allow me to tell
you, sir, that it is utterly false in every particular more
that it is a gross libel, published \vith deliberate intent to in-
jure those whom it presumes to mention and that, wh<
wrote it you, sir, you alone are responsible for a most mis-
chievous, scandalous, and damnable lie!"

454 THELMA.

Mr. Grubbs was in nowise disconcerted. Honest indigna-
tion 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 lit-
tle 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, can not 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! Apolo-
gize? Certainly not! I can not 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 my-
self to the cause of truth. Truth, truth forever! 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 im-
morality 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
sprung 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 mis-
demeanant; ah, no such luck for you! I know the tricks of
your vile trade! There are other ways of dealing with a vul-
gar bully and coward!"

And before the startled Grubbs could realize his position,

I

THELMA, 45B

Lovelace closed with him, bent him under, and struck the
horsewhip smartly across his back and shoulders. He uttered
a yell of pain and fury, and strove vigorously to defend him-
self, 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 roar-
ings of a bull of Bashan, were unheard, as the office-boy be-
low, profiting by a few idle moments, had run across the
street to buy some chestnuts at a stall he particularly patron-
ized. Beau thrashed on with increasing enjoyment Grubbs
resisted him less and less, till finally he slipped feebly down
on the floor and groveled 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 door- way
a woman stood there, richly dressed in silk and fur, with dia-
monds 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 hit-
ting at me in your trashy paper."

Grubbs still sat on the floor groaning.

'You must cat those words." \\.nt on the Vere calmly.
"Kat 'em up with sauce for dinner. The 'admired at

456 THELMA.

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 ahout 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
eyes 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 fist
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 hun-
dred 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 whim-
pered. "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 Snaw-
ley! You do look so sore! Ta-ta!" And she moved toward

THELMA. 457

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 of chill indifference, or
something in his look, irritated her suddenly for a rush of
hot color crimsoned her face, and she bit her lips vexedly as
she descended the office stairs.

"He's one of our high-and-mighty sort," she thought dis-
dainfully, as she entered her cozy brougham and was driven
away. "Quite too awfully moral!" She pulled a large, elab-
orately 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 afterward 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, re-
iterated his demand for an apology. Grubbs made a rush for
the door as soon as Miss Vere had gone, with the full inten-
tion of summoning the police, but Beau coolly placed his back
against it with resolute firmness, and flourished his whip de-
fiantly.

"Come, sir, none of this nonsense!" he said, sternly. "I
don't mean to leave this spot till I have satisfaction. If Sir
I raiicis 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?"

(Jrubbs, breathless with rage and fear, glared at him, but
made no ansv.

"If you refuse to comply," went on Beau, deliberately,
balancing the horsewhip liirhtly on his hand, "I'll ju--
yon what the consequences will be. I've thrashed you once
and I'll thrash you again. I have only to give the cue to sev-
eral worthy fellows of my acquaintance, who don't care how

458 THELMA.

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 hut I
swear there shan't he a safe corner in London for you. If,
however, you publish next week a full retraction of your
printed lie why, then I shall he 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 at 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, gayly. "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 para-
graphs," 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, eying mean-
while 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,

THELMA. 459

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
wen- 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 pro-
prietor 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 lan-
guage 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 an-
nounced his death to her and this was the deserted wife who
had once loved him. Lady Winsleigh had heard the n-
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 sli-
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
<>f her beauty. Lord Winsleigh read aloud the brief account
of the accident in tin- paper she listened dreamily
mute. Me watched her with yearning e

460 THELMA.

"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 toward him. She knelt at
his feet, though he strove to prevent her she raised her large,
dark eyes, full of dull agony, to his.

"Fve 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!"

THELMA.

461

BOOK III.

THE LAND OF THE LONG SHADOW.

CHAPTER I.

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 Alten Fjord 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. Joy-
less 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 invisible? 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
shriek ing career northward, grew hushed as it approached the
Alten Fjord 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 iishing-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
sh:idowy than real, were to be seen occasionally moving on

462 THELMA.

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 somber
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, danc-
ing, 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 magnifi-
cent coruscation of resplendent beams a blazing arch of gold
leaped from east to west, spanning the visible breadth of the
fjord, and casting toward 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 downward from it, like ropes of fairy flow-
ers, binding it to the earth; above it hung a fleece-like nebu-
lous 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. Eound and round swept the varying
circles of color now advancing now retreating now turn-
ing 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 toward the rippling splendor the heavy fish-
ing-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 oppo-
site coast.

THELMA. 463

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 en-
veloped in gloom.

It might have been midnight, yet by the clock it was but
four in the afternoon. Dreary indeed was the Alten Fjord
yet the neighboring village of Talvig was even drearier.
There, desolation reigned supreme it was a frozen region of
bitter, shelterless cold, where the poverty-stricken inhabi-
tants, 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 the
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 at 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
their 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 hard 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 Lap-
lander a hideous, stunted specimen of humanity, who ap-
peared to be literally sewed up from head to foot in skin.-.

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 Guldmar? 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

464 THBLMA.

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 a 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 thusting her head, wrapped in a red woolen
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 dwell-
ing, stood Olaf Guldmar. 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 fea-
tures, and open, massive brow. At that moment a woman who
was busying herself in putting fresh pine-logs on the smoul-
dering fire, turned and regarded him intently.

"Lord, Lord!" she muttered "'tis a man of men he re-
joiceth in his strength, even as the lion and of what avail

THEMLA. 465

shall the curse of the wicked avail against the soul that is
firmly established!"

Guldmar heard her not he was looking toward a low pallet
ln-d, on which lay extended at full length, an apparently in-
sensible 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 sud-
denly, 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 fin-
ger. Guldmar 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 specter
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
Guldmar, whose picturesque head was illumined by the ruddy
glow of the fire, and feebly shaded her eyes as though sin-
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 bond.-
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 Guldmar. Dost thou know me?"

At the sound of his voice, a strange spasm contorted th i
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 maidens!" She lifted herself in
oo

466 THELMA.

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 Guldmar 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 be-
fore 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 moun-
tains 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 de-
manded, fiercely:

"Where is my grandchild? Where is Britta?"

Neither Guldmar 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 Guldmar!" she said. "It is well
for the hand of Death is upon me."

THELMA. 467

-It is well, indeed, if I can be of service, Lovisa Elsland."
responded (Juldmar, "though I am but a sorry consoler, hold-
ing, as I do, that death is the chief blessing, and in no way i<>
fgretted 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."

"Kscape escape? Where?" asked Lovisa. "From the
worm that dieth not? From the devouring flame that is never
quenched? From the torturing thirst and heat and darkiu->>
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 Guldmar I have but little strength remaining, and I
must speak briefly. Thy wife "

"What of her?" said the bonde, hastily. "Thou knewest
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!"

Guldmar 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 had raved, but that is past! The Lord, who will
judge and condemn my soul, bear witness that I speak the
truth! Olaf Guldmar, rememberest thou the days when we
young?"

" 'Tis long ago, Lovisa," replied the bonde, with brief gen-
tleness.

"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 recollection.
"Love!" she presently muttered "love is strong as deatli
jealousy is cruel as the grave the coals thereof are coals of
fire which hath a most vehement name! Even so! You,
Olaf Guldmar, have forgotten what I remember, that one*, in

468 THELMA.

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 the shadow of the constant mountains, for-
gets the first thrill of passion wakened in her soul? Light
women of those lands where the sun ever shines on fresh fol-
lies 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
Guldmar 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 ex-
pression of her face as she said this that the stout heart of
the old bonde pulsated more quickly with a sudden vague dis-
trust 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!"

I

THELMA. 4M

Guldmar uttered a sharp cry, and shook himself free from
her touch. In the same instant his hand flew to the hilt of tin;
hunting-knife in his girdle.

"Killed her! By the gods

Ulrika sprung 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 Guldmar!" 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 vio-
lently for breath and Ulrika supported her. Guldmar stood
motionless, white with restrained fury, his eyes blazing. Ke-
covering 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 embedded 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 sent it hurling downward yet it look,
firm as ever."

Guldmar uttered a fierce ejaculation of anguish he put one
hand to his throat as though he were stifling. Lovisa, watch-
ing him, smiled vindictively, and continued:

"When I had done all I could do, I lay in wait for her, hop-
ing and praying. My hour c;nnc at last! It was a bright
Minuy morning a little bird had been twittering above the
very place as it flew away, she approached a hook was in

470 THELMA.

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, sprung 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 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 pa-
tiently waiting for its mother. How I longed to kill it! but
it sung to itself like the bird that had flown away, and I could
not. But she was gone she was silent forever the Lord be
praised for all His mercies! Was she smiling, Olaf Guldmar,
when you found her dead?"

A strange solemnity shadowed the bonders 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 Guldmar, 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 a 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.
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 Guldmar, 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 "

I

THI-J1.MA. 471

1'lrika 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 hail-stones. 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 ex<
ingly sweet silver trumpet. It began softly swelled to a
crescendo then died delicately away. Guldmar 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 immedi-
ately to his 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, 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 can not 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 to shut away the sight of some loathsome
thing unveiled to her view. "Who is it" she asked in an
awful shuddering whisper "whois it that says there is no hell?
I see it!" Still retreating backward, backward the clammy
dews of death darkening her affrightened countenance she
turned her glazing eyes for the last time on Guldmar. Hi ;
lips twitched into a smile of dreadful mockery. "May thy
gods reward thee Olaf Guldmar even as mine are re-
warding me!"

And with these words, her head dropped heavily on her
hreast. Ulrika laid her hark mi her pillow, a corpse. Tin:
stern, cruel smile fro/e -lowly on her dead featuiv- -irradu-

472 THELMA.

ally 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 Guldmar, 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 strange, anxious expression flitted across her dull counte-
nance.

"Nay, bonde, we do not believe that the Lord accepteth
murderers, without they repent themselves of their backslid-
ings but if with penitence they turn to Him, even at the
eleventh hour, happily they may be numbered among the
elect."

Guldmar'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 can not 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!"

Eapidly muffling himself up in his wraps he strode out of
the house. He sprung 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?"

Guldmar 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!" lie shook his clinched

THBLMA.

lastily jjwtlicriM.i: up tin- rein.-, prep
to start.

The Lapp, after the manner of his race, was ea.-ilv fright-
ened, and cowered back, terrified at the bonde's men;:
gesture and fierce tone but quickly bethinking himself <i
the liberal fee he clutched in his palm, he volunteered a warn-
ing to this kingly old man with the streaming white hair and
beard, and the keen eyes that were already fixed on the dark
sweep of the rough, uneven road winding toward the Altm
Fjord,

"There is a storm coming, Jarl Guldmar!" he stam-
mered".

(Juldmar turned his head. "Why call me Jarl?" In- 1<-
manded, half angrily. " 'Tis a name I wear not."

He touched the reindeer lightly with his long whip the
sensitive beasts started and sprung 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 smoldering fire, while just above it a
greenish blackness of cloud hung heavy and motionless. To-
ward the central part of the heavens two or three stars shone
with frosty brightness, and through a few fleecy ribbons of
grayish mist glimmered the uncertain promise of a faint
moon.

Guldmar smiled slightly. "Storm coming?" he answered,
almost gayly. "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 a
the hard snow, the sledge sped off with fairy-like rapidity,
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 ability,
considering the dimensions of his snow-shoes, into the hut
where he had his dwelling, relating to all who chose to hear

474 THELMA.

the news of old Lovisa Elsland's death, and the accounts 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 women'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 godli-
ness 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 shriek-
ing excitement of his fanatical hearers, Ulrika alone was
silent.

She sat stern and, absorbed, with set lips and lowered eye-
lids, 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 in-
tently on Guldmar's words: "The Eternal Justice can not
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 shud-
der 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. Lord,
Lord! save my soul! Teach me how to escape from the con-
demning 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
Guldmar, driving swiftly homeward, 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

THBLMA.

shock. He settled himself more firmly, encouraging with a
cheery word the startled reindeer, who stopped short, stretch-
ing out their necks and snilling the air, their hairy sides heav-
ing with the strain of trotting against the blast, and the smoke
of their breath steaming upward 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 re-
sinned 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 with-
ered and he had never known her destroyer! Her fall from
the edge of the chasm had been deemed by them both an acci-
dent, and yet this wretched Lovisa Elsland mad with mis-
placed, disappointed passion, jealousy, and revenge had lived
OH to the extreme of life, triumphant and unsuspected.

"I swear the gods have played me false in this!" he mut-
tered, lifting his eyes in a sort of fierce appeal to the motion-
less pine-tops 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 remem-
bered 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 pn is a blight upon the land how she

had deeoyrd 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
(luldmars blood burn and pulses thrill. He could not under-
stand why the Higher Powers had permitted this error of jus-
tice, and,' like many of his daring ancestors, he was ready to
fling defiance in the very face of Odin, and demand: ''Why

476 THELMA.

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 Guldmar'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 upward, the frozen
tree-tops, till then rigidly erect, swayed lightly 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.

"Kose of my heart!" he whispered, tenderly apostrophizing
the memory of his wife that lost jewel of love whose fail-
body lay enshrined in the king's tomb by the fjord, "wrong-
fully 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 can not 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 pant-
ing heavily. Hark! what was that? A clear, far-reaching
note of music seemingly wakened from the waters of the fjord
and rising upward, upward, with bell-like distinctness! Guld-
mar 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 toward the higher land creating the same
effect as though one should breathe forcibly through a pipe-

THELMA. 477

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 tronhiper of Odin
it had a significant and supernatural meaning ami hi
peated his former action that of drawing the knife from hi>
girdle and kissing the hilt. "If Death is near me," he said, in
a loud voice, "I bid it welcome! The gods know that 1 am
ready!"

He waited as though expecting some answer, but there wa>
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 backward
and forward 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. Guld-
mar 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, encour-
aged 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-
driftsits guiding lantern was extinguished. Guldmar 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
wooden 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
tinctly 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 neaml the end of the long
dark vista, a sudden bright-bine glare quivered and spruni:
wave-like across the snow a fantastic storm-aurora that
Hashed and played among the feathery falling flakes of white
till thoy looked like knots and clusters of sparkling je
Tin* extreme point of the cloee defile wa> reached at last, and

478 THBLMA.

here the landscape opened up wide, rocky and desolate a
weird picture with the heavy clouds above repeatedly
stabhed through and through by the needle-pointed beams of
the aurora borealis and the blank whiteness of the ground be-
low. 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.

Guldmar 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 ecstasy 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 rein-
deer, feeling no restraint upon them, and terrified by some-
thing 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.
Guldmar, recovering from his momentary awe and bewilder-
ment, 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

THELMA. 479

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 antlercd 1
east 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 Guldmar unconscious dying. The spear of
the Valkyrie had fallen!

CHAPTER II.

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 MACKEY.

Long hours passed, and the next day dawned, if the dim
twilight that glimmered faintly across the Alten Fjord could
be called a dawn. The snow-fall had ceased the wind had
sunk there was a frost-bound, monotonous calm. The pic-
turesque 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 de
tion. In the room where Thelma used to sit and spin, a blaz-
ing fire of pine sparkled on the walls, casting ruddy out
ilashes through the frost-covered lattice-window*- 5
toward the obscure noon, Olaf Guldmar awoke from his long

480 THELMA.

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 endeavor-
ing to collect his thoughts. Presently he spoke his voice
was faint yet distinct.

"What has happened, Valdemar?" he asked. "How is it
that strength has departed from me?"

Svensen dropped on his knees by the bedside. "An acci-
dent, my Lord Olaf," he began, falteringly.

Guldmar'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 Guldmar's gaze rested on him with a musing tender-
ness.

" 'Tis a far journey," he said, simply. "And thou art not
summoned." He raised his arm to test its force for one sec-
ond 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

THELMA. 481

hearing nothing more, he had become greatly alarmed, and,
taking a pine-torch, had gone out to see what had occurred
how lie had found the reindeer standing by the broken sledge
in the gully, and how, after some search, he had final h
covered 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 liinbs,
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 ex-
perience as a sailor, pilot, and traveler in many countries had
given him some useful knowledge of medicine and sui
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! it's but a puff of thistle-down, or
a li<du mist floating from the sunset to the sea!"

Hi- made a vigorous attempt to raise himself from his pillow
though the excruciating anguish caused by his m
made him wince a little and grow paler.

"Wine, Valdemar! Fill the horn cup to the brim and hrm-
it to me I must have strength to speak before I depart on
the last great journey."

Obediently and in haste, Svensen filled the i-up he Baked fr
with old Lacrima C'hri^ti. of which th i **Jf "

31

482 THELMA,

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 luster 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 in-
wrap 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 slum-
ber as stones in the silent pathways why would my lord de-
part 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 magnificent strength

THELMA. 483

of command that flushed the old man's features, were o
ordinary and almost terrible in their impressive grandeur. If
lie indeed believed himself by blood a king and a descendant
of kings, lie could not have shown a more forcible display of
personal sovereignty. The effect of his manner on Vald<
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 fool-
ishly. I am ready I have sworn the oath shall be kept to
its utmost end!"

Olaf Guldmar'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 forever. 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 conscious-
ness 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 wa-
now on the shelf above the chimney, awaiting perusal.
(.'uldinar, ignorant of this, begun to write slowly and with
tirnmess. disregarding his rapidly sinking strength. Scarcely
had he begun the letter, however, than he looked up mean-
ingly at Svensen, who stood waiting beside him.

The time grow- iort, w he said, imperatively. "Pre-

pare everything quickly go! Fear not I shall live to see
thec- return and to bless thee for thy faithful service."

iie uttered tln-c wids he smiled; and with one wistful,
yearning look at him, Valdemar obediently and instantly de-
parted. ~ He left the house, carrying with him a huge \>\

ith the air of a man strung up to prompt

484 THELMA.

action, rapidly descended the sloping path, thick with hard-
ened snow, that led downward to the fjord. On reaching the
shore, he looked anxiously ahout him. There was nothing in
sight but the distant, twinkling lights of Bosekop the f jorJ
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 Guldmar's brig, the "Valkyrie," trans-
formed by the fingers of the frost into a white ship, fantasti-
cally draped with threads of frozen snow and pendent icicles.
She was placed on a descending plank, to which she was at-
tached by a chain and rope pulley so that at any time of the
weather or tide she could be moved glidingly downward into
deep water and this was what Yaldemar 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 for-
ward, 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 gradu-
ally 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 en-
crusted 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 ad-
jacent 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 dur-
ing 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

THELMA. 486

hovering shadow of death Deemed everywhere in every c;
ling twig he brushed against in every sough of the waki :
L r ale that rustled among the bare pines. To his intense i
he found Guldmar lying calmly among his pillows his eyes
well open and clear, and an expression of perfect peace upon
his features. He smiled as IK- 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 accci
"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 ever-
lasting frosf 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 ti
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 bl-
her! her and her husband in whose arms she rests in sat'
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 forever!"

He paused the wind wailed mournfully round the h<
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 faint-
er accents, at the same time handing him another paper.
"Here are some scrawled lines they are plainly set forth and
>ii-ned which make thee master of this poor place and all
that it contain-."

A low, choked sob broke from Valdemar's broad breast ho
covered his face with his hands.

m THELMA.

"Of what avail?" he murmured, brokenly. ""When iny lord
departs, I am alone and friendless!"

The bonde regarded him with kindly pity.

"Tears from thee, 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 prime of man-
hood 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 in-
jured 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 Guldmar'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 outward 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, bring-
ing with it large feathery flakes of snow. A hand-sledge
stood outside the porch it was always there during the win-
ter, 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 him-

J HELM A, 4*7

self able to Mand and, though suffering deadly anguish at
very step, did in truth manage to reach and enter the sledge,
strongly supported by Valdemar. There, however, he fainted
and hia faithful servant, covering his insensible form with
furs, thought he was dead. But there was now no time for
hesitation dead or living, Olaf Guldmar's will was law to his
vassal an oath had been made and must be kept. To propel
the sledge down 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 be-
neath 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 fV\\
mad minutes the earth and sky whirled dizzily around him
he could grasp nothing tangible in thought or memory. But
there, most certainly, Olaf Guldmar lay his pallid face up-
turned, his hair and beard as white as the snow that clung to
the masts of his vessel his hands clinched on the fur garment
that inwrapped 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 excep-
tional 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 deli-
cate transparence, 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 piling
downward into the water the radiance spread, and gradually
formed into a broad band of deep crimson, which burned with
M fixed and iiitrn-i' glow topaz-like- rays Hick.
streamed about it, as though uncertain what fantastic shape

488 THELMA.

they should take to best display their hrilliancy. This tremu-
lous 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, sudden-
ly and clearly defined in the sky, a kingly crown blazed forth
a crown of perfect shape, its five points distinctly and separ-
ately outlined and flashing as with a million rubies and dia-
monds. The red luster warmly tinged the pale features of
the dying man, and startled Valdemar, who sprung to his feet
and gazed at that mystic aureola with a cry of wonder. At the
same moment Olaf Guldmar 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 waters! It is dawn in my heart the
dawn of love for thee and me, my Thelma fear not! The
rose of passion is a hearty flower than can bloom in the north
as well as in the south, believe me! Thelma Thelma!"

He suddenly opened his eyes, and realizing his surround-
ings, 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 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 Guldmar was still gazing at the brilliancy in the
heavens, which seemed to increase in size and luster as the
wind rose higher. Svensen took his hand it was icy cold,
and damp with the dews of death.

"Let me go with thee!" he implored, in broken accents,
fear nothing! Why should I not venture also on the last
voyage?"

Guldmar made a faint but decided sign of rejection.

"The Viking sails alone to the grave of his fathers!^' he
said, with a serene and proud smile. "Alone alone! Neither

THELMA.

wife, nor child, nor vassal may have plan; 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 whieh darken-
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, bio*
seaward from the mountains, swayed the "Valkyrie" un< ,
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 and whispered trem-
blingly that all was done. At the same moment a small,
stealthy tongue of red flame curled upward through the deck
from the hold, and Guldmar, observing this, smiled.

"I see thou hast redeemed thine oath," he said, gratefully
pressing Svensen's hand. " 'Tis the last act of thine allegi-
ance 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 strug-
gles 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 \\\<
despairing grief, he turned resolutely away, and sprung 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 (Juldmar leaped upright on the deck as though
lifted by some invisible hand, and confronted his terrified ser-
vant, who gazed at him in fascinated amazement and awe.
His white hair gleamed like spun silver his face was t:
li-und. and wore a strange, rapt look of pale yet splendid

490 THELMA.

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 ecstasy. "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 of 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 upward, 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 a 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
Guldmar 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 con-
vinced of this in his dreamy and imaginative mind he had
sworn a sort of mystic friendship and allegiance, which Guld-
mar had accepted, imposing on him, however, only one abso-
lute command. This was that he should be given the "crim-
son shroud" and sea-tomb of his warlike ancestors for the
idea that his body might be touched by strange hands, shut
in a close coffin, and laid in the earth to molder away to wormy

THELMA. -m

corruption had been the one fantastic dread of the sturdy old
pagan's life. And he had taken advantage of Svensen's de-
votion 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 ringers of a Lutheran! Save
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 satis-
fied. 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 re-
gardless 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
blazing ship was more than ever distinctly visible. She was
seen from the shore of Bosekop by a group of the inhabii
who, rubbing their dull eyes, could not decide whether what
they beheld was fire, or a new phase of the capricious, ever-
( -hanging Northern Light the rapidly descending snow ren-
dering their vision bewildered and uncertain. Any way, they
thought very little about it they had had excitement of an-
other 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 thr
North Cape, had, just an hour previously, touched at their
harbor, to land a passenger a mysterious woman closely
veiled, who i ninied iately on arrival had hired a sledge, and had
hidden the driver to take her to the house of Olaf (Juldmar.
an right miles' journey through the drifted snow. All this

IM.-IV inteivstinir to the good, stupid. goj-ip;:
folk of Bosekop 60 much sn. indeed, that they
any herd to li ..leof the firry ship swaying suggest

492 THELMA.

on the heaving water and drifting rapidly away away toward
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
mantle.

"I have come home, Valdemar!" said the sweet, rich, pene-
trating 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.

"Froken 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 sunk down down to one
glimmering spark which glowed redly like a floating lamp for
a brief space and was then quenched forever! The ship had
vanished! Thelma needed no explanation; she knew her
father's creed she understood all. Breaking loose from Val-
demar's grasp, she rushed a few steps forward with arms
outstretched in 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 hold-
ing her tenderly and reverently in his strong arms, carried her,

THELMA. 493

ns though she were a child, into the house. The clouds dark-
ened the snow-storm thickened the mountain-peaks, stern
giants, frowned through their sleety veils at the arctic desola-
tion of the land below them and over the charred and sunken
corpse of the departed servant of Odin sounded the soh-mn
De Profundis of the sea.

CHAPTER III.

"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 wrestlin
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 wan-
dered, though she pinched her neck and arms with the hard
resoluteness of a sworn flagellant, and groaned: "Lord, have
mercy on a me a sinner!" with indefatigable earnestness. She
was considerably startled in the midst of these energetic de-
votions by a sudden jangling of sledge-bells, and a loud knock-
ing a knocking which threatened to break down the door
of the small and humble house she inhabited. Hastily don-
ning the coarse gown and bodice she had recently taken off in
order to administer chastisement to her own flesh more thor-
oughly, 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 Froken Thelma Lady Errington fa is all

494 THELMA.

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 exclama-
tion of gratitude and relief, took his place heside 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 Alten
Fjord?"

"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 Guldmar 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 ITlrika 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 fol-
low Olaf Guldmar's creed disappear as soon as the life de-
parts 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 Guld-
mar's ship has gone, and he with it, I warn you, the village
will wonder."

"I can not 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

THELMA.

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 h<> fol-
lowed it was only when he went to live with the bonde, after
Thelma's marriage, that the nature of h'is 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 enter-
tain a little more of the true spirit of Christianity that spirit
of gentle and patient tolerance which, full of forbearance
toward 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 toward the Guldmar family for having saved
from destruction albeit unconscious of his parentage Sig-
urd, 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 dis-
played by the Guldmars 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 Guldmar
himself, according to rumor, had buried his own wife
in some unknown spot, with strange and weird cere-
monials but she was inclined to be tolerant and glancing at
Svensen's grave, pained face from time to time as she sat be-
side him in the sledge, she resolved to ask him no more ques-
tions 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. I'lrika 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 Rev. Mr.

496 THELMA.

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 Jragic 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 suffer-
ing and trouble,

"For who knows," mused Ulrika, "whether it is not the
Lord's hand that is extended toward 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 as-
sistance, 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 hav-
ing 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 doubtfully, 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, glitter-
ing 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. "l"am very

THI-:LMA.

497

dad! Mas Sigurd come home? He \\ ; IIK|<TS 10 much, poor
IM>Y! Father, dear, you must tell him how \\rtmg it is n
lore Philip. Every one loves Philip and I I love him too,
hut. he must never know that." She paused and
"That is my secret the only one I have!" And she
her fair head forlornly.

Moved by intense pity, such as she had never felt in all h-r
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 can not 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 abus-
ing their saints in time of trouble, even so will the few re-
maining 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 I
others when he was ready to pluck the great god by the beard
and heat him with the tlat of his own drawn -word. This was

498 THELMA.

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 tear 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 he
what they are not. It is difficult to live so and I am tired!"

She rose from her chair, and stood up unsteadily, stretch-
ing 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 he nothing that is true
all is false and unreal I can not 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 vio-
lent shuddering seized her, and a quiver of agony passed over
her.

"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 sunk forward, faint-
ing, on Ulrika's breast, and that devout disciple of Luther,
forgetting all her former dread of the "white witch of the
Alten Fjord," 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

THELMA. (00

as a bird's nest. While she was engaged in these prepa-
rations,, Thelma regained her consciousness, and began to toss
anil tumble and talk deliriously: but with it all she retained
her innate gentleness and patience, and submitted to be un-
dressed, though she began to sob pleadingly when Ulrika
would have removed her husband's miniature from whriv 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,
I Irika 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 sating cup of a Nile
lily.

Poor Thelma sat resignedly watching her own attire taken
from her, and allowed herself to be wrapped in a comfortable
loose garment of white wadmel, as warm as eiderdown, 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 in-
terest 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 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 heart-strings. "Try to sleep that will be 1,
for vou!" And she took from the fire a warm, nourishing

500 THBLMA.

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 provi-
sions 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 faint 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 ten-
derly 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, when 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
deepening 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!"

THELMA.

Svensen looked, as he felt, completely perplexed ami
spairing. He could think of no reason for Thelma's un-
expected appearance at the Alten Fjord 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 I.T IHT,
that's all." And she began to enumerate a list of things she
wanted from Bosekop for her patient's sustenance and <
fort. "You must fetch all these," she said, "as soon a-
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 Chris-
tiania."

"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 slept still, 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 toward ten o'clock when she
awoke, raving deliriously. Her father, Sigurd, Philip, the
events of her life in London, the fatigues of her journey
all jumbled fantastically together in her brain she talked and
sung incessantly, and, like some wild bird suddenly caged,
refused to be quieted. Ulrika was all alone with her Valde-
mar 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 tffl&ga strange and new to her attendant's ears
frequently she pronounced the names of Violet Vere and
Lady Winslei-h with an accent of horror then she would
talk of George Lorimer and Pierre Duprez and she would
call for Britta often, sometimes endearingly sometime.- im

ntly. The picture of her home in Warwick-hire
to haunt her she spoke of its -real gfl

502 THELMA.

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 help-
less distraction and sorrow could do nothing but fold the
suffering creature in her arms, and rock her to and fro sooth-
ingly on her breast, the tears running down her cheeks the
while.

And after long hours of bewilderment and anguish, Erring-
ton'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, prepar-
ing 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 Valde-
mar 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 hyper-
bolical language she had drawn from her study of the Scrip-
tures, "As the lily among thorns, so is she among the

THELMA. oUJ

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 Tin
right hand, 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 inaudible. Somet
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 in 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 expres-
MON 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.
afraid at the girl's returning intelligence. "Very ill. But you
fell better now, don't you?"

Thelma sighed, and raising her little wasted hand, exam-
ined it curiously. Her wedding and betrothal rings were so
loose on her finger that they would have fallen oil had
been held downward. She seemed surprised at this, but made
no remark. For some time she remained quiet stead;
razing at t'lrika, and evidently tryinir to make out who she
was. Presently she spoke a -rain.

"I remember everything now," she said, slowly. "I a:
home, at the Alien Fjord end 1 kn\v how 1 cu d also

504 THELMA.

why I came." 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 hushand 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 can not. He does not want me any more!"

And two large tears rolled slowly down her pale cheeks.
Ulrika wondered, but forbore 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 des-
perate at the sound what was she to do? Everything seemed
to go against her she was inclined to cry herself. She em-
braced the broken-hearted girl, and tried to soothe her, but in
vain. The long delirium and subsequent weakness com-
bined 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, medi-
tative brows she listened to the rush of the storm-wind with-
out, It was past eleven o'clock at night, She began to count

THELMA. 605

on her lingers it wa- the sixteenth day since the birth of the
child sixteen days exactly since she h;'nl written to Sir Philip
Krrington. informing him of his wife's danger and the dan
ger 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.

"0 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 Thon
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 wii
reason? If so, Thou art not the Holy One I imagined! 6
forth Thy power now now, while there is time! Rescue h.-r
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 en-
tirely 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 fa-
natical defiance written on her face, and she waited in sullen
patience, evidently expecting an immediate answer to her out-
rageous prayer. She felt somewhat like a demagogue of the
people, who boldly menaces an all-powerful sovereign. ev n
while in dread of instant execution. There was a sharp patter
of sleet on the window she glanced nervously at Thelmn,
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 mur-
murs over the tops of the creaking pines toward the fjord, and
there was a short, impressive silence.

Ulrika still waited almost holding her breath in expecta-
tion of some divine manifestation. The brief stillness grew
unbearable Hush! What was that? Jingle jangle jin-
glejangle! Bells! Sledge-bells tinkling musically and mer-

50$ TMELMA.

rily and approaching swiftly, nearer nearer! Now the
sharp trotting of hoofs 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 quickly 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 luster of sunlight sparkling on azure sea! She sprung
up in her bed and stretched out her arms.

"Philip!" she cried, sobbingiy. "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, TJlrika slipped from the room,
leaving husband and wife alone together.

CHAPTER IV.

I have led tier 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 stal-
wart Svensen stood looking at her in perplexity, now and then
uttering a word of vague sympathy and consolation, to which

THELMA. 607

she paid not the slightest heed. The poor girl was tired out,
;nid half numb with the piercing cold the Inch

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. Through-
out the long and fatiguing journey she had maintained on-
flinching energy and perseverance undaunted by storm, I
and darkness, she had driven steadily over long miles of track-

snow her instinct had guided her by the shortest
(juiekest routes she seemed to know every station and vil-
lage 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 Alten Fjord without
her.

He had never realized to its full extent her strong, indomit-
able, 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 re-
spectful 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 coun-
try-folk who entertained them could not refrain from aston-
ishment 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. V
mar Svensen had hastily blurted out the news of the bonded
death, even while she and Sir Philip were alighting from their
sl<.<l L r and in i! breath had told them of Thelma's

dangerous illness. What wonder, then, that Britta sobbed
ri< ally, and refused to be comforted what wonder that
she turned upon Urika. as that personage approached, in a
burst of unreasonable an

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" she cried, "to think that the Fr-
should be so ill almost dying! and have nobody but you to
attend to her!"

sox THELMA,

, This, with a vindictive toss of the brown curls. TTlrika
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 daugh-
ter 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 lov r e the Froken, 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 hand-
kerchief, and dried her eyes but, after a minute, began to cry
again as reckless as ever.

"And now" she gasped "if the Froken 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 pretense of throwing more
wood on the fire, she muttered, inaudibly: "0 Lord, verily
Thou hast done well to grant my just demand! Even for this
will I remain Thy servant forever!" After this parenthesis,
she resumed the conversation Valdemar Svensen sitting
silently apart and related all that had happened since
Thelma's arrival at the Alten Fjord. She also gave an ac-

TH12LMA. GU'J

count of Lovisa Elsland's death though Britta was nui much
(! by the loss ui' her grandmother.

-Dreadful old thing!" she said, with a shudder. 'Tin glad
1 wasn't with her! I remember how she cursed the Krokeii
perhaps her cui>e has brought all the trouble if so, it's a
good thing she's dead, for now everything will come right
again. 1 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
the good of horrifying the girl by telling her
ceased relative was to all intents and purposes a muni.
She resolved to let the secret of old Lo visa's life remain 1.
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 grand-
mother^ 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 I'lrika. 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 awtd accents. "Are you also a
heathen?"

"I don't know what you mean by a heathen." replied Hritia,
almost gayly. 'T>ut I can't believe that God, who is so good,
is going to everlastingly hum anybody. He couldn't.
know! It would hurt Him so much to see poor creat
writhing about in flames i'on . would not he ah

bear it, and I'm quite MIIV it would make Him miserable
in heaven. Because lie is all Love He says so He couldn't
be cruel!"

This frank statement <>f Hritta's vie ws presented such a i
form of doctrine to llrika's heavy mind that she was almost
appalled by it. God couldn't burn anybody for
too good! What a d.irin- idea! And yet so cons.'
wonderful in the iniinite prospect of hope it off< red, thai

510 THELMA.

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 incon-
gruous, 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 the window to the f jord, 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 loud, 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 ordi-
nary 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

THELMA. Gil

others, must have known that Olaf Guldn. -.-d was a

strange one his burial has been strange that is all!"

And she skillfully turned the conversation, and U-^an \<>
talk of Thelma, her sorrows and sullVriii;>. -Kritia
impatient to see her beloved "Froken," and quite grudgf.
Philip the long time he remained alone with his wife.

"He might call me, if only for a moment," Britta thought
plaintively. "J do so want to look at her dear face a:
lint men are all alike as long as they've got what tlu-v want,
they never think of anybody else. Dear me! I wonder
long I shall have to wait!" So she fumed and frc
sat by the kitchen-fire, drinking hot tea and talking to Ulrika
all the while straining her ears for the least sound or move-
ment 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 peace-
ful regularity and the delicate hue of pale rose flushed her
cheeks. Britta stood gazing on this fair sight till her a
tionate 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 ecstasy, Britta spnni.i: to sri/e th-
outstretched hand of her beloved Froken; and cover it with

. And while Thelnui laughed with pleasure to set
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
she had done nothing nothing at all to
mendation. Then, after much glad converse, tlriku

612 THELMA.

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 spark-
ling with gratitude. "It's impossible to repay such goodness
as yours! My wife tells me how tender and patient and de-
voted 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, monot-
onous tones which she had of late learned to modulate. "Noth-
ing. 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 toward 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 rny 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 suf-
fered! I was mad, I think, at the time I flung the child in

THELMA. 513

the fjord to drown your father, Olaf Guldmar, 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 'murder-
ess'; she was right I was one, or so I thought till till that
day I met you, Froken 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 crea-
ture 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 bed-
side.

"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 weighted 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 1 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 }-our joy. God bless you! and 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 sigain before Sir Philip or Thelma, and it
was not till many days after they had left the Alten Fjord that
he 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 l>y her and the time came when
Ulrika, white-haired, and of peaceful countenance, could be

33

514 THELMA.

seen knitting at her door in the long summer afternoons sur-
rounded 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 different 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 plain-
tive 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! be-
cause 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 center 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 conceited, and to 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 to-
day. 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.

THELMA. 515

"It is the one 1 wrote to my inther before I left London,"
.lid. And her eye, filled with tears, "!

"TheJma," Bald Sir Philip then, very -ently and gr,

Id you like can you bear to read

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-sobbii
-Father dear father! 1 knew he would n
out a word!"

Sir Philip reverently opened the folded paper which Sven-
sen had committed to his care that morning, and together
they read the bonders 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
suvor fail not. I have lived long enough to know the same-
ness of this world though there is much therein to please the
haart 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 Chris-
tian, I see in death the chiefest glory of life and thou must
uot 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.
Hy blessing upon him and thee! Serve him, Thelma mine, with
full devotion and obedience even as I have taught thee thus
drawing from thy woman-life 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 mayst 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 mem-
ory 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, fare-
well, 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 heavenward
may be made by different roads, but the end the glory the
immortality is the same! Peace be upon thee and on thy chil-
dren and on thy children's children! Thy father,

"ULAF

516 THELMA.

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 hands had penciled 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 No-
where. 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 deso-
late! 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 noth-
ing 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 re-
covered "treasure of the golden midnight" he saw her, like a
rose refreshed by rain, raise her bright head in renewed

THELMA. 517

strength and beaiity, with tin- old jovon- lancing U

and the smile of a perfect happiness like sun,-
shine on her fair face. Lord \Vin-!ei-h thought so he was
spending the winter in Rmne with his wife and son and there
among the shadows of the Caesars, his long .-ocial martyrdom
ended and he regained what he had once believed 1<>
his wife's affection. Clam, gentle, wistful, with the s<-
ing shadow of a great sorrow and a gp- ;1 i repentance in her
once too-brilliant eyes, was a very different Clara to the dash-
ing <c beauty" who had figured so conspicuously in London
society. She clung to her husband with an almost t
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-heafted frankness of his impulsive, ardent nature.
She wrote to Thelma, asking her pardon, and in return re-
ceived 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 pres-
ence, or call her friend that was all over. Still Love re-
mained 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 absurd and maltreated, is a very
patient god, and even while suffering from undeserved w>
still works on, doing magical things. So that poor
Neville, the forsaken hushand of Violet Vere, when he 1
that that popular actress had died suddenly in An,
from a fit of delirium tremens brought on by excessive drink-
in-, was al.le. hy <ome gentle method known only to Love and
himself, to forget all her frailties to obliterate from his

ory the fact that he ever saw her on the boards o;
Brillianl and to think of her henceforth only as

the wife lie had once adored. . he decided in vague,

dreamy fashion, must have died young. Love also laid a linn
band on the macions Pi.-m- h-j-iv/ he who had long
scoffed at the n ^rave earn.

518 THELMA.

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 chatted 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 ex-
tremely proud of her- he was fond of pointing her out to peo-
ple as something excessively precious and unique and saying:
"See her! That is my wife! From Norway! Yes from
the very utmost north of N.orway! I love my country cer-
tainly! but I will tell you this much if I had been obliged
to choose a wife among French women ma foil 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 de-
votion? Were the heavens, as Sigurd had said, always to be
empty? Apparently not for when he was verging toward
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 on the lawn at Errington Manor, in
the presence of Beau Lovelace, on whose knee sat the 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 mustache 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 gayly, though his voice trem-bled

THELMA.

somewhat, "I accept! You -hall he my little wife, Th*
Consider it sett led!"

Apparently she did so eon>id< r it, for from that day, when-
-hi- \v;is asked In : . nnminced herself proudly

as "Zordie's 'it tie wife. The! ma" to the great amusement of
her father, Sir Philip, and that other Thelina, on whom the
glory of motherhood had fallen like a new charm, \
hoth face and form with superior beauty and an almost di
serenity. But "ZordiiA 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 ro-
manticism 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 six-
teen from her convent school at Aries 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 dis-
pleased. 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 don't know why you talk about this at all. I thought it
d Ion IT ago!"

"Settled!" fain-red Lorimer, astonished he was generally
self-possessed, but this fair young lady's perfect equan
far Mil-passed his at that moment "settled! My darling! my
child I am so much older than y.u are "

"I don't like boys!" she declared, with stately disdain. "E
was your wife when I was little and I thought it was to be

520 THELMA.

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!"

THE END.