Thelma
darkened his features. Thelma looked up,--her large blue eyes filled
with sudden tears, and she pressed her father's hand between her own, as
though in sympathy with some undeclared grief; then she looked at
Errington with a sort of wistful appeal. Philip's heart leaped as he met
that soft beseeching glance, which seemed to entreat his patience with
the old man for her sake--he felt himself drawn into a bond of union
with her thoughts, and in his innermost soul he swore as knightly a vow
of chivalry and reverence for the fair maiden, who thus took him into
her silent confidence, as though he were some gallant Crusader of old
time, pledged to defend his lady's honor unto death. Olaf Gueldmar, after
a long and apparently sorrowful pause, resumed his conversation.
"Yes," he said, "Thelma is a Catholic, though here she has scarcely any
opportunity for performing the duties of her religion. It is a pretty
and a graceful creed,--well fitted for women. As for me, I am made of
sterner stuff, and the maxims of that gentle creature, Christ, find no
echo in my soul. But you, young sir," he added, turning suddenly on
Lorimer, who was engaged in meditatively smoothing out on his palm one
of the fallen rose-petals--"you have not spoken. What faith do you
profess? It is no curiosity that prompts me to ask,--I only seek not to
offend."
Lorimer laughed languidly. "Upon my life, Mr. Gueldmar, you really ask
too much of me. I haven't any faith at all; not a shred! It's been all
knocked out of me. I tried to hold on to a last remaining bit of
Christian rope in the universal ship-wreck, but that was torn out of my
hands by a scientific professor, who ought to know what he is about,
and--and--now I drift along anyhow!"
Gueldmar smiled dubiously; but Thelma looked at the speaker with
astonished, regretful eyes.
"I am sorry," she said simply. "You must be often unhappy."
Lorimer was not disconcerted, though her evident pity caused an unwanted
flush on his face.
"Oh no," he said in answer to her, "I am not a miserable sort of fellow
by any means. For instance, I'm not afraid of death,--lots of very
religious people are horribly afraid of it, though they all the time
declare it's the only path to heaven. They're not consistent at all. You
see I believe in nothing,--I came from nothing,--I am nothing,--I shall
be nothing. That being plain, I am all right."
Gueldmar laughed. "You are an odd lad," he said good-humoredly. "You are
in the morning of life; there are always mists in the morning as there
are in the evening. In the light of your full manhood you will see these
things differently. Your creed of Nothing provides no moral law,--no
hold on the conscience, no restraint on the passions,--don't you see
that?"
Lorimer smiled with a very winning and boyish candor. "You are
exceedingly good, sir, to credit me with a conscience! I don't think I
have one,--I'm sure I have no passions. I have always been too lazy to
encourage them, and as for moral law,--I adhere to morality with the
greatest strictness, because if a fellow is immoral, he ceases to be a
gentleman. Now, as there are very few gentlemen nowadays, I fancy I'd
like to be one as long as I can."
Errington here interposed. "You mustn't take him seriously. Mr.
Gueldmar," he said; "he's never serious himself, I'll give you his
character in a few words. He belongs to no religious party, it's
true,--but he's a first-rate fellow,--the best fellow I know!"
Lorimer glanced at him quietly with a gratified expression on his face.
But he said nothing, for Thelma was regarding him with a most bewitching
smile.
"Ah!" she said, shaking a reproachful finger at him, "you do love all
nonsense, that I can see! You would make every person laugh, if you
could,--is it not so?"
"Well, yes," admitted George, "I think I would! But it's a herculean
task sometimes. If you had ever been to London, Miss Gueldmar, you would
understand how difficult it is to make people even smile,--and when they
do, the smile is not a very natural one."
"Why?" she exclaimed. "Are they all so miserable?"
"They pretend to be, if they're not," said Lorimer; "it is the fashion
there to find fault with everything and everybody."
"That is so," said Gueldmar thoughtfully. "I visited London once and
thought I was in hell. Nothing but rows of hard, hideously built houses,
long streets, and dirty alleys, and the people had weary faces all, as
though Nature had refused to bless them. A pitiful city,--doubly pitiful
to the eyes of a man like myself, whose life has been passed among
fjords and mountains such as these. Well, now, as neither of you are
Lutherans,--in fact, as neither of you seem to know what you are," and
he laughed, "I can be frank, and speak out as to my own belief. I am
proud to say I have never deserted the faith of my fathers, the faith
that makes a man's soul strong and fearless, and defiant of evil,--the
faith that is supposed to be crushed out among us, but that is still
alive and rooted in the hearts of many who can trace back their lineage
to the ancient Vikings as I can,--yes!--rooted firm and fast,--and
however much some of the more timorous feign to conceal it, in the tacit
acceptance of another creed, there are those who can never shake it off,
and who never desire to forsake it. I am one of these few. Shame must
fall on the man who willfully deserts the faith of his warrior-ancestry!
Sacred to me for ever be the names of Odin and Thor!"
He raised his hand aloft with a proud gesture, and his eyes flashed.
Errington was interested, but not surprised: the old _bonde's_
declaration of his creed seemed eminently fitted to his character.
Lorimer's face brightened,--here was a novelty--a man, who in all the
conflicting storms of modern opinion, sturdily clung to the traditions
of his forefathers.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed eagerly, "I think the worship of Odin would suit
me perfectly! It's a rousing, fighting sort of religion,--I'm positive
it would make a man of me. Will you initiate me into the mysteries, Mr.
Gueldmar? There's a fellow in London who writes poetry on Indian
subjects, and who, it is said, thinks Buddhism might satisfy his pious
yearnings,--but I think Odin would be a personage to command more
respect than Buddha,--at any rate, I should like to try him. Will you
give me a chance?"
Olaf Gueldmar smiled gravely, and rising from his seat, pointed to the
western sky.
"See yonder threads of filmy white," he said, "that stretch across the
wide expanse of blue! They are the lingering, fading marks of light
clouds,--and even while we watch them, they shall pass and be no more.
Such is the emblem of your life, young man--you that would, for an idle
jest or pastime, presume to search into the mysteries of Odin! For you
they are not,--your spirit is not of the stern mould that waits for
death as gladly as the bridegroom waits for the bride! The Christian
heaven is an abode for girls and babes,--Valhalla is the place for men!
I tell you, my creed is as divine in its origin as any that ever existed
on the earth! The Rainbow Bridge is a fairer pathway from death to life
than the doleful Cross,--and better far the dark summoning eyes of a
beauteous Valkyrie, than the grinning skull and cross-bones, the
Christian emblem of mortality. Thelma thinks,--and her mother before her
thought also,--that different as my way of belief is to the accepted new
creeds of to-day, it will be all right with me in the next world--that I
shall have as good a place in heaven as any Christian. It may be so,--I
care not! But see you,--the key-note of all the civilization of to-day
is discontent, while I,--thanks to the gods of my fathers, am happy, and
desire nothing that I have not."
He paused and seemed absorbed. The young men watched his fine inspired
features with lively interest. Thelma's head was turned away from them
so that her face was hidden. By-and-by he resumed in quieter tones--
"Now, my lads, you know what we are--both of us accursed in the opinion
of the Lutheran community. My child belongs to the so-called idolatrous
Church of Rome. I am one of the very last of the 'heathen
barbarians,'"--and the old fellow smiled sarcastically, "though, truth
to tell, for a barbarian, I am not such a fool as some folks would have
you think. If the snuffling Dyceworthy and I competed at a spelling
examination, I'm pretty sure 'tis I would have the prize! But, as I
said,--you know us,--and if our ways are likely to offend you, then let
us part good friends before the swords are fairly drawn."
"No sword will be drawn on my side, I assure you, sir," said Errington,
advancing and laying one hand on the _bonde's_ shoulder. "I hope you
will believe me when I say I shall esteem it an honor and a privilege to
know more of you."
"And though you won't accept me as a servant of Odin," added Lorimer,
"you really cannot prevent me from trying to make myself agreeable to
you. I warn you, Mr. Gueldmar, I shall visit you pretty frequently! Such
men as you are not often met with."
Olaf Gueldmar looked surprised. "You really mean it?" he said. "Nothing
that I have told you affects you? You still seek our friendship?"
They both earnestly assured him that they did, and as they spoke Thelma
rose from her low seat and faced them with a bright smile.
"Do you know," she said, "that you are the first people who, on visiting
us once, have ever cared to come again? Ah, you look surprised, but it
is so, is it not, father?"
Gueldmar nodded a grave assent.
"Yes," she continued demurely, counting on her little white fingers, "we
are three things--first, we are accursed; secondly, we have the evil
eye; thirdly, we are not respectable!"
And she broke into a peal of laughter, ringing and sweet as a chime of
bells. The young men joined her in it; and, still with an amused
expression on her lovely face, leaning her head back against a cluster
of pale roses, she went on--
"My father dislikes Mr. Dyceworthy so much, because he wants to--to--oh,
what is it they do to savages, father? Yes, I know,--to convert us,--to
make us Lutherans. And when he finds it all no use, he is angry; and,
though he is so religious, if he hears any one telling some untruth
about us in Bosekop, he will add another thing equally untrue, and so it
grows and grows, and--why! what is the matter with you?" she exclaimed
in surprise as Errington scowled and clenched his fist in a peculiarly
threatening manner.
"I should like to knock him down!" he said briefly under his breath.
Old Gueldmar laughed and looked at the young baronet approvingly.
"Who knows, who knows!" he said cheerfully. "You may do it some day! It
will be a good deed! I will do it myself if he troubles me much more.
And now let us make some arrangement with you. When will you come and
see, us again?"
"You must visit me first," said Sir Philip quickly. "If you and your
daughter will honor me with your company to-morrow, I shall be proud and
pleased. Consider the yacht at your service."
Thelma, resting among the roses, looked across at him with serious,
questioning eyes--eyes that seemed to be asking his intentions towards
both her and her father.
Gueldmar accepted the invitation at once, and, the hour for their visit
next day being fixed and agreed upon, the young men began to take their
leave. As Errington clasped Thelma's hand in farewell, he made a bold
venture. He touched a rose that hung just above her head almost dropping
on her hair.
"May I have it?" he asked in a low tone.
Their eyes met. The girl flushed deeply, and then grew pale. She broke
off the flower and gave it to him,--then turned to Lorimer to say
good-bye. They left her then, standing under the porch, shading her brow