Thelma
holy kick, of course, and therefore more intense and forcible than other
kicks."
"You begin, Phil," laughed Lorimer, "and we'll all follow suit. He'll be
like that Indian in 'Vathek' who rolled himself into a ball; no one
could resist kicking as long as the ball bounded before them,--we,
similarly, shall not be able to resist, if Dyceworthy's fat person is
once left at our mercy."
"That was a grand bit he told us, Errington," resumed Macfarlane. "Ye
should ha' heard him talk aboot his love-affair! . . . the saft jelly of
a man that he is, to be making up to ony woman."
At that moment they ran alongside of the _Eulalie_ and threw up their
oars.
"Stop a bit," said Errington. "Tell us the rest on board."
The ladder was lowered; they mounted it, and their boat was hauled up to
its place.
"Go on!" said Lorimer, throwing himself lazily into a deck arm-chair and
lighting a cigar, while the others leaned against the yacht rails and
followed his example. "Go on, Sandy--this is fun! Dyceworthy's amours
must be amusing. I suppose he's after that ugly wooden block of a woman
we saw at his house who is so zealous for the 'true gospel'?"
"Not a bit of it," replied Sandy, with immense gravity. "The auld
Silenus has better taste. He says there's a young lass running after
him, fit to break her heart aboot him,--puir thing, she must have vera
little choice o' men! He hasna quite made up his mind, though he admeets
she's as fine a lass as ony man need require. He's sorely afraid she has
set herself to catch him, as he says she's an eye like a warlock for a
really strong good-looking fellow like himself," and Macfarlane chuckled
audibly. "Maybe he'll take pity on her, maybe he wont; the misguided
lassie will be sairly teazed by him from a' he tauld us in his cups. He
gave us her name,--the oddest in a' the warld for sure,--I canna just
remember it."
"I can," said Duprez glibly. "It struck me as quaint and pretty--Thelma
Gueldmar."
Errington started so violently, and flushed so deeply, that Lorimer was
afraid of some rash outbreak of wrath on his part. But he restrained
himself by a strong effort. He merely took his cigar from his mouth and
puffed a light cloud of smoke into the air before replying, then he said
coldly--
"I should say Mr. Dyceworthy, besides being a drunkard, is a most
consummate liar. It so happens that the Gueldmars are the very people I
have just visited,--highly superior in every way to anybody we have yet
met in Norway. In fact, Mr. and Miss Gueldmar will come on board
to-morrow. I have invited them to dine with us; you will then be able to
judge for yourselves whether the young lady is at all of the description
Mr. Dyceworthy gives of her."
Duprez and Macfarlane exchanged astonished looks.
"Are ye quite sure," the latter ventured to remark cautiously, "that
ye're prudent in what ye have done? Remember ye have asked no pairson at
a' to dine with ye as yet,--it's a vera sudden an' exceptional freak o'
hospitality."
Errington smoked on peacefully and made no answer. Duprez hummed a verse
of a French _chansonnette_ under his breath and smiled. Lorimer glanced
at him with a lazy amusement.
"Unburden yourself, Pierre, for heaven's sake!" he said. "Your mind is
as uncomfortable as a loaded camel. Let it lie down, while you take off
its packages, one by one, and reveal their contents. In short, what's
up?"
Duprez made a rapid, expressive gesture with his hands.
"_Mon cher_, I fear to displease Phil-eep! He has invited these people;
they are coming,--_bien_! there is no more to say."
"I disagree with ye," interposed Macfarlane "I think Errington should
hear what _we_ ha' heard; it's fair an' just to a mon that he should
understand what sort o' folk are gaun to pairtake wi' him at his table.
Ye see, Errington, ye should ha' thought a wee, before inviting pairsons
o' unsettled an' dootful chairacter--"
"Who says they are?" demanded Errington half-angrily. "The drunken
Dyceworthy?"
"He was no sae drunk at the time he tauld us." persisted Macfarlane in
his most obstinate, most dictatorial manner. "Ye see, it's just this
way--"
"Ah, _pardon_!" interrupted Duprez briskly. "Our dear Sandy is an
excellent talker, but he is a little slow. Thus it is, _mon cher_
Errington. This gentleman named Gueldmar had a most lovely wife--a
mysterious lady, with an evident secret. The beautiful one was never
seen in the church or in any town or village; she was met sometimes on
hills, by rivers, in valleys, carrying her child in her arms. The people
grew afraid of her; but, now, see what happens! Suddenly, she appears no
more; some one ventures to ask this Monsieur Gueldmar, 'What has become
of Madame?' His answer is brief. 'She is dead!' Satisfactory so far, yet
not quite; for, Madame being dead, then what has become of the corpse of
Madame? It was never seen,--no coffin was ever ordered,--and apparently
it was never buried! _Bien!_ What follows? The good people of Bosekop
draw the only conclusion possible--Monsieur Gueldmar, who is said to have
a terrific temper, killed Madame and made away with her body. _Voila_!"
And Duprez waved his hand with an air of entire satisfaction.
Errington's brow grew sombre. "This is the story, is it?" he asked at
last.
"It is enough, is it not?" laughed Duprez. "But, after all, what matter?
It will be novel to dine with a mur--"
"Stop!" said Philip fiercely, with so much authority that the sparkling
Pierre was startled. "Call no man by such a name till you know he
deserves it. If Gueldmar was suspected, as you say, why didn't somebody
arrest him on the charge?"
"Because, ye see," replied Macfarlane, "there was not sufficient proof
to warrant such a proceeding. Moreover, the actual meenister of the
parish declared it was a' richt, an' said this Gueldmar was a mon o' vera
queer notions, an' maybe, had buried his wife wi' certain ceremonies
peculiar to himself--What's wrong wi' ye now?"
For a light had flashed on Errington's mind, and with the quick
comprehension it gave him, his countenance cleared. He laughed.
"That's very likely," he said; "Mr. Gueldmar is a character. He follows
the faith of Odin, and not even Dyceworthy can convert him to
Christianity."
Macfarlane stared with a sort of stupefied solemnity.
"Mon!" he exclaimed, "ye never mean to say there's an actual puir human
creature that in this blessed, enlightened nineteenth century of ours,
is so far misguidit as to worship the fearfu' gods o' the Scandinavian
meethology?"
"Ah!" yawned Lorimer, "you may wonder away, Sandy, but it's true enough!
Old Gueldmar is an Odinite. In this blessed, enlightened nineteenth
century of ours, when Christians amuse themselves by despising and
condemning each other, and thus upsetting all the precepts of the Master
they profess to follow, there is actually a man who sticks to the
traditions of his ancestors. Odd, isn't it? In this delightful,
intellectual age, when more than half of us are discontented with life
and yet don't want to die, there is a fine old gentleman, living beyond
the Arctic circle, who is perfectly satisfied with his existence--not
only that, he thinks death the greatest glory that can befall him.
Comfortable state of things altogether! I'm half inclined to be an
Odinite too."
Sandy still remained lost in astonishment. "Then ye don't believe that
he made awa' wi' his wife?" he inquired slowly.
"Not in the least!" returned Lorimer decidedly; "neither will you,
to-morrow, when you see him. He's a great deal better up in literature
than you are, my boy, I'd swear, judging from the books he has. And when
he mentioned his wife, as he did once, you could see in his face he had
never done _her_ any harm. Besides, his daughter--"
"Ah! but I forgot," interposed Duprez again. "The daughter, Thelma, was
the child the mysteriously vanished lady carried in her arms, wandering
with it all about the woods and hills. After her disappearance, another
thing extraordinary happens. The child also disappears, and Monsieur
Gueldmar lives alone, avoided carefully by every respectable person.
Suddenly the child returns, grown to be nearly a woman--and they say,
lovely to an almost impossible extreme. She lives with her father. She,
like her strange mother, never enters a church, town, or
village--nowhere, in fact, where persons are in any numbers. Three years
ago, it appears, she vanished again, but came back at the end of ten
months, lovelier than ever. Since then she has remained
quiet--composed--but always apart,--she may disappear at any moment.
Droll, is it not, Errington? and the reputation she has is natural!"
"Pray state it," said Philip, with freezing coldness. "The reputation of
a woman is nothing nowadays. Fair game--go on!"
But his face was pale, and his eyes blazed dangerously. Almost
unconsciously his hand toyed with the rose Thelma had given him, that
still ornamented his button-hole.
"Mon Dieu!" cried Duprez in amazement. "But look not at me like that! It
seems to displease you, to put you _en fureur_, what I say! It is not my
story,--it is not I,--I know not Mademoiselle Gueldmar. But as her beauty
is considered superhuman, they say it is the devil who is her
_parfumeur_, her _coiffeur_, and who sees after her complexion; in
brief, she is thought to be a witch in full practice, dangerous to life
and limb."
Errington laughed loudly, he was so much relieved.
"Is that all?" he said with light contempt. "By Jove! what a pack of
fools there must be about here,--ugly fools too, if they think beauty is
a sign of witchcraft. I wonder Dyceworthy isn't scared out of his skin
if he positively thinks the so-called witch is setting her cap at him."
"Ah, but he means to convairt her," said Macfarlane seriously. "To draw
the evil oot o' her, as it were. He said he wad do't by fair means or
foul."
Something in these latter words struck Lorimer, for, raising himself in
his seat, he asked, "Surely Mr. Dyceworthy, with all his stupidity,
doesn't carry it so far as to believe in witchcraft?"
"Oh, indeed he does," exclaimed Duprez; "he believes in it _a la
lettre_! He has Bible authority for his belief. He is very firm--firmest
when drunk!" And he laughed gaily.
Errington muttered something not very flattering to Mr. Dyceworthy's
intelligence, which escaped the hearing of his friends; then he said--
"Come along, all of you, down into the saloon. We want something to eat.
Let the Gueldmars alone; I'm not a bit sorry I've asked them to come
to-morrow. I believe you'll all like them immensely."
They all descended the stair-way leading to the lower part of the yacht,
and Macfarlane asked as he followed his host--
"Is the lass vera bonnie did ye say?"
"Bonnie's not the word for it this time," said Lorimer, coolly answering
instead of Errington. "Miss Gueldmar is a magnificent woman. You never
saw such a one, Sandy, my boy; she'll make you sing small with one look;
she'll wither you up into a kippered herring! And as for you, Duprez,"
and he regarded the little Frenchman critically, "let me see,--you _may_
possibly reach up to her shoulder,--certainly not beyond it."
"_Pas possible!_" cried Duprez. "Mademoiselle is a giantess."
"She needn't be a giantess to overtop you, _mon ami_," laughed Lorimer
with a lazy shrug. "By Jove, I _am_ sleepy, Errington, old boy; are we
never going to bed? It's no good waiting till it's dark here, you know."
"Have something first," said Sir Philip, seating himself at the saloon
table, where his steward had laid out a tasty cold collation. "We've had
a good deal of climbing about and rowing; it's taken it out of us a
little."
Thus hospitably adjured, they took their places, and managed to dispose
of an excellent supper. The meal concluded, Duprez helped himself to a