Thelma
abode suitable to the treatment of his affliction. You, Britta, as the
favored servant of a--a--well, let us say, of a peculiar mistress,
should persuade her to send this--this--person away, lest his vagaries
become harmful."
Britta glanced very kindly at Sigurd, who still held her apron with the
air of a trustful child.
"He's no more harmful than you are," she said promptly, in answer to the
minister's remark. "He's a good fellow and if he talks strangely he can
make himself useful,--which is more than can be said of certain people.
He can saw and chop the wood, make hay, feed the cattle, pull a strong
oar, and sweep and keep the garden,--can't you, Sigurd?" She laid her
hand on Sigurd's shoulder, and he nodded his head emphatically, as she
enumerated his different talents. "And as for climbing,--he can guide
you anywhere over the hills, or up the streams to the big waterfalls--no
one better. And if you mean by peculiar,--that my mistress is different
to other people, why, I know she is, and am glad of it,--at any rate,
she's a great deal too kind-hearted to shut this poor boy up in a house
for madmen! He'd die if he couldn't have the fresh air." She paused, out
of breath with her rapid utterance, and Mr. Dyceworthy held up his hands
in dignified astonishment.
"You talk too glibly, young woman," he said. "It is necessary that I
should instruct you without loss of time, as to how you should be
sparing of your words in the presence of your superiors and betters--"
Bang! The door was closed with a decision that sent a sharp echo through
the silent, heated air, and Mr. Dyceworthy was left to contemplate it at
his leisure. Full of wrath, he was about to knock peremptorily and
insist that it should be re-opened; but on second thoughts he decided
that it was beneath his dignity to argue with a servant, much less with
a declared lunatic like Sigurd,--so he made the best of his way back to
his boat, thinking gloomily of the hard labor awaiting him in the long
pull back to Bosekop.
Other thoughts, too, tortured and harrassed his brain, and as he again
took the oars and plied them wearily through the water, he was in an
exceedingly unchristian humor. Though a specious hypocrite, he was no
fool. He knew the ways of men and women, and he thoroughly realized the
present position of affairs. He was quite aware of Thelma Gueldmar's
exceptional beauty,--and he felt pretty certain that no man could look
upon her without admiration. But up to this time, she had been, as it
were, secluded from all eyes,--a few haymakers and fishermen were the
only persons of the male sex who had ever been within the precincts of
Olaf Gueldmar's dwelling, with the exception of himself,
Dyceworthy,--who, being armed with a letter of introduction from the
actual minister of Bosekop, whose place, he, for the present, filled,
had intruded his company frequently and persistently on the _bonde_ and
his daughter, though he knew himself to be entirely unwelcome. He had
gathered together as much as he could, all the scraps of information
concerning them; how Olaf Gueldmar was credited with having made away
with his wife by foul means; how nobody even knew where his wife had
come from; how Thelma had been mysteriously educated, and had learned
strange things concerning foreign lands, which no one else in the place
understood anything about; how she was reputed to be a witch, and was
believed to have cast her spells on the unhappy Sigurd, to the
destruction of his reason,--and how nobody could tell where Sigurd
himself had come from.
All this Mr. Dyceworthy had heard with much interest, and as the sensual
part of his nature was always more or less predominant, he had resolved
in his own mind that here was a field of action suitable to his
abilities. To tame and break the evil spirit in the reputed witch; to
convert her to the holy and edifying Lutheran faith; to save her soul
for the Lord, and take her beautiful body for himself; these were Mr.
Dyceworthy's laudable ambitions. There was no rival to oppose him, and
he had plenty of time to mature his plans. So he had thought. He had not
bargained for the appearance of Sir Philip Bruce Errington on the
scene,--a man, young, handsome, and well-bred, with vast wealth to back
up his pretensions, should he make any.
"How did he find her out?" thought the Reverend Charles, as he dolefully
pulled his craft along. "And that brutal pagan Gueldmar, too, who
pretends he cannot endure strangers!"
And as he meditated, a flush of righteous indignation crimsoned his
flabby features.
"Let her take care," he half muttered, with a smile that was not
pleasant; "let her take care! There are more ways than one to bring down
her pride! Sir Philip Errington must be too rich and popular in his own
country to think of wishing to marry a girl who is only a farmer's
daughter after all. He may trifle with her; yes! . . . and he will help
me by so doing. The more mud on her name, the better for me; the more
disgrace, the more need of rescue, and the more grateful she will have
to be. Just a word to Ulrika,--and the scandal will spread. Patience,
patience!"
And somewhat cheered by his own reflections, though still wearing an air
of offended dignity, he rowed on, glancing up every now and then to see
if the _Eulalie_ had returned, but her place was still empty.
Meanwhile, as he thought and planned, other thoughts and plans were
being discussed at a meeting which was held in a little ruined stone
hut, situated behind some trees on a dreary hill just outside Bosekop.
It was a miserable place, barren of foliage,--the ground was dry and
yellow, and the hut itself looked as if it had been struck by lightning.
The friends, whose taste had led them to select this dilapidated
dwelling as a place of conference, were two in number, both women,--one
of them no other than the minister's servant, the drear-faced Ulrika.
She was crouched on the earth-floor in an attitude of utter abasement,
at the feet of her companion,--an aged dame of tall and imposing
appearance, who, standing erect, looked down upon her with an air of
mingled contempt and malevolence. The hut was rather dark, for the roof
was not sufficiently destroyed to have the advantage of being open to
the sky. The sunlight fell through holes of different shapes and
sizes,--one specially bright patch of radiance illumining the stately
form, and strongly marked, though withered features of the elder woman,
whose eyes, deeply sunken in her head, glittered with a hawk-like and
evil lustre, as they rested on the prostrate figure before her. When she
spoke, her accents were harsh and commanding.
"How long?" she said, "how long must I wait? How long must I watch the
work of Satan in the land? The fields are barren and will not bring
forth; the curse of bitter poverty is upon us all: and only he, the
pagan Gueldmar, prospers and gathers in harvest, while all around him
starve! Do I not know the devil's work when I see it,--I, the chosen
servant of the Lord?" And she struck a tall staff she held violently
into the ground to emphasize her words. "Am I not left deserted in my
age? The child Britta,--sole daughter of my sole daughter,--is she not
stolen, and kept from me? Has not her heart been utterly turned away
from mine? All through that vile witch,--accursed of God and man! She it
is who casts the blight on our land; she it is who makes the hands and
hearts of our men heavy and careless, so that even luck has left the
fishing; and yet you hesitate,--you delay, you will not fulfill your
promise! I tell you, there are those in Bosekop who, at my bidding,
would cast her naked into the Fjord, leave her there, to sink or swim
according to her nature!"
"I know," murmured Ulrika humbly, raising herself slightly from her
kneeling posture; "I know it well! . . . . but, good Lovisa, be patient!
I work for the best! Mr. Dyceworthy will do more for us than we can do
for ourselves; he is wise and cautious--"
Lovisa interrupted her with a fierce gesture. "Fool!" she cried. "What
need of caution? A witch is a witch, burn her, drown her! There is no
other remedy! But two days since, the child of my neighbor Engla passed
her on the Fjord; and now the boy has sickened of some strange disease,
and 'tis said he will die. Again, the drove of cattle owned by Hildmar
Bjorn were herded home when she passed by. Now they are seized by the
murrain plague! Tell your good saint Dyceworthy these things; if he can
find no cure, _I_ can,--and _will_!"
Ulrika shuddered slightly as she rose from the ground and stood erect,
drawing her shawl closely about her.
"You hate her so much, Lovisa?" she asked, almost timidly.
Lovisa's face darkened, and her yellow, claw-like hand closed round her
strong staff in a cruel and threatening manner.
"Hate her!" she muttered, "I have hated her ever since she was born! I
hated her mother before her! A nest of devils, every one of them; and
the curse will always be upon us while they dwell here."
She paused and looked at Ulrika steadily.
"Remember!" she said, with an evil leer on her lips, "I hold a secret of
yours that is worth the keeping! I give you two weeks more; within that
time you must act! Destroy the witch,--bring back to me my grandchild
Britta, or else--it will be _my_ turn!"
And she laughed silently. Ulrika's face grew paler, and the hand that
grasped the folds of her shawl trembled violently. She made an effort,
however, to appear composed, as she answered--"I have sworn to obey you,
Lovisa,--and I will. But tell me one thing--how do you know that Thelma
Gueldmar is indeed a witch?"
"How do I know?" almost yelled Lovisa. "Have I lived all these years for
nothing? Look at her! Am _I_ like her? Are _you_ like her? Are any of
the honest women of the neighborhood like her? Meet her on the hills
with knives and pins,--prick her, and see if the blood will flow! I
swear it will not--not one drop! Her skin is too white; there is no
blood in those veins--only fire! Look at the pink in her cheeks,--the
transparency of her flesh,--the glittering light in her eyes, the gold
of her hair, it is all devil's work, it is not human, it is not natural!
I have watched her,--I used to watch her mother, and curse her every
time I saw her--ay! curse her till I was breathless with cursing--"
She stopped abruptly. Ulrika gazed at her with as much wonder as her
plain, heavy face was capable of expressing. Lovisa saw the look and
smiled darkly.
"One would think _you_ had never known what love is!" she said, with a
sort of grim satire in her tone. "Yet even your dull soul was on fire
once! But I--when I was young, I had beauty such as you never had, and I
loved--Olaf Gueldmar."
Ulrika uttered an exclamation of astonishment. "You! and yet you hate
him now?"
Lovisa raised her hand with an imperious gesture.
"I have grown hate like a flower in my breast," she said, with a sort of
stern impressiveness. "I have fostered it year after year, and now,--it
has grown too strong for me! When Olaf Gueldmar was young he told me I
was fair; once he kissed my cheek at parting! For those words,--for that
kiss,--I loved him then--for the same things I hate him now! When I know
he had married, I cursed him; on the day of my own marriage with a man I
despised, I cursed him! I have followed him and all his surroundings
with more curses than there are hours in the day! I have had some little
revenge--yes!"--and she laughed grimly--"but I want more! For Britta has
been caught by his daughter's evil spell. Britta is mine, and I must
have her back. Understand me well!--do what you have to do without
delay! Surely it is an easy thing to ruin a woman!"
Ulrika stood as though absorbed in meditation, and said nothing for some