Thelma
"What induced your father to send you so far away from him?" asked
Philip rather curiously.
The girl's eyes softened tenderly. "Ah, that is easy to understand!" she
said. "My mother came from Arles."
"She was French, then?" he exclaimed with some surprise.
"No," she answered gravely. "She was Norwegian, because her father and
mother both were of this land. She was what they call 'born sadly.' You
must not ask me any more about her, please!"
Errington apologized at once with some embarrassment, and a deeper color
than usual on his face. She looked up at him quite frankly.
"It is possible I will tell you her history some day," she said, "when
we shall know each other better. I do like to talk to you very much! I
suppose there are many Englishmen like you?"
Philip laughed. "I don't think I am at all exceptional! why do you ask?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I have seen some of them," she said
slowly, "and they are stupid. They shoot, shoot,--fish, fish, all day,
and eat a great deal. . . ."
"My dear Miss Gueldmar, I also do all these things!" declared Errington
amusedly. "These are only our surface faults. Englishmen are the best
fellows to be found anywhere. You mustn't judge them by their athletic
sports, or their vulgar appetites. You must appeal to their hearts when
you want to know them."
"Or to their pockets, and you will know them still better!" said Thelma
almost mischievously, as she raised herself in her chair to take a cup
of coffee from the tray that was then being handed to her by the
respectful steward. "Ah, how good this is! It reminds me of our coffee
luncheon at Arles!"
Errington watched her with a half-smile, but said no more, as the others
now came up to claim their share of her company.
"I say!" said Lorimer, lazily throwing himself full length on the deck
and looking up at her, "come and see us spear a salmon to-morrow, Miss
Gueldmar. Your father is going to show us how to do it in the proper
Norse style."
"That is for men," said Thelma loftily. "Women must know nothing about
such things."
"By Jove!" and Lorimer looked profoundly astonished. "Why, Miss Gueldmar,
women are going in for everything nowadays! Hunting, shooting,
bull-fighting, duelling, horse-whipping, lecturing,--heaven knows what!
They stop at nothing--salmon-spearing is a mere trifle in the list of
modern feminine accomplishments."
Thelma smiled down upon him benignly. "You will always be the same," she
said with a sort of indulgent air. "It is your delight to say things
upside down? But you shall not make me believe that women do all these
dreadful things. Because, how is it possible? The men would not allow
them!"
Errington laughed, and Lorimer appeared stupefied with surprise.
"The men--would--not--allow them?" he repeated slowly. "Oh, Miss
Gueldmar, little do you realize the state of things at the present day!
The glamor of Viking memories clings about you still! Don't you know the
power of man has passed away, and that ladies do exactly as they like?
It is easier to control the thunderbolt than to prevent a woman having
her own way."
"All that is nonsense!" said Thelma decidedly. "Where there is a man to
rule, he _must_ rule, that is certain."
"Is that positively your opinion?" and Lorimer looked more astonished
than ever.
"It is everybody's opinion, of course!" averred Thelma. "How foolish it
would be if women did not obey men! The world would be all confusion!
Ah, you see you cannot make me think your funny thoughts; it is no use!"
And she laughed and rose from her chair, adding with a gentle persuasive
air, "Father dear, is it not time to say good-bye?"
"Truly I think it is!" returned Gueldmar, giving himself a shake like an
old lion, as he broke off a rather tedious conversation he had been
having with Macfarlane. "We shall have Sigurd coming to look for us, and
poor Britta will think we have left her too long alone. Thank you, my
lad!" this to Sir Philip, who instantly gave orders for the boat to be
lowered. "You have given us a day of thorough, wholesome enjoyment. I
hope I shall be able to return it in some way. You must let me see as
much of you as possible."
They shook hands cordially, and Errington proposed to escort them back
as far as their own pier, but this offer Gueldmar refused.
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed cheerily. "With four oarsmen to row us along,
why should we take you away from your friends? I won't hear of such a
thing! And now, regarding the great fall of Njedegorze; Mr. Macfarlane
here says you have not visited it yet. Well the best guide you can have
there is Sigurd. We'll make up a party and go when it is agreeable to
you; it is a grand sight,--well worth seeing. To-morrow we shall meet
again for the salmon-spearing,--I warrant I shall be able to make the
time pass quickly for you! How long do you think of staying here?"
"As long as possible!" answered Errington absently, his eyes wandering
to Thelma, who was just then shaking hands with his friends and bidding
them farewell.
Gueldmar laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "That means till you
are tired of the place," he said good-humoredly. "Well you shall not be
dull if I can prevent it! Good-bye, and thanks for your hospitality."
"Ah, yes!" added Thelma gently, coming up at that moment and laying her
soft hand in his. "I have been so happy all day, and it is all your
kindness! I am very grateful!"
"It is I who have cause to be grateful," said Errington hurriedly,
clasping her hand warmly, "for your company and that of your father. I
trust we shall have many more pleasant days together."
"I hope so too!" she answered simply, and then, the boat being ready,
they departed. Errington and Lorimer leaned on the deck-rails, waving
their hats and watching them disappear over the gleaming water, till the
very last glimpse of Thelma's crimson hood had vanished, and then they
turned to rejoin their companions, who were strolling up and down
smoking.
"_Belle comme un ange!_" said Duprez briefly. "In short, I doubt if the
angels are so good-looking!"
"The auld pagan's a fine scholar," added Macfarlane meditatively. "He
corrected me in a bit o' Latin."
"Did he, indeed?" And Lorimer laughed indolently. "I suppose you think
better of him now, Sandy?"
Sandy made no reply, and as Errington persisted in turning the
conversation away from the merits or demerits of their recent guests,
they soon entered on other topics. But that night, before retiring to
rest, Lorimer laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, and said quietly,
with a keen look--
"Well, old man, have you made up your mind? Have I seen the future Lady
Bruce-Errington?"
Sir Philip smiled,--then, after a brief pause, answered steadily--
"Yes, George, you have! That is,--if I can win her!"
Lorimer laughed a little and sighed. "There's no doubt about that,
Phil." And eyeing Errington's fine figure and noble features musingly,
he repeated again thoughtfully--"No doubt about that, my boy!" Then
after a pause he said, somewhat abruptly, "Time to turn in--good night!"
"Good night, old fellow!" And Errington wrung his hand warmly, and left
him to repose.
But Lorimer had rather a bad night,--he tossed and tumbled a good deal,
and had dreams,--unusual visitors with him,--and once or twice he
muttered in his sleep,--"No doubt about it--not the least in the
world--and if there were--"
But the conclusion of this sentence was inaudible.
CHAPTER XI.
"Tu vas faire un beau reve,
Et t'enivrer d'un plaisir dangereux.
Sur ton chemin l'etoile qui se leve
Longtemps encore eblouira les yeux!"
DE MUSSET.
A fortnight passed. The first excursion in the _Eulalie_ had been
followed by others of a similar kind, and Errington's acquaintance with
the Gueldmars was fast ripening into a pleasant intimacy. It had grown
customary for the young men to spend that part of the day which, in
spite of persistent sunshine, they still called evening, in the
comfortable, quaint parlor of the old farmhouse,--looking at the view
through the rose-wreathed windows,--listening to the fantastic legends
of Norway as told by Olaf Gueldmar,--or watching Thelma's picturesque
figure, as she sat pensively apart in her shadowed corner spinning. They
had fraternized with Sigurd too--that is, as far as he would permit
them--for the unhappy dwarf was uncertain of temper, and if at one hour
he were docile and yielding as a child, the next he would be found
excited and furious at some imaginary slight that he fancied had been
inflicted upon him. Sometimes, if good-humored, he would talk almost
rationally,--only allowing his fancy to play with poetical ideas
concerning the sea, the flowers, or the sunlight,--but he was far more
often sullen and silent. He would draw a low chair to Thelma's side, and
sit there with half-closed eyes and compressed lips, and none could tell
whether he listened to the conversation around him, or was utterly
indifferent to it. He had taken a notable fancy to Lorimer, but he
avoided Errington in the most marked and persistent manner. The latter
did his best to overcome this unreasonable dislike, but his efforts were
useless,--and deciding in his own mind that it was best to humor
Sigurd's vagaries, he soon let him alone, and devoted his attention more
entirely to Thelma.
One evening, after supper at the farmhouse, Lorimer, who for some time
had been watching Philip and Thelma conversing together in low tones
near the open window, rose from his seat quietly, without disturbing the
hilarity of the _bonde_, who was in the middle of a rollicking
sea-story, told for Macfarlane's entertainment,--and slipped out into
the garden, where he strolled along rather absently till he found
himself in the little close thicket of pines,--the very same spot where
he and Philip had stood on the first day of their visit thither. He
threw himself down on the soft emerald moss and lit a cigar, sighing
rather drearily as he did so.
"Upon my life," he mused, with a half-smile, "I am very nearly being a
hero,--a regular stage-martyr,--the noble creature of the piece! By
Jove, I wish I were a soldier! I'm certain I could stand the enemy's
fire better than this! Self-denial? Well, no wonder the preachers make
such a fuss about it, It's a tough, uncomfortable duty. But am I
self-denying? Not a bit of it! Look here, George Lorimer"--here he
tapped himself very vigorously on his broad chest--"don't you imagine
yourself to be either virtuous or magnanimous! If you were anything of a
man at all you would never let your feelings get the better of you,--you
would be sublimely indifferent, stoically calm,--and, as it is,--you
know what a sneaking, hang-dog state of envy you were in just now when
you came out of that room! Aren't you ashamed of yourself,--rascal?"
The inner self he thus addressed was most probably abashed by this
adjuration, for his countenance cleared a little, as though he had
received an apology from his own conscience. He puffed lazily at his
cigar, and felt somewhat soothed. Light steps below him attracted his
attention, and, looking down from the little knoll on which he lay, he
saw Thelma and Philip pass. They were walking slowly along a little
winding path that led to the orchard, which was situated at some little
distance from the house. The girl's head was bent, and Philip was
talking to her with evident eagerness. Lorimer looked after them
earnestly, and his honest eyes were full of trouble.
"God bless them both!" he murmured half aloud. "There's no harm in
saying that, any how! Dear old Phil! I wonder whether--"
What he would have said was uncertain, for at that moment he was
considerably startled by the sight of a meagre, pale face peering