Thelma
Phil,--by all the Gods of the past and present!"
And he laughed again,--a little huskily this time, for there was a
sudden unaccountable and unwished-for lump in his throat, and a moisture
in his eyes which he had not bargained for. Philip looked up,--and
silently held out his hand, which Lorimer as silently clasped. There was
a moment's hesitation, 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 sensation, isn't it? A sort of hot, prickly,
'have-at-thee-villain' sort of thing; must be frightfully exhausting!
But why you should indulge this emotion at _my_ expense is what I
cannot, for the life of me, understand!"
"Well," murmured Errington, rather abashed, "you see, her hands were in
yours--"
"As they will be again, and yet again, I trust!" said Lorimer 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 Duprez leaning on her arm, and her
father and Macfarlane following.
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
_bonde's_ 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-improvised 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 gaiety was undiminished,
and he laughed as he answered--
"_Chere 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 his
benefit. With deft, soft fingers she laid bare the throbbing
wound,--washed and dressed it carefully and skillfully,--and used with
all such exceeding gentleness, that Duprez 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."
"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 afterwards.
"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.
"Never 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 astonishment. It
opened such a wide vista of impossibilities to his mind.
Meanwhile old Gueldmar 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 always 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!"
"Maybe, maybe!" and the old farmer shook his head doubtfully. "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 might do it, and be sorry for it directly afterwards.
'Tis little use to cry when the mischief is done,--and I confess I do
not like his present humor."
"By-the-by," observed Lorimer, "that reminds me! Sigurd has taken an
uncommonly strong aversion to Phil. It's curious but it's a fact.
Perhaps it is that which upsets his nerves?"
"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 Altenfjord, and I refused,--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 be very
ill,--because it is natural for every one to like you."
She spoke in perfect good faith and innocence of heart; but Errington's
eyes flashed and he smiled--one of those rare, tender smiles of his
which brightened his whole visage.
"You are very kind to say so, Miss Gueldmar!"
"It is not kindness; it is the truth!" she replied frankly.
At that moment a very rosy face and two sparkling eyes peered in at the
door.
"Yes, Britta!" Thelma smiled; "we are quite ready!"
Whereupon the face disappeared, and Olaf Gueldmar led the way into the
kitchen, which was at the same time the dining-room, and where a
substantial supper was spread on the polished pine table.
The farmer's great arm-chair was brought in for Duprez, who, though he
declared he was being spoilt by too much attention, seemed to enjoy it
immensely,--and they were all, including Britta, soon clustered round
the hospitable 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 gaily. Macfarlane vied with the
ever-gallant Duprez in making a few compliments to Britta, who was
pretty and engaging enough to merit attention, and who, after all, was
something more than a mere servant, possessing, as she did, a great deal
of her young mistress's affection and confidence, and being always
treated by Gueldmar 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
Gueldmar!"
There was a sudden silence. Each one looked at the other in surprise.
Again the voice called--"Olaf Gueldmar!"
"Well!" roared the _bonde_ testily, turning sharply round in his chair,
"who calls me?"
"I do!" and the tall, emaciated figure of a woman advanced and stood on
the threshold, without actually entering the room. She dropped the black
shawl that enveloped her, and, in so doing, disordered her hair, which
fell in white, straggling locks about her withered features, and her
dark eyes gleamed maliciously as she fixed them on the assembled party.
Britta, on perceiving her, uttered a faint shriek, and without
considering 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 unwelcome?"
"Unwelcome I know I am," replied Lovisa, disdainfully noting the terror
of Britta and the astonished glances if Errington 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
Gueldmar,--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 daughter! . . . restore to me the erring creature
who should be the prop of my defenceless age, had not your pagan spells
alienated 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 herself than to
Gueldmar; 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' she will; free also to stay with us,
where 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 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 maiden'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 bien
fait! c'est joliment bien dit! Mais je crois bien!_"
Lovisa seemed unmoved; she raised her head and looked, at Gueldmar.
"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
Gueldmar, 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 allusion,--"I know the English tongue, of which we
hear far too much,--too often! There is nothing Britta has said that I