Thelma
reflections, he turned on his arm as he lay, and whispered softly to his
friend who was close by him--"I say, Lorimer,--I feel as if I had been
to blame somehow in this affair! If I had never come on the scene,
Sigurd would still have been happy in his own way."
Lorimer was silent. After a pause, Errington went on still in the same
low tone.
"Poor little fellow! Do you know, I can't imagine anything more utterly
distracting than having to see such a woman as Thelma day after
day,--loving her all the time, and knowing such love to be absolutely
hopeless! Why, it was enough to make him crazier than ever!"
Lorimer moved restlessly. "Yes, it must have been hard on him!" he
answered at last, in a gentle, somewhat sad tone. "Perhaps it's as well
he's out of it all. Life is infinitely perplexing to many of us. By this
time he's no doubt wiser than you or I, Phil,--he could tell us the
reason why love is such a blessing to some men, and such a curse to
others!"
Errington made no answer, and they relapsed into silence--silence which
was almost unbroken save by an occasional deep sigh from Olaf Gueldmar
and a smothered exclamation such as, "Poor lad, poor lad! Who would have
thought it?"
With the early dawn they were all up and ready for the homeward
journey,--though with very different feelings to those with which they
had started on their expedition. The morning was dazzlingly bright and
clear,--and the cataract of Njedegorze rolled down in glittering folds
of creamy white and green, uttering its ceaseless psalm of praise to the
Creator in a jubilant roar of musical thunder. They paused and looked at
it for the last time before leaving,--it had assumed for them a new and
solemn aspect--it was Sigurd's grave. The _bonde_ raised his cap from
his rough white hair,--instinctively the others followed his example.
"May the gods grant him good rest!" said the old man reverently. "In the
wildest waters they say there is a calm underflow,--maybe the lad has
found it and is glad to sleep." He paused and stretched his hands forth
with an eloquent and touching gesture. "Peace be with him!"
Then, without more words, and as though disdaining his own emotion, he
turned abruptly away, and began to descend the stony and precipitous
hill, up which Sigurd had so skillfully guided them the day before.
Macfarlane and Duprez followed him close,--Macfarlane casting more than
once a keen look over the rapids.
"'Tis a pity we couldna find his body," he said in a low tone.
Duprez shrugged his shoulders. Sigurd's death had shocked him
considerably by its suddenness, but he was too much of a volatile
Frenchman to be morbidly anxious about securing the corpse.
"I think not so at all," he said. "Of what use would it be? To grieve
_mademoiselle_? to make her cry? That would be cruel,--I would not
assist in it! A dead body is not a sight for ladies,--believe me, things
are best as they are."
They went on, while Errington and Lorimer lingered yet a moment longer.
"A magnificent sepulchre!" said Lorimer, dreamily eyeing for the last
time the sweeping flow of the glittering torrent. "Better than all the
monuments ever erected! Upon my life, I would not mind having such a
grave myself! Say what you like, Phil, there was something grand in
Sigurd's choice of a death. We all of us have to get out of life somehow
one day--that's certain--but few of us have the chance of making such a
triumphant exit!"
Errington looked at him with a grave smile. "How you talk, George!" he
said half-reproachfully. "One would think you envied the end of that
unfortunate, half-witted fellow! You've no reason to be tired of your
life, I'm sure,--all your bright days are before you."
"Are they?" And Lorimer's blue eyes looked slightly melancholy. "Well, I
dare say they are! Let's hope so at all events. There need be something
before me,--there isn't much behind except wasted opportunities. Come
on, Phil!"
They resumed their walk, and soon rejoined the others. The journey back
to the Altenfjord was continued all day with but one or two
interruptions for rest and refreshment. It was decided that on reaching
home, old Gueldmar should proceed a little in advance, in order to see
his daughter alone first, and break to her the news of the tragic event
that had occurred,--so that when, after a long and toilsome journey,
they caught sight, at about eight in the evening, of the familiar
farmhouse through the branches of the trees that surrounded and
sheltered it, they all came to a halt.
The young men seated themselves on a pleasant knoll under some tall
pines, there to wait a quarter of an hour or so, while the _bonde_ went
forward to prepare Thelma. On second thoughts, the old man asked
Errington to accompany him,--a request to which he very readily acceded,
and these two, leaving the others to follow at their leisure, went on
their way rapidly. They arrived at, and entered the garden,--their
footsteps made a crunching noise on the pebbly path,--but no welcoming
face looked forth from any of the windows of the house. The entrance
door stood wide open,--there was not a living soul to be seen but the
kitten asleep in a corner of the porch, and the doves drowsing on the
roof in the sunshine. The deserted air of the place was unmistakable,
and Gueldmar and Errington exchanged looks of wonder not unmixed with
alarm.
"Thelma! Thelma!" called the _bonde_ anxiously. There was no response.
He entered the house and threw open the kitchen door. There was no
fire,--and not the slightest sign of any of the usual preparations for
supper.
"Britta!" shouted Gueldmar. Still no answer. "By the gods!" he exclaimed,
turning to the astonished Philip, "this is a strange thing! Where can
the girls be? I have never known both of them to be absent from the
house at the same time. Go down to the shore, my lad, and see if
Thelma's boat is missing, while I search the garden."
Errington obeyed--hurrying off on his errand with a heart beating fast
from sudden fear and anxiety. For he knew Thelma was not likely to
have gone out of her own accord, at the very time she would have
naturally expected her father and his friends back, and the absence of
Britta too, was, to say the least of it, extraordinary. He reached the
pier very speedily, and saw at a glance that the boat was gone. He
hastened back to report this to Gueldmar, who was making the whole place
resound with his shouts of "Thelma!" and "Britta!" though he shouted
altogether in vain.
"Maybe," he said dubiously, on hearing of the missing boat--"Maybe the
child has gone on the Fjord--'tis often her custom,--but, then, where is
Britta? Besides, they must have expected us--they would have prepared
supper--they would have been watching for our return. No, no! there is
something wrong about this--'tis altogether unusual."
And he looked about him in a bewildered way, while Sir Philip, noting
his uneasiness, grew more and more uneasy himself.
"Let me go and search for them, sir," he said, eagerly. "They may be in
the woods, or up towards the orchard."
Gueldmar shook his head and drew his fuzzy white brows together in
puzzled meditation--suddenly he started and struck his staff forcibly on
the ground.
"I have it!" he exclaimed. "That old hag Lovisa is at the bottom of
this!"
"By Jove!" cried Errington. "I believe you're right! What shall we do?"
At that moment, Lorimer, Duprez, and Macfarlane came on the scene,
thinking they had kept aloft long enough,--and the strange disappearance
of the two girls was rapidly explained to them. They listened astonished
and almost incredulous, but agreed with the _bonde_ as to Lovisa's
probable share in the matter.
"Look here!" said Lorimer excitedly. "I'm not in the least tired,--show
me the way to Talvig, where that old screech-owl lives, and I'll go
there straight as a gun! Shouldn't wonder if she has not forced away her
grandchild, in which case Miss Thelma may have gone after her."
"I'll come with you!" said Errington. "Let's lose no time about it."
But Gueldmar shook his head. "'Tis a long way, my lads,--and you do not
know the road. No--'twill be better we should take the boat and pull
over to Bosekop; there we can get a carriole to take two of us at least
to Talvig--"
He stopped, interrupted by Macfarlane, who looked particularly shrewd.
"I should certainly advise ye to try Bosekop first," he remarked
cautiously. "Mr. Dyceworthy might be able to provide ye with valuable
information."
"Dyceworthy!" roared the _bonde_, becoming inflammable at once. "He
knows little of me or mine, thank the gods! and I would not by choice
step within a mile of his dwelling. What makes you think of him, sir?"
Lorimer laid a hand soothingly on his arm.
"Now, my dear Mr. Gueldmar, don't get excited! Mac is right. I dare say
Dyceworthy knows as much in his way as the ancient Lovisa. At any rate,
it isn't his fault if he does not. Because you see--" Lorimer hesitated
and turned to Errington. "You tell him, Phil! you know all about it."
"The fact is," said Errington, while Gueldmar gazed from one to the other
in speechless amazement, "Thelma hasn't told you because she knew how
angry you'd be--but Dyceworthy asked her to marry him. Of course she
refused him, and I doubt if he's taken his rejection very resignedly."
The face of the old farmer as he heard these words was a study. Wonder,
contempt, pride, and indignation struggled for the mastery on his rugged
features.
"Asked--her--to--marry--him!" he repeated slowly. "By the sword of Odin!
Had I known it I would have throttled him!" His eyes blazed and he
clenched his hand. "Throttled him, lads! I would! Give me the chance and
I'll do it now! I tell you, the mere look of such a man as that is a
desecration to my child,--liar and hypocrite as he is! may the gods
confound him!" He paused--then suddenly bracing himself up, added. "I'll
away to Bosekop at once--they've been afraid of me there for no
reason--I'll teach them to be afraid of me in earnest! Who'll come with
me?"
All eagerly expressed their desire to accompany him with the exception
of one,--Pierre Duprez,--he had disappeared.
"Why, where has he gone?" demanded Lorimer in some surprise.
"I canna tell," replied Macfarlane. "He just slipped awa' while ye were
haverin' about Dyceworthy--he'll maybe join us at the shore."
To the shore they at once betook themselves, and were soon busied in
unmooring Gueldmar's own rowing-boat, which, as it had not been used for
some time, was rather a tedious business,--moreover they noted with
concern that the tide was dead against them.
Duprez did not appear,--the truth is, that he had taken into his head to
start off for Talvig on foot without waiting for the others. He was fond
of an adventure and here was one that suited him precisely--to rescue
distressed damsels from the grasp of persecutors. He was tired, but he
managed to find the road,--and he trudged on determinedly, humming a
song of Beranger's as he walked to keep him cheerful. But he had not
gone much more than a mile when he discerned in the distance a carriole
approaching him,--and approaching so swiftly that it appeared to swing
from side to side of the road at imminent risk of upsetting altogether.
There seemed to be one person in it--an excited person too, who lashed
the stout little pony and urged it on to fresh exertions with
gesticulations and cries. That plump buxom figure--that tumbled brown
hair streaming wildly on, the breeze,--that round rosy face--why! it was
Britta! Britta, driving all alone, with the reckless daring of a
Norwegian peasant girl accustomed to the swaying, jolting movement of
the carriole as well as the rough roads and sharp turnings. Nearer she
came and nearer--and Duprez hailed her with a shout of welcome. She saw