Thelma
than the commonplace. There are few who have not, at one time or other
of their lives, had some strange or tragic episode woven into the tissue
of their every-day existence; and it would be difficult to find one
person even among humdrum individuals, who, from birth to death, has
experienced nothing out of the common.
Errington generally dismissed all tales of adventure as mere
exaggerations of heated fancy; and, had he read in some book, of a
respectable nineteenth-century yachtsman having such an interview with a
madman in a sea-cavern, he would have laughed at the affair as an utter
improbability, though he could not have explained why he considered it
improbable. But now it had occurred to himself, he was both surprised
and amused at the whole circumstance; moreover, he was sufficiently
interested and curious to be desirous of sifting the matter to its
foundation.
It was, however, somewhat of a relief to him when he again reached the
outer cavern. He replaced the lamp on the shelf where he had found it,
and stepped once more into the brilliant light of the very early dawn,
which then had all the splendor of full morning. There was a deliciously
balmy wind, the blue sky was musical with a chorus of larks, and every
breath of air that waved aside the long grass sent forth a thousand
odors from hidden beds of wild thyme and bog-myrtle.
He perceived the _Eulalie_ at anchor in her old place on the Fjord; she
had returned while he was absent on his explorations. Gathering together
his rug and painting materials, he blew a whistle sharply three times;
he was answered from the yacht, and presently a boat, manned by a couple
of sailors, came skimming over the water towards him. It soon reached
the shore, and, entering it, he was speedily rowed away from the scene
of his morning's experience back to his floating palace, where, as yet,
none of his friends were stirring.
"How about Jedke?" he inquired of one of his men. "Did they climb it?"
A slow grin overspread the sailor's brown face.
"Lord bless you, no, sir! Mr. Lorimer, he just looked at it and sat down
in the shade; the other gentleman played pitch-and-toss with pebbles.
They was main hungry too, and ate a mighty sight of 'am and pickles.
Then they came on board and all turned in at once."
Errington laughed. He was amused at the utter failure of Lorimer's
recent sudden energy, but not surprised. His thoughts were, however,
busied with something else, and he next asked--"Where's our pilot?"
"Valdemar Svensen, sir? He went down to his bunk as soon as we anchored,
for a snooze, he said."
"All right. If he comes on deck before I do, just tell him not to go
ashore for anything till I see him. I want to speak to him after
breakfast."
"Ay, ay, sir."
Whereupon Sir Philip descended to his private cabin. He drew the blind
at the port-hole to shut out the dazzling sunlight, for it was nearly
three o'clock in the morning, and quickly undressing, he flung himself
into his berth with a slight, not altogether unpleasant, feeling of
exhaustion. To the last, as his eyes closed drowsily, he seemed to hear
the slow drip, drip of the water behind the rocky cavern, and the
desolate cry of the incomprehensible Sigurd, while through these sounds
that mingled with the gurgle of little waves lapping against the sides
of the _Eulalie_, the name of "Thelma" murmured itself in his ears till
slumber drowned his senses in oblivion.
CHAPTER III.
"Hast any mortal name,
Fit appellation for this dazzling frame,
Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth?"
KEATS.
"This is positively absurd," murmured Lorimer, in mildly injured tones,
seven hours later, as he sat on the edge of his berth, surveying
Errington, who, fully dressed, and in the highest spirits, had burst in
to upbraid him for his laziness while he was yet but scantily attired.
"I tell you, my good fellow, there are some things which the utmost
stretch of friendship will _not_ stand. Here am I in shirt and trousers
with only one sock on, and you dare to say you have had an adventure!
Why, if you had cut a piece out of the sun, you ought to wait till a man
is shaved before mentioning it."
"Don't be snappish, old boy!" laughed Errington gaily. "Put on that
other sock and listen. I don't want to tell those other fellows just
yet, they might go making inquiries about her--"
"Oh, there is a 'her' in the case, is there?" said Lorimer, opening his
eyes rather widely. "Well, Phil! I thought you had had enough, and
something too much, of women."
"This is not a woman!" declared Philip with heat and eagerness, "at
least not the sort of woman _I_ have ever known! This is a
forest-empress, sea-goddess, or sun-angel! I don't know _what_ she is,
upon my life!"
Lorimer regarded him with an air of reproachful offense.
"Don't go on--please don't!" he implored. "I can't stand it--I really
can't! Incipient verse-mania is too much for me. Forest-empress,
sea-goddess, sun-angel--by Jove! what next? You are evidently in a very
bad way. If I remember rightly, you had a flask of that old green
Chartreuse with you. Ah! that accounts for it! Nice stuff, but a little
too strong."
Errington laughed, and, unabashed by his friend's raillery, proceeded to
relate with much vivacity and graphic fervor the occurrences of the
morning. Lorimer listened patiently with a forbearing smile on his open,
ruddy countenance. When he had heard everything he looked up and
inquired calmly--
"This is not a yarn, is it?"
"A yarn!" exclaimed Philip. "Do you think I would invent such a thing?"
"Can't say," returned Lorimer imperturbably. "You are quite capable of
it. It's a very creditable crammer, due to Chartreuse. Might have been
designed by Victor Hugo; it's in his style. Scene, Norway--midnight.
Mysterious maiden steals out of a cave and glides away in a boat over
the water; man, the hero, goes into cave, finds a stone coffin,
says--'Qu'est-ce que c'est? Dieu! C'est la mort!' Spectacle affreux!
Staggers back perspiring; meets mad dwarf with torch; mad dwarf talks a
good deal--mad people always do,--then yells and runs away. Man comes
out of cave and--and--goes home to astonish his friends; one of them
won't be astonished,--that's me!"
"I don't care," said Errington. "It's a true story for all that. Only, I
say, don't talk of it before the others; let's keep our own counsel--"
"No poachers allowed on the Sun-Angel Manor!" interrupted Lorimer
gravely. Philip went on without heeding him.
"I'll question Valdemar Svensen after breakfast. He knows everybody
about here. Come and have a smoke on deck when I give you the sign, and
we'll cross-examine him."
Lorimer still looked incredulous. "What's the good of it?" he inquired
languidly. "Even if it's all true you had much better leave this
goddess, or whatever you call her, alone, especially if she has any mad
connections. What do _you_ want with her?"
"Nothing!" declared Errington, though hiss color heightened. "Nothing, I
assure you! It's just a matter of curiosity with me. I should like to
know who she is--that's all! The affair won't go any further."
"How do you know?" and Lorimer began to brush his stiff curly hair with
a sort of vicious vigor. "How can you tell? I'm not a spiritualist, nor
any sort of a humbug at all, I hope, but I sometimes indulge in
presentiments. Before we started on this cruise, I was haunted by that
dismal old ballad of Sir Patrick Spens--"
'The King's daughter of Norroway
'Tis thou maun bring her hame!'
"And here you have found her, or so it appears. What's to come of it, I
wonder?"
"Nothing's to come of it; nothing _will_ come of it!" laughed Philip.
"As I told you, she said she was a peasant. There's the breakfast-bell!
Make haste, old boy, I'm as hungry as a hunter!"
And he left his friend to finish dressing, and entered the saloon, where
he greeted his two other companions, Alec, or, as he was oftener called,
Sandy Macfarlane, and Pierre Duprez; the former an Oxford student,--the
latter a young fellow whose acquaintance he had made in Paris, and with
whom he had kept up a constant and friendly intercourse. A greater
contrast than these two presented could scarcely be imagined. Macfarlane
was tall and ungainly, with large loose joints that seemed to protrude
angularly out of him in every direction,--Duprez was short, slight and
wiry, with a dapper and by no means ungraceful figure. The one had
formal _gauche_ manners, a never-to-be-eradicated Glasgow accent, and a
slow, infinitely tedious method of expressing himself,--the other was
full of restless movement and pantomimic gesture, and being proud of his
English, plunged into that language recklessly, making it curiously
light and flippant, though picturesque, as he went. Macfarlane was
destined to become a shining light of the established Church of
Scotland, and therefore took life very seriously,--Duprez was the spoilt
only child of an eminent French banker, and had very little to do but
enjoy himself, and that he did most thoroughly, without any calculation
or care for the future. On all points of taste and opinion they differed
widely; but there was no doubt about their both being good-hearted
fellows, without any affectation of abnormal vice or virtue.
"So you did not climb Jedke after all!" remarked Errington laughingly,
as they seated themselves at the breakfast table.
"My friend, what would you!" cried Duprez. "I have not said that I will
climb it; no! I never say that I will do anything, because I'm not sure
of myself. How can I be? It is that _cher enfant_, Lorimer, that said
such brave words! See! . . . we arrive; we behold the shore--all black,
great, vast! . . . rocks like needles, and, higher than all, this most
fierce Jedke--bah! what a name!--straight as the spire of a cathedral.
One must be a fly to crawl up it, and we, we are not flies--_ma foi_!
no! Lorimer, he laugh, he yawn--so! He say, 'not for me to-day; I very
much thank you!' And then, we watch the sun. Ah! that was grand,
glorious, beautiful!" And Duprez kissed the tips of his fingers in
ecstacy.
"What did _you_ think about it, Sandy?" asked Sir Philip.
"I didna think much," responded Macfarlane, shortly. "It's no sae grand
a sight as a sunset in Skye. And it's an uncanny business to see the sun
losin' a' his poonctooality, and remainin' stock still, as it were, when
it's his plain duty to set below the horizon. Mysel', I think it's been
fair over-rated. It's unnatural an' oot o' the common, say what ye
like."
"Of course it is," agreed Lorimer, who just then sauntered in from his
cabin. "Nature _is_ most unnatural. I always thought so. Tea for me,
Phil, please; coffee wakes me up too suddenly. I say, what's the
programme to-day?"
"Fishing in the Alten," answered Errington promptly.
"That suits me perfectly," said Lorimer, as he leisurely sipped his tea.
"I'm an excellent fisher. I hold the line and generally forget to bait
it. Then,--while it trails harmlessly in the water, I doze; thus both
the fish and I are happy."
"And this evening," went on Errington, "we must return the minister's
call. He's been to the yacht twice. We're bound to go out of common
politeness."
"Spare us, good Lord!" groaned Lorimer.
"What a delightfully fat man is that good religious!" cried Duprez. "A
living proof of the healthiness of Norway!"
"He's not a native," put in Macfarlane; "he's frae Yorkshire. He's only
been a matter of three months here, filling the place o' the settled
meenister who's awa' for a change of air."
"He's a precious specimen of a humbug, anyhow," sighed Lorimer drearily.
"However, I'll be civil to him as long as he doesn't ask me to hear him