Left alone, she sighed, and went slowly into the house to resume her spinning. Hearing the whirr of the wheel, the servant Britta entered.

"You are not going in the boat, Froken?" she asked in a tone of mingled deference and affection.

Thelma looked up, smiled faintly, and shook her head in the negative.

"It is late, Britta, and I am tired."

And the deep blue eyes had an intense dreamy light within them as they wandered from the wheel to the wide-open window, and rested on the majestic darkness of the overshadowing, solemn pines.

CHAPTER VII.

"In mezzo del mio core c' e una spina; Non c' e barbier che la possa levare,-- Solo il mio amore colla sua manina"

_Rime Popolari._

Errington and Lorimer pulled away across the Fjord in a silence that lasted for many minutes. Old Guldmar stood on the edge of his little pier to watch them out of sight. So, till their boat turned the sharp corner of the protecting rock, that hid the landing-place from view, they saw his picturesque figure and gleaming silvery hair outlined clearly against the background of the sky--a sky now tenderly flushed with pink like the inside of a delicate sh.e.l.l. When they could no longer perceive him they still rowed on speaking no word,--the measured, musical plash of the oars through the smooth, dark olive-green water alone breaking the stillness around them. There was a curious sort of hushed breathlessness in the air; fantastic, dream-like lights and shadows played on the little wrinkling waves; sudden flushes of crimson came and went in the western horizon, and over the high summits of the surrounding mountains mysterious shapes, formed of purple and grey mist, rose up and crept softly downwards, winding in and out deep valleys and dark ravines, like wandering spirits sent on some secret and sorrowful errand. After a while Errington said almost vexedly--

"Are you struck dumb, George? Haven't you a word to say to a fellow?"

"Just what I was about to ask _you_," replied Lorimer carelessly; "and I was also going to remark that we hadn't seen your mad friend up at the Guldmar residence."

"No. Yet I can't help thinking he has something to do with them, all the same," returned Errington meditatively. "I tell you, he swore at me by some old Norwegian infernal place or other. I dare say he's an Odin worshipper, too. But never mind him. What do you think of _her_?"

Lorimer turned lazily round in the boat, so that he faced his companion.

"Well, old fellow, if you ask me frankly, I think she is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, or, for that matter, ever heard of. And I am an impartial critic--perfectly impartial."

And, resting on his oar, he dipped the blade musingly in and out of the water, watching the bright drops fall with an oil-like smoothness as they trickled from the polished wood and glittered in the late sunshine like vari-colored jewels. Then he glanced curiously at Philip, who sat silent, but whose face was very grave and earnest,--even n.o.ble, with that shade of profound thought upon it. He looked like one who had suddenly accepted a high trust, in which there was not only pride, but tenderness. Lorimer shook himself together, as he himself would have expressed it, and touched his friend's arm half-playfully.

"You've met the king's daughter of Norroway after all, Phil;" and his light accents had a touch of sadness in them; "and you'll have to bring her home, as the old song says. I believe the 'eligible' is caught at last. The 'woman' of the piece has turned up, and your chum must play second fiddle--eh, old boy?"

Errington flushed hotly, but caught Lorimer's hand and pressed it with tremendous fervor.

"By Jove, I'll wring it off your wrist if you talk in that fashion, George!" he said, with a laugh. "You'll always be the same to me, and you know it. I tell you," and he pulled his moustache doubtfully, "I don't know quite what's the matter with me. That girl fascinates me! I feel a fool in her presence. Is that a sign of being in love I wonder?"

"Certainly not!" returned George promptly; "for _I_ feel a fool in her presence, and I'm not in love."

"How do you know that?" And Errington glanced at him keenly and inquiringly.

"How do I know? Come, I like that! Have I studied myself all these years for nothing? Look here,"--and he carefully drew out the little withering bunch of daisies he had purloined--"these are for you. I knew you wanted them, though you hadn't the impudence to pick them up, and I had. I thought you might like to put them under your pillow, and all that sort of thing, because if one is resolved to become love-lunatic, one may as well do the thing properly out and out,--I hate all half-measures. Now, if the remotest thrill of sentiment were in me, you can understand, I hope, that wild horses would not have torn this adorable posy from my possession! I should have kept it, and you would never have known of it," and he laughed softly. "Take it, old fellow! You're rich now, with the rose she gave you besides. What is all your wealth compared with the sacred preciousness of such blossoms! There, don't look so awfully estactic, or I shall be called upon to ridicule you in the interests of common sense. So you're in love with the girl at once, and have done with it. Don't beat about the bush!"

"I'm not sure about it," said Philip, taking the daisies gratefully, however, and pressing them in his pocket-book. "I don't believe in love at first sight!"

"I do," returned Lorimer decidedly. "Love is electricity. Two telegrams are enough to settle the business,--one from the eyes of the man, the other from those of the woman. You and Miss Guldmar must have exchanged a dozen such messages at least."

"And you?" inquired Errington persistently. "You had the same chance as myself."

George shrugged his shoulders. "My dear boy, there are no wires of communication between the Sun-angel and myself; nothing but a blank, innocent landscape, over which perhaps some day, the mild l.u.s.tre of friendship may beam. The girl is beautiful--extraordinarily so; but I'm not a 'man o' wax,' as Juliet's gabbling old nurse says--not in the least impressionable."

And forthwith he resumed his oar, saying briskly as he did so--

"Phil, do you know those other fellows must be swearing at us pretty forcibly for leaving them so long with Dyceworthy. We've been away two hours!"

"Not possible!" cried Errington, amazed, and wielding his oar vigorously. "They'll think me horribly rude. By Jove, they must be bored to death!"

And, stimulated by the thought of the penance their friends were enduring, they sent the boat spinning swiftly through the water, and rowed as though they were trying for a race, when they were suddenly pulled up by a loud "Halloo!" and the sight of another boat coming slowly out from Bosekop, wherein two individuals were standing up, gesticulating violently.

"There they are!" exclaimed Lorimer. "I say, Phil, they've hired a special tub, and are coming out to us."

So it proved. Duprez and Macfarlane had grown tired of waiting for their truant companions, and had taken the first clumsy wherry that presented itself, rowed by an even clumsier Norwegian boatman, whom they had been compelled to engage also, as he would not let his ugly punt out of his sight, for fear some harm might chance to befall it. Thus attended, they were on their way back to the yacht. With a few long, elegant strokes, Errington and Lorimer soon brought their boat alongside, and their friends gladly jumped into it, delighted to be free of the company of the wooden-faced mariner they had so reluctantly hired, and who now, on receiving his fee, paddled awkwardly away in his ill-constructed craft, without either a word of thanks or salutation. Errington began to apologize at once for his long absence, giving as a reason for it, the necessity he found himself under of making a call on some persons of importance in the neighborhood, whom he had, till now, forgotten.

"My good Phil-eep!" cried Duprez, in his cheery sing song accent, "why apologize? We have amused ourselves! Our dear Sandy has a vein of humor that is astonishing! We have not wasted our time. No! We have made Mr.

Dyceworthy our slave; we have conquered him; we have abased him! He is what we please,--he is for all G.o.ds or for no G.o.d,--just as we pull the string! In plain words, _mon cher_, that amiable religious is drunk!"

"Drunk!" cried Errington and Lorimer together. "Jove! you don't mean it?"

Macfarlane looked up with a twinkle of satirical humor in his deep-set grey eyes.

"Ye see," he said seriously, "the Lacrima, or Papist wine as he calls it, was strong--we got him to take a good dose o't--a vera feir dose indeed. Then, doun he sat, an' fell to convairsing vera pheelosophically o' mony things,--it wad hae done ye gude to hear him,--he was fair lost in the mazes o' his metapheesics, for twa flies took a bit saunter through the pleasant dewy lanes o' his forehead, an' he never raised a finger to send them awa' aboot their beeziness. Then I thoet I wad try him wi' the whusky--I had ma pocket flask wi' me--an' O mon! he was sairly glad and gratefu' for the first snack o't! He said it was deevilish fine stuff, an' so he took ane drappikie, an' anither drappikie, and yet anither drappikie,"--Sandy's accent got more and more p.r.o.nounced as he went on--"an' after a bit, his heed dropt doun, an' he took a wee snoozle of a minute or twa,--then he woke up in a' his strength an' just grappit the flask in his twa hands an' took the hale o't off at a grand, rousin' gulp! Ma certes! after it ye shuld ha' seen him laughin' like a f.e.c.kless fule, an' rubbin' an' rubbin' his heed, till his hair was like the straw kicked roond by a mad coo!"

Lorimer lay back in the stern of the boat and laughed uproariously at this extraordinary picture, as did the others.

"But that is not all," said Duprez, with delighted mischief sparkling in his wicked little dark eyes; "the dear religious opened his heart to us.

He spoke thickly, but we could understand him. He was very impressive!

He is quite of my opinion. He says all religion is nonsense, fable, imposture,--Man is the only G.o.d, Woman his creature and subject.

Again,--man and woman conjoined, make up divinity, necessity, law. He was quite clear on that point. Why did he preach what he did not believe, we asked? He almost wept! He replied that the children of this world liked fairy-stories and he was paid to tell them. It was his bread and b.u.t.ter,--would we wish him to have no bread and b.u.t.ter? We a.s.sured him so cruel a thought had no place in our hearts! Then he is amorous--yes! the good fat man is amorous! He would have become a priest, but on close examination of the confessionals he saw there was no possibility of seeing, much less kissing a lady penitent through the grating. So he gave up that idea! In his form of faith he _can_ kiss, he says,--he _does_ kiss!--always a holy kiss, of course! He is so ingenuous,--so delightfully frank, it is quite charming!"

They laughed again. Sir Philip looked somewhat disgusted.

"What an old brute he must be!" he said. "Somebody ought to kick him--a holy kick, of course, and therefore more intense and forcible than other kicks."

"You begin, Phil," laughed Lorimer, "and we'll all follow suit. He'll be like that Indian in 'Vathek' who rolled himself into a ball; no one could resist kicking as long as the ball bounded before them,--we, similarly, shall not be able to resist, if Dyceworthy's fat person is once left at our mercy."

"That was a grand bit he told us, Errington," resumed Macfarlane. "Ye should ha' heard him talk aboot his love-affair! . . . the saft jelly of a man that he is, to be making up to ony woman."

At that moment they ran alongside of the _Eulalie_ and threw up their oars.

"Stop a bit," said Errington. "Tell us the rest on board."

The ladder was lowered; they mounted it, and their boat was hauled up to its place.

"Go on!" said Lorimer, throwing himself lazily into a deck arm-chair and lighting a cigar, while the others leaned against the yacht rails and followed his example. "Go on, Sandy--this is fun! Dyceworthy's amours must be amusing. I suppose he's after that ugly wooden block of a woman we saw at his house who is so zealous for the 'true gospel'?"

"Not a bit of it," replied Sandy, with immense gravity. "The auld Silenus has better taste. He says there's a young la.s.s running after him, fit to break her heart aboot him,--puir thing, she must have vera little choice o' men! He hasna quite made up his mind, though he admeets she's as fine a la.s.s as ony man need require. He's sorely afraid she has set herself to catch him, as he says she's an eye like a warlock for a really strong good-looking fellow like himself," and Macfarlane chuckled audibly. "Maybe he'll take pity on her, maybe he wont; the misguided la.s.sie will be sairly teazed by him from a' he tauld us in his cups. He gave us her name,--the oddest in a' the warld for sure,--I canna just remember it."