"Elle filait et souriait--et je crois qu'elle enveloppa mon coeur
avec son fil."--HEINE.
Before them, close enough for their outstretched hands to have touched
it, was what appeared to be a framed picture, exquisitely painted,--a
picture perfect in outline matchless in color, faultless in detail,--but
which was in reality nothing but a large latticed window thrown wide
open to admit the air. They could now see distinctly through the shadows
cast by the stately pines, a long, low, rambling house, built roughly,
but strongly, of wooden rafters, all overgrown with green and blossoming
creepers; but they scarcely glanced at the actual building, so strongly
was their attention riveted on the one window before them. It was
surrounded by an unusually broad framework, curiously and elaborately
carved, and black as polished ebony. Flowers grew all about it,--sweet
peas, mignonette, and large purple pansies--while red and white climbing
roses rioted in untrained profusion over its wide sill. Above it was a
quaintly built dovecote, where some of the strutting fan-tailed
inhabitants were perched, swelling out their snowy breasts, and
discoursing of their domestic trials in notes of dulcet melancholy;
while lower down, three or four ring-doves nestled on the roof in a
patch of sunlight, spreading up their pinions like miniature sails, to
catch the warmth and lustre.
Within the deep, shadowy embrasure, like a jewel placed on dark velvet,
was seated a girl spinning,--no other than the mysterious maiden of the
shell cavern. She was attired in a plain, straight gown, of some soft
white woolen stuff, cut squarely at her throat; her round, graceful arms
were partially bare, and as the wheel turned swiftly, and her slender
hands busied themselves with the flax, she smiled, as though some
pleasing thought had touched her mind. Her smile had the effect of
sudden sunshine in the dark room where she sat and span,--it was radiant
and mirthful as the smile of a happy child. Yet her dark blue eyes
remained pensive and earnest, and the smile soon faded, leaving her fair
face absorbed and almost dreamy. The whirr-whirring of the wheel grew
less and less rapid,--it slackened,--it stopped altogether,--and, as
though startled by some unexpected sound, the girl paused and listened,
pushing away the clustering masses of her rich hair from her brow. Then
rising slowly from her seat, she advanced to the window, put aside the
roses with one hand, and looked out,--thus forming another picture as
beautiful, if not more beautiful, than the first.
Lorimer drew his breath hard. "I say, old fellow," he whispered; but
Errington pressed his arm with vice-like firmness, as a warning to him
to be silent, while they both stepped farther back into the dusky gloom
of the pine boughs.
The girl, meanwhile, stood motionless, in a half-expectant attitude,
and, seeing her there, some of the doves on the roof flew down and
strutted on the ground before her, coo-cooing proudly, as though
desirous of attracting her attention. One of them boldly perched on the
window-sill; she glanced at the bird musingly, and softly stroked its
opaline wings and shining head without terrifying it. It seemed
delighted to be noticed, and almost lay down under her hand in order to
be more conveniently caressed. Still gently smoothing its feathers, she
leaned further out among the clambering wealth of blossoms, and called
in a low, penetrating tone, "Father! father! is that you?"
There was no answer; and, after waited a minute or two, she moved and
resumed her former seat, the stray doves flew back to their customary
promenade on the roof, and the drowsy whirr-whirr of the spinning-wheel
murmured again its monotonous hum upon the air.
"Come on, Phil," whispered Lorimer, determined not to be checked this
time; "I feel perfectly wretched! It's mean of us to be skulking about
here, as if we were a couple of low thieves waiting to trap some of
those birds for a pigeon-pie. Come away,--you've seen her; that's
enough."
Errington did not move. Holding back a branch of pine, he watched the
movements of the girl at her wheel with absorbed fascination.
Suddenly her sweet lips parted, and she sang a weird, wild melody, that
seemed, like a running torrent, to have fallen from the crests of the
mountains, bringing with it echoes from the furthest summits, mingled
with soft wailings of a mournful wind.
Her voice was pure as the ring of fine crystal--deep, liquid, and
tender, with a restrained passion in it that stirred Errington's heart
and filled it with a strange unrest and feverish yearning,--emotions
which were new to him, and which, while he realized their existence,
moved him to a sort of ashamed impatience. He would have willingly left
his post of observation now, if only for the sake of shaking off his
unwonted sensations; and he took a step or two backwards for that
purpose, when Lorimer, in his turn, laid a detaining hand on his
shoulder.
"For Heaven's sake, let us hear the song through!" he said in subdued
tones. "What a voice! A positive golden flute!"
His rapt face betokened his enjoyment, and Errington, nothing loth,
still lingered, his eyes fixed on the white-robed slim figure framed in
the dark old rose-wreathed window--the figure that swayed softly with
the motion of the wheel and the rhythm of the song,--while flickering
sunbeams sparkled now and then on the maiden's dusky gold hair, or
touched up a warmer tint on her tenderly flushed cheeks, and fair neck,
more snowy than the gown she wore. Music poured from her lips as from
the throat of a nightingale. The words she sang were Norwegian, and her
listeners understood nothing of them; but the melody,--the pathetic
appealing melody,--soul-moving as all true melody must be, touched the
very core of their hearts, and entangled them in a web of delicious
reveries.
"Talk of Ary Scheffer's Gretchen!" murmured Lorimer with a sigh. "What a
miserable, pasty, milk-and-watery young person she is beside that
magnificent, unconscious beauty! I give in, Phil! I admit your taste.
I'm willing to swear that she's a Sun-Angel if you like. Her voice has
convinced me of that."
At that instant the song ceased. Errington turned and regarded him
steadfastly.
"Are _you_ hit, George?" he said softly, with a forced smile.
Lorimer's face flushed, but he met his friend's eyes frankly.
"I am no poacher, old fellow," he answered in the same quiet accents; "I
think you know that. If that girl's mind is as lovely as her face, I
say, go in and win!"
Sir Philip smiled. His brow cleared and an expression of relief settled
there. The look of gladness was unconscious; but Lorimer saw it at once
and noted it.
"Nonsense!" he said in a mirthful undertone. "How can I go in and win,
as you say? What am I to do? I can't go up to that window and speak to
her,--she might take me for a thief."
"You look like a thief," replied Lorimer, surveying his friend's
athletic figure, clad in its loose but well-cut yachting suit of white
flannel, ornamented with silver anchor buttons, and taking a
comprehensive glance from the easy pose of the fine head and handsome
face, down to the trim foot with the high and well-arched instep, "very
much like a thief? I wonder I haven't noticed it before. Any London
policeman would arrest you on the mere fact of your suspicious
appearance."
Errington laughed. "Well, my boy, whatever my looks may testify, I am at
this moment an undoubted trespasser on private property,--and so are you
for that matter. What shall we do?"
"Find the front door and ring the bell," suggested George promptly. "Say
we are benighted travellers and have lost our way. The _bonde_ can but
flay us. The operation, I believe, is painful, but it cannot last long."
"George, you are incorrigible! Suppose we go back and try the other side
of this pine-wood? That might lead us to the front of the house."
"I don't see why we shouldn't walk coolly past that window," said
Lorimer. "If any observation is made by the fair 'Marguerite' yonder, we
can boldly say we have come to see the _bonde_."
Unconsciously they had both raised their voices a little during the
latter part of their hasty dialogue, and at the instant when Lorimer
uttered the last words, a heavy hand was laid on each of their
shoulders,--a hand that turned them round forcibly away from the window
they had been gazing at, and a deep, resonant voice addressed them.
"The _bonde_? Truly, young men, you need seek no further,--I am Olaf
Güldmar!"
Had he said, "I am an Emperor!" he could not have spoken with more
pride.
Errington and his friend were for a moment speechless,--partly from
displeasure at the summary manner in which they had been seized and
twisted round like young uprooted saplings, and partly from surprise and
involuntary admiration for the personage who had treated them with such
scant courtesy. They saw before them a man somewhat above the middle
height, who might have served an aspiring sculptor as a perfect model
for a chieftain of old Gaul, or a dauntless Viking. His frame was firmly
and powerfully built, and seemed to be exceptionally strong and
muscular; yet an air of almost courtly grace pervaded his movements,
making each attitude he assumed more or less picturesque. He was
broad-shouldered and deep-chested; his face was full and healthily
colored, while his head was truly magnificent. Well-poised and shapely,
it indicated power, will, and wisdom; and was furthermore adorned by a
rough, thick mass of snow-white hair that shone in the sunlight like
spun silver. His beard was short and curly, trimmed after the fashion of
the warriors of old Rome; and, from under his fierce, fuzzy, grey
eyebrows, a pair of sentinel eyes, that were keen, clear, and bold as an
eagle's, looked out with a watchful steadiness--steadiness that like the
sharp edge of a diamond, seemed warranted to cut through the brittle
glass of a lie. Judging by his outward appearance, his age might have
been guessed at as between fifty-eight and sixty, but he was, in truth,
seventy-two, and more strong, active, and daring than many another man
whose years are not counted past the thirties. He was curiously attired,
after something of the fashion of the Highlander, and something yet more
of the ancient Greek, in a tunic, vest, and loose jacket all made of
reindeer skin, thickly embroidered with curious designs worked in coarse
thread and colored beads; while thrown carelessly over his shoulders and
knotted at his waist, was a broad scarf of white woollen stuff, or
_wadmel_, very soft-looking and warm. In his belt he carried a
formidable hunting-knife, and as he faced the two intruders on his
ground, he rested one hand lightly yet suggestively on a weighty staff
of pine, which was notched all over with quaint letters and figures, and
terminated in a curved handle at the top. He waited for the young men to
speak, and finding they remained silent, he glanced at them half angrily
and again repeated his words--
"I am the _bonde_,--Olaf Güldmar. Speak your business and take your
departure; my time is brief!"
Lorimer looked up with his usual nonchalance,--a faint smile playing
about his lips. He saw at once that the old farmer was not a man to be
trifled with, and he raised his cap with a ready grace as he spoke.
"Fact is," he said frankly, "we've no business here at all--not the
least in the world. We are perfectly aware of it! We are trespassers,
and we know it. Pray don't be hard on us, Mr.--Mr. Güldmar!"
The _bonde_ glanced him over with a quick lightening of the eyes, and
the suspicion of a smile in the depths of his curly beard. He turned to
Errington.
"Is this true? You came here on purpose, knowing the ground was private
property?"
Errington, in his turn, lifted his cap from his clustering brown curls
with that serene and stately court manner which was to him second
nature.
"We did," he confessed, quietly following Lorimer's cue, and seeing also
that it was best to be straightforward. "We heard you spoken of in
Bosekop, and we came to see if you would permit us the honor of your
acquaintance."
The old man struck his pine-staff violently into the ground, and his
face flushed wrathfully.
"Bosekop!" he exclaimed. "Talk to me of a wasp's nest! Bosekop! You
shall hear of me there enough to satisfy your appetite for news.
Bosekop! In the days when my race ruled the land, such people as they
that dwell there would have been put to sharpen my sword on the
grindstone, or to wait, hungry and humble, for the refuse of the food
left from my table!"
He spoke with extraordinary heat and passion,--it was evidently
necessary to soothe him. Lorimer took a covert glance backward over his
shoulder towards the lattice window, and saw that the white figure at
the spinning-wheel had disappeared.
"My dear Mr. Güldmar," he then said with polite fervor, "I assure you I
think the Bosekop folk by no means deserve to sharpen your sword on the
grindstone, or to enjoy the remains of your dinner! Myself, I despise
them! My friend here, Sir Philip Errington, despises them--don't you,
Phil?"
Errington nodded demurely.
"What my friend said just now is perfectly true," continued Lorimer. "We
desire the honor of your acquaintance,--it will charm and delight us
above all things!"
And his face beamed with a candid, winning, boyish smile, which was very
captivating in its own way, and which certainly had its effect on the
old _bonde_, for his tone softened, though he said gravely--
"My acquaintance, young men, is never sought by any. Those who are wise,
keep away from me. I love not strangers, it is best you should know it.
I freely pardon your trespass; take your leave, and go in peace."
The two friends exchanged disconsolate looks. There really seemed
nothing for it, but to obey this unpleasing command. Errington made one
more venture.
"May I hope, Mr. Güldmar," he said with persuasive courtesy, "that you
will break through your apparent rule of seclusion for once and visit me
on board my yacht? You have no doubt seen her--the _Eulalie_--she lies
at anchor in the Fjord."
The _bonde_ looked him straight in the eyes. "I have seen her. A fair
toy vessel to amuse an idle young man's leisure! You are he that in that
fool's hole of a Bosekop, is known as the 'rich Englishman,'--an idle
trifler with time,--an aimless wanderer from those dull shores where
they eat gold till they die of surfeit! I have heard of you,--a mushroom
knight, a fungus of nobility,--an ephemeral growth on a grand decaying
old tree, whose roots lie buried in the annals of a far forgotten past."
The rich, deep voice of the old man quivered as he spoke, and a shadow
of melancholy flitted across his brow. Errington listened with unruffled
patience. He heard himself, his pleasures, his wealth, his rank, thus
made light of, without the least offense. He met the steady gaze of the
_bonde_ quietly, and slightly bent his head as though in deference to
his remarks.
"You are quite right," he said simply. "We modern men are but pigmies
compared with the giants of old time. Royal blood itself is tainted
nowadays. But, for myself, I attach no importance to the mere
appurtenances of life,--the baggage that accompanies one on that brief
journey. Life itself is quite enough for me."
"And for me too," averred Lorimer, delighted that his friend had taken
the old farmer's scornful observations so good-naturedly. "But, do you
know, Mr. Güldmar, you are making life unpleasant for us just now, by
turning us out? The conversation is becoming interesting! Why not
prolong it? We have no friends in Bosekop, and we are to anchor here for
some days. Surely you will allow us to come and see you again?"
Olaf Güldmar was silent. He advanced a step nearer, and studied them
both with such earnest and searching scrutiny, that as they remembered
the real attraction that had drawn them thither, the conscious blood
mounted to their faces, flushing Errington's forehead to the very roots
of his curly brown hair. Still the old man gazed as though he sought to
read their very souls. He muttered something to himself in Norwegian,
and, finally, to their utter astonishment, he drew his hunting-knife
from its sheath, and with a rapid, wild gesture, threw it on the ground
and placed his foot upon it.
"Be it so!" he said briefly. "I cover the blade! You are men; like men
you speak truth. As such, I receive you! Had you told me a lie
concerning your coming here,--had you made pretense of having lost your
way, or other such shifty evasion, your path would never have again
crossed mine. As it is,--welcome!"
And he held out his hand with a sort of royal dignity, still resting one
foot on the fallen weapon. The young men, struck by his action and
gratified by his change of manner and the genial expression that now
softened his rugged features, were quick to respond to his friendly
greeting, and the _bonde_, picking up and re-sheathing his hunting-knife
as if he had done nothing at all out of the common, motioned them
towards the very window on which their eyes had been so long and so
ardently fixed.
"Come!" he said. "You must drain a cup of wine with me before you leave.
Your unguided footsteps led you by the wrong path,--I saw your boat
moored to my pier, and wondered who had been venturesome enough to
trample through my woodland. I might have guessed that only a couple of
idle boys like yourselves, knowing no better, would have pushed their
way to a spot that all worthy dwellers in Bosekop, and all true
followers of the Lutheran devilry, avoid as though the plague were
settled in it."
And the old man laughed, a splendid, mellow laugh, with the ring of true
jollity in it,--a laugh that was infectious, for Errington and Lorimer
joined in it heartily without precisely knowing why. Lorimer, however,
thought it seemly to protest against the appellation "idle boys."
"What do you take us for, sir?" he said with lazy good-nature. "I carry
upon my shoulders the sorrowful burden of twenty-six years,--Philip,
there, is painfully conscious of being thirty,--may we not therefore
dispute the word 'boys' as being derogatory to our dignity? You called
us 'men' a while ago,--remember that!"
Olaf Güldmar laughed again. His suspicious gravity had entirely
disappeared, leaving his face a beaming mirror of beneficence and
good-humor.
"So you _are_ men," he said cheerily, "men in the bud, like leaves on a
tree. But you seem boys to a tough old stump of humanity such as I am.
That is my way,--my child Thelma, though they tell me she is a woman
grown, is always a babe to me. 'Tis one of the many privileges of the
old, to see the world about them always young and full of children."
And he led the way past the wide-open lattice, where they could dimly
perceive the spinning-wheel standing alone, as though thinking deeply of
the fair hands that had lately left it idle, and so round to the actual
front of the house, which was exceedingly picturesque, and literally
overgrown with roses from ground to roof. The entrance door stood
open;--it was surrounded by a wide, deep porch richly carved and
grotesquely ornamented, having two comfortable seats within it, one on
each side. Through this they went, involuntarily brushing down as they
passed, a shower of pink and white rose-leaves, and stepped into a wide
passage, where upon walls of dark, polished pine, hung a large
collection of curiously shaped weapons, all of primitive manufacture,
such as stone darts and rough axes, together with bows and arrows and
two-handled swords, huge as the fabled weapon of William Wallace.
Opening a door to the right the _bonde_ stood courteously aside and bade
them enter, and they found themselves in the very apartment where they
had seen the maiden spinning.
"Sit down, sit down!" said their host hospitably. "We will have wine
directly, and Thelma shall come hither. Thelma! Thelma! Where is the
child? She wanders hither and thither like a mountain sprite. Wait here,
my lads, I shall return directly."
And he strode away, leaving Errington and Lorimer delighted at the
success of their plans, yet somewhat abashed too. There was a peace and
gentle simplicity about the little room in which they were, that touched
the chivalrous sentiment in their natures and kept them silent. On one
side of it, half a dozen broad shelves supported a goodly row of
well-bound volumes, among which the time-honored golden names of
Shakespeare and Scott glittered invitingly, together with such works as
Chapman's Homer, Byron's "Childe Harold," the Poems of John Keats,
Gibbon's Rome, and Plutarch; while mingled with these were the
devotional works in French of Alphonse de Liguori, the "Imitation," also
in French,--and a number of books with titles in Norwegian,--altogether
an heterogenous collection of literature, yet not without interest as
displaying taste and culture on the part of those to whom it belonged.
Errington, himself learned in books, was surprised to see so many
standard works in the library of one who professed to be nothing but a
Norwegian farmer, and his respect for the sturdy old _bonde_ increased.
There were no pictures in the room,--the wide lattice window on one
hand, looking out on the roses and pine-wood, and the other smaller one,
close to the entrance door, from which the Fjord was distinctly visible,
were sufficient pictures in themselves, to need no others. The furniture
was roughly made of pine, and seemed to have been carved by hand,--some
of the chairs were very quaint and pretty and would have sold in a
bric-a-brac shop for more than a sovereign apiece. On the wide
mantle-shelf was a quantity of curious old china that seemed to have
been picked up from all parts of the world,--most of it was undoubtedly
valuable. In one dark corner stood an ancient harp; then there was the
spinning-wheel,--itself a curiosity fit for a museum,--testifying dumbly
of the mistress of all these surroundings, and on the floor there was
something else,--something that both the young men were strongly
inclined to take possession of. It was only a bunch of tiny meadow
daisies, fastened together with a bit of blue silk. It had fallen,--they
guessed by whom it had been worn,--but neither made any remark, and
both, by some strange instinct, avoided looking at it, as though the
innocent little blossoms carried within them some terrible temptation.
They were conscious of a certain embarrassment, and making an effort to
break through it, Lorimer remarked softly--
"By Jove, Phil, if this old Güldmar really knew what you are up to, I
believe he would bundle you out of this place like a tramp! Didn't you
feel a sneak when he said we had told the truth like men?"
Philip smiled dreamily. He was seated in one of the quaintly carved
chairs, half absorbed in what was evidently a pleasing reverie.
"No; not exactly," he replied. "Because we _did_ tell him the truth; we
did want to know him, and he's worth knowing too! He is a
magnificent-looking fellow; don't you think so?"
"Rather!" assented Lorimer, with emphasis. "I wish there were any hope
of my becoming such a fine old buffer in my _decadence_,--it would be
worth living for if only to look at myself in the glass now and then. He
rather startled me when he threw down that knife, though. I suppose it
is some old Norwegian custom?"
"I suppose so," Errington answered, and then was silent, for at that
moment the door opened and the old farmer returned, followed by a girl
bearing a tray glittering with flasks of Italian wine, and long graceful
glasses shaped like round goblets, set on particularly slender stems.
The sight of the girl disappointed the eager visitors, for though she
was undeniably pretty, she was not Thelma. She was short and plump, with
rebellious nut-brown locks, that rippled about her face and from under
her close white cap with persistent untidiness. Her cheeks were as round
and red as lore-apples, and she had dancing blue eyes that appeared for
ever engaged in good-natured efforts to outsparkle each other. She wore
a spotless apron, lavishly trimmed with coquettish little starched
frills,--her hands were, unfortunately, rather large and coarse,--but
her smile, as she set down the tray and curtsied respectfully to the
young men, was charming, disclosing as it did, tiny teeth as even and
white as a double row of small pearls.
"That is well, Britta," said Güldmar, speaking in English, and assisting
her to place the glasses. "Now, quick! . . . run after thy mistress to
the shore,--her boat cannot yet have left the creek,--bid her return and
come to me,--tell her there are friends here who will be glad of her
presence."
Britta hurried away at once, but Errington's heart sank. Thelma had
gone!--gone, most probably, for one of those erratic journeys across the
Fjord to the cave where he had first seen her. She would not come back,
he felt certain; not even at her father's request would that beautiful,
proud maiden consent to alter her plans. What an unlucky destiny was
his! Absorbed in disappointed reflections, he scarcely heard the
enthusiastic praises Lorimer was diplomatically bestowing on the
_bonde's_ wine. He hardly felt its mellow flavor on his own palate,
though it was in truth delicious, and fit for the table of a monarch.
Güldmar noticed the young baronet's abstraction, and addressed him with
genial kindness.
"Are you thinking, Sir Philip, of my rough speeches to you yonder? No
offense was meant, no offense! . . ." the old fellow paused, and laughed
over his wine-glass. "Yet I may as well be honest about it! Offense
_was_ meant; but when I found that none was taken, my humor changed."
A slight, half-weary smile played on Errington's lips. "I assure you,
sir," he said, "I agreed with you then and agree with you now in every
word you uttered. You took my measure very correctly, and allow me to
add that no one can be more conscious of my own insignificance that I am
myself. The days we live in are insignificant; the chronicle of our
paltry doings will be skipped by future readers of the country's
history. Among a society of particularly useless men, I feel myself to
be one of the most useless. If you could show me any way to make my life
valuable--"
He paused abruptly, and his heart beat with inexplicable rapidity. A
light step and the rustle of a dress was heard coming through the porch;
another perfumed shower of rose-leaves fell softly on the garden path;
the door of the room opened, and a tall, fair, white-robed figure shone
forth from the dark background of the outer passage; a figure that
hesitated on the threshold, and then advanced noiselessly and with a
reluctant shyness. The old _bonde_ turned round in his chair with a
smile.
"Ah, here she is!" he said fondly. "Where hast thou been, my Thelma?"