"And Sigurd the Bishop said,
'The old gods are not dead,
For the great Thor still reigns,
And among the Jarls and Thanes
The old witchcraft is spread.'"
LONGFELLOW'S _Saga of King Olaf_.
The girl stood silent, and a faint blush crimsoned her cheeks. The young
men had risen at her entrance, and in one fleeting glance she recognized
Errington, though she gave no sign to that effect.
"See, my darling," continued her father, "here are English visitors to
Norway. This is Sir Philip Errington, who travels through our wild
waters in the great steam yacht now at anchor in the Fjord; and this is
his friend, Mr.--Mr.--Lorimer,--have I caught your name rightly, my
lad?" he continued, turning to George Lorimer with a kindly smile.
"You have, sir," answered that gentleman promptly, and then he was mute,
feeling curiously abashed in the presence of this royal-looking young
lady, who, encircled by her father's arm, raised her deep, dazzling blue
eyes, and serenely bent her stately head to him as his name was
mentioned.
The old farmer went on, "Welcome them, Thelma mine!--friends are scarce
in these days, and we must not be ungrateful for good company. What!
what! I know honest lads when I see them! Smile on them, my Thelma!--and
then we will warm their hearts with another cup of wine."
As he spoke, the maiden advanced with a graceful, even noble air, and
extending both her hands to each of the visitors in turn, she said--
"I am your servant, friends; in entering this house you do possess it.
Peace and heart's greeting!"
The words were a literal translation of a salutation perfectly common in
many parts of Norway--a mere ordinary expression of politeness; but,
uttered in the tender, penetrating tones, of the most musical voice they
had ever heard, and accompanied by the warm, frank, double handclasp of
those soft, small, daintily shaped hands, the effect on the minds of the
generally self-possessed, fashionably bred young men of the world, was
to confuse and bewilder them to the last degree. What could they answer
to this poetical, quaint formula of welcome? The usual latitudes, such
as "Delighted, I'm sure;" or, "Most happy--am charmed to meet you?" No;
these remarks, deemed intelligent by the lady rulers of London
drawing-rooms, would, they felt, never do here. As well put a gentleman
in modern evening dress _en face_ with a half-nude scornfully beautiful
statue of Apollo, as trot out threadbare, insincere commonplaces in the
hearing of this clear-eyed child of nature, whose pure, perfect face
seemed to silently repel the very passing shadow of a falsehood.
Philip's brain whirled round and about in search of some suitable reply,
but could find none; and Lorimer felt himself blushing like a schoolboy,
as he stammered out something incoherent and eminently foolish, though
he had sense enough left to appreciate the pressure of those lovely
hands as long as it lasted.
Thelma, however, appeared not to notice their deep embarrassment--she
had not yet done with them. Taking the largest goblet on the table, she
filled it to the brim with wine, and touched it with her lips,--then
with a smile in which a thousand radiating sunbeams seemed to quiver and
sparkle, she lifted it towards Errington. The grace of her attitude and
action wakened him out of his state of dreamy bewilderment--in his soul
he devoutly blessed these ancient family customs, and arose to the
occasion like a man. Clasping with a tender reverence the hands that
upheld the goblet, he bent his handsome head and drank a deep draught,
while his dark curls almost touched her fair ones,--and then an insane
jealousy possessed him for a moment, as he watched her go through the
same ceremony with Lorimer.
She next carried the now more than half-emptied cup to the _bonde_, and
said as she held it, laughing softly--
"Drink it all, father!--if you leave a drop, you know these gentlemen
will quarrel with us, or you with them."
"That is true!" said Olaf Güldmar with great gravity; "but it will not
be my fault, child, nor the fault of wasted wine."
And he drained the glass to its dregs and set it upside down on the
table with a deep sigh of satisfaction and refreshment. The ceremony
concluded, it was evident the ice of reserve was considered broken, for
Thelma seated herself like a young queen, and motioned her visitors to
do the same with a gesture of gracious condescension.
"How did you find your way here?" she asked with sweet, yet direct
abruptness, giving Sir Philip a quick glance, in which there was a
sparkle of mirth, though her long lashes veiled it almost instantly.
Her entire lack of stiffness and reserve set the young men at their
ease, and they fell into conversation freely, though Errington allowed
Lorimer to tell the story of their trespass in his own fashion without
interference. He instinctively felt that the young lady who listened
with so demure a smile to that plausible narrative, knew well enough the
real motive that had brought them thither though she apparently had her
own reasons for keeping silence on the point, as whatever she may have
thought, she said nothing.
Lorimer skillfully avoided betraying the fact that they had watched her
through the window, and had listened to her singing. And Thelma heard
all the explanations patiently till Bosekop was mentioned, and then her
fair face grew cold and stern.
"From whom did you hear of us there?" she inquired. "We do not mix with
the people,--why should they speak of us?"
"The truth is," interposed Errington, resting his eyes with a sense of
deep delight on the beautiful rounded figure and lovely features that
were turned towards him, "I heard of you first through my pilot--one
Valdemar Svensen."
"Ha, ha!" cried old Güldmar with some excitement, "there is a fellow who
cannot hold his tongue! What have I said to thee, child? A bachelor is
no better than a gossiping old woman. He that is always alone must talk,
if it be only to woods and waves. It is the married men who know best
how excellent it is to keep silence!"
They all laughed, though Thelma's eyes had a way of looking pensive even
when she smiled.
"You would not blame poor Svensen because he is alone, father?" she
said. "Is he not to be pitied? Surely it is a cruel fate to have none to
love in all the wide world. Nothing can be more cruel!"
Güldmar surveyed her humorously. "Hear her!" he said. "She talks as if
she knew all about such things; and if ever a child was ignorant of
sorrow, surely it is my Thelma! Every flower and bird in the place loves
her. Yes; I have thought sometimes the very sea loves her. It must; she
is so much upon it. And as for her old father"--he laughed a little,
though a suspicious moisture softened his keen eyes--"why, he doesn't
love her at all. Ask her! She knows it."
Thelma rose quickly and kissed him. How deliciously those sweet lips
pouted, thought Errington, and what an unreasonable and extraordinary
grudge he seemed to bear towards the venerable _bonde_ for accepting
that kiss with so little apparent emotion!
"Hush, father!" she said. "These friends can see too plainly how much
you spoil me. Tell me,"--and she turned with a sudden pretty
imperiousness to Lorimer, who started at her voice as a racehorse starts
at its rider's touch,--"what person in Bosekop spoke of us?"
Lorimer was rather at a loss, inasmuch as no one in the small town had
actually spoken of them, and Mr. Dyceworthy's remarks concerning those
who were "ejected with good reason from respectable society," might not,
after all, have applied to the Güldmar family. Indeed, it now seemed an
absurd and improbable supposition. Therefore he replied cautiously--
"The Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy, I think, has some knowledge of you. Is he
not a friend of yours?"
These simple words had a most unexpected effect. Olaf Güldmar sprang up
from his seat flaming with wrath. It was in vain that his daughter laid
a restraining hand upon his arm. The name of the Lutheran divine had
sufficed to put him in a towering passion, and he turned furiously upon
the astonished Errington.
"Had I known you came from the devil, sir, you should have returned to
him speedily, with hot words to hasten your departure! I would have
split that glass to atoms before I would have drained it after you! The
friends of a false heart are no friends for me,--the followers of a
pretended sanctity find no welcome under my roof! Why not have told me
at once that you came as spies, hounded on by the liar Dyceworthy? Why
not have confessed it openly? .. . . and not have played the thief's
trick on an old fool, who, for once, misled by your manly and upright
bearing, consented to lay aside the rightful suspicions he at first
entertained of your purpose? Shame on you, young men! shame!"
The words coursed impetuously from his lips; his face burned with
indignation. He had broken away from his daughter's hold, while she,
pale and very still, stood leaning one hand upon the table. His white
hair was tossed back from his brow; his eyes flashed; his attitude
though vengeful and threatening, was at the same time so bold and
commanding that Lorimer caught himself lazily admiring the contour of
his figure, and wondering how he would look in marble as an infuriated
Viking.
One excellent thing in the dispositions of both Errington and Lorimer
was that they never lost temper. Either they were too lazy or too
well-bred. Undoubtedly they both considered it "bad form." This
indifference stood them in good stead now. They showed no sign whatever
of offense, though the old farmer's outbreak of wrath was so sudden and
unlooked for, that they remained for a moment silent out of sheer
surprise. Then rising with unruffled serenity, they took up their caps
preparatory to departure. Errington's gentle, refined voice broke the
silence.
"You are in error, Mr. Güldmar," he said in chilly but perfectly polite
tones. "I regret you should be so hasty in your judgment of us. If you
accepted us as 'men' when you first met us, I cannot imagine why you
should now take us for spies. The two terms are by no means synonymous.
I know nothing of Mr. Dyceworthy beyond that he called upon me, and that
I, as in duty bound, returned his call. I am ignorant of his character
and disposition. I may add that I have no desire to be enlightened
respecting them. I do not often take a dislike to anybody, but it so
happens that I have done so in the case of Mr. Dyceworthy. I know
Lorimer doesn't care for him, and I don't think my other two friends are
particularly attached to him. I have nothing more to say, except that I
fear we have outstayed our welcome. Permit us now to wish you good
evening. And you,"--he hesitated, and turned with a low bow to Thelma,
who had listened to his words with a gradually dawning brightness on her
face--"you will, I trust, exonerate us from any intentional offense
towards your father or yourself? Our visit has proved unlucky, but--"
Thelma interrupted him by laying her fair little hand on his arm with a
wistful, detaining gesture, which, though seemingly familiar, was yet
perfectly sweet and natural. The light touch thrilled his blood, and
sent it coursing through his veins at more than customary speed.
"Ah, then, you also will be foolish!" she said, with a naïve protecting
air of superior dignity. "Do you not see my father is sorry? Have we all
kissed the cup for nothing, or was the wine wasted? Not a drop was
spilt; how then, if we are friends should we part in coldness? Father,
it is you to be ashamed,--not these gentleman, who are strangers to the
Altenfjord, and know nothing of Mr. Dyceworthy, or an other person
dwelling here. And when their vessel sails away again over the wide seas
to their own shores, how will you have them think of you? As one whose
heart was all kindness, and who helped to make their days pass
pleasantly? or as one who, in unreasonable anger, forgot the duties of
sworn hospitality?"
The _bonde_ listened to her full, sweet, reproachful voice as a tough
old lion might listen to the voice of its tamer, uncertain whether to
yield or spring. He wiped his heated brow and stared around him
shamefacedly. Finally, as though swallowing his pride with a gulp, he
drew a long breath, took a couple of determined strides forward, and
held out his hands, one to Errington and the other to Lorimer, by whom
they were warmly grasped.
"There, my lads," he said rapidly. "I'm sorry I spoke! Forgive and
forget! That is the worst of me--my blood is up in a minute, and old
though I am, I'm not old enough yet to be patient. And when I hear the
name of that sneak Dyceworthy--by the gates of Valhalla, I feel as if my
own house would not hold me! No, no; don't go yet! Nearly ten? Well, no
matter, the night is like the day here, you see--it doesn't matter when
one goes to bed. Come and sit in the porch awhile; I shall get cool out
there. Ah, Thelma, child! I see thee laughing at thy old father's
temper! Never mind, never mind; is it not for thy sake after all?"
And, holding Errington by the arm, he led the way into the fine old
porch, Lorimer following with rather a flushed face, for he, as he
passed out of the room, had managed to pick up and secrete the neglected
little bunch of daisies, before noticed as having fallen on the floor.
He put them quickly in his breast pocket with a curious sense of
satisfaction, though he had no intention of keeping them, and leaned
idly against the clambering roses, watching Thelma, as she drew a low
stool to her father's feet and sat there. A balmy wind blew in from the
Fjord, and rustled mysteriously among the pines; the sky was flecked
here and there with fleecy clouds, and a number of birds were singing in
full chorus. Old Güldmar heaved a sigh of relief, as though his recent
outburst of passion had done him good.
"I will tell you, Sir Philip," he said, ruffling his daughter's curls as
he spoke,--"I will tell you why I detest the villain Dyceworthy. It is
but fair you should know it. Now, Thelma!--why that push to my knee? You
fear I may offend our friends again? Nay, I will take good care. And so,
first of all, I ask you, what is your religion? Though I know you cannot
be Lutherans."
Errington was somewhat taken aback by the question. He smiled.
"My dear sir," he replied at last; "to be frank with you, I really do
not think I have any religion. If I had, I suppose I should call myself
a Christian, though, judging from the behavior of Christians in general,
I cannot be one of them after all,--for I belong to no sect, I go to no
church, and I have never read a tract in my life. I have a profound
reverence and admiration for the character and doctrine of Christ, and I
believe if I had had the privilege of knowing and conversing with Him, I
should not have deserted Him in extremity as his timorous disciples did.
I believe in an all-wise Creator; so you see I am not an atheist. My
mother was an Austrian and a Catholic, and I have a notion that, as a
small child, I was brought up in that creed; but I'm afraid I don't know
much about it now."
The _bonde_ nodded gravely. "Thelma, here," he said, "is a Catholic, as
her mother was--" he stopped abruptly, and a deep shadow of pain
darkened his features. Thelma looked up,--her large blue eyes filled
with sudden tears, and she pressed her father's hand between her own, as
though in sympathy with some undeclared grief; then she looked at
Errington with a sort of wistful appeal. Philip's heart leaped as he met
that soft beseeching glance, which seemed to entreat his patience with
the old man for her sake--he felt himself drawn into a bond of union
with her thoughts, and in his innermost soul he swore as knightly a vow
of chivalry and reverence for the fair maiden, who thus took him into
her silent confidence, as though he were some gallant Crusader of old
time, pledged to defend his lady's honor unto death. Olaf Güldmar, after
a long and apparently sorrowful pause, resumed his conversation.
"Yes," he said, "Thelma is a Catholic, though here she has scarcely any
opportunity for performing the duties of her religion. It is a pretty
and a graceful creed,--well fitted for women. As for me, I am made of
sterner stuff, and the maxims of that gentle creature, Christ, find no
echo in my soul. But you, young sir," he added, turning suddenly on
Lorimer, who was engaged in meditatively smoothing out on his palm one
of the fallen rose-petals--"you have not spoken. What faith do you
profess? It is no curiosity that prompts me to ask,--I only seek not to
offend."
Lorimer laughed languidly. "Upon my life, Mr. Güldmar, you really ask
too much of me. I haven't any faith at all; not a shred! It's been all
knocked out of me. I tried to hold on to a last remaining bit of
Christian rope in the universal ship-wreck, but that was torn out of my
hands by a scientific professor, who ought to know what he is about,
and--and--now I drift along anyhow!"
Güldmar smiled dubiously; but Thelma looked at the speaker with
astonished, regretful eyes.
"I am sorry," she said simply. "You must be often unhappy."
Lorimer was not disconcerted, though her evident pity caused an unwanted
flush on his face.
"Oh no," he said in answer to her, "I am not a miserable sort of fellow
by any means. For instance, I'm not afraid of death,--lots of very
religious people are horribly afraid of it, though they all the time
declare it's the only path to heaven. They're not consistent at all. You
see I believe in nothing,--I came from nothing,--I am nothing,--I shall
be nothing. That being plain, I am all right."
Güldmar laughed. "You are an odd lad," he said good-humoredly. "You are
in the morning of life; there are always mists in the morning as there
are in the evening. In the light of your full manhood you will see these
things differently. Your creed of Nothing provides no moral law,--no
hold on the conscience, no restraint on the passions,--don't you see
that?"
Lorimer smiled with a very winning and boyish candor. "You are
exceedingly good, sir, to credit me with a conscience! I don't think I
have one,--I'm sure I have no passions. I have always been too lazy to
encourage them, and as for moral law,--I adhere to morality with the
greatest strictness, because if a fellow is immoral, he ceases to be a
gentleman. Now, as there are very few gentlemen nowadays, I fancy I'd
like to be one as long as I can."
Errington here interposed. "You mustn't take him seriously. Mr.
Güldmar," he said; "he's never serious himself, I'll give you his
character in a few words. He belongs to no religious party, it's
true,--but he's a first-rate fellow,--the best fellow I know!"
Lorimer glanced at him quietly with a gratified expression on his face.
But he said nothing, for Thelma was regarding him with a most bewitching
smile.
"Ah!" she said, shaking a reproachful finger at him, "you do love all
nonsense, that I can see! You would make every person laugh, if you
could,--is it not so?"
"Well, yes," admitted George, "I think I would! But it's a herculean
task sometimes. If you had ever been to London, Miss Güldmar, you would
understand how difficult it is to make people even smile,--and when they
do, the smile is not a very natural one."
"Why?" she exclaimed. "Are they all so miserable?"
"They pretend to be, if they're not," said Lorimer; "it is the fashion
there to find fault with everything and everybody."
"That is so," said Güldmar thoughtfully. "I visited London once and
thought I was in hell. Nothing but rows of hard, hideously built houses,
long streets, and dirty alleys, and the people had weary faces all, as
though Nature had refused to bless them. A pitiful city,--doubly pitiful
to the eyes of a man like myself, whose life has been passed among
fjords and mountains such as these. Well, now, as neither of you are
Lutherans,--in fact, as neither of you seem to know what you are," and
he laughed, "I can be frank, and speak out as to my own belief. I am
proud to say I have never deserted the faith of my fathers, the faith
that makes a man's soul strong and fearless, and defiant of evil,--the
faith that is supposed to be crushed out among us, but that is still
alive and rooted in the hearts of many who can trace back their lineage
to the ancient Vikings as I can,--yes!--rooted firm and fast,--and
however much some of the more timorous feign to conceal it, in the tacit
acceptance of another creed, there are those who can never shake it off,
and who never desire to forsake it. I am one of these few. Shame must
fall on the man who willfully deserts the faith of his warrior-ancestry!
Sacred to me for ever be the names of Odin and Thor!"
He raised his hand aloft with a proud gesture, and his eyes flashed.
Errington was interested, but not surprised: the old _bonde's_
declaration of his creed seemed eminently fitted to his character.
Lorimer's face brightened,--here was a novelty--a man, who in all the
conflicting storms of modern opinion, sturdily clung to the traditions
of his forefathers.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed eagerly, "I think the worship of Odin would suit
me perfectly! It's a rousing, fighting sort of religion,--I'm positive
it would make a man of me. Will you initiate me into the mysteries, Mr.
Güldmar? There's a fellow in London who writes poetry on Indian
subjects, and who, it is said, thinks Buddhism might satisfy his pious
yearnings,--but I think Odin would be a personage to command more
respect than Buddha,--at any rate, I should like to try him. Will you
give me a chance?"
Olaf Güldmar smiled gravely, and rising from his seat, pointed to the
western sky.
"See yonder threads of filmy white," he said, "that stretch across the
wide expanse of blue! They are the lingering, fading marks of light
clouds,--and even while we watch them, they shall pass and be no more.
Such is the emblem of your life, young man--you that would, for an idle
jest or pastime, presume to search into the mysteries of Odin! For you
they are not,--your spirit is not of the stern mould that waits for
death as gladly as the bridegroom waits for the bride! The Christian
heaven is an abode for girls and babes,--Valhalla is the place for men!
I tell you, my creed is as divine in its origin as any that ever existed
on the earth! The Rainbow Bridge is a fairer pathway from death to life
than the doleful Cross,--and better far the dark summoning eyes of a
beauteous Valkyrie, than the grinning skull and cross-bones, the
Christian emblem of mortality. Thelma thinks,--and her mother before her
thought also,--that different as my way of belief is to the accepted new
creeds of to-day, it will be all right with me in the next world--that I
shall have as good a place in heaven as any Christian. It may be so,--I
care not! But see you,--the key-note of all the civilization of to-day
is discontent, while I,--thanks to the gods of my fathers, am happy, and
desire nothing that I have not."
He paused and seemed absorbed. The young men watched his fine inspired
features with lively interest. Thelma's head was turned away from them
so that her face was hidden. By-and-by he resumed in quieter tones--
"Now, my lads, you know what we are--both of us accursed in the opinion
of the Lutheran community. My child belongs to the so-called idolatrous
Church of Rome. I am one of the very last of the 'heathen
barbarians,'"--and the old fellow smiled sarcastically, "though, truth
to tell, for a barbarian, I am not such a fool as some folks would have
you think. If the snuffling Dyceworthy and I competed at a spelling
examination, I'm pretty sure 'tis I would have the prize! But, as I
said,--you know us,--and if our ways are likely to offend you, then let
us part good friends before the swords are fairly drawn."
"No sword will be drawn on my side, I assure you, sir," said Errington,
advancing and laying one hand on the _bonde's_ shoulder. "I hope you
will believe me when I say I shall esteem it an honor and a privilege to
know more of you."
"And though you won't accept me as a servant of Odin," added Lorimer,
"you really cannot prevent me from trying to make myself agreeable to
you. I warn you, Mr. Güldmar, I shall visit you pretty frequently! Such
men as you are not often met with."
Olaf Güldmar looked surprised. "You really mean it?" he said. "Nothing
that I have told you affects you? You still seek our friendship?"
They both earnestly assured him that they did, and as they spoke Thelma
rose from her low seat and faced them with a bright smile.
"Do you know," she said, "that you are the first people who, on visiting
us once, have ever cared to come again? Ah, you look surprised, but it
is so, is it not, father?"
Güldmar nodded a grave assent.
"Yes," she continued demurely, counting on her little white fingers, "we
are three things--first, we are accursed; secondly, we have the evil
eye; thirdly, we are not respectable!"
And she broke into a peal of laughter, ringing and sweet as a chime of
bells. The young men joined her in it; and, still with an amused
expression on her lovely face, leaning her head back against a cluster
of pale roses, she went on--
"My father dislikes Mr. Dyceworthy so much, because he wants to--to--oh,
what is it they do to savages, father? Yes, I know,--to convert us,--to
make us Lutherans. And when he finds it all no use, he is angry; and,
though he is so religious, if he hears any one telling some untruth
about us in Bosekop, he will add another thing equally untrue, and so it
grows and grows, and--why! what is the matter with you?" she exclaimed
in surprise as Errington scowled and clenched his fist in a peculiarly
threatening manner.
"I should like to knock him down!" he said briefly under his breath.
Old Güldmar laughed and looked at the young baronet approvingly.
"Who knows, who knows!" he said cheerfully. "You may do it some day! It
will be a good deed! I will do it myself if he troubles me much more.
And now let us make some arrangement with you. When will you come and
see, us again?"
"You must visit me first," said Sir Philip quickly. "If you and your
daughter will honor me with your company to-morrow, I shall be proud and
pleased. Consider the yacht at your service."
Thelma, resting among the roses, looked across at him with serious,
questioning eyes--eyes that seemed to be asking his intentions towards
both her and her father.
Güldmar accepted the invitation at once, and, the hour for their visit
next day being fixed and agreed upon, the young men began to take their
leave. As Errington clasped Thelma's hand in farewell, he made a bold
venture. He touched a rose that hung just above her head almost dropping
on her hair.
"May I have it?" he asked in a low tone.
Their eyes met. The girl flushed deeply, and then grew pale. She broke
off the flower and gave it to him,--then turned to Lorimer to say
good-bye. They left her then, standing under the porch, shading her brow
with one hand from the glittering sunlight, as she watched them
descending the winding path to the shore, accompanied by her lather, who
hospitably insisted on seeing them into their boat. They looked back
once or twice, always to see the slender, tall white figure standing
there like an angel resting in a bower of roses, with the sunshine
flashing on a golden crown of hair. At the last in the pathway Philip
raised his hat and waved it, but whether she condescended to wave her
hand in answer he could not see.
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, Fröken?" 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.