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diff --git a/old/55825-0.txt b/old/55825-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e64cd36..0000000 --- a/old/55825-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17175 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Hardy Norseman, by Edna Lyall - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: A Hardy Norseman - - -Author: Edna Lyall - - - -Release Date: October 27, 2017 [eBook #55825] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HARDY NORSEMAN*** - - -E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing, MFR, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 55825-h.htm or 55825-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55825/55825-h/55825-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55825/55825-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/hardynorseman00lyal - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -A HARDY NORSEMAN - -by - -EDNA LYALL - -Author of “Donovan,” “Knight Errant,” Etc. - - - - - - -[Illustration] - -Chicago -Donohue, Henneberry & Co. -Publishers - -[Illustration: - - PRINTED - AND BOUND BY - - DONOHUE & - HENNEBERRY - - CHICAGO] - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I. - CHAPTER II. - CHAPTER III. - CHAPTER IV. - CHAPTER V. - CHAPTER VI. - CHAPTER VII. - CHAPTER VIII. - CHAPTER IX. - CHAPTER X. - CHAPTER XI. - CHAPTER XII. - CHAPTER XIII. - CHAPTER XIV. - CHAPTER XV. - CHAPTER XVI. - CHAPTER XVII. - CHAPTER XVIII. - CHAPTER XIX. - CHAPTER XX. - CHAPTER XXI. - CHAPTER XXII. - CHAPTER XXIII. - CHAPTER XXIV. - CHAPTER XXV. - CHAPTER XXVI. - CHAPTER XXVII. - CHAPTER XXVIII. - CHAPTER XXIX. - CHAPTER XXX. - CHAPTER XXXI. - CHAPTER XXXII. - CHAPTER XXXIII. - CHAPTER XXXIV. - CHAPTER XXXV. - CHAPTER XXXVI. - CHAPTER XXXVII. - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - CHAPTER XXXIX. - CHAPTER XL. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A HARDY NORSEMAN. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - -“You say your things are all ready, Cecil? Then I’ll just go below and -do up my Gladstone, and put it in your cabin. We shall be at Bergen -before long, they say.” - -The speaker was a young Englishman of three-or-four-and-twenty, and the -sister addressed by him was still in the first flush of girlhood, having -but a few days before celebrated her nineteenth birthday. - -“Let me see to your bag, Roy,” she exclaimed. “It is a shame that you -should miss this lovely bit of the fjord, and I shall do it in half the -time.” - -“The conceit of women!” he exclaimed, with a smile in which brotherly -love and the spirit of teasing were about equally blended. “No, no, Cis, -I’m not going to let you spoil me. I shall be up again in ten minutes. -Have you not made any friends here? Is there no one on deck you can talk -to?” - -“I don’t want to talk,” said Cecil. “Truth to tell, I am longing to get -away from all these English people. Very unsociable of me, isn’t it?” - -Roy Boniface turned away with a smile, understanding her feeling well -enough, and Cecil, with her back to the chattering tourist throng, let -her eyes roam over the shining waters of the fjord to the craggy -mountains on the further shore, whose ever-varying forms had been -delighting her since the early morning. - -She herself made a fair picture, though her beauty was not of the order -which quickly draws attention. There was nothing very striking in her -regular features, fair complexion, and light-brown hair; to a casual -observer she would have seemed merely an average English girl, gentle, -well-mannered, and nice-looking. It was only to those who took pains to -study her that her true nature was revealed; only at times that her -quiet gray eyes would flash into sudden beauty with the pleasure of -meeting with some rare and unexpected sympathy; only in some special -need that the force of her naturally retiring nature made itself felt as -a great influence. - -Cecil had passed a year of emancipated girlhood, she had for a whole -year been her own mistress, had had time and money at her disposal and -no special duties to take the place of her school-work. It was the time -she had been looking forward to all her life, the blissful time of -grown-up freedom, and now that it had come it had proved a disappointing -illusion. Whether the fault was in herself or in her circumstances she -did not know; but like so many girls of her age she was looking out on -life with puzzled eyes, hardly knowing what it was that had gone amiss, -yet conscious of a great want, of a great unrest, of a vague -dissatisfaction which would not be reasoned down. - -“Cecil is looking poorly,” had been the home verdict; and the mother, -not fully understanding the cause, but with a true instinct as to the -remedy, had suggested that the brother and sister should spend a month -abroad, grieving to lose Cecil from the usual family visit to the -seaside, but perceiving with a mother’s wisdom and unselfishness that it -was time, as she expressed it, for her young one to try its wings. - -So the big steamer plied its way up the fjord bearing Cecil Boniface and -her small troubles and perplexities to healthy old Norway, to gain there -fresh physical strength, and fresh insights into that puzzling thing -called life; to make friendships, spite of her avowed unsociableness, to -learn something more of the beauty of beauty, the joy of joy, and the -pain of pain. - -She was no student of human nature; at present with girlish impatience -she turned away from the tourists, frankly avowing her conviction that -they were a bore. She was willing to let her fancy roam to the fortunes -of some imaginary Rolf and Erica living, perhaps, in some one or other -of the solitary red-roofed cottages to be seen now and then on the -mountain-side; but the average English life displayed on the deck did -not in the least awaken her sympathies, she merely classified the -passengers into rough groups and dismissed them from her mind. There was -the photographic group, fraternizing over the cameras set up all in a -little encampment at the forecastle end. There was the clerical group, -which had for its center no fewer than five gaitered bishops. There was -the sporting group, distinguished by light-brown checked suits, and -comfortable traveling-caps. There was the usual sprinkling of pale, -weary, overworked men and women come for a much-needed rest. And there -was the flirting group—a notably small one, however, for Norwegian -traveling is rough work and is ill-suited to this genus. - -“Look, here, Blanche,” exclaimed a gray-bearded Englishman, approaching -a pretty little brunette who had a most sweet and winsome expression, -and who was standing so near to the camp-stool on which Cecil had -ensconced herself that the conversation was quite audible to her. “Just -see if you can’t make out this writing; your eyes are better than mine. -It is from Herr Falck, the Norwegian agent for our firm. I dare say your -father told you about him.” - -“Yes, papa said he was one of the leading merchants out here and would -advise us what to see, and where to go.” - -“Quite so. This letter reached me just as I was leaving home, and is to -say that Herr Falck has taken rooms for us at some hotel. I can read it -all well enough except the names, but the fellow makes such outrageous -flourishes. What do you make of this sentence, beginning with ‘My son -Frithiof’?” - -“Uncle! uncle! what shocking pronunciation! You must not put in an -English ‘th.’ Did you never hear of the Frithiof Saga? You must say it -quickly like this—Freet-Yoff.” - -“A most romantic name,” said Mr. Morgan. “Now I see why you have been so -industrious over your Norwegian lessons. You mean to carry on a -desperate flirtation with Herr Frithiof. Oh! that is quite clear—I shall -be on the lookout!” - -Blanche laughed, not at all resenting the remark, though she bent her -pretty face over the letter, and pretended to have great difficulty in -reading Herr Falck’s very excellent English. - -“Do you want to hear this sentence?” she said, “because if you do I’ll -read it.” - -“‘My son Frithiof will do himself the honor to await your arrival at -Bergen on the landing-quay, and will drive you to Holdt’s Hotel, where -we have procured the rooms you desired. My daughter Sigrid (See-gree) is -eager to make the acquaintance of your daughter and your niece, and if -you will all dine with us at two o’clock on Friday at my villa in -Kalvedalen we shall esteem it a great pleasure.’” - -“Two-o’clock dinner!” exclaimed Florence Morgan, for the first time -joining in the general conversation. “What an unheard-of hour!” - -“Oh! everything is primitive simplicity out here,” said Mr. Morgan. “You -needn’t expect London fashions.” - -“I suppose Frithiof Falck will be a sort of young Viking, large-boned -and dignified, with a kind of good-natured fierceness about him,” said -Blanche, folding the letter. - -“No, no,” said Florence, “he’ll be a shy, stupid country bumpkin, afraid -of airing his bad English, and you will step valiantly into the breach -with your fluent Norwegian, and your kindness will win his heart. Then -presently he will come up in his artless and primitive way with a _Vaer -saa god_ (if you please) and will take your hand. You will reply _Mange -tak_ (many thanks), and we shall all joyfully dance at your wedding.” - -There was general laughter, and some trifling bets were made upon the -vexed question of Frithiof Falck’s appearance. - -“Well,” said Mr. Morgan, “it’s all very well to laugh now, but I hope -you’ll be civil to the Falcks when we really meet. And as to you, -Cyril,” he continued, turning to his nephew, a limp-looking young man of -one-and-twenty, “get all the information you can out of young Falck, but -on no account allow him to know that your father is seriously thinking -of setting you at the head of the proposed branch at Stavanger. When -that does come about, of course Herr Falck will lose our custom, and no -doubt it will be a blow to him; so mind you don’t breathe a word about -it, nor you either, girls. We don’t want to spoil our holiday with -business matters, and besides, one should always consider other people’s -feelings.” - -Cecil set her teeth and the color rose to her cheeks; she moved away to -the other side of the deck that she might not hear any more. - -“What hateful people! they don’t care a bit for the kindness and -hospitality of these Norwegians. They only mean just to use them as a -convenience.” Then as her brother rejoined her she exclaimed, “Roy, who -are those vulgar people over on the other side?” - -“With two pretty girls in blue ulsters? I think the name is Morgan, rich -city people. The old man’s not bad, but the young one’s a born snob. -What do you think I heard him say as he was writing his name in the book -and caught sight of ours. ‘Why, Robert Boniface—that must be the -music-shop in Regent Street. Norway will soon be spoiled if all the cads -take to coming over.’ And there was I within two yards of him.” - -“Oh, Roy! he couldn’t have known or he would never have said it.” - -“Oh, yes, he knew it well enough. It was meant for a snub, richly -deserved by the presuming tradesman who dared to come to Norway for his -holiday instead of eating shrimps at Margate, as such cattle should, you -know!” and Roy laughed good-humoredly. Snubs had a way of gliding off -him like water off a duck’s back. - -“I should have hated it,” said Cecil. “What did you do?” - -“Nothing; studied Baedeker with an imperturbable face, and reflected -sapiently with William of Wykeham that neither birth nor calling but -‘manners makyth man.’ But look! this must be Bergen. What a glorious -view! If only you had time to sketch it just from here!” - -Cecil, after one quick exclamation of delight, was quite silent, for -indeed few people can see unmoved that exquisite view which is unfolded -before them as they round the fjord and catch the first glimpse of the -most beautiful town in Norway. Had she been alone she would have allowed -the tears of happiness to come into her eyes, but being on a crowded -steamer she fought down her emotion and watched in a sort of dream of -delight the picturesque wooden houses, the red-tiled roofs, the quaint -towers and spires, the clear still fjord, with its forest of masts and -rigging, and the mountains rising steep and sheer, encircling Bergen -like so many hoary old giants who had vowed to protect the town. - -Meanwhile, the deck resounded with those comments which are so very -irritating to most lovers of scenery; one long-haired æsthete gave vent -to a fresh adjective of admiration about once a minute, till Roy and -Cecil were forced to flee from him and to take refuge among the sporting -fraternity, who occasionally admitted frankly that it was “a fine view,” -but who obtruded their personality far less upon their companions. - -“Oh, Roy, how we shall enjoy it all!” said Cecil, as they drew near to -the crowded landing-quay. - -“I think we shall fit in, Cis,” he said, smiling. “Thank Heaven, you -don’t take your pleasure after the manner of that fellow. If I were his -traveling companion I should throttle him in a week.” - -“Or suggest a muzzle,” said Cecil, laughing; “that would save both his -neck and your feelings.” - -“Let me have your key,” he said, as they approached the wooden pier; -“the custom-house people will be coming on board, and I will try to get -our things looked over quickly. Wait here and then I shall not miss -you.” - -He hastened away and Cecil scanned with curious eyes the faces of the -little crowd gathered on the landing-quay, till her attention was -arrested by a young Norwegian in a light-gray suit who stood laughing -and talking to an acquaintance on the wooden wharf. He was tall and -broad-shouldered, with something unusually erect and energetic in his -bearing; his features were of the pure Greek type not unfrequently to be -met with in Norway; while his northern birth was attested by a fair skin -and light hair and mustache, as well as by a pair of honest, well-opened -blue eyes which looked out on the world with a boyish content and -happiness. - -“I believe that is Frithiof Falck,” thought Cecil. And the next moment -her idea was confirmed, for as the connecting gangway was raised from -the quay, one of the steamer officials greeted him by name, and the -young Norwegian, replying in very good English, stepped on board and -began looking about as if in search of some one. Involuntarily Cecil’s -eyes followed him; she had a strange feeling that in some way she knew -him, knew him far better than the people he had come to meet. He, too, -seemed affected in the same way, for he came straight up to her, and, -raising his hat and bowing, said, with frank courtesy: - -“Pardon me, but am I speaking to Miss Morgan?” - -“I think the Miss Morgans are at the other side of the gangway; I saw -them a minute ago,” she said, coloring a little. - -“A thousand pardons for my mistake,” said Frithiof Falck. “I came to -meet this English family, you understand, but I have never seen them.” - -“There is Miss Morgan,” exclaimed Cecil; “that lady in a blue ulster; -and there is her uncle just joining her.” - -“Many thanks for your kind help,” said Frithiof, and with a second bow, -and a smile from his frank eyes, he passed on and approached Mr. Morgan. - -“Welcome to Norway, sir,” he exclaimed, greeting the traveler with the -easy, courteous manner peculiar to Norwegians. “I hope you have made a -good voyage.” - -“Oh, how do you do, Mr. Falck?” said the Englishman, scanning him from -head to foot as he shook hands, and speaking very loud, as if the -foreigner were deaf. “Very good of you to meet us, I’m sure. My niece, -Miss Blanche Morgan.” - -Frithiof bowed, and his heart began to beat fast as a pair of most -lovely dark-gray eyes gave him such a glance as he had never before -received. - -“My sister is much looking forward to the pleasure of making your -acquaintance,” he said. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Blanche, “how beautifully you speak English! And how you -will laugh at me when I tell you that I have been learning Norwegian for -fear there should be dead silence between us.” - -“Indeed, there is nothing which pleases us so much as that you should -learn our tongue,” he said, smiling. “My English is just now in its -zenith, for I passed the winter with an English clergyman at Hanover for -the sake of improving it.” - -“But why not have come to England?” said Blanche. - -“Well, I had before that been with a German family at Hanover to perfect -myself in German, and I liked the place well, and this Englishman was -very pleasant, so I thought if I stayed there it would be ‘to kill two -flies with one dash,’ as we say in Norway. When I come to England that -will be for a holiday, for nothing at all but pleasure.” - -“Let me introduce my nephew,” said Mr. Morgan, as Cyril strolled up. -“And this is my daughter. How now, Florence, have you found your boxes?” - -“Allow me,” said Frithiof; “if you will tell me what to look for I will -see that the hotel porter takes it all.” - -There was a general adjournment to the region of pushing and confusion -and luggage, and before long Frithiof had taken the travelers to his -father’s carriage, and they were driving through the long, picturesque -Strand-gaden. Very few vehicles passed through this main street, but -throngs of pedestrians walked leisurely along or stood in groups talking -and laughing, the women chiefly wearing full skirts of dark-blue serge, -short jackets to match, and little round blue serge hoods surmounting -their clean white caps; the men also in dark-blue with broad felt hats. - -To English visitors there is an indescribable charm in the primitive -simplicity, the easy informality of the place: and Frithiof was well -content with the delighted exclamations of the new-comers. - -“What charming ponies!” cried Blanche. “Look how oddly their manes are -cut—short manes and long tails! How funny! we do just the opposite. And -they all seem cream colored.” - -“This side, Blanche, quick! A lot of peasants in sabots! and oh! just -look at those lovely red gables!” - -“How nice the people look, too, so different to people in an English -street. What makes you all so happy over here?” - -“Why, what should make us unhappy?” said Frithiof. “We love our country -and our town, we are the freest people in the world, and life is a great -pleasure in itself, don’t you think? But away in the mountains our -people are much more grave. Life is too lonely there. Here in Bergen it -is perfection.” - -Cyril Morgan regarded the speaker with a pitying eye, and perhaps would -have enlightened his absurd ignorance and discoursed of Pall Mall and -Piccadilly, had not they just then arrived at Holdt’s Hotel. Frithiof -merely waited to see that they approved of their rooms, gave them the -necessary information as to bankers and lionizing, received Mr. Morgan’s -assurance that the whole party would dine at Herr Falck’s the next day, -and then, having previously dismissed the carriage, set out at a brisker -pace than usual on his walk home. - -Blanche Morgan’s surprise at the happy-looking people somehow amused -him. Was it then an out-of-the-way thing for people to enjoy life? For -his own part mere existence satisfied him. But then he was as yet quite -unacquainted with trouble. The death of his mother when he was only -eleven years old had been at the time a great grief, but it had in no -way clouded his after-life, he had been scarcely old enough to realize -the greatness of his loss. Its effect had been to make him cling more -closely to those who were left to him—to his father, to his twin-sister -Sigrid, and to the little baby Swanhild (Svarnheel), whose birth had -cost so much. The home life was an extremely happy one to look back on, -and now that his year of absence was over and his education finished it -seemed to him that all was exactly as he would have it. Faintly in the -distance he looked forward to further success and happiness; being a -fervent patriot he hoped some day to be a king’s minister—the summit of -a Norwegian’s ambition; and being human he had visions of an ideal wife -and an ideal home of his own. But the political career could very well -wait, and the wife too for the matter of that. And yet, as he walked -rapidly along Kong Oscars Gade, through the Stadsport, and past the -picturesque cemeteries which lie on either side of the road, he saw -nothing at all but a vision of the beautiful dark gray eyes which had -glanced up at him so often that afternoon, and in his mind there echoed -the words of one of Bjornson’s poems: - - “To-day is just a day to my mind, - All sunny before and sunny behind, - Over the heather.” - -But the ending of the poem he had quite forgotten. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - -Herr Falck lived in one of the pretty, unpretentious houses in -Kalvedalen which are chiefly owned by the rich merchants of Bergen. The -house stood on the right-hand side of the road, surrounded by a pretty -little garden; it was painted a light-brown color, and, like most Bergen -houses, it was built of wood. In the windows one could see flowers, and -beyond them white muslin curtains, for æstheticism had not yet -penetrated to Norway. The dark-tiled roof was outlined against a wooded -hill rising immediately behind, with here and there gray rocks peeping -through the summer green of the trees, while in front the chief windows -looked on to a pretty terrace with carefully kept flower-beds, then down -the wooded hill-side to the lake below—the Lungegaardsvand with purple -and gray heights on the further shore, and on one side a break in the -chain of mountains and a lovely stretch of open country. To the extreme -left was the giant Ulriken, sometimes shining and glistening, sometimes -frowning and dark, but always beautiful; while to the right you caught a -glimpse of Bergen with its quaint cathedral tower, and away in the -distance the fjord like a shining silver band in the sun. - -As Frithiof walked along the grassy terrace he could hear sounds of -music floating from the house; some one was playing a most inspiriting -waltz, and as soon as he had reached the open French window of his -father’s study a quaint pair of dancers became visible. A slim little -girl of ten years old, with very short petticoats, and very long golden -hair braided into a pigtail, held by the front paws a fine Esquimaux -dog, who seemed quite to enter into the fun and danced and capered most -cleverly, obediently keeping his long pointed nose over his partner’s -shoulder. The effect was so comical that Frithiof stood laughingly by to -watch the performance for fully half a minute, then, unable to resist -his own desire to dance, he unceremoniously called Lillo the dog away -and whirled off little Swanhild in the rapid waltz which Norwegians -delight in. The languid grace of a London ball-room would have had no -charms for him; his dancing was full of fire and impetuosity, and -Swanhild, too, danced very well; it had come to them both as naturally -as breathing. - -“This is better than Lillo,” admitted the child. “Somehow he’s so -dreadful heavy to get round. Have the English people come? What are they -like?” - -“Oh, they’re middling,” said Frithiof, “all except the niece, and she is -charming.” - -“Is she pretty?” - -“Prettier than any one you ever saw in your life.” - -“Not prettier than Sigrid?” said the little sister confidently. - -“Wait till you see,” said Frithiof. “She is a brunette and perfectly -lovely. There now!” as the music ceased, “Sigrid has felt her left ear -burning, and knows that we are speaking evil of her. Let us come to -confess.” - -With his arms still round the child he entered the pretty bright-looking -room to the right. Sigrid was still at the piano, but she had heard his -voice and had turned round with eager expectation in her face. The -brother and sister were very much alike; each had the same well-cut -Greek features, but Frithiof’s face was broader and stronger, and you -could tell at a glance that he was the more intellectual of the two. On -the other hand, Sigrid possessed a delightful fund of quiet -common-sense, and her judgment was seldom at fault, while, like most -Norwegian girls, she had a most charmingly simple manner, and an -unaffected light-heartedness which it did one good to see. - -“Well! what news?” she exclaimed. “Have they come all right? Are they -nice?” - -“Nice is not the word! charming! beautiful! To-morrow you will see if I -have spoken too strongly.” - -“He says she is even prettier than you, Sigrid,” said Swanhild -mischievously. “Prettier than any one we ever saw!” - -“She? Which of them?” - -“Miss Blanche Morgan, the daughter of the head of the firm, you know.” - -“And the other one?” - -“I hardly know. I didn’t look at her much; the others all seemed to me -much like ordinary English tourists. But she!—Well, you will see -to-morrow.” - -“How I wish they were coming to-night! you make me quite curious. And -father seems so excited about their coming. I have not seen him so much -pleased about anything for a long time.” - -“Is he at home?” - -“No, he went for a walk; his head was bad again. That is the only thing -that troubles me about him, his headaches seem to have become almost -chronic this last year.” - -A shade came over her bright face, and Frithiof too, looked grave. - -“He works very much too hard,” he said, “but as soon as I come of age -and am taken into partnership he will be more free to take a thorough -rest. At present I might just as well be in Germany as far as work goes, -for he will hardly let me do anything to help him.” - -“Here he comes, here he comes!” cried Swanhild, who had wandered away to -the window, and with one accord they all ran out to meet the head of the -house, Lillo bounding on in front and springing up at his master with a -loving greeting. - -Herr Falck was a very pleasant-looking man of about fifty; he had the -same well-chiseled features as Frithiof, the same broad forehead, -clearly marked, level brows, and flexible lips, but his eyes had more of -gray and less of blue in them, and a practiced observer would have -detected in their keen glance an anxiety which could not wholly disguise -itself. His hair and whiskers were iron-gray, and he was an inch or two -shorter than his son. They all stood talking together at the door, the -English visitors still forming the staple of conversation, and the -anxiety giving place to eager hope in Herr Falck’s eyes as Frithiof once -more sung the praises of Blanche Morgan. - -“Have they formed any plan for their tour?” he asked. - -“No; they mean to talk it over with you and get your advice. They all -professed to have a horror of Baedeker, though even with your help I -don’t think they will get far without him.” - -“It is certain that they will not want to stay very long in our Bergen,” -said Herr Falck, “the English never do. What should you say now if you -all took your summer outing at once and settled down at Ulvik or Balholm -for a few weeks, then you would be able to see a little of our friends -and could start them well on their tour.” - -“What a delightful plan, little father!” cried Sigrid; “only you must -come too, or we shall none of us enjoy it.” - -“I would run over for the Sunday, perhaps; that would be as much as I -could manage; but Frithiof will be there to take care of you. What -should you want with a careworn old man like me, now that he is at home -again?” - -“You fish for compliments, little father,” said Sigrid, slipping her arm -within his and giving him one of those mute caresses which are so much -more eloquent than words. “But, quite between ourselves, though Frithiof -is all very well, I shant enjoy it a bit without you.” - -“Yes, yes, father dear,” said Swanhild, “indeed you must come, for -Frithiof he will be just no good at all; he will be sure to dance always -with the pretty Miss Morgan, and to row her about on the fjord all day, -just as he did those pretty girls at Norheimsund and Faleide.” - -The innocent earnestness of the child’s tone made them all laugh, and -Frithiof, vowing vengeance on her for her speech, chased her round and -round the garden, their laughter floating back to Herr Falck and Sigrid -as they entered the house. - -“The little minx!” said Herr Falck, “how innocently she said it, too! I -don’t think our boy is such a desperate flirt though. As far as I -remember, there was nothing more than a sort of boy and girl friendship -at either place.” - -“Oh no,” said Sigrid, smiling. “Frithiof was too much of a school-boy, -every one liked him and he liked every one. I don’t think he is the sort -of man to fall in love easily.” - -“No; but when it does come it will be a serious affair. I very much wish -to see him happily married.” - -“Oh, father! surely not yet. He is so young, we can’t spare him yet.” - -Herr Falck threw himself back in his arm-chair, and mused for a few -minutes. - -“One need not necessarily lose him,” he replied, “and you know, Sigrid, -I am a believer in early marriages—at least for my son; I will not say -too much about you, little woman, for as a matter of fact I don’t know -how I should ever spare you.” - -“Don’t be afraid, little father; you may be very sure I shant marry till -I see a reasonable chance of being happier than I am at home with you. -And when will that be, do you think?” - -He stroked her golden hair tenderly. - -“Not just yet, Sigrid, let us hope. Not just yet. As to our Frithiof, -shall I tell you of the palace in cloud-land I am building for him?” - -“Not that he should marry the pretty Miss Morgan, as Swanhild calls -her?” said Sigrid, with a strange sinking at the heart. - -“Why not? I hear that she is a charming girl, both clever and beautiful, -and indeed it seems to me that he is quite disposed to fall in love with -her at first sight. Of course were he not properly in love I should -never wish him to marry, but I own that a union between the two houses -would be a great pleasure to me—a great relief.” - -He sighed, and for the first time the anxious look in his eyes attracted -Sigrid’s notice. “Father, dear,” she exclaimed, “wont you tell me what -is troubling you? There is something, I think. Tell me, little father.” - -He looked startled, and a slight flush spread over his face; but when he -spoke his voice was reassuring. - -“A business man often has anxieties which can not be spoken of, dear -child. God knows they weigh lightly enough on some men; I think I am -growing old, Sigrid, and perhaps I have never learned to take things so -easily as most merchants do.” - -“Why, father, you were only fifty last birthday; you must not talk yet -of growing old. How do other men learn, do you think, to take things -lightly?” - -“By refusing to listen to their own conscience,” said Herr Falck, with -sudden vehemence. “By allowing themselves to hold one standard of honor -in private life and a very different standard in business transactions. -Oh, Sigrid! I would give a great deal to find some other opening for -Frithiof. I dread the life for him.” - -“Do you think it is really so hard to be strictly honorable in business -life? And yet it is a life that must be lived, and is it not better that -such a man as Frithiof should take it up—a man with such a high sense of -honor?” - -“You don’t know what business men have to stand against,” said Herr -Falck. “Frithiof is a good, honest fellow, but as yet he has seen -nothing of life. And I tell you, child, we often fail in our strongest -point.” - -He rose from his chair and paced the room; it seemed to Sigrid that a -nameless shadow had fallen on their sunny home. She was for the first -time in her life afraid, though the fear was vague and undefined. - -“But there, little one,” said her father, turning toward her again. “You -must not be worried. I get nervous and depressed, that is all. As I told -you, I am growing old.” - -“Frithiof would like to help you more if you would let him,” said -Sigrid, rather wistfully. “He was saying so just now.” - -“And so he shall in the autumn. He is a good lad, and if all goes well I -hope he will some day be my right hand in the business; but I wish him -to have a few months’ holiday first. And there is this one thing, -Sigrid, which I can tell you, if you really want to know about my -anxieties.” - -“Indeed I do, little father,” she said eagerly. - -“There are matters which you would not understand even could I speak of -them; but you know, of course, that I am agent in Norway for the firm of -Morgan Brothers. Well, a rumor has reached me that they intend to break -off the connection and to send out the eldest son to set up a branch at -Stavanger. It is a mere rumor and reached me quite accidentally. I very -much hope it may not be true, but there is no denying that Stavanger -would be in most ways better suited for their purpose; in fact, the -friend who told me of the rumor said that they felt now that it had been -a mistake all along to have the agency here and they had only done it -because they knew Bergen and knew me.” - -“Why is Stavanger a better place for it?” - -“It is better because most of the salmon and lobsters are caught in the -neighborhood of Stavanger, and all the mackerel too to the south of -Bergen. I very much hope the rumor is not true, for it would be a great -blow to me to lose the English connection. Still it is not unlikely, and -the times are hard now—very hard.” - -“And you think your palace in cloud-land for Frithiof would prevent Mr. -Morgan from breaking the connection?” - -“Yes; a marriage between the two houses would be a great thing, it would -make this new idea unlikely if not altogether impossible. I am thankful -that there seems now some chance of it. Let the two meet naturally and -learn to know each other. I will not say a word to Frithiof, it would -only do harm; but to you, Sigrid, I confess that my heart is set on this -plan. If I could for one moment make you see the future as I see it, you -would feel with me how important the matter is.” - -At this moment Frithiof himself entered, and the conversation was -abruptly ended. - -“Well, have you decided?” he asked, in his eager, boyish way. “Is it to -be Ulvik or Balholm? What! You were not even talking about that. Oh, I -know what it was then. Sigrid was deep in the discussion of to-morrow’s -dinner. I will tell you what to do, abolish the romekolle, and let us be -English to the backbone. Now I think of it, Mr. Morgan is not unlike a -walking sirloin with a plum-pudding head. There is your bill of fare, so -waste no more time.” - -The brother and sister went off together, laughing and talking; but when -the door closed behind them the master of the house buried his face in -his hands and for many minutes sat motionless. What troubled thoughts, -what wavering anxieties filled his mind, Sigrid little guessed. It was, -after all, a mere surface difficulty of which he had spoken; of the real -strain which was killing him by inches he could not say a word to any -mortal being, though now in his great misery he instinctively prayed. - -“My poor children!” he groaned. “Oh, God spare them from this shame and -ruin which haunts me. I have tried to be upright and prudent,—it was -only this once that I was rash. Give me success for their sakes, O God! -The selfish and unscrupulous flourish on all sides. Give me this one -success. Let me not blight their whole lives.” - -But the next day, when he went forward to greet his English guests, it -would have been difficult to recognize him as the burdened, careworn man -from whose lips had been wrung that confession and that prayer. All his -natural courtesy and brightness had returned to him; if he thought of -his business at all he thought of it in the most sanguine way possible, -and the Morgans saw in him only an older edition of Frithiof, and -wondered how he had managed to preserve such buoyant spirits in the -cares and uncertainties of mercantile life. The two o’clock dinner -passed off well; Sigrid, who was a clever little housekeeper, had -scouted Frithiof’s suggestion as to the roast beef and plum-pudding, and -had carefully devised a thoroughly Norwegian repast. - -“For I thought,” she explained afterwards to Blanche, when the two girls -had made friends, “that if I went to England I should wish to see your -home life just exactly as it really is, and so I have ordered the sort -of dinner we should naturally have, and did not, as Frithiof advised, -leave out the romekolle.” - -“Was that the stuff like curds and whey?” asked Blanche, who was full of -eager interest in everything. - -“Yes: it is sour cream with bread crumbs grated over it. We always have -a plateful each at dinner, it is quite one of our customs. But -everything here is simple of course, not grand as with you; we do not -keep a great number of servants, or dine late, or dress for the -evening—here there is nothing”—she hesitated for a word, then in her -pretty foreign English added, “nothing ceremonious.” - -“That is just the charm of it all,” said Blanche, in her sweet gracious -way. “It is all so real and simple and fresh, and I think it was -delightful of you to know how much best we should like to have a glimpse -of your real home life instead of a stupid party. Now mamma cares for -nothing but just to make a great show, it doesn’t matter whether the -visitors really like it or not.” - -Sigrid felt a momentary pang of doubt; she had fallen in love with -Blanche Morgan the moment she saw her, but it somehow hurt her to hear -the English girl criticise her own mother. To Sigrid’s loyal nature -there was something out of tune in that last remark. - -“Perhaps you and your cousin would like to see over the house,” she -said, by way of making a diversion. “Though I must tell you that we are -considered here in Bergen to be rather English in some points. That is -because of my father’s business connection with England, I suppose. -Here, you see, in his study he has a real English fireplace; we all like -it much better than the stoves, and some day I should like to have them -in the other rooms as well.” - -“But there is one thing very un-English,” said Blanche. “There are no -passages; instead, I see, all your rooms open out of each other. Such -numbers of lovely plants, too, in every direction; we are not so -artistic, we stand them all in prim rows in a conservatory. This, too, -is quite new to me. What a good idea!” And she went up to examine a -prettily worked sling fastened to the wall, and made to hold newspapers. - -She was too polite, of course, to say what really struck her—that the -whole house seemed curiously simple and bare, and that she had imagined -that one of the leading merchants of Bergen would live in greater style. -As a matter of fact, you might, as Cyril expressed it, have bought the -whole place for an old song, and though there was an air of comfort and -good taste about the rooms and a certain indescribable charm, they were -evidently destined for use and not for show, and with the exception of -some fine old Norwegian silver and a few good pictures Herr Falck did -not possess a single thing of value. - -Contrasted with the huge and elaborately furnished house in Lancaster -Gate with its lavishly strewn knick-knacks, its profusion of all the -beautiful things that money could buy, the Norwegian villa seemed poor -indeed, yet there was something about it which took Blanche’s fancy. - -Later on, when the whole party had started for a walk, and when Frithiof -and Blanche had quite naturally drifted into a _tête-à-tête_, she said -something to this effect. - -“I begin not to wonder that you are so happy,” she added; “the whole -atmosphere of the place is happiness. I wish you could teach us the -secret of it.” - -“Have you then only the gift of making other people happy?” said -Frithiof. “That seems strange.” - -“You will perhaps think me very discontented,” she said, with a pathetic -little sadness in her tone which touched him; “but seeing how fresh and -simple and happy your life is out here makes me more out of heart than -ever with my own home. You must not think I am grumbling; they are very -good to me, you know, and give me everything that money can buy; but -somehow there is so much that jars on one, and here there seems nothing -but kindliness and ease and peace.” - -“I am glad you like our life,” he said; “so very glad.” - -And as she told him more of her home and her London life, and of how -little it satisfied her, her words, and still more her manner and her -sweet eyes, seemed to weave a sort of spell about him, seemed to lure -him on into a wonderful future, and to waken in him a new life. - -“I like him,” thought Blanche to herself. “Perhaps after all this -Norwegian tour will not be so dull. I like to see his eye light up so -eagerly; he really has beautiful eyes! I almost think—I really almost -think I am just a little bit in love with him.” - -At this moment they happened to overtake two English tourists on the -road; as they passed on in front of them Frithiof, with native courtesy, -took off his hat. - -“You surely don’t know that man? He is only a shopkeeper,” said Blanche, -not even taking the trouble to lower her voice. - -Frithiof crimsoned to the roots of his hair. - -“I am afraid he must have heard what you said,” he exclaimed, quickening -his pace in the discomfort of the realization. “I do not know him -certainly, but one is bound to be courteous to strangers.” - -“I know exactly who he is,” said Blanche, “for he and his sister were on -the steamer, and Cyril found out all about them. He is Boniface, the -music-shop man.” - -Frithiof was saved a reply, for just then they reached their -destination, and rejoined the rest of the party, who were clustered -together on the hill-side enjoying a most lovely view. Down below them, -sheltered by a great craggy mountain on the further side, lay a little -lonely lake, so weird-looking, so desolate, that it was hard to believe -it to be within an easy walk of the town. Angry-looking clouds were -beginning to gather in the sky, a purple gloom seemed to overspread the -mountain and the lake, and something of its gravity seemed also to have -fallen upon Frithiof. He had found the first imperfection in his ideal, -yet it had only served to show him how great a power, how strange an -influence she possessed over him. He knew now that, for the first time -in his life, he was blindly, desperately in love. - -“Why, it is beginning to rain,” said Mr. Morgan. “I almost think we had -better be turning back, Herr Falck. It has been a most enjoyable little -walk; but if we can reach the hotel before it settles in for a wet -evening, why, all the better.” - -“The rain is the great drawback to Bergen,” said Herr Falck. “At -Christiania they have a saying that when you go to Bergen it rains three -hundred and sixty-six days out of the year. But after all one becomes -very much accustomed to it.” - -On the return walk the conversation was more general, and though -Frithiof walked beside Blanche he said very little. His mind was full of -the new idea which had just dawned upon him, and he heard her merry talk -with Sigrid and Swanhild like a man in a dream. Before long, much to his -discomfort, he saw in front of them the two English tourists, and though -his mind was all in a tumult with this new perception of his love for -Blanche, yet the longing to make up for her ill-judged remark, the -desire to prove that he did not share in her prejudice, was powerful -too. He fancied it was chiefly to avoid them that the Englishman turned -toward the bank just as they passed to gather a flower which grew high -above his head. - -“What can this be, Cecil?” he remarked. - -“Allow me, sir,” said Frithiof, observing that it was just out of the -stranger’s reach. - -He was two or three inches taller, and, with an adroit spring, was able -to bring down the flower in triumph. By this time the others were some -little way in advance. He looked rather wistfully after Blanche, and -fancied disapproval in her erect, trim little figure. - -“This is the Linnæa,” he explained. “You will find a great deal of it -about. It was the flower, you know, which Linnæus chose to name after -himself. Some say he showed his modesty in choosing so common and -insignificant a plant, but it always seems to me that he showed his good -taste. It is a beautiful flower.” - -Roy Boniface thanked him heartily for his help. “We were hoping to find -the Linnæa,” he said, handing it to his sister, while he opened a -specimen tin. - -“What delicate little bells!” she exclaimed. “I quite agree with you -that Linnæus showed his good taste.” - -Frithiof would probably have passed on had he not, at that moment, -recognized Cecil as the English girl whom he had first accosted on the -steamer. - -“Pardon me for not knowing you before,” he said, raising his hat. “We -met yesterday afternoon, did we not? I hope you have had a pleasant time -at Bergen?” - -“Delightful, thank you. We think it the most charming town we ever saw.” - -“Barring the rain,” said Roy, “for which we have foolishly forgotten to -reckon.” - -“Never be parted from your umbrella is a sound maxim for this part of -the world,” said Frithiof, smiling. “Halloo! it is coming down in good -earnest. I’m afraid you will get very wet,” he said, glancing at Cecil’s -pretty gray traveling dress. - -“Shall we stand up for a minute under that porch, Roy?” said the girl, -glancing at a villa which they were just passing. - -“No, no,” said Frithiof: “please take shelter with us. My father’s villa -is close by. Please come.” - -And since Cecil was genuinely glad not to get wet through, and since -Roy, though he cared nothing for the rain, was glad to have a chance of -seeing the inside of a Norwegian villa, they accepted the kindly offer, -and followed their guide into the pretty, snug-looking house. - -Roy had heard a good deal of talk about sweetness and light, but he -thought he had never realized the meaning of the words till the moment -when he was ushered into that pretty Norwegian drawing-room, with its -painted floor and groups of flowers, and its pink-tinted walls, about -which the green ivy wreathed itself picturesquely, now twining itself -round some mirror or picture-frame, now forming a sort of informal -frieze round the whole room, its roots so cleverly hidden away in -sheltered corners or on unobtrusive brackets that the growth had all the -fascination of mystery. The presiding genius of the place, and the very -center of all that charmed, stood by one of the windows, the light -falling on her golden hair. She had taken off her hat and was flicking -the rain-drops from it with her handkerchief when Frithiof introduced -the two Bonifaces, and Roy, who found his novel experience a little -embarrassing, was speedily set at ease by her delightful naturalness and -frank courtesy. - -Her bow and smile were grace itself, and she seemed to take the whole -proceeding entirely as a matter of course; one might have supposed that -she was in the habit of sheltering wet tourists every day of her life. - -“I am so glad my brother found you,” she exclaimed. “You would have been -wet through had you walked on to Bergen. Swanhild, run and fetch a -duster; oh, you have brought one already, that’s a good child. Now let -me wipe your dress,” she added, turning to Cecil. - -“Where has every one disappeared to?” asked Frithiof. - -“Father has walked on to Holdt’s Hotel with the Morgans,” said Swanhild. -“They would not wait, though we tried to persuade them to. Father is -going to talk over their route with them.” - -Cecil saw a momentary look of annoyance on his face; but the next minute -he was talking as pleasantly as possible to Roy, and before long the -question of routes was being discussed, and as fast as Frithiof -suggested one place, Sigrid and Swanhild mentioned others which must on -no account be missed. - -“And you can really only spare a month for it all?” asked Sigrid. “Then -I should give up going to Christiania or Trondhjem if I were you. They -will not interest you half as much as this southwest coast.” - -“But, Sigrid, it is impossible to leave out Kongswold and Dombaas. For -you are a botanist, are you not?” said Frithiof, turning to the -Englishman, “and those places are perfection for flowers.” - -“Yes? Then you must certainly go there,” said Sigrid. “Kongswold is a -dear little place up on the Dovrefjeld. Yet if you were not botanists I -should say you ought to see instead either the Vöringsfos or the -Skjaeggedalsfos, they are our two finest waterfalls.” - -“The Skedaddle-fos, as the Americans call it,” put in Frithiof. - -“You have a great many American tourists, I suppose,” said Roy. - -“Oh, yes, a great many, and we like them very well, though not as we -like the English. To the English we feel very much akin.” - -“And you speak our language so well!” said Cecil, to whom the discovery -had been a surprise and a relief. - -“You see we Norwegians think a great deal of education. Our schools are -very good; we are all taught to speak German and English. French, which -with you comes first, does it not? stands third with us.” - -“Tell me about your schools,” said Cecil. “Are they like ours, I -wonder?” - -“We begin at six years old to go to the middle school—they say it is -much like your English high schools; both my brother and I went to the -middle schools here at Bergen. Then when we were sixteen we went to -Christiania, he to the Handelsgymnasium, and I to Miss Bauer’s school, -for two years. My little sister is now at the middle school here; she -goes every day, but just now it is holiday time.” - -“And in holidays,” said Swanhild, whose English was much less fluent and -ready, “we go away. We perhaps go to-morrow to Balholm.” - -“Perhaps we shall meet you again there,” said Sigrid. “Oh, do come -there; it is such a lovely place.” - -Then followed a discussion about flowers, in which Sigrid was also -interested, and presently Herr Falck returned, and added another -picture of charming hospitality to the group that would always remain -in the minds of the English travelers; and then there was afternoon -tea, which proved a great bond of union and more discussion of English -and Norwegian customs, and much laughter and merriment and -light-heartedness. - -When at length the rain ceased and Roy and Cecil were allowed to leave -for Bergen, they felt as if the kindly Norwegians were old friends. - -“Shall you be very much disappointed if we give up the Skedaddle-fos?” -asked Roy. “It seems to me that a water-fall is a water-fall all the -world over, but that we are not likely to meet everywhere with a family -like that.” - -“Oh, by all means give it up,” said Cecil gayly. “I would far rather -have a few quiet days at Balholm. I detest toiling after the things -every one expects you to see. Besides, we can always be sure of finding -the Skjaeggedalsfos in Norway, but we can’t tell what may happen to -these delightful people.” - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - -Balholm, the loveliest of all the places on the Sogne Fjord, is perhaps -the quietest place on earth. There is a hotel, kept by two most -delightful Norwegian brothers; there is a bathing-house, a minute -landing-stage, and a sprinkling of little wooden cottages with red-tiled -roofs. The only approach is by water; no dusty high-road is to be found, -no carts and carriages rumble past; if you want rest and quiet, you have -only to seek it on the mountains or by the shore; if you want amusement, -you have only to join the merry Norwegians in the _salon_, who are -always ready to sing or to play, to dance or to talk, or, if -weather-bound, to play games with the zest and animation of children. -Even so limp a specimen of humanity as Cyril Morgan found that, after -all, existence in this primitive region had its charms, while Blanche -said, quite truthfully, that she had never enjoyed herself so much in -her life. There was to her a charming piquancy about both place and -people; and although she was well accustomed to love and admiration, she -found that Frithiof was altogether unlike the men she had hitherto met -in society; there was about him something strangely fresh—he seemed to -harmonize well with the place, and he made all the other men of whom she -could think seem ordinary and prosaic. As for Frithiof he made no secret -of his love for her, it was apparent to all the world—to the -light-hearted Norwegians, who looked on approvingly; to Cyril Morgan, -who wondered what on earth Blanche could see in such an unsophisticated -boy; to Mr. Morgan, who, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, remarked -that there was no help for it—it was Blanche’s way; to Roy Boniface, who -thought the two were well matched, and gave them his good wishes; and to -Cecil, who, as she watched the two a little wistfully, said in her -secret heart what could on no account have been said to any living -being, “I hope, oh, I hope she cares for him enough!” - -One morning, a little tired with the previous day’s excursion to the -Suphelle Brae, they idled away the sunny hours on the fjord, Frithiof -rowing, Swanhild lying at full length in the bow with Lillo mounting -guard over her, and Blanche, Sigrid, and Cecil in the stern. - -“You have been all this time at Balholm and yet have not seen King -Bele’s grave!” Frithiof had exclaimed in answer to Blanche’s inquiry. -“Look, here it is, just a green mound by that tree.” - -“Isn’t it odd,” said Sigrid dreamily, “to think that we are just in the -very place where the Frithiof Saga was really lived?” - -“But I thought it was only a legend,” said Cecil. - -“Oh, no,” said Frithiof, “the Sagas are not legends, but true stories -handed down by word of mouth.” - -“Then I wish you would hand down your saga to us by word of mouth,” said -Blanche, raising her sweet eyes to his. “I shall never take the trouble -to read it for myself in some dry, tiresome book. Tell us the story of -Frithiof now as we drift along in the boat with his old home Framnaes in -sight.” - -“I do not think I can tell it really well,” he said: “but I can just -give you the outline of it: - -“Frithiof was the only son of a wealthy yeoman who owned land at -Framnaes. His father was a great friend of King Bele, and the king -wished that his only daughter Ingeborg should be educated by the same -wise man who taught Frithiof, so you see it happened that as children -Frithiof and Ingeborg were always together, and by and by was it not -quite natural that they should learn to love each other? It happened -just so, and Frithiof vowed that, although he was only the son of a -yeoman, nothing should separate them or make him give her up. It then -happened that King Bele died, and Frithiof’s father, his great friend, -died at the same time. Then Frithiof went to live at Framnaes over -yonder; he had great possessions, but the most useful were just these -three; a wonderful sword, a wonderful bracelet, and a wonderful ship -called the ‘Ellida,’ which had been given to one of his Viking ancestors -by the sea-god. But though he had all these things, and was the most -powerful man in the kingdom, yet he was always sad, for he could not -forget the old days with Ingeborg. So one day he crossed this fjord to -Bele’s grave, close to Balholm, where Ingeborg’s two brothers Helge and -Halfdan were holding an assembly of the people, and he boldly asked for -Ingeborg’s hand. Helge the King was furious, and rejected him with -scorn, and Frithiof, who would not allow even a king to insult him, drew -his sword and with one blow smote the King’s shield, which hung on a -tree, in two pieces. Soon after this good King Ring of the far North, -who had lost his wife, became a suitor for Ingeborg’s hand; but Helge -and Halfdan insulted his messengers and a war was the consequence. When -Frithiof heard the news of the war he was sitting with his friend at a -game of chess; he refused to help Helge and Halfdan, but knowing that -Ingeborg had been sent for safety to the sacred grove of Balder, he went -to see her in the ‘Ellida,’ though there was a law that whoever ventured -to approach the grove by water should be put to death. Now Ingeborg had -always loved him and she agreed to be betrothed to him, and taking leave -of her, Frithiof went with all haste to tell her brothers. This time -also there was a great assembly at Bele’s grave, and again Frithiof -asked for the hand of Ingeborg, and promised that, if Helge would -consent to their betrothal, he would fight for him. But Helge, instead -of answering him, asked if he had not been to the sacred grove of Balder -contrary to the law? Then all the people shouted to him, ‘Say no, -Frithiof! Say no, and Ingeborg is yours.’ But Frithiof said that though -his happiness hung on that one word he would not tell a lie, that in -truth he had been to Balder’s Temple, but that his presence had not -defiled it, that he and Ingeborg had prayed together and had planned -this offer of peace. But the people forsook him, and King Helge banished -him until he should bring back the tribute due from Angantyr of the -Western Isles; and every one knew that if he escaped with his life on -such an errand it would be a wonder. Once again Frithiof saw Ingeborg, -and he begged her to come with him in his ship the ‘Ellida,’ but -Ingeborg, though she loved him, thought that she owed obedience to her -brothers, and they bade each other farewell; but before he went Frithiof -clasped on her arm the wonderful bracelet. So then they parted, and -Frithiof sailed away and had more adventures than I can tell you, but at -last he returned with the tribute money, and now he thought Ingeborg -would indeed be his. But when he came in sight of Framnaes, he found -that his house and everything belonging to him had been burned to the -ground.” - -“No, no, Frithiof; there was his horse and his dog left,” corrected -Sigrid. “Don’t you remember how they came up to him?” - -“So they did, but all else was gone; and, worst of all, Ingeborg, they -told him, had been forced by her brothers to marry King Ring, who, if -she had not become his wife, would have taken the kingdom from Helge and -Halfdan. Then Frithiof was in despair, and cried out, ‘Who dare speak to -me of the fidelity of women?’ And it so happened that that very day was -Midsummer-day, and he knew that King Helge, Ingeborg’s brother, would be -in the Temple of Balder. He sought him out, and went straight up to him -and said, ‘You sent me for the lost tribute and I have gained it, but -either you or I must die. Come, fight me! Think of Framnaes that you -burned. Think of Ingeborg whose life you have spoiled!’ And then in -great wrath he flung the tribute-money at Helge’s head, and Helge fell -down senseless. Just then Frithiof caught sight of the bracelet he had -given Ingeborg on the image of Balder, and he tore it off, but in so -doing upset the image, which fell into the flames on the altar. The fire -spread, and spread so that at last the whole temple was burned, and all -the trees of the grove. Next day King Helge gave chase to Frithiof, but -luckily in the night Frithiof’s friend had scuttled all the King’s -ships, and so his effort failed, and Frithiof sailed out to sea in the -‘Ellida.’ Then he became a Viking, and lived a hard life, and won many -victories. At last he came home to Norway and went to King Ring’s court -at Yule-tide, disguised as an old man; but they soon found out that he -was young and beautiful, and he doffed his disguise, and Ingeborg -trembled as she recognized him. Ring knew him not, but liked him well, -and made him his guest. One day he saved Ring when his horse and sledge -had fallen into the water. But another day it so happened that they went -out hunting together, and Ring being tired fell asleep, while Frithiof -kept guard over him. As he watched, a raven came and sung to him, urging -him to kill the King; but a white bird urged him to flee from -temptation, and Frithiof drew his sword and flung it far away out of -reach. Then the King opened his eyes, and told Frithiof that for some -time he had known him, and that he honored him for resisting temptation. -Frithiof, however, felt that he could no longer bear to be near -Ingeborg, since she belonged not to him, and soon he came to take leave -of her and her husband. But good King Ring said that the time of his own -death was come, and he asked Frithiof to take his kingdom and Ingeborg, -and to be good to his son. Then he plunged his sword in his breast, and -so died. Before long the people met to elect a new king, and would have -chosen Frithiof, but he would only be regent till Ring’s son should be -of age. Then Frithiof went away to his father’s grave, and prayed to -Balder, and he built a wonderful new temple for the god, but still peace -did not come to him. And the priest told him that the reason of this was -because he still kept anger and hatred in his heart toward Ingeborg’s -brothers. Helge was dead, but the priest prayed him to be reconciled to -Halfdan. They were standing thus talking in the new temple when Halfdan -unexpectedly appeared, and when he caught sight of his foe, he turned -pale and trembled. But Frithiof, who for the first time saw that -forgiveness is greater than vengeance, walked up to the altar, placed -upon it his sword and shield, and returning, held out his hand to -Halfdan, and the two were reconciled. At that moment there entered the -temple one dressed as a bride, and Frithiof lifted up his eyes and saw -that it was Ingeborg herself. And Halfdan, his pride of birth forgotten -and his anger conquered by his foe’s forgiveness, led his sister to -Frithiof and gave her to be his wife, and in the new Temple of Balder -the Good the lovers received the blessing of the priest.” - -“How well you tell it! It is a wonderful story,” said Blanche; and there -was real, genuine pleasure in her dark eyes as she looked across at him. - -It was such a contrast to her ordinary life, this quiet Norway, where -all was so simple and true and trustworthy, where no one seemed to -strain after effects. And there was something in Frithiof’s strength, -and spirit, and animation which appealed to her greatly. “My Viking is -adorable!” she used to say to herself; and gradually there stole into -her manner toward him a sort of tender reverence. She no longer teased -him playfully, and their talks together in those long summer days became -less full of mirth and laughter, but more earnest and absorbing. - -Cecil saw all this, and she breathed more freely. “Certainly she loves -him,” was her reflection. - -Sigrid, too, no longer doubted; indeed, Blanche had altogether won her -heart, and somehow, whenever they were together, the talk always drifted -round to Frithiof’s past, or Frithiof’s future, or Frithiof’s opinions. -She was very happy about it, for she felt sure that Blanche would be a -charming sister-in-law, and love and hope seemed to have developed -Frithiof in a wonderful way; he had suddenly grown manly and -considerate, nor did Sigrid feel, as she had feared, that his new love -interfered with his love for her. - -They were bright days for every one, those days at Balholm, with their -merry excursions to the priest’s garden and the fir-woods, to the saeter -on the mountain-side, and to grand old Munkeggen, whose heights towered -above the little wooden hotel. Herr Falck, who had joined them toward -the end of the week, and who climbed Munkeggen as energetically as any -one, was well pleased to see the turn affairs had taken; and every one -was kind, and discreetly left Frithiof and Blanche to themselves as they -toiled up the mountain-side; indeed, Knut, the landlord’s brother, who -as usual had courteously offered his services as guide, was so -thoughtful for the two lovers who were lingering behind, that he -remorselessly hurried up a stout old American lady, who panted after -him, to that “Better resting-place,” which he always insisted was a -little further on. - -“Will there be church to-morrow?” asked Blanche, as they rested -half-way. “I should so like to go to a Norwegian service.” - -“There will be service at some church within reach,” said Frithiof; “but -I do not much advise you to go; it will be very hot, and the place will -be packed.” - -“Why? Are you such a religious people?” - -“The peasants are,” he replied. “And of course the women. Church-going -and religion, that is for women; we men do not need that sort of thing.” - -She was a little startled by his matter-of-fact, unabashed tone. - -“What, are you an agnostic? an atheist?” she exclaimed. - -“No, no, not at all,” he said composedly. “I believe in a good -Providence but with so much I am quite satisfied, you see. What does one -need with more? To us men religion, church-going, is—is—how do you call -it in English? I think you say ‘An awful bore,’ Is it not so?” - -The slang in foreign accent was irresistible. She was a little shocked, -but she could not help laughing. - -“How you Norwegians speak out!” she exclaimed. “Many Englishmen feel -that, but few would say it so plainly.” - -“So! I thought an Englishman was nothing if not candid. But for me I -feel no shame. What more would one have than to make the most of life? -That is my religion. I hear that in England there is a book to ask -whether life is worth living? For me I can’t understand that sort of -thing. It is a question that would never have occurred to me. Only to -live is happiness enough. Life is such a very good thing. Do you not -agree?” - -“Sometimes,” she said, rather wistfully. - -“Only sometimes? No, no, always—to the last breath!” cried Frithiof. - -“You say that because things are as you like; because you are happy,” -said Blanche. - -“It is true, I am very happy,” he replied. “Who would not be happy -walking with you?” - -Something in his manner frightened her a little. She went on -breathlessly and incoherently. - -“You wouldn’t say that life is a very good thing if you were like our -poor people in East London, for instance.” - -“Indeed, no,” he said gravely. “That must be a great blot on English -life. Here in Norway we have no extremes. No one is very poor, and our -richest men have only what would be counted in England a moderate -income.” - -“Perhaps that is why you are such a happy people.” - -“Perhaps,” said Frithiof, but he felt little inclined to consider the -problem of the distribution of wealth just then, and the talk drifted -round once more to that absorbing personal talk which was much more -familiar to them. - -At length the top of the mountain was reached, and a merry little picnic -ensued. Frithiof was the life of the party, and there was much drinking -of healths and clinking of glasses, and though the cold was intense -every one seemed to enjoy it, and to make fun of any sort of discomfort. - -“Come!” said Sigrid to Cecil Boniface, “you and I must add a stone to -the cairn. Let us drag up this great one and put it on the top together -in memory of our friendship.” - -They stood laughing and panting under the shelter of the cairn when the -stone was deposited, the merry voices of the rest of the party floating -back to them. - -“Do you not think we are dreadful chatterers, we Norwegians?” said -Sigrid. - -“I think you are delightful,” said Cecil simply. - -Something in her manner touched and pleased Sigrid. She had grown to -like this quiet English girl. They were silent for some minutes, looking -over that wonderful expanse of blue fjords and hoary mountains, flecked -here and there on their somber heights by snow-drifts. Far down below -them a row-boat could be seen on the water, looking scarcely bigger than -the head of a pin: and as Cecil watched the lovely country steeped in -the golden sunshine of that summer afternoon, thoughts of the Frithiof -Saga came thronging through her mind, till it almost seemed to her that -in another moment she should see the dragon ship the “Ellida,” winging -her way over the smooth blue waters. - -Knut suggested before long that if they were to be home in time for -supper it might be best to start at once, and the merry party broke up -into little groups. Herr Falck was deep in conversation with Mr. Morgan, -Cyril and Florence as usual kept to themselves, Knut piloted the -American lady in advance of the others, while Roy Boniface joined his -sister and Sigrid, pausing on the way for a little snow-balling in a -great snowdrift just below the summit. Little Swanhild hesitated for a -moment, longing to walk with Blanche, for whom she had formed the sort -of adoring attachment with which children of her age often honor some -grown-up girl; but she was laughingly carried off by some good-natured -friends from Bergen, who divined her intentions, and once more Frithiof -and Blanche were left alone. - -“And you must really go on Monday?” asked Frithiof, with a sigh. - -“Well,” she said, glancing up at him quickly, “I have been very -troublesome to you, I’m sure—always needing help in climbing! You will -be glad to get rid of me, though you are too polite to tell me so.” - -“How can you say such things?” he exclaimed, and again something in his -manner alarmed her a little. “You know—you must know what these days -have been to me.” - -The lovely color flooded her cheeks, and she spoke almost at random. - -“After all, I believe I should do better if I trusted to my alpenstock!” -And laughingly she began to spring down the rough descent, a little -proud of her own grace and agility, and a little glad to baffle and -tease him for a few minutes. - -“Take care! take care!” cried Frithiof, hurrying after her. Then, with a -stifled cry, he sprang forward to rescue her, for the alpenstock had -slipped on a stone, and she was rolling down the steep incline. Even in -the terrible moment itself he had time to think of two distinct -dangers—she might strike her head against one of the bowlders, or, worse -thought still, might be unchecked, and fall over that side of Munkeggen -which was almost precipitous. How he managed it he never realized, but -love seemed to lend him wings, and the next thing he knew was that he -was kneeling on the grass only two or three feet from the sheer -cliff-like side, with Blanche in his arms. - -“Are you hurt?” he questioned breathlessly. - -“No,” she replied, trembling with excitement. “Not hurt at all, only -shaken and startled.” - -He lifted her a little further from the edge. For a minute she lay -passively, then she looked up into his eyes. - -“How strong you are,” she said, “and how cleverly you caught me! Yet now -that it is over you look quite haggard and white. I am really not hurt -at all. It punished me well for thinking I could get on without you. You -see I couldn’t!” and a lovely, tender smile dawned in her eyes. - -She sat up and took off her hat, smoothing back her disordered hair. A -sort of terror seized Frithiof that in another minute she would propose -going on, and, urged by this fear, he spoke rapidly and impetuously. - -“If only I might always serve you!” he cried. “Oh, Blanche, I love you! -I love you! Will you not trust yourself to me?” - -Blanche had received already several offers of marriage; they had been -couched in much better terms, but they had lacked the passionate ardor -of Frithiof’s manner. All in a moment she was conquered; she could not -even make a feint of resistance, but just put her hand in his. - -“I will always trust you,” she faltered. - -Then, as she felt his strong arm round her and his kisses on her cheek, -there flashed through her mind a description she had once read of— - - “a strong man from the North, - Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray.” - -It was a love worth having, she thought to herself; a love to be proud -of! - -“But Frithiof,” she began, after a timeless pause, “we must keep our -secret just for a little while. You see my father is not here, and—” - -“Let me write to him and ask his consent,” exclaimed Frithiof. - -“No, no, do not write. Come over to England in October and see him -yourself, that will be so much better.” - -“Must we wait so long?” said Frithiof, his face clouding. - -“It is only a few weeks; papa will not be at home till then. Every one -is away from London, you know. Don’t look so anxious; I do not know your -face when it isn’t happy—you were never meant to be grave. As for papa, -I can make him do exactly what I like, you need not be afraid that he -will not consent. Come! I have promised to trust to you, and yet you -doubt me.” - -“Doubt you!” he cried. “Never! I trust you, before all the world; and if -you tell me to wait—why then—I must obey.” - -“How I love you for saying that,” cried Blanche, clinging to him. “To -think that you who are so strong should say that to me! It seems -wonderful. But indeed, indeed, you need not doubt me. I love you with my -whole heart. I love you as I never thought it possible to love.” - -Frithiof again clasped her in his arms, and there came to his mind the -sweet words of Uhland: - - “Gestorben war ich - Vor Liebeswonn, - Begraben lag ich - In Ihren Armen; - Erwechet ward ich - Von Ihren Küssen, - Den Himmel sah ich - In Ihren Augen.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - -“We were beginning to think some accident had happened to you,” said -Sigrid, who stood waiting at the door of the hotel. - -“And so it did,” said Blanche, laughing, “I think I should have broken -my neck if it hadn’t been for your brother. It was all the fault of this -treacherous alpenstock which played me false.” - -And then, with a sympathetic little group of listeners, Blanche gave a -full account of her narrow escape. - -“And you are really not hurt at all? Not too much shaken to care to -dance to-night?” - -“Not a bit,” said Blanche merrily. “And you promised to put on your -peasant costume and show us the _spring dans_, you know.” - -“So I did. I must make haste and dress, then,” and Sigrid ran upstairs, -appearing again before long in a simply made dark skirt, white sleeves -and chemisette, and red bodice, richly embroidered in gold. Her -beautiful hair was worn in two long plaits down her back, and the -costume suited her to perfection. There followed a merry supper in the -_dépendence_ where all meals were served; then every one adjourned to -the hotel _salon_, the tables and chairs were hastily pushed aside, and -dancing began. - -Herr Falck’s eyes rested contentedly on the slim little figure in the -maize-colored dress who so often danced with his son; and, indeed, -Blanche looked more lovely than ever that evening, for happiness and -excitement had brightened her dark eyes, and deepened the glow of color -in her cheeks. The father felt proud, too, of his children, when, in -response to the general entreaty, Frithiof and Sigrid danced the _spring -dans_ together with its graceful evolutions and quaint gestures. Then -nothing would do but Frithiof must play to them on the violin, after -which Blanche volunteered to teach every one Sir Roger de Coverly, and -old and young joined merrily in the country dance, and so the evening -passed on all too rapidly to its close. It was a scene which somehow -lived on in Cecil’s memory; the merry dancers, the kindly landlord, Ole -Kvikne, sitting near the door and watching them, the expression of -content visible in Herr Falck’s face as he sat beside him, the pretty -faces and picturesque attire of Sigrid and Swanhild, the radiant beauty -of Blanche Morgan, the unclouded happiness of Frithiof. - -The evening had done her good; its informality, its hearty unaffected -happiness and merriment made it a strange contrast to any other dance -she could recollect; yet even here there was a slight shadow. She could -not forget those words which she had overheard on board the steamer, -could not get rid of the feeling that some trouble hung over the Falck -family, and that hidden away, even in this Norwegian paradise, there -lurked somewhere the inevitable serpent. Even as she mused over it, -Frithiof crossed the room and made his bow before her, and in another -minute had whirled her off. Happiness shone in his eyes, lurked in the -tones of his voice, added fresh spirit to his dancing; she thought she -had never before seen such an incarnation of perfect content. They -talked of Norwegian books, and her interest in his country seemed to -please him. - -“You can easily get English translations of our best novelists,” he -said. “You should read Alexander Kielland’s books, and Bjornsen’s. I -have had a poem of Bjornsen’s ringing all day in my head; we will make -Sigrid say it to us, for I only know the chorus.” - -Then as the waltz came to an end he led her toward his sister, who was -standing with Roy near the piano. - -“We want you to say us Bjornsen’s poem, Sigrid, in which the refrain is, -‘To-day is just a day to my mind.’ I can’t remember anything but the -chorus.” - -“But it is rather a horrid little poem,” said Sigrid, hesitating. - -“Oh, let us have it, please let us have it,” said Blanche, joining them. -“You have made me curious now.” - -So Sigrid, not liking to refuse, repeated first the poem itself and then -the English translation: - - “The fox lay under the birch-tree’s root - Beside the heather; - And the hare bounded with lightsome foot - Over the heather; - ‘To-day is just a day to my mind, - All sunny before and sunny behind - Over the heather!’ - - And the fox laughed under the birch-tree’s root - Beside the heather; - And the hare frolicked with heedless foot - Over the heather; - ‘I am so glad about everything!’ - ‘So that is the way you dance and spring - Over the heather!’ - - And the fox lay in wait by the birch-tree’s root - Beside the heather; - And the hare soon tumbled close to his foot - Over the heather; - ‘Why, bless me! is that _you_, my dear! - However did you come dancing here - Over the heather?’” - -“I had forgotten that it ended so tragically,” said Frithiof, with a -slight shrug of the shoulders. “Well, never mind, it is only a poem; let -us leave melancholy to poets and novelists, and enjoy real life.” - -Just then a polka was struck up and he hastily made his bow to Blanche. - -“And yet one needs a touch of tragedy in real life,” she observed, “or -it becomes so dreadfully prosaic.” - -“Oh,” said Frithiof, laughing, as he bore her off; “then for Heaven’s -sake let us be prosaic to the end of the chapter.” - -Cecil heard the words, they seemed to her to fit in uncannily with the -words of the poem; she could not have explained, and she did not try to -analyze the little thrill of pain that shot through her heart at the -idea. Neither could she have justified to herself the shuddering -repulsion she felt when Cyril Morgan drew near, intercepting her view of -Frithiof and Blanche. - -“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he said, in his condescending -tone. - -“Thank you, but I am so tired,” she replied. “Too tired for any more -to-night.” - -“Yes,” said Sigrid, glancing at her. “You look worn out. Munkeggen is a -tiring climb. Let us come upstairs, it is high time that naughty little -sister of mine was in bed.” - -“The reward of virtue,” said Cyril Morgan, rejoining his cousin -Florence. “I have been polite to the little _bourgeoise_ and it has cost -me nothing. It is always best in a place like this to be on good terms -with every one. We shall never be likely to come across these people -again, the acquaintance is not likely to bore us.” - -His words were perfectly true. That curiously assorted gathering of -different nationalities would never again meet, and yet those days of -close intimacy were destined to influence forever, either for good or -for evil, the lives of each one. - -All through the Sunday Blanche had kept in bed, for though the -excitement had kept her up, on the previous night, she inevitably -suffered from the effects of her fall. It was not till the Monday -morning, just before the arrival of the steamer, that Frithiof could -find the opportunity for which he had impatiently waited. They walked -through the little garden, ostensibly to watch for the steamer from the -mound by the flagstaff, but they only lingered there for a minute, -glancing anxiously down the fjord where in the distance could be seen -the unwelcome black speck. On the further side of the mound, down among -the trees and bushes, was a little sheltered seat. It was there that -they spent their last moments, there that Blanche listened to his eager -words of love, there that she again bade him wait till October, at the -same time giving him such hope and encouragement as must surely have -satisfied the most _exigeant_ lover. - -All too soon the bustle of departure reached them, and the -steam-whistle—most hateful and discordant of sounds—rang and resounded -among the mountains. - -“I must go,” she exclaimed, “or they will be coming to look for me. This -is our real good-by. On the steamer it will be just a hand-shake, but -now—” - -And she lifted a lovely, glowing face to his. - -Then, presently, as they walked down to the little pier, she talked fast -and gayly of all they would do when he came to England; she talked -because, for once, he was absolutely silent, and because she was afraid -that her uncle would guess their secret; perhaps it was a relief to her -that Frithiof volunteered to run back to the hotel for Mr. Morgan’s -opera-glass, which had been left by mistake in the _salon_, so that, -literally, there was only time for the briefest of farewells on the -steamer. He went through it all in a business-like fashion, smiling -mechanically in response to the good wishes, then, with a heavy heart, -stepping on shore. Herr Falck, who was returning to Bergen by the same -boat, which took the other travelers only as far as Vadheim, was not ill -pleased to see his son’s evident dejection; he stood by the bulwarks -watching him and saying a word or two now and then to Blanche, who was -close by him. - -“Why see!” he exclaimed, “the fellow is actually coming on board again. -We shall be carrying him away with us if he doesn’t take care.” - -“A thousand pardons!” Frithiof had exclaimed, shaking hands with Cecil -and Roy Boniface. “I did not see you before. A pleasant journey to you. -You must come again to Norway some day, and let us all meet once more.” - -“_Vaer saa god!_” exclaimed one of the sailors; and Frithiof had to -spring down the gangway. - -“To our next merry meeting,” said Roy, lifting his hat; and then there -was a general waving of handkerchiefs from the kindly little crowd on -the pier and from the parting guests, and, in all the babel and -confusion, Frithiof was conscious only of Blanche’s clear “_Auf -wiedersehen!_” and saw nothing but the sweet dark eyes, which to the -very last dwelt on him. - -“Well, that is over!” he said to Sigrid, pulling himself together, and -stifling a sigh. - -“Perhaps they will come here next year,” suggested Sigrid consolingly. - -“Perhaps I shall go to England next autumn,” said Frithiof with a smile. - -“So soon!” she exclaimed involuntarily. - -He laughed, for the words were such a curious contradiction to the ones -which lurked in his own mind. - -“Oh! you call two months a short time!” he exclaimed; “and to me it -seems an eternity. You will have to be very forbearing, for I warn you -such a waiting time is very little to my taste.” - -“Then why did you not speak now, before she went away?” - -“You wisest of advisers!” he said, with a smile: “I did speak -yesterday.” - -“Yesterday!” she cried eagerly. “Yesterday, on Munkeggen?” - -“Yes; all that now remains is to get Mr. Morgan’s consent to our -betrothal.” - -“Oh, Frithiof, I am so glad! so very glad! How pleased father will be! I -think you must write and let him know.” - -“If he will keep it quite secret,” said Frithiof; “but of course not a -word must be breathed until her father has consented. There is no -engagement as yet, only we know that we love each other.” - -“That ought to be enough to satisfy you till the autumn. And it was so -nice of you to tell me, Frithiof. Oh, I don’t think I could have borne -it if you had chosen to marry some girl I didn’t like. As for Blanche, -there never was any one more sweet and lovely.” - -It seemed that Frithiof’s happiness was to bring happiness to the whole -family. Even little Swanhild guessed the true state of things, and began -to frame visions of the happy future when the beautiful English girl -should become her own sister; while as to Herr Falck, the news seemed to -banish entirely the heavy depression which for some time had preyed upon -him. And so, in spite of the waiting, the time slipped by quickly to -Frithiof, the mere thought of Blanche’s love kept him rapturously happy, -and at the pretty villa in Kalvedalen there was much laughter and mirth, -and music and singing—much eager expectation and hope, and much planning -of a future life which should be even more full and happy. - -At length, when the afternoons closed in early, and the long winter was -beginning to give signs of its approach, Frithiof took leave of his -home, and, on one October Saturday, started on his voyage to England. It -was, in a sense, the great event of his life, and they all instinctively -knew that it was a crisis, so that Sigrid drew aside little Swanhild at -the last, and left the father and son to have their parting words alone. - -“I look to you, Frithiof,” the father said eagerly, “I look to you to -carry out the aims in which I myself have failed—to live the life I -could wish to have lived. May God grant you the wife who will best help -you in the struggle! I sometimes think, Frithiof, that things might have -gone very differently with me had your mother been spared.” - -“Do you not let this depression influence you too much, father?” said -Frithiof. “Why take such a dark view of your own life? I shall only be -too happy if I make as much of the world as you have done. I wish you -could have come to England too. I think you want change and rest.” - -“Ah!” said Herr Falck, laughing, “once over there you will not echo that -wish. No, no, you are best by yourself when you go a-wooing, my son. -Besides, I could not possibly leave home just now; we shall have the -herring-fleet back from Iceland before many days.” - -Then, as the signal was given that all friends of the passengers must -leave the steamer, he took Frithiof’s hand and held it fast in his. - -“God bless you, my boy—I think you will bring honor to our name, sooner -or later. Now, Sigrid, wish him well, and let us be off.” - -He called little Swanhild to him, and walked briskly down the gangway, -then stood on the quay, talking very cheerfully, his momentary -depression quite past. Before long the steamer began to glide off, and -Frithiof, even in the midst of his bright expectations, felt a pang as -he waved a farewell to those he left behind him. - -“A happy return to _Gamle Norge_!” shouted Herr Falck. - -And Sigrid and Swanhild stood waving their handkerchiefs till the -steamer could no longer be seen. - -“I am a fool to mind going away!” reflected Frithiof. “In three weeks’ -time I shall be at home again. And the next time I leave Bergen, why, -who knows, perhaps it will be to attend my own wedding!” - -And with that he began to pace the deck, whistling, as he walked, “The -Bridal Song of the Hardanger.” - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - -The event to which we have long eagerly looked forward is seldom all -that we have expected, and Frithiof, who for the last two months had -been almost hourly rehearsing his arrival in England, felt somewhat -depressed and disillusioned when, one chilly Monday morning, he first -set foot on English soil. The Southerner, arriving at Folkestone or -Dover, with their white cliffs and sunny aspect, gains a cheerful -impression as he steps ashore; but the Norwegian leaving behind him his -mountains and fjords, and coming straight to that most dingy and -unattractive town, Hull, is at great disadvantage. - -A fine, drizzling rain was falling; in the early morning the shabby, -dirty houses looked their very worst. Swarms of grimy little children -had been turned out of their homes, and were making their way to morning -school, and hundreds of busy men and women were hurrying through the -streets, all with worn, anxious-looking faces. As he walked to the -railway station Frithiof felt almost overpowered by the desolateness of -the place. To be a mere unit in this unthinking, unheeding crowd, to be -pushed and jostled by the hurrying passengers, who all walked as if -their very lives depended on their speed, to hear around him the rapidly -spoken foreign language, with its strange north-country accent, all made -him feel very keenly that he was indeed a foreigner in a strange land. -He was glad to be once more in a familiar-looking train, and actually on -his way to London; and soon all these outer impressions faded away in -the absorbing consciousness that he was actually on his way to -Blanche—that on the very next day he might hope to see her again. - -Fortunately the Tuesday proved to be a lovely, still, autumn day. He did -not like to call upon Mr. Morgan till the afternoon, and, indeed, -thought that he should scarcely find him at home earlier, so he roamed -about London, and looked at his watch about four times an hour, till at -length the time came when he could call a hansom and drive to Lancaster -Gate. - -There are some houses which the moment you enter them suggest to you the -idea of money. The Morgans’ house was one of these; everything was -faultlessly arranged; your feet sank into the softest of carpets, you -were served by the most obsequious of servants, all that was cheap or -common or ordinary was banished from view, and you felt that the chair -you sat on was a very superior chair, that all the pictures and -ornaments were the very best that could be bought, and that ordinary -people who could not boast of a very large income were only admitted -into this aggressively superior dwelling on sufferance. With all its -grandeur, it was not a house which tempted you to break the tenth -commandment; it inspired you with a kind of wonder, and if the guests -had truly spoken the thought which most frequently occurred to them, it -would have been: “I wonder now what he gave for this? It must have cost -a perfect fortune!” - -As to Frithiof, when he was shown into the great empty drawing-room with -its luxurious couches and divans and its wonderful collection of the -very best upholstery and the most telling works of art, he felt, as -strongly as he had felt in the dirty streets of Hull, that he was a -stranger and a foreigner. In the whole room there was nothing which -suggested to him the presence of Blanche; on the contrary, there was -everything which combated the vision of those days at Balholm and of -their sweet freedom. He felt stifled, and involuntarily crossed the room -and looked from the window at the green grass in Kensington Gardens, and -the tall elm-trees with their varying autumn tints. - -Before many minutes had passed, however, his host came into the room, -greeting him politely but somewhat stiffly. “Glad to make your -acquaintance,” he said, scanning him a little curiously as he spoke. “I -heard of you, of course, from my brother. I am sure they are all very -much indebted to you for planning their Norwegian tour for them so -well.” - -Had he also heard of him from Blanche? Had she indeed prepared the way -for him? Or would his request come as a surprise? These were the -thoughts which rushed through Frithiof’s mind as he sat opposite the -Englishman and noted his regular features, short, neat-looking, gray -beard, closely cropped hair, and rather cold eyes. - -Any one watching the two could scarcely have conceived a greater -contrast: the young Norwegian, eager, hopeful, bearing in his face the -look of one who has all the world before him; the middle-aged Englishman -who had bought his experience, and in whose heart enthusiasm, and eager -enjoyment of life, and confident belief in those he encountered, had -long ceased to exist. Nevertheless, though Mr. Morgan was a hard-headed -and a somewhat cold-blooded man, he felt a little sorry for his guest, -and reflected to himself that such a fine looking fellow was far more -fit for the post at Stavanger than his own son Cyril. - -“It is curious that you should have come to-day,” he remarked, after -they had exchanged the usual platitudes about the weather and the voyage -and the first impressions of England. “Only to-day the final decision -was arrived at about this long-mooted idea of the new branch of our firm -at Stavanger. Perhaps you have heard rumors of it?” - -“I have heard nothing at all,” said Frithiof. “My father did not even -mention it.” - -“It is scarcely possible that he has heard nothing of the idea,” said -Mr. Morgan. “When I saw you I had thought he had sent you over on that -very account. However, you have not as yet gone into the business, I -understand?” - -“I am to be taken into partnership this autumn,” said Frithiof. “I was -of age the other day, and have only waited for that.” - -“Strange,” said Mr. Morgan, “that only this very morning the telegram -should have been sent to your father. Had I known you were in England, I -would have waited. One can say things better face to face. And yet I -don’t know how that could have been either, for there was a sudden -chance of getting good promises at Stavanger, and delay was impossible. -I shall, of course, write fully to your father by the next mail, and I -will tell him that it is with great regret we sever our connection with -him.” - -Frithiof was so staggered by this unexpected piece of news that for a -minute all else was driven from his mind. - -“He will be very sorry to be no longer your agent,” he said. - -“And I shall be sorry to lose him. Herr Falck has always been most -honorable. I have the greatest respect for him. Still, business is -business; one can’t afford to sentimentalize in life over old -connections. It is certainly best in the interest of our firm to set up -a branch of our own with its headquarters at Stavanger. My son will go -there very shortly.” - -“The telegram is only just sent, you say?” asked Frithiof. - -“The first thing this morning,” replied Mr. Morgan. “It was decided on -last night. By this time your father knows all about it; indeed, I -almost wonder we have had no reply from him. You must not let the affair -make any breach between us; it is after all, a mere business necessity. -I must find out from Mrs. Morgan what free nights we have, and you must -come and dine with us. I will write and let you know. Have you any -particular business in London? or have you only come for the sake of -traveling?” - -“I came to see you, sir,” said Frithiof, his heart beating quickly, -though he spoke with his usual directness. “I came to ask your consent -to my betrothal with your daughter.” - -“With my daughter!” exclaimed Mr. Morgan. “Betrothal! What, in Heaven’s -name, can you be thinking of?” - -“I do not, of course, mean that there was a definite engagement between -us,” said Frithiof, speaking all the more steadily because of this -repulse. “Of course we could not have thought of that until we had asked -your consent. We agreed that I should come over this autumn and speak to -you about it; nothing passed at Balholm but just the assurance that we -loved each other.” - -“Loved each other!” ejaculated Mr. Morgan, beginning to pace the room -with a look of perplexity and annoyance. “What folly will the girl -commit next?” - -At this Frithiof also rose to his feet, the angry color rising to his -face. “I should never have spoken of my love to your daughter had I not -been in a position to support her,” he said hotly. “By your English -standards I may not, perhaps, be very rich, but our firm is one of the -leading firms in Bergen. We come of a good old Norwegian family. Why -should it be a folly for your daughter to love me?” - -“You misunderstand me,” said Mr. Morgan. “I don’t wish to say one word -against yourself. However, as you have alluded to the matter I must tell -you plainly that I expect my daughter to make a very different marriage. -Money I can provide her with. Her husband will supply her with a title.” - -“What!” cried Frithiof furiously, “you will force her to marry some -wretched aristocrat whom she can’t possibly love? For the sake of a mere -title you ruin her happiness.” - -“I shall certainly do nothing of the kind,” said the Englishman, with a -touch of dignity. “Sit down, Herr Falck, and listen to me. I would have -spared you this had it been possible. You are very young, and you have -taken things for granted too much. You believed that the first pretty -girl that flirted with you was your future wife. I can quite fancy that -Blanche was well pleased to have you dancing attendance on her in -Norway, but it was on her part nothing but a flirtation, she does not -care for you in the least.” - -“I do not believe it,” said Frithiof hotly. - -“Don’t think that I wish to excuse her,” said Mr. Morgan. “She is very -much to be blamed. But, she is pretty and winsome, she knows her own -power, and it pleases her to use it; women are all of them vain and -selfish. What do they care for the suffering they cause?” - -“You shall not say such things of her,” cried Frithiof desperately. “It -is not true. It can’t be true!” - -His face had grown deathly pale, and he was trembling with excitement. -Mr. Morgan felt sorry for him. - -“My poor fellow,” he said kindly, “don’t take it so hard. You are not -the first man who has been deceived. I am heartily sorry that my child’s -foolish thoughtlessness should have given you this to bear. But, after -all, it’s a lesson every one has to learn; you were inexperienced and -young.” - -“It is not possible!” repeated Frithiof in terrible agitation, -remembering vividly her promises, her words of love, her kisses, the -expression of her eyes, as she had yielded to his eager declaration of -love. “I will never believe it possible till I hear it from her own -lips.” - -With a gesture of annoyance, Mr. Morgan crossed the room and rang the -bell. “Well, let it be so, then,” he said coldly. “Blanche has treated -you ill; I don’t doubt it for a moment, and you will have every right to -hear the explanation from herself.” Then, as the servant appeared, “Tell -Miss Morgan that I want her in the drawing-room. Desire her to come at -once.” - -The minutes of waiting which followed were the worst Frithiof had ever -lived through. Doubt, fear, indignation, and passionate love strove -together in his heart, while mingled with all was the oppressive -consciousness of his host’s presence, and of the aggressive superiority -of the room and its contents. - -Perhaps the waiting was not altogether pleasant to Mr. Morgan; he poked -the fire and moved about restlessly. When, at last, light footsteps were -heard on the stairs, and Blanche entered the room, he turned toward her -with evident displeasure in his face. - -She wore a dress of reddish brown with a great deal of plush about it, -and something in the way it was made suggested the greatest possible -contrast to the little simple traveling-dress she had worn in Norway. -Her eyes were bright and eager, her loveliness as great as ever. - -“You wanted me, papa?” she began; then, as she came forward and -recognized Frithiof, she gave a little start of dismay and the color -burned in her cheeks. - -“Yes, I wanted you,” said Mr. Morgan gravely. “Herr Falck’s son has just -arrived.” - -She struggled hard to recover herself. - -“I am very glad to see you again,” she said, forcing up a little -artificial laugh and holding out her hand. - -But Frithiof had seen her first expression of dismay and it had turned -him into ice; he would not take her proffered hand, but only bowed -formally. There was a painful silence. - -“This is not the first time, Blanche, that you have learned what comes -of playing with edged tools,” said Mr. Morgan sternly. “I heard from -others that you had flirted with Herr Falck’s son in Norway; I now learn -that it was by your own suggestion that he came to England to ask my -consent to an engagement, and that you allowed him to believe that you -loved him. What have you to say for yourself?” - -While her father spoke, Blanche had stood by with bent head and downcast -eyes; at this direct question she looked up for a moment. - -“I thought I did care for him just at the time,” she faltered. “It—it -was a mistake.” - -“Why, then, did you not write and tell him so? It was the least you -could have done,” said her father. - -“It was such a difficult letter to write,” she faltered. “I kept on -putting it off, and hoping that he, too, would find out his mistake. And -then sometimes I thought I could explain it all better to him if he -came.” - -Frithiof made a step or two forward; his face was pale and rigid; the -blue seemed to have died out of his eyes—they looked like steel. “I wait -for your explanation,” he said, in a voice which, in spite of its -firmness, betrayed intense agitation. - -Mr. Morgan without a word quitted the room, and the two were left alone. -Again there was a long, expressive silence. Then, with a sob, Blanche -turned away, sinking down on an ottoman and covering her face with her -hands. Her tears instantly melted Frithiof; his indignation and wounded -pride gave pace to love and tenderness; a sort of wild hope rose in his -mind. - -“Blanche! Blanche!” he cried. “It isn’t true! It can’t be all over! -Others have been urging you to make some grand marriage—to be the wife -perhaps of some rich nobleman. But he can not love you as I love you. -Oh! have you forgotten how you told me I might trust to you? There is -not a moment since then that you have not been in my thoughts.” - -“I hoped so you would forget,” she sobbed. - -“How could I forget? What man could help remembering you day and night? -Oh, Blanche, don’t you understand that I love you? I love you!” - -“I understand only too well,” she said, glancing at him, her dark eyes -brimming over with tears. - -He drew nearer. - -“And you will love me once more,” he said passionately. “You will not -choose rank and wealth; you will—” - -“Oh, hush! hush!” she cried. “It has all been a dreadful mistake. I -never really loved you. Oh, don’t look like that! I was very dull in -Norway—there was no one else but you. I am sorry; very sorry.” - -He started back from her as if she had dealt him some mortal blow, but -Blanche went on, speaking quickly and incoherently, never looking in his -face. - -“After we went away I began to see all the difficulties so plainly—our -belonging to different countries, and being accustomed to different -things; but still I did really think I liked you till we got to -Christiania. There, on the steamer coming home, I found that it had all -been a mistake.” - -She paused. All this time she had carefully kept the fingers of her left -hand out of view; the position was too constrained not to attract -Frithiof’s notice. - -He remembered that, in the wearing of betrothal or wedding-rings, -English custom reversed the Norwegian, and turned upon her almost -fiercely. - -“Why do you try to hide that from me?” he cried. “Are you already -betrothed to this other man?” - -“It was only last Sunday,” she sobbed. “And I meant to write to you; I -did indeed.” - -Once more she covered her face with her hands, this time not attempting -to hide from Frithiof the beautiful circlet of brilliants on her third -finger. - -It seemed to him that giant hands seized on him then and crushed out of -him his very life. Yet the pain of living went on remorselessly, and as -if from a very great distance he heard Blanche’s voice. - -“I am engaged to Lord Romiaux,” she said. “He had been in Norway on a -fishing tour, but it was on the steamer that we first met. And then -almost directly I knew that at Munkeggen it had all been quite a -mistake, and that I had never really loved you. We met again at one of -the watering-places in September, but it was only settled the day before -yesterday. I wish—oh, how I wish—that I had written to tell you!” - -She stood up impulsively and drew nearer to him. - -“Is there nothing I can do to make up for my mistake?” she said, lifting -pathetic eyes to his. - -“Nothing.” he said bitterly. - -“Oh, don’t think badly of me for it,” she pleaded. “Don’t hate me.” - -“Hate you?” he exclaimed. “It will be the curse of my life that I love -you—that you have made me love you.” - -He turned as though to go away. - -“Don’t go without saying good-by,” she exclaimed; and her eyes said more -plainly than words, “I do not mind if you kiss me just once more.” - -He paused, ice one minute, fire the next, yet through it all aware that -his conscience was urging him to go without delay. - -Blanche watched him tremulously; she drew yet nearer. - -“Could we not still be friends?” she said, with a pathetic little quiver -in her voice. - -“No,” he cried vehemently, yet with a certain dignity in his manner; -“no, we could not.” - -Then, before Blanche could recover enough from her sense of humiliation -at this rebuff to speak, he bowed to her and left the room. - -She threw herself down on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. -“Oh, what must he think of me? what must he think of me?” she sobbed. -“How I wish I had written to him at once and saved myself this dreadful -scene! How could I have been so silly! so dreadfully silly! To be afraid -of writing a few words in a letter! My poor Viking! he looked so grand -as he turned away. I wish we could have been friends still; it used to -be so pleasant in Norway; he was so unlike other people; he interested -me. And now it is all over, and I shall never be able to meet him again. -Oh, I have managed very badly. If I had not been so imprudent on -Munkeggen he might have been my cavalier all his life, and I should have -liked to show him over here to people. I should have liked to initiate -him in everything.” - -The clock on the mantel-piece struck five. She started up and ran across -to one of the mirrors, looking anxiously at her eyes. “Oh, dear! oh, -dear! what shall I do?” she thought. “Algernon will be here directly, -and I have made a perfect object of myself with crying.” Then, as the -door-bell rang, she caught up a couvrette, sunk down on the sofa, and -covered herself up picturesquely. “There is nothing for it but a bad -headache,” she said to herself. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - -On the stairs Frithiof was waylaid by Mr. Morgan; it was with a sort of -surprise that he heard his own calm replies to the Englishman’s polite -speeches, and regrets, and inquiries as to when he returned to Norway, -for all the time his head was swimming, and it was astonishing that he -could frame a correct English phrase. The thought occurred to him that -Mr. Morgan would be glad enough to get rid of him and to put an end to -so uncomfortable a visit; he could well imagine the shrug of relief with -which the Englishman would return to his fireside, with its aggressively -grand fenders and fire-irons, and would say to himself, “Well, poor -devil, I am glad he is gone! A most provoking business from first to -last.” For to the Morgans the affair would probably end as soon as the -door had closed behind him, but for himself it would drag on and on -indefinitely. He walked on mechanically past the great houses which, to -his unaccustomed eyes, looked so palatial; every little trivial thing -seemed to obtrude itself upon him; he noticed the wan, haggard-looking -crossing sweeper, who tried his best to find something to sweep on that -dry, still day when even autumn leaves seldom fell; he noticed the -pretty spire of the church, and heard the clock strike five, reflecting -that one brief half-hour had been enough to change his whole life—to -bring him from the highest point of hope and eager anticipation to this -lowest depth of wretchedness. The endless succession of great, -monotonous houses grew intolerable to him; he crossed the road and -turned into Kensington Gardens, aware, as the first wild excitement died -down in his heart, of a cold, desolate blankness, the misery of which -appalled him. What was the meaning of it all? How could it possibly be -borne? Only by degrees did it dawn upon his overwrought brain that -Blanche’s faithlessness had robbed him of much more than her love. It -had left him stripped and wounded on the highway of life; it had taken -from him all belief in woman; it had made forever impossible for him his -old creed of the joy of mere existence; it had killed his youth. Was he -now to get up, and crawl on, and drag through the rest of his life as -best might be? Why, what was life worth to him now? He had been a fool -ever to believe in it; it was as she herself had once told him, he had -believed that it was all-sufficient merely because he had never known -unhappiness—never known the agony that follows when, for— - - “The first time Nature says plain ‘No’ - To some ‘Yes’ in you, and walks over you - In gorgeous sweeps of scorn.” - -His heart was so utterly dead that he could not even think of his home; -neither his father nor Sigrid rose before him as he looked down that -long, dreary vista of life that lay beyond. He could only see that -Blanche was no longer his; that the Blanche he had loved and believed in -had never really existed; that he had been utterly deceived, cheated, -defrauded; and that something had been taken from him which could never -return. - -“I will not live a day longer,” he said to himself; “not an hour -longer.” And in the relief of having some attainable thing to desire -ardently, were it only death and annihilation, he quickened his pace and -felt a sort of renewal of energy and life within him, urging him on, -holding before him the one aim which he thought was worth pursuing. He -would end it all quickly, he would not linger on, weakly bemoaning his -fate, or railing at life for having failed him and disappointed his -hopes; he would just put an end to everything without more ado. As to -arguing with himself about the right or wrong of the matter, such a -notion never occurred to him, he just walked blindly on, certain that -some opportunity would present itself, buoyed up by an unreasoning hope -that death would bring him relief. - -By this time he had reached Hyde Park, and a vague memory came back to -him; he remembered that, as he drove to Lancaster Gate, that afternoon, -he had crossed a bridge. There was water over there. It should be that -way. And he walked on more rapidly than before, still with an almost -dazzling perception of all the trifling little details, the color of the -dry, dusty road, the green of the turf, the dresses of those who passed -by him, the sound of their voices, the strange incongruity of their -perfectly unconcerned, contented faces. He would get away from all -this—would wait till it was dusk, when he could steal down unnoticed to -the water. Buoyed up by this last hope of relief, he walked along the -north shore of the Serpentine, passed the Receiving House of the Royal -Humane Society, with an unconcerned thought that his lifeless body would -probably be taken there, passed the boat-house with a fervent hope that -no one there would try a rescue, and at length, finding a seat under a -tree close to the water’s edge, sat down to wait for the darkness. It -need not be for long, for already the sun was setting, and over toward -the west he could see that behind the glowing orange and russet of the -autumn trees was a background of crimson sky. The pretty little wooded -island and the round green boat-house on the shore stood out in strong -relief; swans and ducks swam about contentedly; on the further bank was -a dark fringe of trees; away to the left the three arches of a -gray-stone bridge. In the evening light it made a fair picture, but the -beauty of it seemed only to harden him, for it reminded him of past -happiness; he turned with sore-hearted relief to the nearer view of the -Serpentine gleaming coldly as its waters washed the shore, and to the -dull monotony of the path in front of him with its heaps of brown -leaves. A bird sat singing in the beech-tree above him; its song jarred -on him just as much as the beauty of the sunset, it seemed to urge him -to leave the place where he was not needed, to take himself out of a -world which was meant for beauty and brightness and success, a world -which had no sympathy for failure or misery. He longed for the song to -cease, and he longed for the sunset glory to fade, he was impatient for -the end; the mere waiting for that brief interval became to him almost -intolerable; only the dread of being rescued held him back. - -Presently footsteps on the path made him look up; a shabbily dressed -girl walked slowly by, she was absorbed in a newspaper story and did not -notice him; neither did she notice her charge, a pale-faced, dark-eyed -little girl of about six years old who followed her at some distance, -chanting a pretty, monotonous little tune as she dragged a toy-cart -along the gravel. Frithiof, with the preternatural powers of observation -which seemed his that day, noticed in an instant every tiniest detail of -the child’s face and dress and bearing, the curious anatomy of the -wooden horse, the heap of golden leaves in the little cart. As the child -drew nearer, the words of the song became perfectly audible to him. She -sang very slowly, and in a sort of unconscious way, as if she couldn’t -help it: - - “Comfort every sufferer, - Watching late in pain—” - -She paused to put another handful of leaves into the cart, arranged them -with great care, patted the wooden steed, and resumed her song as if -there had been no interruption— - - “Those who plan some evil, - From their sin restrain.” - -Frithiof felt as if a knife had been suddenly plunged into him; he tried -to hear more, but the words died away, he could only follow the -monotonous little tune in the clear voice, and the rattling of the toy -cart on the pathway. And so the child passed on out of sight, and he saw -her no more. - -He was alone again, and the twilight for which he had longed was fast -closing in upon him; a sort of blue haze seemed gathering over the park; -night was coming on. What was this horrible new struggle which was -beginning within him? “Evil,” “sin”; could he not at least do what he -would with his own life? Where was the harm in ending that which was -hopelessly spoiled and ruined? Was not suicide a perfectly legitimate -ending to a life? - -A voice within him answered his question plainly: - -“To the man with a diseased brain—the man who doesn’t know what he is -about—it is no worse an end than to die in bed of a fever. But to -you—you who are afraid of the suffering of life, you who know quite well -what you are doing—to you it is sin.” - -Fight against it as he would, he could not stifle this new consciousness -which had arisen within him. What had led him, he angrily wondered, to -choose that particular place to wait in? What had made that child walk -past? What had induced her to sing those particular words? Did that -vague First Cause, in whom after a fashion he believed, take any heed of -trifles such as those? He would never believe that. Only women or -children could hold such a creed: only those who led sheltered, -innocent, ignorant lives. But a man—a man who had just learned what the -world really was, who saw that the weakest went to the wall, and might -triumphed over right—a man who had once believed in the beauty of life -and had been bitterly disillusioned—could never believe in a God who -ordered all things for good. It was a chance, a mere unlucky chance, yet -the child’s words had made it impossible for him to die in peace. - -As a matter of fact the sunset sky and fading light had suggested to the -little one’s untroubled mind the familiar evening hymn with its graphic -description of scenery, its beautiful word-painting, its wide human -sympathies; and that great mystery of life which links us together, -whether we know it or not, gave to the child the power to counteract the -influence of Blanche Morgan’s faithlessness, and to appeal to one to -whom the sight of that same sunset had suggested only thoughts of -despair. - -A wild confusion of memories seemed to rush through his mind, and -blended with them always were the welcome words and the quiet little -chant. He was back at home again talking with the old pastor who had -prepared him for confirmation; he was a mere boy once more, -unhesitatingly accepting all that he was taught; he was standing in the -great crowded Bergen church and declaring his belief in Christ, and his -entire willingness to give up everything wrong; he was climbing a -mountain with Blanche and arguing with her that life—mere existence—was -beautiful and desirable. - -Looking back afterward on the frightful struggle, it seemed to him that -for ages he had tossed to and fro in that horrible hesitation. In -reality all must have been over within a quarter of an hour. There rose -before him the recollection of his father as he had last seen him -standing on the deck of the steamer, and he remembered the tone of his -voice as he had said: - -“I look to you, Frithiof, to carry out the aims in which I myself have -failed, to live the life that I could wish to have lived.” - -He saw once again the wistful look in his father’s eyes, the mingled -love, pride, and anxiety with which he had turned to him, loath to let -him go, and yet eager to speed him on his way. Should he now disappoint -all his hopes? Should he, deliberately and in the full possession of all -his faculties, take a step which must bring terrible suffering to his -home people? And then he remembered for the first time that already -trouble and vexation and loss had overtaken his father; he knew well how -greatly he would regret the connection with the English firm, and he -pictured to himself the familiar house in Kalvedalen with a new and -unfamiliar cloud upon it, till instead of the longing for death there -came to him a nobler longing—a longing to go back and help, a longing to -make up to his father for the loss and vexation and the slight which had -been put upon him. He began to feel ashamed of the other wish, he began -to realize that there was still something to be lived for, though indeed -life looked to him as dim and uninviting as the twilight park with its -wreaths of gray mists, and its unpeopled solitude. - -Yet still he would live; the other thought no longer allured him, his -strength and manliness were returning; with bitter resolution he tore -himself from the vision of Blanche which rose mockingly before him, and -getting up, made his way out of the park. - -Emerging once more into the busy world of traffic at Hyde Park corner, -the perception of his forlorn desolateness came to him with far more -force than in the quiet path by the Serpentine. For the first time he -felt keenly that he was in an unknown city, and there came over him a -sick longing for Norway, for dear old Bergen, for the familiar -mountains, the familiar faces, the friendly greetings of passers-by. For -a few minutes he stood still, uncertain which road to take, wondering -how in the world he should get through the weary hours of his solitary -evening. Close by him a young man stood talking to the occupants of a -brougham which had drawn up by the pavement; he heard a word or two of -their talk, dimly, almost unconsciously. - -“Is the result of the trial known yet?” - -“Yes, five years’ penal servitude, and no more than he deserves.” - -“The poor children! what will become of them?” - -“Shall you be home by ten? We wont hinder you, then.” - -“Quite by ten. Tell father that Sardoni is free for the night he wanted -him; I met him just now. Good-by.” Then to the coachman “Home!” - -The word startled Frithiof back to the recollection of his own affairs; -he had utterly lost his bearings and must ask for direction. He would -accost this man who seemed a little less in a hurry than the rest of the -world. - -“Will you kindly tell me the way to the Arundel Hotel?” he asked. - -The young man turned at the sound of his voice, looked keenly at him for -an instant, then held out his hand in cordial welcome. - -“How are you?” he exclaimed. “What a lucky chance that we should have -run across each other in the dark like this! Have you been long in -England?” - -Frithiof, at the first word of hearty greeting, looked up with startled -eyes, and in the dim gas-light he saw the honest English face and kindly -eyes of Roy Boniface. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - -Meantime the brougham had bowled swiftly away and its two occupants had -settled themselves down comfortably as though they were preparing for a -long drive. - -“Are you warm enough, my child? Better let me have this window down, and -you put yours up,” said Mrs. Boniface, glancing with motherly anxiety at -the fair face beside her. - -“You spoil me, mother dear,” said Cecil. “And indeed I do want you not -to worry about me. I am quite strong, if you would only believe it.” - -“Well, well, I hope you are,” said Mrs. Boniface, with a sigh. “But any -way it’s more than you look, child.” - -And the mother thought wistfully of two graves in a distant cemetery -where Cecil’s sisters lay; and she remembered with a cruel pang that -only a few days ago some friend had remarked to her, with the -thoughtless frankness of a rapid talker, “Cecil is looking so pretty -just now, but she’s got the consumptive look in her face, don’t you -think?” And these words lay rankling in the poor mother’s heart, even -though she had been assured by the doctors that there was no disease, no -great delicacy even, no cause whatever for anxiety. - -“I am glad we have seen Doctor Royston,” said Cecil, “because now we -shall feel quite comfortable, and you wont be anxious any more, mother. -It would be dreadful, I think, to have to be a sort of semi-invalid all -one’s life, though I suppose some people just enjoy it, since Doctor -Royston said that half the girls in London were invalided just for want -of sensible work. I rather believe, mother, that is what has been the -matter with me,” and she laughed. - -“You, my dear!” said Mrs. Boniface; “I am sure you are not at all idle -at home. No one could say such a thing of you.” - -“But I am always having to invent things to do to keep myself busy,” -said Cecil. “Mother, I have got a plan in my head now that would settle -my work for five whole years, and I do so want you to say ‘yes’ to it.” - -“It isn’t that you want to go into some sisterhood?” asked Mrs. -Boniface, her gentle gray eyes filling with tears. - -“Oh, no, no,” said Cecil emphatically. “Why, how could I ever go away -from home and leave you, darling, just as I am getting old enough to be -of use to you? It’s nothing of that kind, and the worst of it is that it -would mean a good deal of expense to father, which seems hardly fair.” - -“He wont grudge that,” said Mrs. Boniface. “Your father would do -anything to please you, dear. What is this plan? Let me hear about it.” - -“Well, the other night when I was hearing all about those poor Grantleys -opposite to us—how the mother had left her husband and children and gone -off no one knows where, and then how the father had forged that check -and would certainly be imprisoned; I began to wonder what sort of a -chance the children had in the world. And no one seemed to know or to -care what would become of them, except father, and he said we must try -to get them into some asylum or school.” - -“It isn’t many asylums that would care to take them, I expect,” said -Mrs. Boniface. “Poor little things, there’s a hard fight before them! -But what was your plan?” - -“Why, mother, it was just to persuade father to let them come to us for -the five years. Of course it would be an expense to him, but I would -teach them, and help to take care of them; and oh, it would be so nice -to have children about the house! One can never be dull where there are -children.” - -“I knew she was dull at home,” thought the mother to herself. “It was -too much of a change for her to come back from school, from so many -educated people and young friends, to an ignorant old woman like me and -a silent house. Not that the child would ever allow it.” - -“But of course, darling,” said Cecil, “I wont say a word more about it -if you think it would trouble you or make the house too noisy.” - -“There is plenty of room for them, poor little mites,” said Mrs. -Boniface. “And the plan is just like you, dear. There’s only one -objection I have to it. I don’t like your binding yourself to work for -so many years—not just now while you are so young. I should have liked -you to marry, dear.” - -“But I don’t think that is likely,” said Cecil. “And it does seem so -stupid to let the time pass on, and do nothing for years and years just -because there is a chance that some man whom you could accept may -propose to you. The chances are quite equal that it may not be so, and -then you have wasted a great part of your life.” - -“I wish you could have fancied Herbert White,” said Mrs. Boniface -wistfully. “He would have made such a good husband.” - -“I hope he will to some one else. But that would have been impossible, -mother, quite, quite impossible.” - -“Cecil, dearie, is there—is there any one else?” - -“No one, mother,” said Cecil quietly, and the color in her cheeks did -not deepen, and Mrs. Boniface felt satisfied. Yet, nevertheless, at that -very moment there flashed into Cecil’s mind the perception of the real -reason which had made it impossible for her to accept the offer of -marriage that a week or two ago she had refused. She saw that Frithiof -Falck would always be to her a sort of standard by which to measure the -rest of mankind, and she faced the thought quietly, for there never had -been any question of love between them; he would probably marry the -pretty Miss Morgan, and it was very unlikely that she should ever meet -him again. - -“The man whom I could accept must be that sort of man,” she thought to -herself. “And there is something degrading in the idea of standing and -waiting for the doubtful chance that such a one may some day appear. -Surely we girls were not born into the world just to stand in rows -waiting to get married?” - -“And I am sure I don’t know what I should do without you if you did get -married,” said Mrs. Boniface, driving back the tears which had started -to her eyes, “so I don’t know why I am so anxious that it should come -about, except that I should so like to see you happy.” - -“And so I am happy, perfectly happy,” said Cecil, and as she spoke she -suddenly bent forward and kissed her mother. “A girl would have to be -very wicked not to be happy with you and father and Roy to live with.” - -“I wish you were not cut off from so much,” said Mrs. Boniface. “You -see, dear, if you were alone in the world people would take you up—I -mean the style of people you would care to be friends with—but as long -as there’s the shop, and as long as you have a mother who can’t talk -well about recent books, and who is not always sure how to pronounce -things—” - -“Mother! mother!” cried Cecil, “how can you say such things? As long as -I have you, what do I want with any one else?” - -Mrs. Boniface patted the girl’s hand tenderly. - -“I like to talk of the books with you, dearie,” she said; “you -understand that. There’s nothing pleases me better than to hear you read -of an evening, and I’m very much interested in that poor Mrs. Carlyle, -though it does seem to me it’s a comfort to be in private life, where no -biographers can come raking up all your foolish words and bits of -quarrels after you are dead and buried. Why, here we are at home. How -quick we have got down this evening! As to your plan, dearie, I’ll just -talk it over with father the very first chance I have.” - -“Thank you, mother. I do so hope he will let us have them.” And Cecil -sprang out of the carriage with more animation in her face than Mrs. -Boniface had seen there for a long time. - -Mrs. Boniface was a Devonshire woman, and, notwithstanding her -five-and-twenty years of London life, she still preserved something of -her western accent and intonation; she had also the gentle manner and -the quiet consideration and courtesy which seem innate in most -west-country people. As to education, she had received the best that was -to be had for tradesmen’s daughters in the days of her youth, but she -was well aware that it did not come up to modern requirements, and had -taken good care that Cecil should be brought up very differently. There -was something very attractive in her homely simplicity; and though she -could not help regretting that Cecil, owing to her position, was cut off -from much that other girls enjoyed, nothing would have induced her to -try to push her way in the world,—she was too true a lady for that, and, -moreover, beneath all her gentleness had too much dignity and -independence of character. So it had come to pass that they lived a very -quiet life, with few intimate friends and not too many acquaintances; -but perhaps they were none the less happy for that. Certainly there was -about the home a sense of peace and rest not too often to be met with in -this bustling nineteenth century. - -The opportunity for suggesting Cecil’s plan to Mr. Boniface came soon -after they reached home. In that house things were wont to be quickly -settled; they were not great at discussions, and perhaps this accounted -in a great measure for the peace of the domestic atmosphere. Certainly -there is nothing so productive of family quarrels as the habit of -perpetually talking over the various arrangements, household or -personal, and many a good digestion must have been ruined, and many a -temper soured by the baneful habit of arguing the _pros_ and _cons_ of -some vexed question during breakfast or dinner. - -Cecil was in the drawing-room, playing one of Chopin’s Ballads, when her -father came into the room. He stood by the fire till she had finished, -watching her thoughtfully. He was an elderly man, tall and spare, with a -small, shapely head, white hair and trim white beard. His gray eyes were -honest and kindly, like his son’s, and the face was a good as well as a -refined face. He was one of the deacons of a Congregational chapel, and -came of an old Nonconformist family, which for many generations had -pleaded and suffered for religious liberty. Robert Boniface was true to -his principles, and when his children grew up, and, becoming old enough -to go thoroughly into the question, declared their wish to join the -Church of England, he made not the slightest objection. What was more, -he would not even allow them to see that it was a grief to him. - -“It is not to be supposed that every one should see from one point of -view,” he had said to his wife. “We are all of us looking to the same -sun, and that is the great thing.” - -Such division must always be a little sad, but mutual love and mutual -respect made them in this case a positive gain. There were no arguments, -but each learned to see and admire what was good in the other’s view, to -hold stanchly to what was deemed right, and to live in that love which -practically nullifies all petty divisions and differences. - -“And so I hear that you want to be mothering those little children over -the way,” said Mr. Boniface, when the piece was ended. - -Cecil crossed the room and stood beside him. - -“What do you think about it, father?” she asked. - -“I think that before you decide you must realize that it will be a great -responsibility.” - -“I have thought of that,” she said. “And of course there is the expense -to be thought of.” - -“Never mind about the expense; I will undertake that part of the matter -if you will undertake the responsibility. Do you quite realize that even -pretty little children are sometimes cross and naughty and ill?” - -She laughed. - -“Yes, yes; I have seen those children in all aspects, and they are -rather spoiled. But I can’t bear to think that they will be sent to some -great institution, with no one to care for them properly.” - -“Then you are willing to undertake your share of the bargain?” - -“Quite.” - -“Very well, then, that is settled. Let us come across and see if any one -has stepped in before us.” - -Cecil, in great excitement, flew upstairs to tell her mother, and -reappeared in a minute or two in her hat and jacket. Then the father and -daughter crossed the quiet suburban road to the opposite house, where -such a different life-story had been lived. The door was opened to them -by the nurse; she had evidently been crying, and even as they entered -the passage they seemed conscious of the desolation of the whole -atmosphere. - -“Oh, miss, have you heard the verdict?” said the servant, who knew Cecil -slightly, and was eager for sympathy. “And what’s to become of my little -ones no one seems to know.” - -“That is just what we came to inquire about,” said Mr. Boniface, “We -heard there were no relations to take charge of them. Is that true?” - -“There’s not a creature in the world to care for them, sir,” said the -nurse. “There’s the lawyer looking through master’s papers now, sir, and -he says we must be out of this by next week, and that he must look up -some sort of school where they’ll take them cheap. A school for them -little bits of things, sir, isn’t it enough to break one’s heart? And -little Miss Gwen so delicate, and only a lawyer to choose it, one as -knows nothing but about parchments and red tape, sir, and hasn’t so much -as handled a child in his life, I’ll be bound.” - -“If Mr. Grantley’s solicitor is here I should like to speak to him for a -minute,” said Mr. Boniface. “I’ll be with you again before long, Cecil; -perhaps you could see the children.” - -He was shown into the study which had belonged to the master of the -house, and unfolded Cecil’s suggestion to the lawyer, who proved to be a -much more fatherly sort of man than the nurse had represented. He was -quite certain that his client would be only too grateful for so friendly -an act. - -“Things have gone hardly with poor Grantley,” he remarked. “And such an -offer will be the greatest possible surprise to him. The poor fellow has -not had a fair chance; handicapped with such a wife, one can almost -forgive him for going to the bad. I shall be seeing him once more -to-morrow, and will let you know what he says. But of course there can -be but one answer—he will thankfully accept your help.” - -Meanwhile Cecil had been taken upstairs to the nursery; it looked a -trifle less desolate than the rest of the house, yet lying on the table -among the children’s toys she saw an evening paper with the account of -the verdict and sentence on John Grantley. - -The nurse had gone into the adjoining room, but she quickly returned. - -“They are asleep, miss, but you’ll come in and see them, wont you?” - -Cecil had wished for this, and followed her guide into the dimly lighted -night nursery, where in two little cribs lay her future charges. They -were beautiful children, and as she watched them in their untroubled -sleep and thought of the mother who had deserted them and disgraced her -name, and the father who was that moment beginning his five years of -penal servitude, her heart ached for the little ones, and more and more -she longed to help them. - -Lancelot, the elder of the two, was just four years old; he had a sweet, -rosy, determined little face with a slightly Jewish look about it, his -curly brown hair was long enough to fall back over the pillow, and in -his fat little hand he grasped a toy horse, which was his inseparable -companion night and day. The little girl was much smaller and much more -fragile-looking, though in some respects the two were alike. Her baby -face looked exquisite now in its perfect peace, and Cecil did not wonder -that the nurse’s tears broke forth again as she spoke of the little -two-year-old Gwen being sent to school. They were still talking about -the matter when Mr. Boniface rejoined them; the lawyer also came in, -and, to the nurse’s surprise, even looked at the sleeping children. -“Quite human-like,” as she remarked afterward to the cook. - -“Don’t you distress yourself about the children,” he said kindly. “It -will be all right for them. Probably they will only have to move across -the road. We shall know definitely about it to-morrow; but this -gentleman has very generously offered to take care of them.” - -The nurse’s tearful gratitude was interrupted by a sound from one of the -cribs. Lance, disturbed perhaps by the voices, was talking in his sleep. - -“Gee-up,” he shouted, in exact imitation of a carter, as he waved the -toy-horse in the air. - -Every one laughed, and took the hint: the lawyer went back to his work, -and Mr. Boniface and Cecil, after a few parting words with the happy -servant, recrossed the road to Rowan Tree House. - -“Oh, father, it is so very good of you,” said Cecil, slipping her arm -into his; “I haven’t been so happy for an age!” - -“And I am happy,” he replied, “that it is such a thing as this which -pleases my daughter.” - -After that there followed a delightful evening of anticipation, and Mrs. -Boniface entered into the plan with her whole heart and talked of -nursery furniture put away in the loft, and arranged the new nursery in -imagination fifty times over—always with improvements. And this made -them talk of the past, and she began to tell amusing stories of Roy and -Cecil when they were children, and even went back to remembrances of her -own nursery life, in which a stern nurse who administered medicine with -a forcing spoon figured largely. - -“I believe,” said the gentle old lady, laughing, “that it was due to -that old nurse of mine that I never could bear theological arguments. -She began them when we were so young that we took a fatal dislike to -them. I can well remember, as a little thing of four years old, sitting -on the punishment chair in the nursery when all the others were out at -play, and wishing that Adam and Eve hadn’t sinned.” - -“You all sound very merry,” said Roy, opening the door before the laugh -which greeted this story had died away. - -“Why, how nice and early you are, Roy!” exclaimed Cecil. “Oh! mother has -been telling us no end of stories, you ought to have been here to listen -to them. And, Roy, we are most likely going to have those little -children over the way to live with us till their father is out of prison -again.” - -Roy seemed grave and preoccupied, but Cecil was too happy to notice -that, and chattered on contentedly. He scarcely heard her, yet a sense -of strong contrast made the home-likeness of the scene specially -emphasized to him. He looked at his father leaning back in the great -arm-chair, with reading-lamp and papers close by him, but with his eyes -fixed on Cecil as she sat on the rug at his feet, the firelight -brightening her fair hair; he looked at his mother on the opposite side -of the hearth, in the familiar dress which she almost always wore—black -silk with soft white lace about the neck and bodice, and a pretty white -lace cap. She was busy with her netting, but every now and then glanced -up at him. - -“You are tired to-night, Roy,” she said, when Cecil’s story had come to -an end. - -“Just a little,” he owned. “Such a curious thing happened to me. It was -a good thing you caught sight of me at Hyde Park Corner and stopped to -ask about the trial, Cecil, for otherwise it would never have come -about. Who do you think I met just as you drove on?” - -“I can’t guess,” said Cecil, rising from her place on the hearth-rug as -the gong sounded for supper. - -“One of our Norwegian friends,” said Roy. “Frithiof Falck.” - -“What! is he actually in England?” said Cecil, taking up the -reading-lamp to carry it into the next room. - -“Yes, poor fellow,” said Roy. - -Something in his tone made Cecil’s heart beat quickly; she could not -have accounted for the strength of the feeling which suddenly -overwhelmed her; she hardly knew what it was she feared so much, or why -such a sudden panic had seized upon her; she trembled from head to foot, -and was glad as they crossed the hall to hand the lamp to Roy, glancing -up at him as she did so, apprehensively. - -“Why do you say poor fellow?” she asked. “Oh, Roy, what is the matter? -what—what has happened to him?” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - -“The house seems quiet without Frithiof,” remarked Herr Falck on the -Monday after his son’s departure. - -Frithiof at that very moment was walking through the streets of Hull, -feeling lonely and desolate enough. They felt desolate without him at -Bergen, and began to talk much of his return, and to wonder when the -wedding would be, and to settle what presents they would give Blanche. - -The dining-room looked very pleasant on that October morning. Sigrid, -though never quite happy when her twin was away, was looking forward -eagerly to his return, and was so much cheered by the improvement in her -father’s health and spirits that she felt more at rest than she had done -for some time. Little Swanhild, whose passion for Blanche increased -daily, was in the seventh heaven of happiness, and though she had not -been told everything, knew quite well that the general expectation was -that Frithiof would be betrothed to her ideal. As for Herr Falck he -looked eager and hopeful, and it seemed as if some cloud of care had -been lifted off him. He talked more than he had done of late, teased -Swanhild merrily about her lessons, and kept both girls laughing and -chattering at the table till Swanhild had to run off in a hurry, -declaring that she should be late for school. - -“You should not tell such funny stories in the morning, little father!” -she said laughingly, as she stopped for the customary kiss and “_tak for -maden_” (thanks for the meal) on her way out of the room. - -“Ah, but to laugh is so good for the digestion,” said Herr Falck. “You -will read English all the better in consequence. See if you don’t.” - -“Are you busy to-day, father?” asked Sigrid, as the door closed behind -the little girl. - -“Not at all. I shall take a walk before going to the office. I tell you -what, Sigrid, you shall come with me and get a new English story at -Beyer’s, to cheer you in Frithiof’s absence. What was the novel some one -told you gave the best description of English home life?” - -“‘Wives and Daughters,’” said Sigrid. - -“Well, let us get it then, and afterward we will take a turn above -Walkendorf’s Tower, and see if there is any sign of our vessels from -Iceland.” - -“You heard good news of them last month, did you not?” asked Sigrid. - -“No definite news, but everything was very hopeful. They sent word by -the steamer to Granton, and telegraphed from there to our station in -Öifjord.” - -“What did they say?” - -“That as yet there was no catch of herrings, but that everything was -most promising, as plenty of whales were seen every day at the mouth of -the fjord. Oh, I am perfectly satisfied. I have had no anxiety about the -expedition since then.” So father and daughter set out together. It was -a clear frosty morning, the wintry air was invigorating, and Sigrid -thought she had never seen her father look so well before; his step -seemed so light, his brow so smooth, his eyes so unclouded. Beyer’s shop -had fascinations for them both; she lingered long in the neighborhood of -the Tauchnitz shelves, while Herr Falck discussed the news with some one -behind the counter, and admired the pictures so temptingly displayed. - -“Look here, Sigrid!” he exclaimed. “Did you ever see a prettier little -water-color than that? Bergen in winter, from the harbor. What is the -price of it? A hundred kroner? I must really have it. It shall be a -present to you in memory of our walk.” - -Sigrid was delighted with the picture, and Herr Falck himself seemed as -pleased with it as a child with a new toy. They talked away together, -planning where it should hang at home and saying how it was just the -sort of thing Frithiof would like. - -“It is quite a pity he did not see it when he was away in Germany, he -would have liked to have it when he was suffering from _Heimweh_,” said -Sigrid. - -“Well, all that sort of thing is over for him, I hope,” said Herr Falck. -“No need that he should be away from Bergen any more, except now and -then for a holiday. And if ever you marry a foreigner, Sigrid, you will -be able to take Bergen with you as a consolation.” - -They made their way up to a little wooded hill above the fortress, which -commanded a wide and beautiful view. - -“Ah!” cried Herr Falck. “Look there, Sigrid! Look, look! there is surely -a vessel coming.” - -She gazed out seaward. - -“You have better eyes than I have, father. Whereabouts? Oh! yes, now I -see, ever so far away. Do you think it is one of yours?” - -“I can’t tell yet,” said Herr Falck; and glancing at him she saw that he -was in an agony of impatience, and that the old troubled look had come -back to his face. - -Again the nameless fear which had seized her in the summer took -possession of her. She would not bother him with questions, but waited -silently beside him, wondering why he was so unusually excited, wishing -that she understood business matters, longing for Frithiof, who would -perhaps have known all about it and could have reassured her. - -“Yes, yes,” cried Herr Falck at length, “I am almost sure it is one of -our Öifjord vessels. Yes! I am certain it is the ‘Solid.’ Now the great -question is this—is she loaded or only ballasted?” - -The fresh, strong wind kept blowing Sigrid’s fringe about distractingly; -sheltering her eyes with her hand, she looked again eagerly at the -approaching vessel. - -“I think she is rather low in the water, father, don’t you?” - -“I hope so—I hope so,” said Herr Falck, and he took off his spectacles -and began to wipe the dim glasses with fingers that trembled visibly. - -The ship was drawing nearer and nearer, and every moment Sigrid realized -more that it was not as she had first hoped. Undoubtedly the vessel was -high in the water. She glanced apprehensively at her father. - -“I can’t bear this any longer, Sigrid,” he exclaimed. “We will go down -to Tydskebryggen, and take a boat and row out to her.” - -They hurried away, speaking never a word. Sigrid feared that her father -would send her home, thinking it would be cold for her on the water, but -he allowed her to get into the little boat in silence, perhaps scarcely -realizing her presence, too much taken up with his great anxiety to -think of anything else. As they threaded their way through the busy -harbor, she began to feel a little more cheerful. Perhaps, after all, -the matter was not so serious. The sun shone brightly on the sparkling -water; the sailors and laborers on the vessels and the quays shouted and -talked at their work; on a steamer, which they passed, one of the men -was cleaning the brass-work and singing blithely the familiar tune of -“Sönner av Norge.” - -“We must hope for the best,” said Herr Falck, perhaps also feeling the -influence of the cheerful tune. - -Just as they neared the “Solid” the anchor dropped. - -“You had better wait here,” said Heir Falck, “while I go on board. I’ll -not keep you long, dear.” - -Nevertheless, anxious waiting always does seem long, and Sigrid, spite -of her sealskin jacket, shivered as she sat in the little boat. It was -not so much the cold that made her shiver, as that horrible nameless -dread, that anxiety which weighed so much more heavily because she did -not fully understand it. - -When her father rejoined her, her worst fears were realized. He neither -looked at her nor spoke to her, but, just giving a word of direction to -the boatman, sat down in his place with folded arms and bent head. She -knew instantly that some terrible disaster must have happened, but she -did not dare to ask what it was; she just sat still listening to the -monotonous stroke of the oars, and with an uneasy wonder in her mind as -to what would happen next. They were nearing the shore, and at last her -father spoke. - -“Pay the man, Sigrid,” he said, and with an unsteady hand he gave her -his purse. He got out of the boat first and she fancied she saw him -stagger, but the next moment he recovered himself and turned to help -her. They walked away together in the direction of the office. - -“You must not be too anxious, dear child,” he said. “I will explain all -to you this evening. I have had a heavy loss.” - -“But, little father, you look so ill,” pleaded Sigrid. “Must you indeed -go to the office? Why not come home and rest?” - -“Rest!” said Herr Falck dreamily. “Rest? No, not just yet—not just yet. -Send the carriage for me this afternoon, and say nothing about it to any -one—I’ll explain it to you later on.” - -So the father and daughter parted, and Sigrid went home to bear as best -she could her day of suspense. Herr Falck returned later on, looking -very ill, and complaining of headache. She persuaded him to lie down in -his study, and would not ask him the question which was trembling on her -lips. But in the evening he spoke to her. - -“You are a good child, Sigrid, a good child,” he said, caressing her -hand. “And now you must hear all, though I would give much to keep it -from you. The Iceland expedition has failed, dear; the vessels have come -back empty.” - -“Does it mean such a very great loss to you, father?” she asked. - -“I will explain to you,” he said, more eagerly; “I should like you to -understand how it has come about. For some time trade has been very bad; -and last year and the year before I had some heavy losses connected with -the Lofoten part of the business.” - -He seemed to take almost a pleasure in giving her all sorts of details -which she could not half-understand; she heard in a confused way of the -three steamers sent to Nordland in the summer with empty barrels and -salt for the herrings; she heard about buying at the Bourse of Bergen -large quantities, so that Herr Falck had ten thousand barrels at a time, -and had been obliged to realize them at ruinous prices. - -“You do not understand all this, my Sigrid,” he said, smiling at her -puzzled face. “Well, I’ll tell you the rest more simply. Things were -looking as bad as possible, and when in the summer I heard that -Haugesund had caught thousands of barrels of herrings in the fjords of -Iceland, I made up my mind to try the same plan, and to stake all on -that last throw. I chartered sailing vessels, hired hands, bought nets, -and the expedition set off—I knew that if it came back with full barrels -I should be a rich man, and that if it failed, there was no help for -it—my business must go to pieces.” - -Sigrid gave a little cry. “You will be bankrupt?” she exclaimed. “Oh, -surely not that, father—not that!” - -She remembered all too vividly the bankruptcy of a well-known timber -merchant some years before; she knew that he had raised money by -borrowing on the Bank of Norway and on the Savings Bank of Bergen, and -she knew that it was the custom of the land that the banks, avoiding -risk in that way, demanded two sureties for the loan, and that the -failure of a large firm caused distress far and wide to an extent hardly -conceivable to foreigners. - -“There is yet one hope,” said Herr Falck. “If the rumor I heard in the -summer is false, and if I can still keep the connection with Morgans, -that guarantees me seven thousand two hundred kroner a year, and in that -case I have no doubt we could avoid open bankruptcy.” - -“But how?” said Sigrid. “I don’t understand.” - -“The Morgans would never keep me as their agent if I were declared a -bankrupt, and, to avoid that, I think my creditors would accept as -payment the outcome of all my property, and would give me what we call -voluntary agreement; it is a form of winding up a failing concern which -is very often employed. They would be the gainers in the long run, -because of course they would not allow me to keep my seven thousand two -hundred kroner untouched, so in any case, my child, I have brought you -to poverty.” - -He covered his face with his hands. Sigrid noticed that the veins about -his temples stood out like blue cords, so much were they enlarged. - -She put her arm about him, kissing his hair, his hands, his forehead. - -“I do not mind poverty, little father. I mind only that you are so -troubled,” she said. “And surely, surely they will not take the agency -from you after all these years! Oh, poverty will be nothing, if only we -can keep from disgrace—if only others need not be dragged down too!” - -They were interrupted by a tap at the door, and Swanhild stole in, -making the pretty little courtesy without which no well-bred Norwegian -child enters or leaves a room. - -“Mayn’t I come and say good-night to you, little father?” she asked. “I -got on ever so well at school, just as you said, after our merry -breakfast.” - -The sight of the child’s unconscious happiness was more than he could -endure; he closed his eyes that she might not see the scalding tears -which filled them. - -“How dreadfully ill father looks,” said Swanhild uneasily. - -“His head is very bad,” said Sigrid. “Kiss him, dear, and then run to -bed.” - -But Herr Falck roused himself. - -“I too will go up,” he said. “Bed is the best place, eh, Swanhild? God -bless you, little one; good-night. What, are you going to be my -walking-stick?” - -And thus, steadying himself by the child, he went up to his room. - -At breakfast the next morning he was in his place as usual, but he -seemed very poorly, and afterward made no suggestion as to going down to -the office, but lay on the sofa in his study, drowsily watching the -flames in his favorite English fireplace. Sigrid went about the house -busy with her usual duties, and for the time so much absorbed that she -almost forgot the great trouble hanging over them. About eleven o’clock -there was a ring at the door-bell; the servant brought in a telegram for -Herr Falck. A sort of wild hope seized her that it might be from -Frithiof. If anything could cheer her father on that day it would be to -hear that all was happily settled, and, taking it from the maid, she -bore it herself into her father’s room. He rose from the sofa as she -entered. - -“I am better, Sigrid,” he said. “I think I could go to the office. Ah! a -telegram for me?” - -“It has come this minute,” she said, watching him as he sat down before -his desk, adjusted his spectacles, and tore open the envelope. If only -Frithiof could send news that would cheer him! If only some little ray -of brightness would come to lighten that dark day! She had so persuaded -herself that the message must be from Frithiof that the thought of the -business anxieties had become for the time quite subservient. The -telegram was a long one. - -“How extravagant that boy is!” she thought to herself. “Why, it would -have been enough if he had just put ‘All right.’” - -Then a sudden cry broke from her, for her father had bowed his head on -his desk like a man who is overwhelmed. - -“Father, father!” she cried, “oh! what is the matter?” - -For a minute or two neither spoke nor moved. At last, with an effort, he -raised himself. He looked up at her with a face of fixed despair, with -eyes whose anguish wrung her heart. - -“Sigrid,” he said, in a voice unlike his own, “they have taken the -agency from me. I am bankrupt!” - -She put her hand in his, too much stunned to speak. - -“Poor children!” he moaned. “Ah! my God! my God! Why—?” - -The sentence was never ended. He fell heavily forward: whether he was -dead or only fainting she could not tell. - -She rushed to the door calling for help, and the servants came hurrying -to the study. They helped to move their master to the sofa, and Sigrid -found a sort of comfort in the assurances of her old nurse that it was -nothing but a paralytic seizure, that he would soon revive. The good old -soul knew nothing, nor was she so hopeful as she seemed, but her words -helped Sigrid to keep up; she believed them in the unreasoning sort of -way in which those in trouble always do catch at the slightest hope held -out to them. - -“I will send Olga for the doctor,” she said breathlessly. - -“Ay, and for your uncle, too,” said the nurse. “He’s your own mother’s -brother, and ought to be here.” - -“Perhaps,” said Sigrid hesitatingly. “Yes, Olga, go to Herr Grönvold’s -house and just tell them of my father’s illness. But first for the -doctor—as quick as you can.” - -There followed a miserable time of waiting and suspense. Herr Falck was -still perfectly unconscious; there were signs of shock about his face, -which was pale and rigid, the eyelids closed, the head turned to one -side. Sigrid took his cold hand in hers, and sat with her fingers on the -pulse; she could just feel it, but it was very feeble and very rapid. -Thus they waited till the doctor came. He was an old friend, and Sigrid -felt almost at rest when she had told him all he wanted to know as to -the beginning of the attack and the cause. - -“You had better send for your brother at once,” he said. “I suppose he -will be at the office?” - -“Oh, no!” she said, trembling. “Frithiof is in England. But we will -telegraph to him to come home.” - -“My poor child,” said the old doctor kindly, “if he is in England it -would be of no possible use; he would not be in time.” - -She covered her face with her hands, for the first time utterly breaking -down. - -“Oh! is there no hope?” she sobbed. “No hope at all?” - -“Remember how much he is spared,” said the doctor gently. “He will not -suffer. He will not suffer at all any more.” - -And so it proved; for while many went and came, and while the bad news -of the bankruptcy caused Herr Grönvold to pace the room like one -distracted, and while Sigrid and Swanhild kept their sad watch, Herr -Falck lay in painless quiet—his face so calm that, had it not been for -an occasional tremor passing through the paralyzed limbs, they would -almost have thought he was already dead. - -The hours passed on. At length little Swanhild, who had crouched down on -the floor with her head in Sigrid’s lap, became conscious of a sort of -stir in the room. She looked up and saw that the doctor was bending over -her father. - -“It is over,” he said, in a hushed voice as he stood up and glanced -toward the two girls. - -And Swanhild, who had never seen any one die, but had read in books of -death struggles and death agonies, was filled with a great wonder. - -“It was so quiet,” she said, afterward to her sister. “I never knew -people died like that; I don’t think I shall ever feel afraid about -dying again. But oh, Sigrid!” and the child broke into a passion of -tears, “we have got to go on living all alone—all alone!” - -Sigrid’s breast heaved. Alas! the poor child little knew all the -troubles that were before them; as far as possible she must try to -shield her from the knowledge. - -“We three must love each other very much, darling,” she said, folding -her arms about Swanhild. “We must try and be everything to each other.” - -The words made her think of Frithiof, and with a sick longing for his -presence she went downstairs again to speak to her uncle, and to arrange -as to how the news should be sent to England. Herr Grönvold had never -quite appreciated his brother-in-law, and this had always made a barrier -between him and his nephew and nieces. He was the only relation, -however, to whom Sigrid could turn, and she knew that he was her -father’s executor, and must be consulted about all the arrangements. Had -not she and Frithiof celebrated their twenty-first birthday just a week -ago, Herr Grönvold would have been their guardian, and naturally he -would still expect to have the chief voice in the family counsels. - -She found him in the sitting-room. He was still pale and agitated. She -knew only too well that although he would not say a word against her -dead father, yet in his heart he would always blame him, and that the -family disgrace would be more keenly felt by him than by any one. The -sight of him entirely checked her tears; she sat down and began to talk -to him quite calmly. All her feeling of youth and helplessness was gone -now—she felt old, strangely old; her voice sounded like the voice of -some one else—it seemed to have grown cold and hard. - -“What must we do about telling Frithiof, uncle?” she said. - -“I have thought of that,” said Herr Grönvold. “It is impossible that he -could be back in time for the funeral. This is Tuesday afternoon, and he -could not catch this week’s steamer, which leaves Hull at nine o’clock -to-night. The only thing is to telegraph the news to him, poor boy. His -best chance now is to stay in England and try to find some opening -there, for he has no chance here at all.” - -Sigrid caught her breath. - -“You mean that he had better not even come back?” - -“Indeed, I think England is the only hope for him,” said Herr Grönvold, -perhaps hardly understanding what a terrible blow he was giving to his -niece. “He is absolutely penniless, and over here the feeling will be so -strong against the very name of Falck that he would never work his way -up. I will gladly provide for you and Swanhild until he is able to make -a home for you; but he must stay in England, there is no help for that.” - -She could not dispute the point any further; her uncle’s words had shown -her only too plainly the true meaning of the word “bankrupt.” Why, the -very chair she was sitting on was no longer her own! A chill passed over -her as she glanced round the familiar room. On the writing-table she -noticed her housekeeping books, and realized that there was no longer -any money to pay them with; on the bookshelf stood the clock presented a -year or two ago to her father by the clerks in his office—that too must -be parted with; everything most sacred, most dear to her, everything -associated with her happy childhood and youth must be swept away in the -vain endeavor to satisfy the just claims of her father’s creditors. In a -sort of dreadful dream she sat watching her uncle as he wrote the -message to Frithiof, hesitating long over the wording of the sad -tidings, and ever and anon counting the words carefully with his pen. It -would cost a good deal, that telegram to England. Sigrid knew that her -uncle would pay for it, and the knowledge kept her lips sealed. It was -absurd to long so to send love and sympathy at the rate of thirty öre a -word! Why, in the whole world she had not so much as a ten-öre piece! -Her personal possessions might, perhaps, legally belong to her, but she -knew that there was something within her which would utterly prevent her -being able to consider them her own. Everything must go toward those who -would suffer from her father’s failure; and Frithiof would feel just as -she did about the matter, of that she was certain. - -“There, poor fellow,” said Herr Grönvold, “that will give him just the -facts of the case: and you must write to him, Sigrid, and I, too, will -write by the next mail.” - -“I am afraid he cannot get a letter till next Monday,” said Sigrid. - -“No, there is no help for that,” said Herr Grönvold. “I shall do all -that can be done with regard to the business; that he will know quite -well, and his return later on would be a mere waste of time and money. -He must seek work in London without delay, and I have told him so. Do -you think this is clear?” - -He handed her the message he had written, and she read it through, -though each word was like a stab. - -“Quite clear,” she said, returning it to him. - -Her voice was so tired and worn that it attracted his notice for the -first time. - -“My dear,” he said kindly, “it has been a terrible day for you; you had -better go to bed and rest. Leave everything to me. I promise you all -shall be attended to.” - -“You are very kind,” she said, yet with all the time a terrible craving -for something more than this sort of kindness, for something which was -perhaps beyond Herr Grönvold’s power to give. - -“Would you like your aunt or one of your cousins to spend the night -here?” he asked. - -“No,” she said; “I am better alone. They will come to-morrow. I—I will -rest now.” - -“Very well. Good-by, then, my dear. I will send off the telegram at -once.” - -She heard the door close behind him with a sense of relief, yet before -many minutes had passed, the dreadful quiet of the house seemed almost -more than she could endure. - -“Oh, Frithiof, Frithiof! why did you ever go to England?” she moaned. - -And as she sat crouched together in one of the deep easy-chairs, it -seemed to her that the physical faintness, the feeling that everything -was sliding away from her, was but the shadow of the bitter reality. She -was roused by the opening of the door. Her old nurse stole in. - -“See here, Sigrid,” said the old woman. “The pastor has come. You will -see him in here?” - -“I don’t think I can,” she said wearily. - -“He is in the dining-room talking to Swanhild,” said the nurse: “you had -better just see him a minute.” - -But still Sigrid did not stir. It was only when little Swanhild stole -in, with her wistful, tear-stained face, that she even tried to rouse -herself. - -“Sigrid,” said the child, “Herr Askevold has been out all day with some -one who was dying; he is very tired and has had no dinner; he says if he -may he will have supper with us.” - -Sigrid at once started to her feet; her mind was for the moment diverted -from her own troubles; it was the thought of the dear old pastor, tired -and hungry, yet coming to them, nevertheless, which touched her heart. -Other friends might perhaps forsake them in their trouble and disgrace, -but not Herr Askevold. Later on, when she thought it over, she knew that -it was for the sake of inducing them to eat, and for the sake of helping -them through that terrible first meal without their father, that he had -come in just then. She only felt the relief of his presence at the time, -was only conscious that she was less desolate because the old -white-haired man, who had baptized her as a baby and confirmed her as a -girl, was sitting with them at the supper-table. His few words of -sympathy as he greeted her had been the first words of comfort which had -reached her heart, and now, as he cut the bread and helped the fish, -there was something in the very smallness and fineness of his -consideration and care for them which filled her with far more gratitude -than Herr Grönvold’s offer of a home. They did not talk very much during -the meal, but little Swanhild ceased to wonder whether it was wrong to -feel so hungry on such a day, and, no longer ashamed of her appetite, -went on naturally and composedly with her supper; while Sigrid, with her -strong Norwegian sense of hospitality, ate for her guest’s sake, and in -thinking of his wants was roused from her state of blank hopelessness. - -Afterward she took him to her father’s room, her tears stealing down -quietly as she looked once more on the calm, peaceful face that would -never again bear the look of strained anxiety which had of late grown so -familiar to her. - -And Herr Askevold knelt by the bedside and prayed. She could never quite -remember in after-days what it was that he said, perhaps she never very -clearly took in the actual words; but something, either in his tone or -manner, brought to her the sense of a presence altogether above all the -changes that had been or ever could be. This new consciousness seemed to -fill her with strength, and a great tenderness for Swanhild came to her -heart; she wondered how it was she could ever have fancied that all had -been taken from her. - -As they rose from their knees and the old pastor took her hand in his to -wish her good-by, he glanced a little anxiously into her eyes. But -something he saw there comforted him. - -“God bless you, my child,” he said. - -And again as they opened the front door to him and he stepped out into -the dark wintry night, he looked back, and said: - -“God comfort you.” - -Sigrid stood on the threshold, behind her the lighted hall, before her -the starless gloom of the outer world, her arm was round little -Swanhild, and as she bade him good-night, she smiled, one of those -brave, patient smiles that are sadder than tears. - -“The light behind her, and the dark before,” said the old pastor to -himself as he walked home wearily enough. “It is like her life, poor -child. And yet I am somehow not much afraid for her. It is for Frithiof -I am afraid.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - -When Frithiof found that instead of addressing a stranger at Hyde Park -Corner, he had actually spoken to Roy Boniface, his first feeling had -been of mere blank astonishment. Then he vehemently wished himself alone -once more, and cursed the fate which had first brought him into contact -with the little child by the Serpentine, and which had now actually -thrown him into the arms of a being who would talk and expect to be -talked to. Yet this feeling also passed; for as he looked down the -unfamiliar roads, and felt once more the desolateness of a foreigner in -a strange country, he was obliged to own that it was pleasant to him to -hear Roy’s well-known voice, and to feel that there was in London a -being who took some sort of interest in his affairs. - -“I wish I had seen you a minute or two sooner; my mother and my sister -were in that carriage,” said Roy, “and they would have liked to meet -you. You must come and see us some day, or are you quite too busy to -spare time for such an out-of-the-way place as Brixton?” - -“Thank you. My plans are very uncertain,” said Frithiof. “I shall -probably only be over here for a few days.” - -“Have you come across the Morgans?” asked Roy, “or any of our other -companions at Balholm?” - -In his heart he felt sure that the young Norwegian’s visit was connected -with Blanche Morgan, for their mutual liking had been common property at -Balholm, and even the semiengagement was shrewdly guessed at by many of -the other tourists. - -Frithiof knew this, and the question was like a sword-thrust to him. Had -it not been so nearly dark Roy could hardly have failed to notice his -change of color and expression. But he had great self-control, and his -voice was quite steady, though a little cold and monotonous in tone, as -he replied: - -“I have just been to call on the Morgans, and have only just learned -that their business relations with our firm are at an end. The -connection is of so many years’ standing that I am afraid it will be a -great blow to my father.” - -Roy began to see daylight, and perceived, what had first escaped his -notice, that some great change had passed over his companion since they -parted on the Sogne Fjord; very possibly the business relations might -affect his hopes, and make the engagement no longer possible. - -“That was bad news to greet you,” he said with an uneasy consciousness -that it was very difficult to know what to say. “Herr Falck would feel a -change of that sort keenly, I should think. What induced them to make -it?” - -“Self-interest,” said Frithiof, still in the same tone. “No doubt they -came to spy out the land in the summer. As the head of the firm remarked -to me just now, it is impossible to sentimentalize over old -connections—business is business, and of course they are bound to look -out for themselves—what happens to us is, naturally, no affair of -theirs.” - -Roy would not have thought much of the sarcasm of this speech if it had -been spoken by any one else, but from the lips of such a fellow as -Frithiof Falck, it startled him. - -They were walking along Piccadilly, each of them turning over in his -mind how he could best get away from the other, yet with an uneasy -feeling that they were in some way linked together by that summer -holiday, and that if they parted now they would speedily regret it. Roy, -with the increasing consciousness of his companion’s trouble only grew -more perplexed and ill at ease. He tried to picture to himself the -workings of the Norwegian’s mind, and as they walked on in silence some -faint idea of the effect of the surroundings upon the new-comer began to -dawn upon him. What a contrast was all this to quiet Norway! The -brightly lighted shops, the busy streets, the hurry and bustle, the -ever-changing crowd of strange faces. - -“Do you know many people in London?” he asked, willing to shift his -responsibility if possible. - -“No,” said Frithiof, “I do not know a soul.” - -He relapsed into silence. Roy’s thoughts went back to his first day at -Bergen; he seemed to live it all through once more; he remembered how -Frithiof Falck had got the Linnæa for them, how he had taken them for -shelter to his father’s house; the simplicity and the happiness of the -scene came back to him vividly, and he glanced at his companion as -though to verify his past impressions. The light from a street lamp fell -on Frithiof at that moment, and Roy started; the Norwegian had perhaps -forgotten that he was not alone, at any rate he wore an expression which -had not hitherto been visible. There was something about his pale, set -face which alarmed Roy, and scattered to the winds all his selfishness -and awkward shyness. - -“Then you will of course dine with me,” he said, “since you have no -other engagement.” - -And Frithiof, still wishing to be alone, and yet still dreading it, -thanked him and accepted the invitation. - -The ice once broken, they got on rather better, and as they dined -together Roy carefully abstained from talking of the days at Balholm, -but asked after Sigrid and Swanhild and Herr Falck, talked of the winter -in Norway, of skating, of Norwegian politics, of everything he could -think of which could divert his friend’s mind from the Morgans. - -“What next,” he said, as they found themselves once more in the street. -“Since you go back soon we ought to make the most of the time. Shall we -come to the Savoy? You must certainly hear a Gilbert and Sullivan opera -before you leave.” - -“I am not in the mood for it to-night,” said Frithiof. “And it has just -struck me that possibly my father may telegraph instructions to me—he -would have got Morgan’s telegram this morning. I will go back to the -Arundel and see.” - -This idea seemed to rouse him. He became much more like himself, and as -they walked down the Strand the conversation dragged much less. For the -first time he spoke of the work that awaited him on his return to -Bergen, and Roy began to think that his scheme for diverting him from -his troubles had been on the whole a success. - -“We must arrange what day you will come down to us at Brixton,” he said, -as they turned down Arundel Street. “Would to-morrow suit you?” - -“As far as I know, it would,” said Frithiof; “but if you will just come -into the hotel with me we will find out if there is any message from my -father. If there is nothing, why, I am perfectly free. It is possible, -though, that he will have business for me to see to.” - -Accordingly they went into the hotel together, and Frithiof accosted a -waiter in the entrance hall. - -“Anything come for me since I went out?” he asked. - -“Yes, sir, I believe there is, sir. Herr Falck, is it not?” - -He brought forward a telegram and handed it to Frithiof, who hurriedly -tore open the orange envelope and began eagerly to read. As he read, -every shade of color left his face; the telegram was in Norwegian, and -its terse, matter of-fact statement overwhelmed him. Like one in some -dreadful dream he read the words: - - -“Father bankrupt, owing to failure Iceland expedition, also loss -Morgan’s agency.” - - -There was more beyond, but this so staggered him that he looked up from -the fatal pink paper with a sort of wild hope that his surroundings -would reassure him, that he should find it all a mistake. He met the -curious eyes of the waiter, he saw two girls in evening-dress crossing -the vestibule. - -“We ought to be at the Lyceum by this time!” he heard one of them say to -the other. “How annoying of father to be so late!” - -The girl addressed had a sweet sunshiny face. - -“Oh, he will soon be here,” she said, smiling, but as her eyes happened -to fall on Frithiof she grew suddenly grave and compassionate; she -seemed to glance from his face to the telegram in his hand, and her look -brought him a horrible perception that after all this was real waking -existence. It was a real telegram he held, it was all true, hideously -true. His father was bankrupt. - -Shame, misery, bitter indignation with the Morgans, a sickening -perception that if Blanche had been true to him the worst might have -been averted, all this seethed in his mind. With a desperate effort he -steadied his hand and again bent his eye on the pink paper and the large -round-hand scrawl. Oh, yes, there was no mistake, he read the fatal -words again: - - -“Father bankrupt, owing to failure Iceland expedition, also loss -Morgan’s agency.” - - -By this time he had partly recovered, was sufficiently himself again to -feel some sort of anxiety to read the rest of the message. Possibly -there was something he might do to help his father. He read on and took -in the next sentence almost at a glance. - - -“Shock caused cerebral hemorrhage. He died this afternoon.” - - -Frithiof felt a choking sensation in his throat; if he could not get out -into the open air he felt that he should die, and by an instinct he -turned toward the door, made a step or two forward, then staggered and -caught at Roy Boniface to save himself from falling. - -Roy held him up and looked at him anxiously. “You have had bad news?” he -asked. - -Frithiof tried to speak, but no words would come; he gasped for breath, -felt his limbs failing, saw a wavy, confused picture of the vestibule, -the waiter, the two girls, an elderly gentleman joining them, then felt -himself guided down on to the floor, never quite losing consciousness, -yet helpless either to speak or move and with a most confused sense of -what had passed. - -“It is in Norwegian,” he heard Roy say. “Bad news from his home, I am -afraid.” - -“Poor fellow!” said another voice. “Open the door some one. It’s air he -wants.” - -“I saw there was something wrong, father,” this was in a girl’s voice. -“He looked quite dazed with trouble as he read.” - -“You’ll be late for the Lyceum,” thought Frithiof, and making an effort -to get up, he sunk for a moment into deeper depths of faintness; the -voices died away into indistinctness, then came a consciousness of hands -at his shoulders and his feet; he was lifted up and carried away -somewhere. - -Struggling back to life again in a few moments, he found that he was -lying on a bed, the window was wide open, and a single candle flickered -wildly in the draught. Roy Boniface was standing by him holding a glass -of water to his lips. With an effort he drank. - -“You are better, sir?” asked the waiter. “Anything I can do for you, -sir? Any answer to the telegram?” - -“The telegram! What do you mean?” exclaimed Frithiof. Then as full -recollection came back to him, he turned his face from the light with a -groan. - -“The gentleman had, perhaps, better see a doctor,” suggested the waiter -to Roy. But Frithiof turned upon him sharply. - -“I am better. You can go away. All I want is to be alone.” - -The man retired, but Roy still lingered. He could not make up his mind -to leave any one in such a plight, so he crossed the room and stood by -the open window looking out gravely at the dark river with its double -row of lights and their long shining reflections. Presently a sound in -the room made him turn. Frithiof had dragged himself up to his feet, -with an impatient gesture he blew out the flickering candle, then walked -with unsteady steps to the window and dropped into a chair. - -“So you are here still?” he said, with something of relief in his tone. - -“I couldn’t bear to leave till you were all right again,” said Roy. -“Wont you tell me what is the matter, Falck?” - -“My father is dead,” said Frithiof, in an unnaturally calm voice. - -“Dead!” exclaimed Roy, and his tone had in it much more of awe and -regret. He could hardly believe that the genial, kindly Norwegian who -had climbed Munkeggen with them only a few weeks before was actually no -longer in the world. - -“He is dead,” repeated Frithiof quietly. - -“But how was it?” asked Roy. “It must have been so sudden. You left him -well only three days ago. How was it?” - -“His Iceland expedition had failed,” said Frithiof; “that meant a fatal -blow to his business; then, this morning, there came to him Morgan’s -telegram about the agency. It was that that killed him.” - -“Good God!” exclaimed Roy, with indignation in his voice. - -“Leave out the adjective,” said Frithiof bitterly. “If there’s a God at -all He is hard and merciless. Business is business, you see—one can’t -sentimentalize over old connections. God allows men like Morgan to -succeed, they always do succeed, and He lets men like my father be -dragged down into shame and dishonor and ruin.” - -Roy was silent; he had no glib, conventional sentences ready to hand. In -his own mind he frankly admitted that the problem was beyond him. He -knew quite well that far too often in business life it was the pushing, -unscrupulous, selfish man who made his fortune, and the man of Herr -Falck’s type, sensitive, conscientious, altogether honorable, who had to -content himself with small means, or who, goaded at last to rashness, -staked all on a desperate last throw and failed. It was a problem that -perplexed him every day of his life, the old, old problem which Job -dashed his heart against, and for which only Job’s answer will suffice. -Vaguely he felt that there must be some other standard of success than -that of the world; he believed that it was but the first act of the -drama which we could at present see; but he honestly owned that the -first act was often perplexing enough. - -Nevertheless, it was his very silence which attracted Frithiof; had he -spoken, had he argued, had he put forth the usual platitudes, the two -would have been forever separated. But he just leaned against the -window-frame, looking out at the dark river, musing over the story he -had just heard, and wondering what the meaning of it could be. The -“Why?” which had been the last broken ejaculation of the dead man echoed -in the hearts of these two who had been brought together so strangely. -Into Roy’s mind there came the line, “’Tis held that sorrow makes us -wise.” But he had a strong feeling that in Frithiof’s case sorrow would -harden and imbitter; indeed, it seemed to him already that his -companion’s whole nature was changed. It was almost difficult to believe -that he was the same high-spirited boy who had been the life of the -party at Balholm, who had done the honors of the villa in Kalvedalen so -pleasantly. And then as he contrasted that bright, homely room at Bergen -with this dark, forlorn hotel room in London, a feeling that he must get -his companion away into some less dreary atmosphere took possession of -him. - -“Don’t stay all alone in this place,” he said abruptly. “Come home with -me to-night.” - -“You are very good,” said Frithiof, “but I don’t think I can do that. I -am better alone, and indeed must make up my mind to-night as to the -future.” - -“You will go back to Norway, I suppose?” asked Roy. - -“Yes, I suppose so; as soon as possible. To-morrow I must see if there -is any possibility of getting back in fair time. Unluckily, it is too -late for the Wilson Line steamer, which must be starting at this minute -from Hull.” - -“I will come in to-morrow, then, and see what you have decided on,” said -Roy. “Is there nothing I can do for you now?” - -“Nothing, thank you,” said Frithiof. And Roy, feeling that he could be -of no more use, and that his presence was perhaps a strain on his -friend, wished him good-night and went out. - -The next day he was detained by business and could not manage to call at -the Arundel till late in the afternoon. Noticing the same waiter in the -hall who had been present on the previous evening, he inquired if -Frithiof were in. - -“Herr Falck has gone, sir,” said the man; “he went off about an hour -ago.” - -“Gone!” exclaimed Roy, in some surprise. “Did he leave any message?” - -“No, sir; none at all. He was looking very ill when he came down this -morning, but went out as soon as he had had breakfast, and didn’t come -back till four o’clock. Then he called for his bill and ordered his -portmanteau to be brought down and put on a hansom, and as he passed out -he gave me a trifle, and said he had spoken a bit sharp to me last -night, he was afraid, and thanked me for what I had done for him. And so -he drove off, sir.” - -“You didn’t hear where he was going to?” - -“No, sir; I can’t say as I did. The cab, if I remember right, turned -along the Embankment, toward Charing Cross.” - -“Thank you,” said Roy. “Very possibly he may have gone back to Norway by -the Continent.” - -And with a feeling of vague disappointment he turned away. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - -When Roy Boniface had gone Frithiof sat for a long time without -stirring. He had longed to be alone, and yet the moment he had got his -wish the most crushing sense of desolation overwhelmed him. He, too, was -keenly conscious of that change in his own nature which had been quite -apparent to Roy. It seemed to him that everything had been taken from -him in one blow—love, hope, his father, his home, his stainless name, -his occupation, his fortune, and even his old self. It was an entirely -different character with which he now had to reckon, and an entirely new -life which he had to live. Both character and surroundings had been -suddenly changed very much for the worse. He had got to put up with -them, and somehow to endure life. That was the only thing clear to him. -The little child by the Serpentine had given him so much -standing-ground, but he had not an inch more at present; all around him -was a miserable, cheerless, gray mist. Presently, becoming aware that -the cold wind from the river was no longer reviving him but chilling him -to the bone, he roused himself to close the window. Mechanically he drew -down the blind, struck a light, and noticing that on the disordered bed -there lay the crumpled pink paper which had brought him the bad news, he -picked it up, smoothed it out, and read it once more. - -There was still something which he had not seen in the first horrible -shock of realizing his father’s death. With darkening brow he read the -words which Herr Grönvold had weighed so carefully and counted so often. - -“I will provide for your sisters till you can. Impossible for you to -return in time for funeral. My advice is try for work in London. No -opening here for you, as feeling will be strong against family.” - -It was only then that he actually took in the fact that he was -penniless—indeed, far worse than penniless—weighed down by a load of -debts which, if not legally his, were his burden none the less. There -were, as he well knew, many who failed with a light heart, who were -bankrupt one week and starting afresh with perfect unconcern the next, -but he was too much his father’s son to take the disaster that way. The -disgrace and the perception of being to blame which had killed Herr -Falck now fell upon him with crushing force; he paced the room like one -distracted, always with the picture before him of what was now going on -in Bergen, always with the thought of the suffering and misery which -would result from the failure of a firm so old and so much respected as -his father’s. - -And yet it was out of this very torture of realization that his comfort -at last sprung—such comfort at least as he was at present capable of -receiving. We must all have some sort of future to look to, some sort of -aim before us, or life would be intolerable. The veriest beggar in the -street concentrates his thought on the money to be made, or the shelter -to be gained for the coming night. And there came, fortunately, to -Frithiof, jilted, ruined, bereaved as he was, one strong desire—one firm -resolve. He would pay off his father’s debts to the last farthing; he -would work, he would slave, he would deny himself all but the bare -necessities of life. The name of Falck should yet be redeemed; and a -glow of returning hope rose in his heart as he remembered his father’s -parting words, “I look to you, Frithiof, to carry out the aims in which -I myself have failed, to live the life I could wish to have lived.” Yet -how different all had been when those words had been spoken! The -recollection of them did him good—brought him, as it were, back to life -again—but at the same time they were the most cruel pain. - -He saw again the harbor at Bergen, the ships, the mountains, the busy -quay; he saw his father so vividly that it seemed to him as if he must -actually be before him at that very moment, the tone of his voice rang -in his ears, the pressure of his hand seemed yet to linger with him. - -What wonder that it should still be so fresh in his memory? It was only -three days ago. Only three days! Yet the time to look back on now seemed -more like three years. With amazement he dwelt on the fact, thinking, as -we mostly do in sudden trouble, how little time it takes for things to -happen. It is a perception that does not come to us in the full swing of -life, when all seems safe and full of bright promise, any more than in -yachting it troubles us to reflect that there is only a plank between -ourselves and the unfathomed depths of the sea. We expect all to go -well, we feel no fear, we enjoy life easily, and when disaster comes its -rude haste astounds us—so much is changed in one sudden, crushing blow. - -He remembered how he had whistled the “Bridal Song of the Hardanger,” as -he cheerfully paced the deck full of thoughts of Blanche and of the -bright future that was opening before him. The tune rang in his ears now -with a mournful persistence. He buried his face in his hands, letting -the flood of grief sweep over him, opposing to it no thought of comfort, -no recollection of what was still left to him. If Blanche had been -faithful to him all might have been different; her father would never -have taken away the agency if she had told him the truth when she first -got home; the Iceland expedition might have failed, but his father could -have got voluntary agreement with his creditors, he himself might -perhaps have been put at the head of the branch at Stavanger, all would -have been well. - -In bitter contrast he called up a picture of the desolate house in -Kalvedalen, thought of Herr Grönvold making the final arrangements, and -alternately pitying and blaming his brother-in-law; thought of Sigrid -and Swanhild in their sorrow and loneliness; thought of his father lying -cold and still. Choking sobs rose in his throat as more and more clearly -he realized that all was indeed over, that he should never see his -father again. But his eyes were dry and tearless, the iron had entered -into his soul, and all the relief that was then possible for him lay in -a prompt endeavor to carry out the resolve which he had just made. - -Perhaps he perceived this, for he raised himself, banished the mind -pictures which had absorbed him so long, and began to think what his -first practical step must be. He would lose no time, he would begin that -very moment. The first thing must of course be retrenchment; he must -leave the Arundel on the morrow and must seek out the cheapest rooms to -be had. Lying on the table was that invaluable book “Dickens’ Dictionary -of London.” He had bought it at Hull on the previous day, and had -already got out of it much amusement and much information. Now, in grim -earnest, he turned over its well-arranged pages till he came to the -heading “Lodgings,” running his eye hurriedly over the paragraph, and -pausing over the following sentence: “Those who desire still cheaper -accommodation must go further afield, the lowest priced of all being in -the northeast and southeast districts, in either of which a bed and -sitting-room may be had at rents varying from ten shillings, and even -less, to thirty shillings.” - -He turned to the maps at the beginning, and decided to try the -neighborhood of Vauxhall and Lambeth. - -Next came the question of work. And here the vastness of the field -perplexed him, where to turn he had not the slightest idea. Possibly -Dickens might suggest something. He turned over the pages, and his eye -happened to light on the words, “Americans in distress, Society for the -relief of.” He scanned the columns closely, there seemed to be help for -every one on earth except a Norwegian. There was a home for French -strangers; a Hungarian aid society; an Italian benevolent; sixteen -charities for Jews; an association of Poles; a Hibernian society; a -Netherlands benevolent; a Portuguese and Spanish aid; and a society for -distressed Belgians. The only chance for him lay in the “Universal -Beneficence Society,” a title which called up a bitter smile to his -lips, or the “Society of Friends of Foreigners in Distress.” - -He made up his mind to leave these as a last resource, and turning to -the heading of Sweden and Norway looked out the address of the -consulate. He must go there the first thing the next day, and get what -advice and help he could. There was also in Fleet Street a Scandinavian -club; he would go there and get a list of the members; it was possible -that he might meet with some familiar name, and at any rate he should -hear his own language spoken, which in itself would be a relief. This -arranged, he tried to sleep, but with little success; his brain was too -much overwrought with the terrible reversals of fortune he had met with -that day, with the sorrows that had come to him, not as - - “Single spies, - But in battalions!” - -Whenever he did for a few minutes sink into a doze, it was only to be -haunted by the most horrible dreams, and when morning came he was ill -and feverish, yet as determined as before to go through with the -programme he had marked out. - -The Swedish minister received him very kindly, and listened to as much -of his story as would bear telling, with great patience. “It is a very -hard case,” he said. “The English firm perhaps consulted their own -pockets in making this new arrangement, but to break off an old -connection so suddenly, and as it chanced at such a trying moment, was -hard lines. What sort of people are they, these Morgans? You have met -them?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Frithiof, coloring. “One of the brothers was in Norway -this summer, came to our house, dined with us, professed the greatest -friendliness, while all the time he must have known what the firm was -meditating.” - -“Doubtless came to see how the land lay,” said the minister. “And what -of the other brother?” - -“I saw him yesterday,” replied Frithiof. “He was very civil; told me the -telegram had been sent off that morning about the affair, as it would -not bear delay, and spoke very highly of my father. Words cost nothing, -you see.” - -The consul noted the extreme bitterness of the tone, and looked -searchingly into the face of his visitor. “Poor fellow!” he reflected; -“he starts in life with a grievance, and there is nothing so bad for a -man as that. A fine, handsome boy, too. If he stays eating his heart out -in London he will go to the dogs in no time.” - -“See,” he said, “these Morgans, though they may be keen business men, -yet they are after all human. When they learn at what an unlucky time -their telegram arrived, it is but natural that they should regret it. -Their impulse will be to help you. I should advise you to go to them at -once and talk the affair over with them. If they have any proper feeling -they will offer you some sort of employment in this new Stavanger -branch, or they might, perhaps, have some opening for you in their -London house.” - -“I can not go to them,” said Frithiof, in a choked voice. “I would -rather die first.” - -“I can understand,” said the consul, “that you feel very bitter, and -that you resent the way in which they have behaved. But still I think -you should try to get over that. After all, they knew nothing of your -father’s affairs; they did not intentionally kill him. That the two -disasters followed so closely on each other was but an accident.” - -“Still I could never accept anything from them; it is out of the -question,” said Frithiof. - -“Excuse me if I speak plainly,” said the consul. “You are very young, -and you know but little of the world. If you allow yourself to be -governed by pride of this sort you can not hope to get on. Now turn it -over in your mind, and if you do not feel that you can see these people, -at any rate write to them.” - -“I cannot explain it all to you, sir,” said Frithiof. “But there are -private reasons which make that altogether impossible.” - -The blood had mounted to his forehead, his lips had closed in a straight -line; perhaps it was because they quivered that he compressed them so. - -“A woman in the question,” reflected the consul. “That complicates -matters. All the more reason that he should leave London.” Then, aloud: -“If you feel unable to apply to them, I should recommend you strongly to -try America. Every one flocks to London for work, but as a matter of -fact London streets just now are not paved with gold; everything is at a -standstill; go where you will, you will hear that trade is bad, that -employment is scarce, and that living is dear.” - -“If I could hear of any opening in America, I would go at once,” said -Frithiof. “But at Bergen we have heard of late that it is no such easy -thing even over there to meet with work. I will not pay the expenses of -the voyage merely to be in my present state, and hundreds of miles -further from home.” - -“What can you do?” asked the consul. “Is your English pretty good?” - -“I can write and speak it easily. And, of course, German too. I -understand book-keeping.” - -“Any taste for teaching?” asked the consul. - -“None,” said Frithiof decidedly. - -“Then the only thing that seems open to you is the work of a secretary, -or a clerkship, or perhaps you could manage translating, but that is not -easy work to get. Everything now is overcrowded, so dreadfully -overcrowded. However, of course I shall bear you in mind, and you -yourself will leave no stone unturned. Stay, I might give you a letter -of introduction to Herr Sivertsen: he might possibly find you temporary -work. He is the author of that well-known book on Norway, you know. Do -you know your way about yet?” - -“Pretty well,” said Frithiof. - -“Then there is his address—Museum Street. You had better take an omnibus -at the Bank. Any of the Oxford Street ones will put you down at the -corner, by Mudie’s. Let me know how you get on: I shall be interested to -hear.” - -Then, with a kindly shake of the hand, Frithiof found himself dismissed; -and somewhat cheered by the interview, he made his way to the address -which had been given him. - -Herr Sivertsen’s rooms were of the gloomiest: they reeked of tobacco, -they were ill-lighted, and it seemed to Frithiof that the window could -not have been opened for a week. An oblique view of Mudie’s library was -the only object of interest to be seen without, though, by craning one’s -neck, one could get just a glimpse of the traffic in Oxford Street. He -waited for some minutes, wondering to himself how a successful author -could tolerate such a den, and trying to imagine from the room what sort -of being was the inhabiter thereof. At length the door opened, and a -gray-haired man of five and fifty, with a huge forehead and somewhat -stern, square-jawed face, entered. - -“I have read the consul’s letter,” he said, greeting Frithiof, and -motioning him to a chair. “You want what is very hard to get. Are you -aware that thousands of men are seeking employment and are unable to -meet with it?” - -“I know it is hard,” said Frithiof. “Still I have more chance here than -in Norway, and anyhow I mean to get it.” The emphatic way in which he -uttered these last words made the author look at him more attentively. - -“I am tired to death of young men coming to me and wanting help,” he -remarked frankly. “You are an altogether degenerate race, you young men -of this generation; in my opinion you don’t know what work means. It’s -money that you want, not work.” - -“Yes,” said Frithiof dryly, “you are perfectly right. It is money that I -want.” - -Now Herr Sivertsen had never before met with this honest avowal. In -reply to the speech which he had made to many other applicants he had -always received an eager protestation that the speaker was devoted to -work, that he was deeply interested in languages, that Herr Sivertsen’s -greatest hobbies were his hobbies too. He liked this bold avowal in his -secret heart, though he had no intention of letting this be seen. “Just -what I said!” he exclaimed. “A pleasure-seeking, money-grubbing -generation. What is the result? I give work to be done, and as long as -you can get gold you don’t care how the thing is scamped. Look here!” He -took up a manuscript from the table. “I have paid the fellow who did -this. He is not only behind time, but when at last the work is sent in -it’s a miserable performance, bungled, patched, scamped, even the -handwriting a disgrace to civilization. It’s because the man takes no -pride in the work itself, because he has not a spark of interest in his -subject. It just means to him so many shillings, that is all.” - -“I can at least write a clear hand,” said Frithiof. - -“That may be; but will you put any heart into your work? Do you care for -culture? for literature? Do you interest yourself in progress? do you -desire to help on your generation?” - -“As far as I am concerned,” said Frithiof bitterly, “the generation will -have to take care of itself. As for literature, I know little of it and -care less; all I want is to make money.” - -“Did I not tell you so?” roared Herr Sivertsen. “It is the accursed gold -which you are all seeking after. You care only for money to spend on -your own selfish indulgences. You are all alike! All! A worthless -generation!” - -Frithiof rose. - -“However worthless, we unluckily have to live,” he said coldly. “And as -I can’t pretend to be interested in ‘culture,’ I must waste no more time -in discussion.” - -He bowed and made for the door. - -“Stay,” said Herr Sivertsen: “it will do no harm if you leave your -address.” - -“Thank you, but at present I have none to give,” said Frithiof. -“Good-morning.” - -He felt very angry and very sore-hearted as he made his way down Museum -Street. To have met with such a rebuff from a fellow-countryman seemed -to him hard, specially in this time of his trouble. He had not enough -insight into character to understand the eccentric old author, and he -forgot that Herr Sivertsen knew nothing of his circumstances. He was too -abrupt, too independent, perhaps also too refined to push his way as an -unknown foreigner in a huge metropolis. He was utterly unable to draw a -picturesque description of the plight he was in, he could only rely on a -sort of dogged perseverance, a fixed resolve that he must and would find -work; and in spite of constant failures this never left him. - -He tramped down to Vauxhall and began to search for lodgings, looked at -some half-dozen sets, and finally lighted on a clean little house in a -new-looking street a few hundred yards from Vauxhall Station. There was -a card up in the window advertising rooms to let. He rang the bell and -was a little surprised to find the door opened to him by a middle-aged -woman who was unmistakably a lady, though her deeply lined face told of -privation and care, possibly also of ill-temper. He asked the price of -the rooms. - -“A sitting-room and bedroom at fifteen shillings a week,” was the reply. - -“It is too much, and besides I only need one room,” he said. - -“I am afraid we can not divide them.” - -He looked disappointed. An idea seemed to strike the landlady. - -“There is a little room at the top you might have,” she said; “but it -would not be very comfortable. It would be only five shillings a week, -including attendance.” - -“Allow me to see it,” said Frithiof. - -He felt so tired and ill that if she had shown him a pig-sty he would -probably have taken it merely for the sake of settling matters. As it -was, the room, though bare and comfortless, was spotlessly clean, and, -spite of her severe face, he rather took to his landlady. - -“My things are at the Arundel Hotel,” he explained. “I should want to -come in at once. Does that suit you?” - -“Oh, yes,” she said, scanning him closely. “Can you give us any -references?” - -“You can, if you wish, refer to the Swedish consul at 24 Great -Winchester Street.” - -“Oh, you are a Swede,” she said. - -“No; I am a Norwegian, and have only been in London since yesterday.” - -The landlady seemed satisfied, and having paid his five shillings in -advance, Frithiof went off to secure his portmanteau, and by five -o’clock was installed in his new home. - -It was well that he had lost no time in leaving his hotel, for during -the next two days he was unable to quit his bed, and could only console -himself with the reflection that at any rate he had a cheap roof over -his head and that his rent would not ruin him. - -Perhaps the cold night air from the river had given him a chill on the -previous night, or perhaps the strain of the excitement and suffering -had been too much for him. At any rate he lay in feverish wretchedness, -tossing through the long days and weary nights, a misery to himself and -an anxiety to the people of the house. - -He discovered that his first impression had been correct. Miss Turnour, -the landlady, was well born; she and her two sisters—all of them now -middle-aged women—were the daughters of a country gentleman, who had -either wasted his substance in speculation or on the turf. He was long -since dead, and had left behind him the fruits of his selfishness, three -helpless women, with no particular aptitudes and brought up to no -particular profession. They had sunk down and down in the social scale, -till it seemed that there was nothing left them but a certain refinement -of taste, which only enabled them to suffer more keenly, and the family -pedigree, of which they were proud, clinging very much to the peculiar -spelling of their name, and struggling on in their little London house, -quarreling much among themselves, and yet firmly determined that nothing -on earth should part them. Frithiof dubbed them the three Fates. He -wondered sometimes whether, after long years of poverty, he and Sigrid -and Swanhild should come to the same miserable condition, the same -hopeless, cold, hard spirit, the same pinched, worn faces, the same -dreary, monotonous lives. - -The three Fates did not take much notice of their lodger. Miss Turnour -often wished she had had the sense to see that he was ill before -admitting him. Miss Caroline, the youngest, flatly declined waiting on -him, as it was quite against her feelings of propriety. Miss Charlotte, -the middle one of the three, who had more heart than the rest, tried to -persuade him to see a doctor. - -“No,” he replied, “I shall be all right in a day or two. It is nothing -but a feverish attack. I can’t afford doctor’s bills.” - -She looked at him a little compassionately; his poverty touched a chord -in her own life. - -“Perhaps the illness has come in order that you may have time to think,” -she said timidly. - -She was a very small little woman, like a white mouse, but Frithiof had -speedily found that she was the only one of the three from whom he could -expect any help. She was the snubbed one of the family, partly because -she was timid and gentle, partly because she had lately adopted certain -religious views upon which the other two looked down with the most -supreme contempt. - -Frithiof was in no mood to respond to her well-meant efforts to convert -him, and used to listen to her discourses about the last day with a -stolid indifference which altogether baffled her. It seemed as if -nothing could possibly rouse him. - -“Ah,” she would say, as she left the room with a sad little shake of the -head, “_I_ shall be caught up at the second advent. I’m not at all sure -that _you_ will be.” - -The eldest Miss Turnour did not trouble herself at all about his -spiritual state; she thought only of the risk they were running and the -possible loss of money. - -“I hope he is not sickening with any infectious disease,” she used to -remark a dozen times a day. - -And Miss Charlotte said nothing, but silently thanked Heaven that she -had not been the one to accept the new lodger. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - -There is no suffering so severe as that which we perceive to be the -outcome of our own mistaken decision. Suffering caused by our own sin is -another matter; we feel in some measure that we deserve it. But to have -decided hastily, or too hopefully, or while some false view of the case -was presented to us, and then to find that the decision brings grievous -pain and sorrow, this is cruelly hard. - -It was this consciousness of his own mistake which preyed upon -Frithiof’s mind as he tossed through those long solitary hours. Had he -only insisted on speaking to Blanche’s uncle at Balholm, or on at once -writing to her father, all might have been well—his father yet alive, -the bankruptcy averted, Blanche his own. Over and over in his mind he -revolved the things that might have happened but for that fatal -hopefulness which had proved his ruin. He could not conceive now why he -had not insisted on returning to England with Blanche. It seemed to him -incredible that he had stayed in Norway merely to celebrate his -twenty-first birthday, or that he had been persuaded not to return with -the Morgans because Mr. Morgan would be out of town till October. His -sanguine nature had betrayed him, just as his father had been betrayed -by his too great hopefulness as to the Iceland expedition. Certainly it -is true that sanguine people in particular have to buy their experience -by bitter pain and loss. - -By the Saturday morning he was almost himself again as far as physical -strength was concerned, and his mind was healthy enough to turn -resolutely away from these useless broodings over the past, and to ask -with a certain amount of interest. “What is to be done next?” All is not -lost when we are able to ask ourselves that question; the mere asking -stimulates us to rise and be going, even though the direction we shall -take be utterly undecided. - -When Miss Charlotte came to inquire after her patient, she found to her -surprise that he was up and dressed. - -“What!” she exclaimed. “You are really well then?” - -“Quite well, thank you,” he replied, in the rather cold tone of voice -which had lately become habitual to him. “Have you a newspaper in the -house that you would be so good as to lend me?” - -“Certainly,” said Miss Charlotte, her face lighting up as she hastened -out of the room, returning in a minute with the special organ of the -religious party to which she belonged. “I think this might interest -you,” she began timidly. - -“I don’t want to be interested,” said Frithiof dryly. “All I want is to -look through the advertisements. A thousand thanks; but I see this paper -is not quite what I need.” - -“Are you sure that you know what you really need?” she said earnestly, -and with evident reference to a deeper subject. - -Had she not been such a genuine little woman, he would have spoken the -dry retort, “Madame, I need money,” which trembled on his lips; but -there was no suspicion of cant about her, and he in spite of his -bitterness still retained much of his Norwegian courtesy. - -“You see,” he said, smiling a little, “if I do not find work I can not -pay my rent, so I must lose no time in getting some situation.” - -The word “rent” recalled her eldest sister to Miss Charlotte’s mind, and -she resolved to say no more just at present as to the other matters. She -brought him one of the daily papers, and with a little sigh of -disappointment removed the religious “weekly,” leaving Frithiof to his -depressing study of the column headed “Situations Vacant.” - -Alas! how short it was compared to the one dedicated to “Situations -Wanted.” - -There was an editor-reporter needed, who must be a “first-class -all-round man”; but Frithiof could not feel that he was deserving of -such epithets, and he could not even write shorthand. There was a -“gentleman needed for the canvassing and publishing department of a -weekly,” but he must be possessed not only of energy but of experience. -Agents were needed for steel pens, toilet soap, and boys’ clothes, but -no novices need apply. Even the advertisement for billiard hands was -qualified by the two crushing words, “experienced only.” - -“A correspondence clerk wanted” made him look hopefully at the lines -which followed, but unluckily a knowledge of Portuguese was demanded as -well as of French and German; while the corn merchant who would receive -a gentleman’s son in an office of good position was prudent enough to -add the words, “No one need apply who is unable to pay substantial -premium.” - -Out of the whole list there were only two situations for which he could -even inquire, and he soon found that for each of these there were -hundreds of applicants. At first his natural hopefulness reasserted -itself, and each morning he would set out briskly, resolving to leave no -stone unturned, but when days and weeks had passed by in the monotonous -search, his heart began to fail him; he used to start from the little -back street in Vauxhall doggedly, dull despair eating at his heart, and -a sickening, ever-present consciousness that he was only an -insignificant unit struggling to find standing room in a world where -selfishness and money-grubbing reigned supreme. - -Each week brought him of course letters from Norway, his uncle sent him -letters of introduction to various London firms, but each letter brought -him only fresh disappointment. As the consul had told him, the market -was already overcrowded, and though very possibly he might have met with -work in the previous summer when all was well with him, no one seemed -inclined to befriend this son of a bankrupt, with his bitter tone and -proud bearing; the impression he gave every one was that he was an -Ishmaelite with his hand against every man, and it certainly did seem -that at present every man’s hand was against him. - -People write so much about the dangers of success and prosperity, and -the hardening effects of wealth, that they sometimes forget the other -side of the picture. Failure is always supposed to make a man patient -and humble and good; it rarely does so, unless to begin with his spirit -has been wakened from sleep. The man whose faith has been a mere -conventionality, or the man who like Frithiof has professed to believe -in life, becomes inevitably bitter and hard when all things are against -him. It is just then when a man is hard and bitter, just then when -everything else has failed him, that the devil comes to the fore -offering pleasures which in happier times would have had no attraction. - -At first certain aspects of London life had startled Frithiof; but he -speedily became accustomed to them; if he thought of them at all it was -with indifference rather than disgust. One day however, he passed with -seeming abruptness into a new state of mind. Sick with disappointment -after the failure of a rather promising scheme suggested to him by one -of the men to whom his uncle had written, he walked through the crowded -streets too hopeless and wretched even to notice the direction he had -taken, and with a miserable perception that his last good card was -played, and that all hope of success was over. His future was an -absolute blank, his present a keen distress, his past too bright in -contrast to bear thinking of. - -After all, had he not been a fool to struggle so long against his fate? -Clearly every one was against him. He would fight no longer; he would -give up that notion—that high-flown, unpractical notion of paying off -his father’s debts. To gain an honest living was apparently impossible, -the world afforded him no facilities for that, but it afforded him -countless opportunities of leading another sort of life. Why should he -not take what he could get? Life was miserable and worthless enough, but -at least he might put an end to the hideous monotony of the search after -work, at least he might plunge into a phase of life which would have at -any rate the charm of novelty. - -It was one of those autumn days when shadow and sun alternate quickly; a -gleam of sunshine now flooded the street with brightness. It seemed to -him that a gleam of light had also broken the dreariness of his life. -Possibly it might be a fleeting pleasure, but why should he not seize -upon it? His nature, however, was not one to be hurried thoughtlessly -into vice. If he sinned he would do so deliberately. He looked the two -lives fairly in the face now, and in his heart he knew which attracted -him most. The discovery startled him. “The pleasing veil which serves to -hide self from itself” was suddenly torn down, and he was seized with -the sort of terror which we most of us have experienced: - - “As that bright moment’s unexpected glare - Shows us the best and worst of what we are.” - -“Why not? why not?” urged the tempter. And the vague shrinking seemed to -grow less; nothing in heaven or earth seemed real to him; he felt that -nothing mattered a straw. As well that way as any other. Why not? - -It was the critical moment of his life; just as in old pictures one sees -an angel and a devil struggling hard to turn the balance, so now it -seemed that his fate rested with the first influence he happened to come -across. - -Why should he not say, “Evil, be thou my good,” once and for all, and -have done with a fruitless struggle? That was the thought which seethed -in his mind as he slowly made his way along the Strand, surely the least -likely street in London where one might expect that the good angel would -find a chance of turning the scale. The pushing crowd annoyed him; he -paused for a minute, adding another unit to the little cluster of men -which may always be seen before the window of a London picture-dealer. -He stopped less to look at the picture than for the sake of being still -and out of the hurrying tide. His eye wandered from landscape to -landscape with very faint interest until suddenly he caught sight of a -familiar view, which stirred his heart strangely. It was a picture of -the Romsdalshorn; he knew it in an instant, with its strange and -beautiful outline, rising straight and sheer up into a wintry blue sky. -A thousand recollections came thronging back upon him, all the details -of a holiday month spent in that very neighborhood with his father and -Sigrid and Swanhild. He tried to drag himself away, but he could not. -Sigrid’s face kept rising before him as if in protest against that “Why -not?” which still claimed a hearing within him. - -“If she were here,” he thought to himself, “I might keep straight. But -that’s all over now, and I can’t bear this life any longer. I have tried -everything and have failed. And, after all, who cares? It’s the way of -the world. I shant be worse than thousand of others.” - -Still the thought of Sigrid held him in check, the remembrance of her -clear blue eyes seemed to force him to go deeper down beneath the -surface of the sullen anger and disappointment which were goading him on -to an evil life. Was it after all quite true? Had he really tried -everything? - -Two or three times during his wanderings he had thought of Roy Boniface, -and had wondered whether he should seek him out again; but in his -trouble he had shrunk from going to comparative strangers, and, as far -as business went, it was scarcely likely that Roy could help him. -Besides, of the rest of the family he knew nothing; for aught he knew -the father might be a vulgar, purse-proud tradesman—the last sort of man -to whom he could allow himself to be under any obligation. - -Again came the horrible temptation, again that sort of terror of his own -nature. He turned once more to the picture of the Romsdalshorn; it -seemed to be the one thing which could witness to him of truth and -beauty and a life above the level of the beasts. - -Very slowly and gradually he began to see things as they really were; he -saw that if he yielded to this temptation he could never again face -Sigrid with a clear conscience. He saw, too, that his only safeguard lay -in something which would take him out of himself. “I _will_ get work,” -he said, almost fiercely. “For Sigrid’s sake I’ll have one more try.” - -And then all at once the evil imaginings faded, and there rose up -instead of them a picture of what might be in the future, of a home he -might make for Sigrid and Swanhild here in London, where he now roamed -about so wretchedly, of a life which should in every way be a contrast -to his present misery. But he felt, as thousands have felt before him, -that he was handicapped in the struggle by his loneliness, and perhaps -it was this consciousness more than any expectation of finding work -which made him swallow his pride and turn his steps toward Brixton. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - -By the time he reached Brixton it was quite dusk. Roy had never actually -given him his address; but he made inquiries at a shop in the -neighborhood, was offered the loan of a directory, and having found what -he needed was soon making his way up the well-swept carriage-drive which -led to Rowan Tree House. He was tired with the walk and with his lonely -day of wasted work and disappointment. When he saw the outlines of the -big, substantial house looming out of the twilight he began to wish that -he had never come, for he thought to himself that it would be within -just such another house as the Morgans’, with its hateful air of money, -like the house of Miss Kilmansegg in the poem: - - “Gold, and gold, and everywhere gold.” - -To his surprise the door was suddenly flung open as he approached, and a -little boy in a velvet tunic came dancing out on to the steps to meet -him. - -“Roy! Roy!” shouted the little fellow merrily, “I’ve come to meet you!” -Then speedily discovering his mistake, he darted back into the doorway, -hiding his face in Cecil’s skirt. - -She stood there with a little curly-headed child in her arms, and her -soft gray eyes and the deep blue baby eyes looked searching out into the -semi-darkness. Frithiof thought the little group looked like a picture -of the Holy Family. Somehow he no longer dreaded the inside of the -house. For the first time for weeks he felt the sort of rest which is -akin to happiness as Cecil recognized him, and came forward with a -pretty eagerness of manner to greet him, too much astonished at his -sudden appearance for any thought of shyness to intervene. - -“We thought you must have gone back to Norway,” she exclaimed. “I am so -glad you have come to see us. The children thought it was Roy who opened -the gate. He will be home directly. He will be so glad to see you.” - -“I should have called before,” said Frithiof, “but my days have been -very full, and then, too, I was not quite sure of your address.” - -He followed her into the brightly lighted hall, and with a sort of -satisfaction shut out the damp November twilight. - -“We have so often spoken of you and your sisters,” said Cecil, “but when -Roy called at the Arundel and found that you had left without giving any -address, we thought you must have gone back to Bergen.” - -“Did he call on me again there?” said Frithiof. “I remember now he -promised that he would come, I ought to have thought of it; but somehow -all was confusion that night, and afterward I was too ill.” - -“It must have been terrible for you all alone among strangers in a -foreign country,” said Cecil, the ready tears starting to her eyes. -“Come in and see my mother; she has often heard how good you all were to -us in Norway.” - -She opened a door on the left of the entrance hall and took him into one -of the prettiest rooms he had ever seen: the soft crimson carpet, the -inlaid rosewood furniture, the bookshelves with their rows of well-bound -books, all seemed to belong to each other, and a delightfully home-like -feeling came over him as he sat by the fire, answering Mrs. Boniface’s -friendly inquiries; he could almost have fancied himself once more in -his father’s study at Bergen—the room where so many of their long winter -evenings had been passed. - -They sat there talking for a good half-hour before Roy and his father -returned, but to Frithiof the time seemed short enough. He scarcely knew -what it was that had such a charm for him; their talk was not -particularly brilliant, and yet it somehow interested him. - -Mrs. Boniface was one of those very natural, homely people whose -commonplace remarks have a sort of flavor of their own, and Cecil had -something of the same gift. She never tried to make an impression, but -went on her way so quietly, that it was often not until she was gone -that people realized what she had been to them. Perhaps what really -chased away Frithiof’s gloom, and banished the look of the Ishmaelite -from his face, was the perception that these people really cared for -him, that their kindness was not labored formality but a genuine thing. -Tossed about for so long among hard-headed money-makers, forced every -day to confront glaring contrasts of poverty and wealth, familiarized -with the sight of every kind of evil, it was this sort of thing that he -needed. - -And surely it is strange that in these days when people are willing to -devote so much time and trouble to good works, so few are willing to -make their own homes the havens of refuge they might be. A home is apt -to become either a mere place of general entertainment, or else a -selfishly guarded spot where we may take our ease without a thought of -those who are alone in the world. Many will ask a man in Frithiof’s -position to an at-home or a dance, but very few care to take such a one -into their real home and make him one of themselves. They will talk -sadly about the temptations of town life, but they will not in this -matter stir an inch to counteract them. - -Mrs. Boniface’s natural hospitality and goodness of heart fitted her -admirably for this particular form of kindness; moreover, she knew that -her daughter would prove a help and not a hindrance, for she could in -all things trust Cecil, who was the sort of girl who can be friends with -men without flirting with them. At last the front door opened and -footsteps sounded in the hall; little Lance ran out to greet Mr. -Boniface and Roy, and Frithiof felt a sudden shame as he remembered the -purse-proud tradesman that foolish prejudice had conjured up in his -brain—a being wholly unlike the kindly, pleasant-looking man who now -shook hands with him, seeming in a moment to know who he was and all -about him. - -“And so you have been in London all this time!” exclaimed Roy. -“Whereabouts are you staying?” - -“Close to Vauxhall Station,” replied Frithiof. “Two or three times I -thought of looking you up, but there was always so much to do.” - -“You have found work here, then?” - -“No, indeed; I wish I had. It seems to me one may starve in this place -before finding anything to do.” - -“Gwen wishes to say good-night to you, Herr Falck,” said Cecil, leading -the little girl up to him; and the bitter look died out of Frithiof’s -face for a minute as he stooped to kiss the baby mouth that was -temptingly offered to him. - -“It will be hard if in all London we can not find you something,” said -Mr. Boniface. “What sort of work do you want?” - -“I would do anything,” said Frithiof. “Sweep a crossing if necessary.” - -They all laughed. - -“Many people say that vaguely,” said Mr. Boniface. “But when one comes -to practical details they draw back. The mud and the broom look all very -well in the distance, you see.” Then as a bell was rung in the hall: -“Let us have tea first, and afterward, if you will come into my study we -will talk the matter over. We are old-fashioned people in this house, -and keep to the old custom of tea and supper. I don’t know how you -manage such things in Norway, but to my mind it seems that the middle of -the day is the time for the square meal, as they say in America.” - -If the meal that awaited them in the dining-room was not “square,” it -was at any rate very tempting; from the fine damask table cloth to the -silver gypsy kettle, from the delicately arranged chrysanthemums to the -Crown Derby cups and saucers, all bespoke a good taste and the personal -supervision of one who really cared for beauty and order. The very food -looked unlike ordinary food, the horseshoes of fancy bread, the butter -swan in its parsley-bordered lake, the honeycomb, the cakes hot and -cold, and the beautiful bunches of grapes from the greenhouse, all -seemed to have a sort of character of their own. For the first time for -weeks Frithiof felt hungry. No more was said of the unappetizing subject -of the dearth of work, nor did they speak much of their Norwegian -recollections, because they knew it would be a sore subject with him -just now. - -“By the way, Cecil,” remarked Mr. Boniface, when presently a pause came -in the general talk, “I saw one of your heroes this morning. Do you go -in for hero-worship in Norway, Herr Falck? My daughter here is a pupil -after Carlyle’s own heart.” - -“We at any rate read Carlyle,” said Frithiof. - -“But who can it have been?” exclaimed Cecil. “Not Signor Donati?” - -“The very same,” said Mr. Boniface. - -“But I thought he was singing at Paris?” - -“So he is; he only ran over for a day or two on business, and he -happened to look in this morning with Sardoni, who came to arrange about -a song of his which we are going to publish.” - -“Sardoni seems to me the last sort of man one would expect to write -songs,” said Roy. - -“But in spite of it he has written a very taking one,” said Mr. -Boniface, “and I am much mistaken if it does not make a great hit. If so -his fortune is made, for you see he can write tenor songs for himself -and contralto songs for his wife, and they’ll get double royalties that -way.” - -“But Signor Donati, father, what did he say? What is he like?” - -“Well, he is so unassuming and quiet that you would never think it -possible he’s the man every one is raving about. And, except for that, -he’s really very much like other people, talked business very sensibly, -and seemed as much interested about this song of Sardoni’s as if there -had never been anything out of the way in his own life at all. I took to -him very much.” - -“Can’t you get him to sing next summer?” - -“I tried, but it is out of the question. He has signed an agreement only -to sing for Carrington. But he has promised me to sing at one of our -concerts the year after next.” - -“Fancy having to make one’s arrangements so long beforehand!” exclaimed -Cecil. “You must certainly hear him, Herr Falck, when you have a chance; -they say he is the finest baritone in Europe.” - -“He made us all laugh this morning,” said Mr. Boniface. “I forget now -what started it, something in the words of the song, I fancy, but he -began to tell us how yesterday he had been down at some country place -with a friend of his, and as they were walking through the grounds they -met a most comical old fellow in a tall hat. - -“‘Halloo!’ exclaimed his friend, ‘here’s old Sykes the mole-catcher, and -I do declare he’s got another beaver! Where on earth does he get them?’ - -“‘In England,’ said Donati to his friend, ‘it would hardly do to inquire -after his hatter, I suppose.’ - -“At which the other laughed of course, and they agreed together that -just for a joke they would find out. So they began to talk to the old -man, and presently the friend remarked: - -“‘I say, Sykes, my good fellow, I wish you’d tell me how you manage to -get such a succession of hats. Why, you are rigged out quite fresh since -I saw you on Monday.’ - -“The old mole-catcher gave a knowing wink, and after a little humming -and hawing he said: - -“‘Well, sir, yer see I changed clothes yesterday with a gentleman in the -middle of a field.’ - -“‘Changed clothes with a gentleman!’ they exclaimed. ‘What do you mean?’ - -“And the mole-catcher began to laugh outright, and leading them to a gap -in the hedge, pointed away into the distance. - -“‘There he be, sir; there he be,’ he said, laughing till he almost -choked. ‘It be naught but a scarecrow; but the scarecrows they’ve kep’ -me in clothes for many a year.’” - -Frithiof broke out into a ringing boyish laugh; it was the first time he -had laughed for weeks. Cecil guessed as much, and blessed Signor Donati -for having been the cause; but as she remembered what the young -Norwegian had been only a few months before, she could not help feeling -sad—could not help wondering what sorrow had changed him so terribly. -Had Blanche Morgan been faithful to him? she wondered. Or had his change -of fortune put an end to everything between them? In any case he must -greatly resent the way in which his father had been treated by the -English firm, and that alone must make matters very difficult for the -two lovers. - -Musing over it all, she became silent and abstracted, and on returning -to the drawing-room took up a newspaper, glancing aimlessly down the -columns, and wondering what her father and Roy would advise Frithiof to -do, and how the discussion in the study was prospering. - -All at once her heart began to beat wildly, for she had caught sight of -some lines which threw a startling light on Frithiof’s changed manner, -lines which also revealed to her the innermost recesses of her own -heart. - - -“The marriage arranged between Lord Romiaux and Miss Blanche Morgan, -only daughter of Austin Morgan, Esq., will take place on the 30th -instant, at Christ Church, Lancaster Gate.” - - -She was half-frightened at the sudden rage which took possession of her, -at the bitterness of the indignation which burned in her heart. What -right had Blanche Morgan to play with men? to degrade love to a mere -pastime? to make the most sacred thing in the world the sport of a -summer holiday? to ruin men’s lives for her own amusement? to lure on a -mere boy and flatter and deceive him; then quietly to throw him over? - -“And how about yourself?” said a voice in her heart. “Are you quite free -from what you blame in Blanche Morgan? Will you not be tempted to hope -that he may like you? Will you not try to please him? Will it not be a -pleasure to you if he cares for your singing?” - -“All that is quite true,” she admitted. “I do care to please him; I -can’t help it; but oh, God! let me die rather than do him harm!” - -Her quiet life with the vague feeling of something wanting in it had -indeed been changed by the Norwegian holiday. Now, for the first time, -she realized that her uneventful girlhood was over; she had become a -woman, and, woman-like, she bravely accepted the pain which love had -brought into her life, and looked sadly, perhaps, yet unshrinkingly into -the future, where it was little likely that anything but grief and -anxiety awaited her. For she loved a man who was absolutely indifferent -to her, and her love had given her clear insight. She saw that he was a -man whose faith in love, both human and divine, had been crushed out of -him by a great wrong; a man whose whole nature had deteriorated and -would continue to deteriorate, unless some unforeseen thing should -interfere to change his whole view of life. - -But the scalding tears which rose to her eyes were not tears of -self-pity; they were tears of sorrow for Frithiof, of disappointment -about his ruined life, of a sad humility as she thought to herself: “Oh! -if only I were fit to help him! If only!” - -Meanwhile in the study a very matter-of-fact conversation was being -held. - -“What I want to find out,” said Mr. Boniface, “is whether you are really -in earnest in what you say about work. There are thousands of young men -saying exactly the same thing, but when you take the trouble to go into -their complaint you find that the real cry is not ‘Give me work by which -I can get an honest living!’ but ‘Give me work that does not clash with -my tastes—work that I thoroughly like.’” - -“I have no particular tastes,” said Frithiof coldly. “The sort of work -is quite indifferent to me as long as it will bring in money.” - -“You are really willing to begin at the bottom of the ladder and work -your way up? You are not above taking a step which would place you much -lower in the social scale.” - -“A fellow living on the charity of a relation who grudges every -farthing, as taking something away from his own children, is not likely -to trouble much about the social scale,” said Frithiof bitterly. - -“Very well. Then I will, at any rate, suggest my plan for you, and see -what you think of it. If you care to accept it until something better -turns up, I can give you a situation in my house of business. Your -salary to begin with would be but small; the man who leaves me next -Monday has had only five and-twenty shillings a week, and I could not, -without unfair favoritism, give you more at first. But every man has a -chance of rising, and I am quite sure that you, with your advantages, -would do so. You understand that, as I said, it is mere work that I am -offering you. Doubtless standing behind a counter will not be very -congenial work to one brought up as you have been; but you might do -infinitely worse, and I can at least promise you that you will be -treated as a man—not, as in many places you would find it, as a mere -‘hand.’” - -Possibly, when he first arrived in London, Frithiof might have scouted -such a notion if it had been proposed to him, but now his first question -was whether he was really qualified for the situation. Those hard words -which had so often confronted him—“Experienced only”—flashed into his -mind. - -“I have had a good education,” he said, “and, of course, understand -book-keeping and so forth, but I have had no experience.” - -“I quite understand that,” said Mr. Boniface. “But you would soon get -into the way of things. My son would show you exactly what your work -would be.” - -“Of course I would,” said Roy. “Think it over, Falck, for at any rate it -would keep you going for a time while you look round for a better -opening.” - -“Yes, there is no need to make up your mind to-night. Sleep upon it, and -let me know how you decide to-morrow. If you think of accepting the -situation, then come and see me in Regent Street between half-past one -and two o’clock. We close at two on Saturdays. And in any case, whether -you accept or refuse this situation, I hope you will come and spend -Saturday to Monday with us here.” - -“You are very good,” said Frithiof, thinking to himself how unlike these -people were to any others he had come across in London. Miss Charlotte -Turnour had tried to do him good; it was part of her creed to try to do -good to people. The Bonifaces, on the other hand, had simply been -friendly and hospitable to him, had shown him that they really cared for -him, that they were sorry for his sorrow, and anxious over his -anxieties. But from Rowan Tree House he went away with a sense of warmth -about the heart, and from Miss Charlotte he invariably turned away -hardened and disgusted. Perhaps it was that she began at the wrong end, -and, like so many people in the world, offered the hard crust of -dogmatic utterances to one who was as yet only capable of being -nourished on the real substance of the loaf—a man who was dying for want -of love, and who no more needed elaborate theological schemes than the -starving man in the desert needs the elaborate courses of a -dinner-party. - -It is God’s way to reveal Himself through man, though we are forever -trying to improve upon His way, and endeavoring to convert others by -articles of religion instead of the beauty of holiness. - -As Frithiof walked home to Vauxhall he felt more at rest than he had -done for many days. They had not preached at him; they had not given him -unasked-for advice; they had merely given one of the best gifts that can -be given in this world, the sight of one of those homes where the -kingdom of heaven has begun—a home, that is, where “righteousness and -peace and joy” are the rule, and whatever contradicts this reign of love -the rare exception. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - -The gloomy little lodging-house felt desolate enough to him as he -unlocked the door with his latch-key and climbed the creaking stairs to -his sparsely furnished room. Evidently the three Miss Turnours were -having a very animated quarrel, for their voices were pitched in that -high key which indicates a stormy atmosphere, and even their words -reached him distinctly as he passed by the bedroom which was the arena -of strife. - -“But, my dear Caroline—” - -“Don’t talk nonsense, my dear, you know perfectly well—” - -“Do you mean to say, my dear—” - -“I wonder,” thought Frithiof, “whether they ever allow each other to -finish a sentence. It’s like the catch that they used to sing at -Balholm, about ‘Celia’s Charms.’ If any one ever writes a catch called -‘The Quarrel,’ he must take care to stick in plenty of ‘my dears!’” - -Strict economy in gas was practiced by the Miss Turnours, and Frithiof -had to grope about for matches. “Attendance,” too, did not apparently -include drawing down the blind, or turning down the bed. The room looked -most bare and comfortless, and the dismal gray paper, with its oblong -slabs, supposed by courtesy to represent granite, was as depressing as -the dungeon of Giant Despair’s castle. - -To stay here with nothing to do—to fag through weary days of -disappointing search after work, and then to return to this night after -night, was but a sorry prospect. Would it not indeed be well for him if -he swallowed his pride and accepted this offer of perfectly honorable -work which had been made to him? The idea was in many ways distasteful -to him, and yet dared he reject it? - -Looking honestly into his own mind he detected there something that -urged him to snatch at this first chance of work, lest, with fresh -failure and disappointment, the very desire for work should die within -him, and he should sink into a state which his better nature abhorred. -The clatter of tongues still ascended from below. He took off his boots, -dropping first one and then the other with a resounding thud upon the -floor, after the manner of men. Then wondering whether consciousness of -his being within earshot would allay the storm, he threw down both boots -at once with a portentous noise outside his room and shut and locked the -door with emphasis. Still the female battle continued. He threw himself -down on the bed, wondering what it was that made families so different. -It was not money which gave the tone to the Bonifaces’ house. The -Morgans were infinitely richer. It was not a great profession of -religion. The Miss Turnours were all ardently and disputatiously -religious. What was it? - -He fell asleep before he had solved the problem, and had an odd, -confused dream. He dreamed that he was climbing the Romsdalshorn, and -that darkness had overtaken him. Below him was a sheer precipice, and he -could hear the roar of wild beasts as they wandered to and fro thirsting -for his blood. - -“They are bound to get me sooner or later,” he thought, “for I can never -hold out till daylight. I may as well let myself go.” - -And the thought of the horror of that fall was so great that he almost -woke with it. But something seemed to him to quiet him again. It was -partly curiosity to understand the meaning of a light which had dawned -in the sky, and which deepened and spread every moment. At last he saw -that it had been caused by the opening of a door, and in the doorway, -with a glory of light all about them, he saw the Madonna and the Holy -Child. A path of light traced itself from them on the mountain-side to -the place where he stood, and he struggled up, no longer afraid to go -forward, and without a thought of the beasts or the precipice. And thus -struggling on, all details were lost in a flood of light, and warmth, -and perfect content, and a welcome that left nothing wanting. - -A pushing back of chairs in the room below suddenly roused him. With a -sense of bewilderment, he found himself lying on the hard lodging-house -bed, and heard the quarrelsome voices rising through the floor. - -“Still at it,” he thought to himself with a bitter smile. And then he -thought of the picture of the Romsdalshorn he had seen that afternoon—he -remembered a horrible temptation that had seized him—remembered Cecil -standing in the open door with the child in her arms, remembered the -perfect welcome he had received from the whole house. Should he in his -foolish pride drift into the miserable state of these poor Turnours, and -drag through life in poverty, because he was too well-born to take the -work he could get? - -“These poor ladies would be happier even in service than they are here, -in what they call independence,” he reflected. “I shall take this -situation; it’s the first step up.” - -The next morning he went to the Swedish Embassy to ask advice once more. - -“I am glad to see you,” said the consul. “I was hoping you would look in -again, for I met old Sivertsen the other day, and he was most anxious to -have your address. He said you went off in a hurry, and never gave him -time to finish what he was saying.” - -Frithiof smiled. - -“He did nothing but inveigh against the rising generation, and I didn’t -care to waste the whole morning over that.” - -“You have too little diplomacy about you,” said the consul. “You do not -make the best of your own case. However, Sivertsen seems to have taken a -fancy to you, and I advise you to go to him again; he will most likely -offer you work. If I were you, I would make up my mind to take whatever -honest work turns up, and throw pride to the winds. Leave your address -here with me, and if I hear of anything I’ll let you know.” - -Frithiof, somewhat unwillingly, made his way to Museum Street, and was -ushered into the stuffy little den where Herr Sivertsen sat smoking and -writing serenely. He bowed stiffly, but was startled to see the sudden -change which came over the face of the old Norwegian at sight of him. - -“So! You have come back, then!” he exclaimed, shaking him warmly by the -hand, just as though they had parted the best of friends. “I am glad of -it. Why didn’t you tell me the real state of the case? Why didn’t you -tell me you were one of the victims of the accursed thirst for gold? Why -didn’t you tell me of the hardness and rapacity of the English firm? But -you are all alike—all! Young men nowadays can’t put a decent sentence -together; they clip their words as close as if they were worth a mint of -money. A worthless generation! Sit down, now, sit down, and tell me what -you can do.” - -Frithiof, perceiving that what had first seemed like boorishness was -really eccentricity, took the proffered chair, and tried to shake off -the mantle of cold reserve which had of late fallen upon him. - -“I could do translating,” he replied. “English, German, or Norwegian. I -am willing to do copying; but there, I suppose, the typewriters would -cut me out. Any way, I have four hours to spare in the evening, and I -want them filled.” - -“You have found some sort of work, then, already?” - -“Yes, I have got work which will bring me in twenty-five shillings a -week, but it leaves me free from eight o’clock, and I want evening -employment.” - -Herr Sivertsen gave a grunt which expressed encouragement and approval. -He began shuffling about masses of foolscap and proofs which were strewn -in wild confusion about the writing-table. “These are the revised proofs -of Scanbury’s new book; take this page and let me see how you can render -it into Norwegian. Here are pen and paper. Sit down and try your hand.” - -Frithiof obeyed. Herr Sivertsen seemed satisfied with the result. - -“Put the same page into German,” he said. - -Frithiof worked away in silence, and the old author paced to and fro -with his pipe, giving a furtive glance now and then at the down-bent -head with its fair, obstinate hair brushed erect in Norwegian fashion, -and the fine Grecian profile upon which the dark look of trouble sat -strangely. In spite of the sarcasm and bitterness which disappointment -had roused in Frithiof’s nature the old author saw that such traits were -foreign to his real character—that they were but a thin veneer, and that -beneath them lay the brave and noble nature of the hardy Norseman. The -consul’s account of his young countryman’s story had moved him greatly, -and he was determined now to do what he could for him. He rang the bell -and ordered the Norwegian maid-servant to bring lunch for two, adding an -emphatic “Strax!” (immediately), which made Frithiof look up from his -writing. - -“You have finished?” asked Herr Sivertsen. - -“Not quite. I can’t get this last bit quite to my mind. I don’t believe -there is an equivalent in German for that expression.” - -“You are quite right. There isn’t. I couldn’t get anything for it -myself. What have you put? Good! very good. It is an improvement on what -I had thought of. The sentence runs better.” - -He took the paper from the table and mumbled through it in an approving -tone. - -“Good! you will do,” he said, at the end. “Now while we lunch together -we can discuss terms. Ha! what has she brought us? Something that -pretends to be German sausage! Good heavens! The depravity of the age! -_This_ German sausage indeed! I must apologize to you for having it on -the table, but servants are all alike nowadays—all alike! Not one of -them can understand how to do the marketing properly. A worthless -generation!” - -Frithiof began to be faintly amused by the old man, and as he walked -away from Museum Street with a week’s work under his arm he felt in -better spirits than he had done for some time. - -With not a little curiosity he sought out the Bonifaces’ shop in Regent -Street. It had a well-ordered, prosperous look about it: double doors -kept the draught from those within, the place was well warmed -throughout; on each side of the door was a counter with a desk and -stool, Mr. Boniface being one of those who consider that sitting is as -cheap as standing, and the monotony of the long shelves full of -holland-covered portfolios was broken by busts of Beethoven, Mozart, -Wagner, and other great musicians. The inner shop was consecrated to -instruments of all kinds, and through this Frithiof was taken to Mr. -Boniface’s private room. - -“Well,” said the shop-owner, greeting him kindly. “And have you made -your decision!” - -“Yes, sir, I have decided to accept the situation,” said Frithiof. And -something in his face and bearing showed plainly that he was all the -better for his choice. - -“I forget whether I told you about the hours,” said Mr. Boniface. -“Half-past eight in the morning till half-past seven at night, an hour -out of that for dinner, and half an hour for tea. You will have of -course the usual bank holidays, and we also arrange that each of our men -shall have a fortnight some time during the summer.” - -“You are very thoughtful for your hands,” said Frithiof. “It is few, I -should fancy, who would allow so much.” - -“I don’t know that,” said Mr. Boniface. “A good many, I fancy, try -something of the sort, and I am quite sure that it invariably answers. -It is not in human nature to go on forever at one thing—every one needs -variety. Business becomes a tread-mill if you never get a thorough -change, and I like my people to put their heart into the work. If you -try to do that you will be of real value, and are bound to rise.” - -“Look,” said Roy, showing him a neatly drawn-out plan of names and -dates. “This is the holiday chart which we worked out this summer. It -takes my father quite a long time to arrange it all and make each -dovetail properly with the others.” - -They lingered for a few minutes talking over the details of the -business, then Roy took Frithiof down into the shop again, and in the -uninterrupted quiet of the Saturday afternoon showed him exactly what -his future work would be. He was to preside at the song-counter, and Roy -initiated him into the arrangement of the brown-holland portfolios with -their black lettering, showed him his desk with account-books, -order-book, and cash-box, even made him practice rolling up music in the -neat white wrappers that lay ready to hand—a feat which at first he did -not manage very quickly. - -“I am afraid all this must be very uncongenial to you,” said Roy. - -“Perhaps,” said Frithiof. “But it will do as well as anything else. And -indeed,” he added warmly, “one would put up with a great deal for the -sake of being under such a man as Mr. Boniface.” - -“The real secret of the success of the business is that he personally -looks after every detail,” said Roy. “All the men he employs are fond of -him; he expects them to do their best for him, and he does his best for -them. I think you may really be happy enough here, though of course it -is not at all the sort of life you were brought up to expect.” - -Each thought involuntarily of the first time they had met, and of -Blanche Morgan’s ill-timed speech: “Only a shopkeeper!” Roy understood -perfectly well what it was that brought the bitter look into his -companion’s face, and, thinking that they had stayed long enough for -Frithiof to get a pretty clear idea of the work which lay before him on -Monday morning, he proposed that they should go home together. He had -long ago got over the selfish desire to be quit of the responsibility of -being with the Norwegian; his first awkward shyness had been, after all, -natural enough, for those whose lives have been very uneventful seldom -understand how to deal with people in trouble, and are apt to shrink -away in unsympathetic silence because they have not learned from their -own sore need what it is that human nature craves for in sorrow. But -each time he met Frithiof now he felt that the terrible evening at the -Arundel had broken down the barriers which hitherto had kept him from -friendship with any one out of his own family. Mere humanity had forced -him to stay as the solitary witness of an overwhelming grief, and he had -gained in this way a knowledge of life and a sympathy with Frithiof, of -which he had been quite incapable before. - -He began to know intuitively how things would strike Frithiof, and as -they went down to Brixton he prepared him for what he shrewdly surmised -would be the chief disagreeable in his business life. - -“I don’t think you heard,” he began “that there is another partner in -our firm—a cousin of my father’s—James Horner. I dare say you will not -come across him very much, but he is fond of interfering now and then, -and sometimes if my father is away he gets fussy and annoying. He is not -at all popular in the shop, and I thought I would just warn you -beforehand, though of course you are not exactly expecting a bed of -roses.” - -It would have been hard to say exactly what Frithiof was expecting; his -whole life had been unstrung, and this new beginning represented to him -merely a certain amount of monotonous work to the tune of -five-and-twenty shillings a week. - -When they reached Rowan Tree House they found a carriage waiting at the -door. - -“Talk of the angel and its wings appear,” said Roy. “The Horners are -calling here. What a nuisance!” - -Frithiof felt inclined to echo this sentiment when he found himself in -the pretty drawing-room once more and became conscious of the presence -of an overdressed woman and a bumptious little man with mutton-chop -whiskers and inquisitive eyes, whose air of patronage would have been -comical had it not been galling to his Norwegian independence. Roy had -done well to prepare him, for nothing could have been so irritating to -his sensitive refinement as the bland self-satisfaction, the innate -vulgarity of James Horner. Mrs. Boniface and Cecil greeted him -pleasantly, and Mrs. Horner bowed her lofty bonnet with dignity when he -was introduced to her, and uttered a platitude about the weather in an -encouraging tone, which speedily changed, however, when she discovered -that he was actually “one of the hands.” - -“The Bonifaces have no sense of what is fitting,” she said afterward to -her husband. “The idea of introducing one of the shopmen to me! I never -go into Loveday’s drawing-room without longing to leave behind me a book -on etiquette.” - -“She’s a well-meaning soul,” said James Horner condescendingly. “But -countrified still, and unpolished. It’s strange after so many years of -London life.” - -“Not strange at all,” retorted Mrs. Horner snappishly. “She never tries -to copy correct models, so how’s it likely her manners should improve. -I’m not at all partial to Cecil either. They’ll never make a stylish -girl of her with their ridiculous ideas about stays and all that. I’ll -be bound her waist’s a good five-and-twenty inches.” - -“Oh, well, my dear, I really don’t see much to find fault with in -Cecil.” - -“But I do,” said Mrs. Horner emphatically. “For all her quietness -there’s a deal of obstinacy about the girl. I should like to know what -she means to do with that criminal’s children that she has foisted on -the family! I detest people who are always doing _outré_ things like -that; it’s all of a piece with their fads about no stays and Jaeger’s -woolen clothes. The old customs are good enough for me, and I’m sure -rather than let myself grow as stout as Loveday I’d tight-lace night as -well as day.” - -“She’s not much of a figure, it’s true.” - -“Figure, indeed!” echoed his wife. “A feather-bed tied around with a -string, that’s what she is.” - -“But she makes the house very comfortable, and always has a good table,” -said Mr. Horner reflectively. - -His wife tossed her head and flushed angrily, for she knew quite well -that while the Bonifaces spent no more on housekeeping than she did, -their meals were always more tempting, more daintily arranged. She was -somehow destitute of the gift of devising nice little dinners, and could -by no means compass a pretty-looking supper. - -“It seems to me, you know,” said James Horner, “that we go on year after -year in a dull round of beef and mutton, mutton and beef.” - -“Well, really, Mr. H.,” she replied sharply, “if you want me to feed you -on game and all the delicacies of the season, you must give me a little -more cash, that’s all.” - -“I never said that I wanted you to launch out into all the delicacies of -the season. Loveday doesn’t go in for anything extravagant; but somehow -one wearies of eternal beef and mutton. I wish they’d invent another -animal!” - -“And till they do, I’ll thank you not to grumble, Mr. H. If there’s one -thing that seems to me downright unchristian it is to grumble at things. -Why, where’s that idiot of a coachman driving us to? It’s half a mile -further that way. He really must leave us; I can’t stand having a -servant one can’t depend on. He has no brains at all.” - -She threw down the window and shouted a correction to the coachman, but -unluckily, in drawing in her head again, the lofty bonnet came violently -into contact with the roof of the carriage. “Dear! what a bother!” she -exclaimed. “There’s my osprey crushed all to nothing!” - -“Well, Cecil would say it was a judgment on you,” said James Horner, -smiling. “Didn’t you hear what she was telling us just now? they kill -the parent birds by scores and leave the young ones to die of -starvation. It’s only in the breeding season that they can get those -feathers at all.” - -“Pshaw! what do I care for a lot of silly little birds!” said Mrs. -Horner, passing her hand tenderly and anxiously over the crushed bonnet. -“I shall buy a fresh one on Monday, if it’s only to spite that girl; -she’s forever talking up some craze about people or animals being hurt. -It’s no affair of mine; my motto is ‘Live and let live’; and don’t be -forever ferreting up grievances.” - -Frithiof breathed more freely when the Horners had left Rowan Tree -House, and indeed every one seemed to feel that a weight had been -removed, and a delightful sense of ease took possession of all. - -“Cousin Georgina will wear ospreys to the bitter end, I prophesy,” said -Roy. “You’ll never convince her that anything she likes is really hard -on others.” - -“Of course, many people have worn them before they knew of the cruelty,” -said Cecil, “but afterward I can’t think how they can.” - -“You see, people as a rule don’t really care about pain at a distance,” -said Frithiof. “Torture thousands of these herons and egrets by a -lingering death, and though people know it is so they wont care; but -take one person within hearing of their cries, and that person will -wonder how any human being can be such a barbarian as to wear these -so-called ospreys.” - -“I suppose it is that we are so very slow to realize pain that we don’t -actually see.” - -“People don’t really want to stop pain till it makes them personally -uncomfortable,” replied Frithiof. - -“That sounds horribly selfish.” - -“Most things come round to selfishness when you trace them out.” - -“Do you really quite think that? I don’t think it can be true, because -it is not of one’s self that one thinks in trying to do away with the -sufferings of the world; reformers always know that they will have to -endure a great deal of pain themselves, and it is the thought of -lessening it for others that makes them brave enough to go on.” - -“But you must allow,” said Frithiof, “that to get up a big subscription -you must have a harrowing account of a catastrophe. You must stir -people’s hearts so that they wont be comfortable again till they have -given a guinea; it is their own pain that prompts them to act—their own -personal discomfort.” - -“That may be, perhaps; but it is not altogether selfishness if they -really do give help; it must be a God-like thing that makes them want to -cure pain—a devil would gloat over it. Why should you call it -selfishness because the good pleases them? ‘_Le bien me plaît_’ was a -good enough motto for the Steadfast Prince, why not for the rest of us?” - -“But is it orthodox, surely, to do what you dislike doing?” - -“Yes,” struck in Roy, “like the nursery rhyme about - - ‘The twelve Miss Pellicoes they say were always taught - To do the thing they didn’t like, which means the thing they ought.’” - -“But that seems to me exactly what is false,” said Cecil. “Surely we -have to grow into liking the right and the unselfish, and hating the -thing that only pleases the lower part of us?” - -“But the growth is slow with most of us,” said Mr. Boniface. “There’s a -specimen for you,” and he glanced toward the door, where an altercation -was going on between Master Lance and the nurse who had come to fetch -him to bed. - -“Oh, come, Lance, don’t make such a noise,” cried Cecil, crossing the -room and putting a stop to the sort of war-dance of rage and passion -which the little fellow was executing. “Why, what do you think would -happen to you if you were to sit up late?” - -“What?” asked Lance, curiosity gaining the upper hand and checking the -frenzy of impatience which had possessed him. - -“You would be a wretched little cross white child, and would never grow -up into a strong man. Don’t you want to grow big and strong so that you -can take care of Gwen?” - -“And I’ll take care of you, too,” he said benevolently. “I’ll take you -all the way to Norway, and row you in a boat, and shoot the bears.” - -Frithiof smiled. - -“The trouble generally is to find bears to shoot.” - -“Yes, but Cecil did see where a bear had made its bed up on Munkeggen, -didn’t you, Cecil?” - -“Yes, yes, and you shall go with me some day,” she said, hurrying the -little fellow off because she thought the allusion to Munkeggen would -perhaps hurt Frithiof. - -Roy was on the point of taking up the thread of conversation again about -Norway, but she promptly intervened. - -“I don’t know how we shall cure Lance of dancing with rage like that; we -have the same scene every night.” - -“You went the right way to work just now,” said Mr. Boniface. “You made -him understand why his own wishes must be thwarted; and you see he was -quite willing to believe what you said. You had a living proof of what -you were arguing—he did what he had once disliked because he saw that it -was the road to something higher, and better, and more really desirable -than his play down here. In time he will have a sort of respectful -liking for the road which once he hated.” - -“The only drawback is,” said Frithiof, rather bitterly, “that he may -follow the road, and it may not lead him to what he expects; he may go -to bed like an angel, and yet, in spite of that, lose his health, or -grow up without a chance of taking you to Norway or shooting bears.” - -“Well, what then?” said Cecil quietly. “It will have led him on in the -right direction, and if he is disappointed of just those particular -things, why, he must look further and higher.” - -Frithiof thought of his dream and was silent. - -“I’m going to make tea, Roy,” said Mrs. Boniface, laying down her -netting, “and you had better show Herr Falck his room. I hope you’ll -often come and spend Sunday with us,” she added, with a kindly glance at -the Norwegian. - -In the evening they had music. Roy and Cecil both sung well; their -voices were not at all out of the common, but no pains had been spared -on their training, and Frithiof liked the comfortable, informal way in -which they sung one thing after another, treating him entirely as one of -the family. - -“And now it is your turn,” said Cecil, after awhile. “Father, where is -that Amati that somebody sent you on approval? Perhaps Herr Falck would -try it?” - -“Oh, do you play the violin?” said Mr. Boniface; “that is capital. -You’ll find it in my study cupboard, Cecil; stay, here’s the key.” - -Frithiof protested that he was utterly out of practice, that it was -weeks since he had touched his violin, which had been left behind in -Norway; but when he actually saw the Amati he couldn’t resist it, and it -ended in his playing to Cecil’s accompaniment for the rest of the -evening. - -To Cecil the hours seemed to fly, and Mrs. Boniface, after a preliminary -round of tidying up the room, came and stood by her, watching her bright -face with motherly contentment. - -“Prayer time, darling,” she said, as the sonata came to an end; “and -since it’s Saturday night we mustn’t be late.” - -“Ten o’clock already?” she exclaimed; “I had no idea it was so late! -What hymn will you have, father?” - -“The Evening Hymn,” said Mr. Boniface; and Frithiof, wondering a little -what was going to happen, obediently took the place assigned him, saw -with some astonishment that four white-capped maid-servants had come -into the drawing-room and were sitting near the piano, and that Mr. -Boniface was turning over the leaves of a big Bible. He had a dim -recollection of having read something in an English poem about a similar -custom, and racked his brain to remember what it could be until the -words of a familiar psalm broke the stillness of the room, and recalled -him to the present. - -“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help,” -read Mr. Boniface. And as he went on, the beautiful old poem with its -tender, reassuring cadences somehow touched Frithiof, so that when they -stood up to sing “Glory to Thee, my God, this night,” he did not cavil -at each line as he would have done a little while before, but stood -listening reverently, conscious of a vague desire for something in which -he felt himself to be lacking. After all, the old beliefs which he had -dismissed so lightly from his mind were not without a power and a beauty -of their own. - -“I wish I could be like these people,” he thought to himself, kneeling -for the first time for years. - -And though he did not hear a word of the prayer, and could not honestly -have joined in it if he had heard, his mind was full of a longing which -he could not explain. The fact was that in the past he had troubled -himself very little about the matter, he had allowed the “Zeitgeist” to -drive him as it would, and following the fashion of his companions, with -a comfortable consciousness of having plenty to keep him in countenance, -he had thrown off the old faiths. - -He owned as much to Cecil the next day when, after breakfast, they -chanced to be alone together for a few minutes. - -“Have you found any Norwegian service in London, or will you come with -us?” she asked unconsciously. - -“Oh,” he replied, “I gave up that sort of thing long ago, and while you -are out I will get on with some translation I have in hand.” - -“I beg your pardon,” she said, coloring crimson; “I had no idea, or I -should not have asked.” - -But there was not the faintest shade of annoyance in Frithiof’s face; he -seemed puzzled at her confusion. - -“The services bored me so,” he explained. He did not add as he had done -to Blanche that in his opinion religion was only fit for women, perhaps -because it would have been difficult to make such a speech to Cecil, or -perhaps because the recollection of the previous evening still lingered -with him. - -“Oh,” said Cecil, smiling as she recognized the boyishness of his -remark; “I suppose every one goes through a stage of being bored. Roy -used to hate Sunday when he was little; he used to have a Sunday pain -which came on quite regularly when we were starting to chapel, so that -he could stay at home.” - -“I know you will all think me a shocking sinner to stay at home -translating this book,” said Frithiof. - -“No, we shant,” said Cecil quietly. “If you thought it was right to go -to church of course you would go. You look at things differently.” - -He was a little startled by her liberality. - -“You assume by that that I always do what I know to be right,” he said, -smiling. “What makes you suppose any such thing?” - -“I can’t tell you exactly; but don’t you think one has a sort of -instinct as to people? without really having heard anything about them, -one can often know that they are good or bad.” - -“I think one is often horribly mistaken in people,” said Frithiof -moodily. - -“Yes; sometimes one gets unfairly prejudiced, perhaps, by a mere -likeness to another person whom one dislikes. Oh, I quite allow that -this sort of instinct is not infallible.” - -“You are much more liable to think too well of people than not well -enough,” said Frithiof. “You are a woman and have seen but little of the -world. Wait till you have been utterly deceived in some one, and then -your eyes will be opened, and you will see that most people are at heart -mean and selfish and contemptible.” - -“But there is one thing that opens one’s eyes to see what is good in -people,” said Cecil. “You can’t love all humanity and yet think them -mean and contemptible, you soon see that they are worth a great deal.” - -“It is as you said just now,” said Frithiof, after a minute’s silence, -“we look at things differently. You look at the world out of charitable -eyes. I look at it seeing its baseness and despising it. Some day you -will see that my view is correct; you will find that your kindly -judgments are wrong. Perhaps I shall be the first to undeceive you, for -you are utterly wrong about me. You think me good, but it is ten to one -that I go to the bad altogether; after all, it would be the easiest way -and the most amusing.” - -He had gone on speaking recklessly, but Cecil felt much too keenly to be -checked by any conventionality as to the duty of talking only of surface -matters. - -“You are unjust to the world, yourself included!” she exclaimed. “I -believe that you have too much of the hardy Norseman about you ever to -hanker after a life of ease and pleasure which must really ruin you.” - -“That speech only shows that you have formed too high an estimate of our -national character,” said Frithiof. “Perhaps you don’t know that the -Norwegians are often drunkards?” - -“Possibly; and so are the English; but, in spite of that, is not the -real national character true and noble and full of a sense of duty? What -I meant about you was that I think you do try to do the things you see -to be right. I never thought you were perfect.” - -“Then if I do the things that I see to be right I can only see a very -little, that’s certain,” he said lightly. - -“Exactly so,” she replied, unable to help laughing a little at his tone. -“And I think that you have been too lazy to take the trouble to try and -see more. However, that brings us round again to the things that bore -you. Would you like to write at this table in the window? You will be -quite quiet in here till dinner-time.” - -She found him pens and ink, tore a soiled sheet off the blotting-pad, -drew up the blind so as to let in just enough sunshine, and then left -him to his translating. - -“What a strange girl she is,” he thought to himself. “As frank and -outspoken as a boy, and yet with all sorts of little tender touches -about her. Sigrid would like her; they did take to one another at -Balholm, I remember.” - -Then, with a bitter recollection of one who had eclipsed all others -during that happy week on the Sogne Fjord, the hard look came back to -his face, and taking up his pen he began to work doggedly at Herr -Sivertsen’s manuscript. - -The next morning his new life began: he turned his back on the past and -deliberately made his downward step on the social ladder, which -nevertheless meant an upward step on the ladder of honesty and success. -Still there was no denying that the loss of position chafed him sorely; -he detested having to treat such a man as James Horner as his master and -employer; he resented the free-and-easy tone of the other men employed -on the premises. Mr. Horner, who was the sort of man who would have -patronized an archangel for the sake of showing off his own superior -affability, unluckily chanced to be in the shop a good deal during that -first week, and the new hand received a large share of his notice. -Frithiof’s native courtesy bore him up through a good deal, but at last -his pride got the better of him, and he made it so perfectly apparent to -the bumptious little man that he desired to have as little to do with -him as possible, that James Horner’s bland patronage speedily changed to -active dislike. - -“What induced you to choose that Falck in Smith’s place?” he said to Mr. -Boniface, in a grumbling tone. He persisted in dropping the broad “a” in -Frithiof’s name, and pronouncing it as if it rhymed with “talc”—a sound -peculiarly offensive to Norwegian ears. - -“He is a friend of Roy’s,” was the reply. “What is it that you dislike -about him? He seems to me likely to prove very efficient.” - -“Oh, yes; he has his wits about him, perhaps rather too much so, but I -can’t stand the ridiculous airs the fellow gives himself. Order him to -do anything, and he’ll do it as haughtily as though he were master and I -servant; and as for treating him in a friendly way it’s impossible; he’s -as stand-offish as if he were a Crœsus instead of a poor beggar without -a penny to bless himself with.” - -“He is a very reserved fellow,” said Mr. Boniface; “and you must -remember that this work is probably distasteful to him. You see he has -been accustomed to a very different position.” - -“Why, his father was nothing but a fish merchant who went bankrupt.” - -“But out in Norway merchants rank much more highly than with us. -Besides, the Falcks are of a very old family.” - -“Well, really I never expected to hear such a radical as you speak up -for old family and all that nonsense,” said James Horner. “But I see you -are determined to befriend this fellow, so it’s no good my saying -anything against it. I hope you may find him all you expect. For my part -I consider him a most unpromising young man; there’s an aggressiveness -about his face and bearing that I don’t like at all. A dangerous, -headstrong sort of character, and not in the least fit for the position -you have given him.” - -With which sweeping condemnation Mr. Horner left the room, and Roy, who -had kept a politic silence throughout the scene, threw down his pen and -went into a subdued fit of laughter. - -“You should see them together, father, it’s as good as a play,” he -exclaimed. “Falck puts on his grand air and is crushingly polite the -moment Cousin James puts in an appearance, and that nettles him and he -becomes more and more vulgar and fussy, and so they go poking each other -up worse and worse every minute.” - -“It’s very foolish of Falck,” said Mr. Boniface. “If he means to get on -in life, he will have to learn the art of rising above such paltry -annoyances as airs of patronage and manners that jar on him.” - -Meanwhile, down below in the shop, Frithiof had forgotten his last -encounter with James Horner, and as he set things in order for the -Saturday afternoon closing, his thoughts were far away. He sorted music -and took down one portfolio after another mechanically, while all the -time it seemed to him that he was wandering with Blanche through the -sweet-scented pine woods, hearing her fresh, clear voice, looking into -the lovely eyes which had stolen his heart. The instant two o’clock -sounded the hour of his release, he snatched up his hat and hurried -away; his dreams of the past had taken so strong a hold upon him that he -felt he must try for at least one more sight of the face that haunted -him so persistently. - -He had touched no food since early morning, but he could no more have -eaten at that moment than have turned aside in some other direction. -Feeling as though some power outside himself were drawing him onward, he -followed with scarcely a thought of the actual way, until he found -himself within sight of the Lancaster Gate House. A striped red and -white awning had been erected over the steps, he caught sight of it -through the trees, and his heart seemed to stand still. Hastily crossing -the wide road leading to the church, he gained a better view of the -pavement in front of Mr. Morgan’s house; dirty little street children -with eager faces were clustered about the railings, and nurse-maids with -perambulators flanked the red felt which made a pathway to the carriage -standing before the door. He turned sick and giddy. - -“Fine doings there, sir,” remarked the crossing-sweeper, who was still -sweeping up the autumn leaves just as he had been doing when Frithiof -had passed him after his interview with Blanche. “They say the bride’s -an heiress and a beauty too. Well, well, it’s an unequal world!” and the -old man stopped to indulge in a paroxysm of coughing, then held out a -trembling hand. - -“Got a copper about you, sir?” he asked. - -Frithiof, just because the old man made that remark about an unequal -world, dropped a sixpence into the outstretched palm. - -“God bless you, sir!” said the crossing-sweeper, beginning to sweep up -the fallen leaves with more spirit than ever. - -“Violets, sir, sweet violets?” cried a girl, whose eye had caught the -gleam of the silver coin. - -She held the basket toward him, but he shook his head and walked -hurriedly away toward the church. Yet the incident never left his -memory, and to the end of his life the scent of violets was hateful to -him. Like one in a nightmare, he reached the church door. The organ was -crashing out a jubilant march; there was a sort of subdued hum of eager -anticipation from the crowd of spectators. - -“Are you a friend of the bride, sir?” asked an official. - -“No,” he said icily. - -“Then the side aisle, if you please, sir. The middle aisle is reserved -for friends only.” - -He quietly took the place assigned him and waited. It did not seem real -to him, the crowded church, the whispering people; all that seemed real -was the horrible sense of expectation. - -“Oh, it will be well worth seeing,” remarked a woman, who sat beside -him, to her companion. “They always manages things well in this place. -The last time I come it was to see Lady Graham’s funeral. Lor’! it was -jest beautiful! After all, there aint nothing that comes up to a real -good funeral. It’s so movin’ to the feelin’s, aint it?” - -An icy numbness crept over him, a most appalling feeling of isolation. -“This is like dying,” he thought to himself. And then, because the -congregation stood up, he too dragged himself to his feet. The march had -changed to a hymn. White-robed choristers walked slowly up the middle -aisle; their words reached him distinctly: - - “Still in the pure espousal, - Of Christian man and maid.” - -Then suddenly he caught sight of the face which had more than once been -pressed to his, of the eyes which had lured him on so cruelly. It was -only for a moment. She passed by with her attendant bride-maids, and -black darkness seemed to fall upon him, though he stood there outwardly -calm, just like an indifferent spectator. - -“Did you see her?” exclaimed his neighbor. “My! aint she jest pretty! -Satin dress, aint it?” - -“No, bless your heart! not satin,” replied the other. “’Twas brocade, -and a guinea a yard, I shouldn’t wonder.” - -Yet through all the whispering and the subdued noise of the great -congregation he could hear Blanche’s clear voice. “I will always trust -you,” she had said to him on Munkeggen. Now he heard her answer “I will” -to another question. - -After that, prayers and hymns seemed all mixed up in a wild confusion. -Now and then, between the heads of the crowd, he caught a vision of a -slim, white-robed figure, and presently Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” -was struck up, and he knew that she would pass down the aisle once more. -Would her face be turned in his direction? Yes; for a little child -scattered flowers before her, and she glanced round at it with a happy, -satisfied smile. As for Frithiof, he just stood there passively, and no -one watching him could have known of the fierce anguish that wrung his -heart. As a matter of fact, nobody observed him at all; he was a mere -unit in the crowd; and with human beings all round him, yet in absolute -loneliness, he passed out of the church into the chill autumnal air, to - - “Take up his burden of life again, - Saying only, ‘It might have been.’” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - -The cemetery just outside the Stadsport at Bergen, which had called -forth the eager admiration of Blanche Morgan in the previous summer, -looked perhaps even lovelier now that winter had come with its soft, -white shroud. The trees, instead of their green leaves, stretched out -rime-laden branches against the clear, frosty sky; the crosses on the -graves were fringed with icicles, which, touched here and there by the -lovely rays of the setting sun, shone ruby-red, or in the shade gleamed -clear as diamonds against the background of crisp white snow. Away in -the distance Ulriken reared his grand old head majestically, a dark -streak of precipitous rock showing out now and then through the veil -which hid his summer face; and to the right, in the valley, the pretty -Lungegaarsvand was one great sheet of ice, over which skaters glided -merrily. - -The body of Sigurd Falck rested beside that of his wife in the midst of -all this loveliness, and one winter afternoon Sigrid and little Swanhild -came to bring to the grave their wreaths and crosses, for it was their -father’s birthday. They had walked from their uncle’s house laden with -all the flowers they had been able to collect, and now stood at the gate -of the cemetery, which opened stiffly, owing to the frost. Sigrid looked -older and even sadder than she had done in the first shock of her -father’s death, but little Swanhild had just the same fair rosy face as -before, and there was a veiled excitement and eagerness in her manner as -she pushed at the cemetery gate; she was able to take a sort of pleasure -in bringing these birthday gifts, and even had in her heart a keen -satisfaction in the certainty that “their grave” would look prettier -than any of the others. - -“No one else has remembered his birthday,” she said, as they entered the -silent graveyard. “See, the snow is quite untrodden. Sigrid when are -they going to put father’s name on the stone?” and she pointed to the -slanting marble slab which leaned against the small cross. “There is -only mother’s name still. Wont they put a bigger slab instead where -there will be room for both?” - -“Not now,” said Sigrid, her voice trembling. - -“But why not, Sigrid? Every one else has names put. It seems as if we -had forgotten him.” - -“Oh, no, no,” said Sigrid, with a sob. “It isn’t that, darling; it is -that we remember so well, and know what he would have wished about it.” - -“I don’t understand,” said the child wistfully. - -“It is in this way,” said Sigrid, taking her hand tenderly. “I can not -have money spent on the tombstone, because he would not have liked it. -Oh, Swanhild!—you must know it some day, you shall hear it now—it was -not only his own money that was lost, it was the money of other people. -And till it is paid back how can I alter this?” - -Swanhild’s eyes grew large and bright. - -“It was that, then, that made him die,” she faltered. “He would be so -sorry for the other people. Oh, Sigrid, I will be so good: I don’t think -I shall ever be naughty again. Why didn’t you tell me before, and then I -shouldn’t have been cross because you wouldn’t buy me things?” - -“I wanted to shield you and keep you from knowing,” said Sigrid. “But -after all, it is better that you should hear it from me than from some -outsider.” - -“You will treat me like a baby, Sigrid, and I’m ten years old after -all—quite old enough to be told things.... And oh, you’ll let me help to -earn money and pay back the people, wont you?” - -“That is what Frithiof is trying to do,” said Sigrid, “but it is so -difficult and so slow. And I can’t think of anything we can do to help.” - -“Poor dear old Frithiof,” said Swanhild. And she gazed over the frozen -lake to the snow mountains which bounded the view, as if she would like -to see right through them into the big London shop where, behind a -counter, there stood a fair-haired Norseman toiling bravely to pay off -those debts of which she had just heard. “Why, on father’s last two -birthdays Frithiof was away in Germany, but then we were looking forward -so to having him home again. There’s nothing to look forward to now.” - -Sigrid could not reply, for she felt choked. She stood sadly watching -the child as she bent down, partly to hide her tears, partly to replace -a flower which had slipped out of one of the wreaths. It was just that -sense of having nothing to look forward to which had weighed so heavily -on Sigrid herself all these months; she had passed very bravely through -all the troubles as long as there had been anything to do; but now that -all the arrangements were made, the villa in Kalvedalen sold, the -furniture disposed of, the new home in her uncle’s house grown familiar, -her courage almost failed her, and each day she realized more bitterly -how desolate and forlorn was their position. The first sympathetic -kindness of her aunt and cousins had, moreover, had time to fade a -little, and she became growingly conscious that their adoption into the -Grönvold family was an inconvenience. The house was comfortable but not -too large, and the two sisters occupied the only spare room, so that it -was no longer possible to have visitors. The income was fairly good, but -times were hard, and even before their arrival Fru Grönvold had begun to -practice a few little economies, which increased during the winter, and -became more apparent to all the family. This was depressing enough: and -then, as Swanhild had said, there was nothing to which she could look -forward, for Frithiof’s prospects seemed to her altogether blighted, and -she foresaw that all he was likely to earn for some time to come would -only suffice to keep himself, and could by no possibility support three -people. Very sadly she left the cemetery, pausing again to struggle with -the stiff gate, while Swanhild held the empty flower-baskets. - -“Can’t you do it?” exclaimed the child. “What a tiresome gate it is! -worse to fasten than to unfasten. But see! here come the Lundgrens. They -will help.” - -Sigrid glanced round, blushing vividly as she met the eager eyes of -Torvald Lundgren, one of Frithiof’s school friends. The greetings were -frank and friendly on both sides, and Madale, a tall, pretty girl of -sixteen, with her hair braided into one long, thick plait, took little -Swanhild’s arm and walked on with her. - -“Let us leave those two to settle the gate between them,” she said, -smiling. “It is far too cold to wait for them.” - -Now Torvald Lundgren was a year or two older than Frithiof, and having -long been in a position of authority he was unusually old for his age. -As a friend Sigrid liked him, but of late she had half-feared that he -wished to be more than a friend, and consequently she was not well -pleased to see that, by the time the gate was actually shut, Madale and -Swanhild were far in advance of them. - -“Have you heard from Frithiof yet?” she asked, walking on briskly. - -“No,” said Torvald. “Pray scold him well for me when you next write. How -does he seem? In better spirits again?” - -“I don’t know,” said Sigrid; “even to me he writes very seldom. It is -wretched having him so far away and not knowing what is happening to -him.” - -“I wish there was anything I could do for him,” said Torvald; “but there -seems no chance of any opening out here for him.” - -“That is what my uncle says. Yet it was no fault of Frithiof’s: it seems -hard that he should have to suffer. I think the world is very cruel. You -and Madale were almost the only friends who stood by us; you were almost -the only ones who scattered fir branches in the road on the morning of -my father’s funeral.” - -“You noticed that?” he said, coloring. - -“Yes; when I saw how little had been strewn, I felt hurt and sore to -think that the others had shown so little respect for him, and grateful -to you and Madale.” - -“Sigrid,” he said quietly, “why will you not let me be something more to -you than a friend? All that I have is yours. You are not happy in Herr -Grönvold’s house. Let me take care of you. Come and make my house happy, -and bring Swanhild with you to be my little sister.” - -“Oh, Torvald!” she cried, “I wish you had not asked me that. You are so -good and kind, but—but—” - -“Do not answer me just yet, then; take time to think it over,” he -pleaded; “indeed I would do my best to make you very happy.” - -“I know you would,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears. “But yet -it could never be. I could never love you as a wife should love her -husband, and I am much too fond of you, Torvald, to let you be married -just for your comfortable house.” - -“Your aunt led me to expect that, perhaps, in time, after your first -grief had passed—” - -“Then it was very wrong of her,” said Sigrid hotly. “You have always -been my friend—a sort of second brother to me—and oh, do let it be so -still. Don’t leave off being my friend because of this, for indeed I can -not help it.” - -“My only wish is to help you,” he said sadly; “it shall be as you would -have it.” - -And then they walked on together in an uncomfortable silence until they -overtook the others at Herr Grönvold’s gate, where Torvald grasped her -hand for a moment, then, looking at his watch, hurried Madale away, -saying that he should be late for some appointment. - -Fru Grönvold had unluckily been looking out of the window and had seen -the little group outside. She opened the front door as the two girls -climbed the steps. - -“Why did not the Lundgrens come in?” she asked, a look of annoyance -passing over her thin, worn face. - -“I didn’t ask them,” said Sigrid, blushing. - -“And I think Torvald had some engagement,” said Swanhild, unconsciously -coming to the rescue. - -“You have been out a long time, Swanhild; now run away to your -practicing,” said Fru Grönvold, in the tone which the child detested. -“Come in here, Sigrid, I want a word with you.” - -Fru Grönvold had the best of hearts, but her manner was unfortunate; -from sheer anxiety to do well by people she often repulsed them. To -Sigrid, accustomed from her earliest girlhood to come and go as she -pleased and to manage her father’s house, this manner was almost -intolerable. She resented interference most strongly, and was far too -young and inexperienced to see, beneath her aunt’s dictatorial tone, the -real kindness that existed. Her blue eyes looked defiant as she marched -into the sitting-room, and drawing off her gloves began to warm her -hands by the stove. - -“Why did you not ask Torvald Lundgren to come in?” asked Fru Grönvold, -taking up her knitting. - -“Because I didn’t want to ask him, auntie.” - -“But you ought to think what other people want, not always of yourself.” - -“I did,” said Sigrid quickly. “I knew he didn’t want to come in.” - -“What nonsense you talk, child!” said Fru Grönvold, knitting with more -vigor than before, as if she vented her impatience upon the sock she was -making. “You must know quite well that Torvald admires you very much; it -is mere affectation to pretend not to see what is patent to all the -world.” - -“I do not pretend,” said Sigrid angrily, “but you—you have encouraged -him to hope, and it is unfair and unkind of you. He told me you had -spoken to him.” - -“What! he has proposed to you?” said Fru Grönvold, dropping her work. -“Did he speak to you to-day, dear?” - -“Yes,” said Sigrid, blushing crimson. - -“And you said you would let him have his answer later on. I see, dear, I -see. Of course you could not ask him in.” - -“I said nothing of the sort,” said Sigrid vehemently. “I told him that I -could never think of marrying him, and we shall still be the good -friends we have always been.” - -“My dear child,” cried Fru Grönvold, with genuine distress in her tone, -“how could you be so foolish, so blind to all your own interests? He is -a most excellent fellow, good and steady and rich—all that heart could -wish.” - -“There I don’t agree with you,” said Sigrid perversely. “I should wish -my husband to be very different. He is just like Torvald in Ibsen’s ‘Et -Dukkehjem,’ we always told him so.” - -“Pray don’t quote that hateful play to me,” said Fru Grönvold. “Every -one knows that Ibsen’s foolish ideas about women being equal to men and -sharing their confidence could only bring misery and mischief. Torvald -Lundgren is a good, upright, honorable man, and your refusing him is -most foolish.” - -“He is very good, I quite admit,” said Sigrid. “He is my friend, and has -been always, and will be always. But if he were the only man on earth -nothing would induce me to marry him. It would only mean wretchedness -for us both.” - -“Well, pray don’t put your foolish notions about equality and ideal love -into Karen’s head,” said Fru Grönvold sharply. “Since you are so stupid -and unpractical it will be well that Karen should accept the first good -offer she receives.” - -“We are not likely to discuss the matter,” said Sigrid, and rising to -her feet she hurriedly left the room. - -Upstairs she ran, choking with angry tears, her aunt’s last words -haunting her persistently and inflicting deeper wounds the more she -dwelt upon them. - -“She wants me to marry him so that she may be rid of the expense of -keeping us,” thought the poor girl. “She doesn’t really care for us a -bit, for all the time she is grudging the money we cost her. But I wont -be such a bad friend to poor Torvald as to marry him because I am -miserable here. I would rather starve than do that. Oh! how I hate her -maxims about taking what you can get! Why should love and equality and a -true union lead to misery and mischief? It is the injustice of lowering -woman into a mere pleasant housekeeper that brings half the pain of the -world, it seems to me.” - -But by the time Sigrid had lived through the long evening, bearing, as -best she might, the consciousness of her aunt’s disappointment and -vexation with her, another thought had begun to stir in her heart. And -when that night she went to her room her tears were no longer the tears -of anger, but of a miserable loneliness and desolation. - -She looked at little Swanhild lying fast asleep, and wondered how the -refusal would affect her life. - -“After all,” she thought to herself, “Swanhild would have been happier -had I accepted him. She would have had a much nicer home, and Torvald -would never have let her feel that she was a burden. He would have been -very kind to us both, and I suppose I might have made him happy—as happy -as he would ever have expected to be. And I might have been able to help -Frithiof, for we should have been rich. Perhaps I am losing this chance -of what would be best for every one else just for a fancy. Oh, what am I -to do? After all, he would have been very kind, and here they are not -really kind. He would have taken such care of me, and it would surely be -very nice to be taken care of again.” - -And then she began to think of her aunt’s words, and to wonder whether -there might not be some truth in them, so that by the time the next day -had dawned she had worried herself into a state of confusion, and had -Torvald Lundgren approached her again might really have accepted him -from some puzzle-headed notion of the duty of being practical and always -considering others before yourself. Fortunately Torvald did not appear, -and later in the morning she took her perplexities to dear old Fru -Askevold, the pastor’s wife, who having worked early and late for her -ten children, now toiled for as many grandchildren, and into the bargain -was ready to be the friend of any girl who chose to seek her out. In -spite of her sixty years she had a bright, fresh-colored face, with a -look of youth about it which contrasted curiously with her snowy hair. -She was little, and plump and had a brisk, cheerful way of moving about -which somehow recalled to one— - - “The bird that comes about our doors - When autumn winds are sobbing, - The Peter of Norway boors, - Their Thomas in Finland, - And Russia far inland. - The bird, who by some name or other, - All men who know it call their brother.” - -“Now that is charming of you to come and see me just at the very right -minute, Sigrid,” said Fru Askevold, kissing the girl, whose face, owing -to trouble and sleeplessness, looked more worn than her own. “I’ve just -been cutting out Ingeborg’s new frock, and am wanting to sit down and -rest a little. What do you think of the color! Pretty, isn’t it?” - -“Charming,” said Sigrid. “Let me do the tacking for you.” - -“No, no; you look tired, my child; sit down here by the stove, and I -will tack it together as we chat. What makes those dark patches beneath -your eyes.” - -“Oh, it is nothing. I could not sleep last night, that is all.” - -“Because you were worrying over something. That does not pay, child; -give it up. It’s a bad habit.” - -“I don’t think I can help it,” said Sigrid. “We all of us have a natural -tendency that way. Don’t you remember how Frithiof never could sleep -before an examination?” - -“And you perhaps were worrying your brain about him? Was that it?” - -“Partly,” said Sigrid, looking down and speaking nervously. “You see it -was in this way—I had a chance of becoming rich and well to do, of -stepping into a position which would have made me able to help the -others, and because it did not come up to my own notion of happiness I -threw away the chance.” - -And so little by little and mentioning no name, she put before the -motherly old lady all the facts of the case. - -“Child,” said Fru Askevold, “I have only one piece of advice to give -you—be true to your own ideal.” - -“But then one’s own ideal may be unattainable in this world.” - -“Perhaps, and if so it can’t be helped. But if you mean your marriage to -be a happy one, then be true. Half the unhappy marriages come from -people stooping to take just what they can get. If you accepted this -man’s offer you might be wronging some girl who is really capable of -loving him properly.” - -“Then you mean that some of us have higher ideals than others?” - -“Why, yes, to be sure; it is the same in this as in every thing else, -and what you have to do is just to shut your ears to all the -well-meaning but false maxims of the world, and listen to the voice in -your own heart. Depend upon it, you will be able to do far more for -Frithiof and Swanhild if you are true to yourself than you would be able -to do as a rich woman and an unhappy wife.” - -Sigrid was silent for some moments. - -“Thank you,” she said, at length. “I see things much more clearly now; -last night I could only see things through Aunt Grönvold’s spectacles, -and I think they must be very short-sighted ones.” - -Fru Askevold laughed merrily. - -“That is quite true,” she said. “The marriages brought about by scheming -relatives may look promising enough at first, but in the long run they -always bring trouble and misery. The true marriages are made in heaven, -Sigrid, though folks are slow to believe that.” - -Sigrid went away comforted, yet nevertheless life was not very pleasant -to her just then, for although she had the satisfaction of seeing -Torvald walking the streets of Bergen without any signs of great -dejection in his face, she had all day long to endure the consciousness -of her aunt’s vexation, and to feel in every little economy that this -need not have been practiced had she decided as Fru Grönvold wished. It -was on the whole a very dreary Christmas, yet the sadness was brightened -by one little act of kindness and courtesy which to the end of her life -she never forgot. For after all it is that which is rare that makes a -deep impression on us. The word of praise spoken at the beginning of our -career lingers forever in our hearts with something of the glow of -encouragement and hopefulness which it first kindled there; while the -applause of later years glides off us like water off a duck’s back. The -little bit of kindness shown in days of trouble is remembered when -greater kindness during days of prosperity has been forgotten. - -It was Christmas-eve. Sigrid sat in her cold bedroom, wrapped round in -an eider-down quilt. She was reading over again the letter she had last -received from Frithiof, just one of those short unsatisfying letters -which of late he had sent her. From Germany he had written amusingly -enough, but these London letters often left her more unhappy than they -found her, not so much from anything they said as from what they left -unsaid. Since last Christmas all had been taken away from her, and now -it seemed to her that even Frithiof’s love was growing cold, and her -tears fell fast on the thin little sheet of paper where she had tried so -hard to read love and hope between the lines, and had tried in vain. - -A knock at the door made her dry her eyes hastily, and she was relieved -to find that it was not her Cousin Karen who entered, but Swanhild, with -a sunny face and blue eyes dancing with excitement. - -“Look, Sigrid,” she cried, “here is a parcel which looks exactly like a -present. Do make haste and open it.” - -They cut the string and folded back the paper, Sigrid giving a little -cry of surprise as she saw before her the water-color sketch of Bergen, -which had been her father’s last present to her on the day before his -death. Unable to pay for it, she had asked the proprietor of the shop to -take it back again, and had been relieved by his ready consent. Glancing -quickly at the accompanying note, she saw that it bore his signature. It -ran as follows: - -“MADAME: Will you do me the honor of accepting the water-color sketch of -Bergen chosen by the late Herr Falck in October. At your wish I took -back the picture then and regarded the purchase as though it had never -been made. I now ask you to receive it as a Christmas-gift and a slight -token of my respect for the memory of your father,” etc., etc. - -“Oh!” cried Sigrid, “isn’t that good of him! And how nice of him to wait -for Christmas instead of sending it straight back. Now I shall have -something to send to Frithiof. It will get to him in time for the new -year.” - -Swanhild clapped her hands. - -“What a splendid idea! I had not thought of that. And we shall have it -up here just for Christmas-day. How pretty it is! People are very kind, -I think!” - -And Sigrid felt the little clinging arm round her waist, and as they -looked at the picture together she smoothed back the child’s golden hair -tenderly. - -“Yes,” she said, smiling, “after all, people are very kind.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - -As Preston Askevold had feared, Frithiof bore the troubles much less -easily. He was without Sigrid’s sweetness of nature, without her -patience, and the little touch of philosophic matter-of-factness which -helped her to endure. He was far more sensitive too, and was terribly -handicapped by the bitterness which was the almost inevitable result of -his treatment by Blanche Morgan, a bitterness which stirred him up into -a sort of contemptuous hatred of both God and man. Sigrid, with her -quiet common sense, her rarely expressed but very real faith, struggled -on through the winter and the spring, and in the process managed to grow -and develop; but Frithiof, in his desolate London lodgings, with his -sore heart and rebellious intellect, grew daily more hard and morose. -Had it not been for the Bonifaces he must have gone altogether to the -bad, but the days which he spent every now and then in that quiet, -simple household, where kindness reigned supreme, saved him from utter -ruin. For always through the darkest part of every life there runs, -though we may sometimes fail to see it, this “golden thread of love,” so -that even the worst man on earth is not wholly cut off from God, since -He will, by some means or other, eternally try to draw him out of death -into life. We are astounded now and then to read that some cold-blooded -murderer, some man guilty of a hideous crime, will ask in his last -moments to see a child who loved him devotedly, and whom he also loved. -We are astonished just because we do not understand the untiring heart -of the All-Father who in His goodness often gives to the vilest sinner -the love of a pure-hearted woman or child. So true is the beautiful old -Latin saying, long in the world but little believed, “Mergere nos -patitur, sed non submergere, Christus” (Christ lets us sink may be, but -not drown). - -Just at this time there was only one thing on which Frithiof found any -satisfaction, and that was in the little store of money which by slow -degrees he was able to place in the savings bank. In what way it could -ever grow into a sum large enough to pay his father’s creditors he did -not trouble himself to think, but week by week it did increase, and with -this one aim in life he struggled on, working early and late, and living -on an amount of food which could have horrified an Englishman. Luckily -he had discovered a place in Oxford Street where he could get a good -dinner every day for sixpence, but this was practically his only meal, -and after some months the scanty fare began to tell upon him, so that -even the Miss Turnours noticed that something was wrong. - -“That young man looks to me underfed,” said Miss Caroline one day. “I -met him on the stairs just now, and he seems to me to have grown paler -and thinner. What does he have for breakfast, Charlotte? Does he eat as -well as the other lodgers?” - -“Dear me, no,” said Miss Charlotte. “It’s my belief that he eats nothing -at all but ship’s biscuits. There’s a tin of them up in his room, and a -tin of cocoa, which he makes for himself. All I ever take him is a jug -of boiling water night and morning!” - -“Poor fellow!” said Miss Caroline, sighing a little as she plaited some -lace which must have been washed a hundred times into her dress. - -A delicate carefulness in these little details of dress distinguished -the three ladies—they had inherited it with the spelling of their name -and other tokens of good breeding. - -“I feel sorry for him,” she added. “He always bows very politely when I -meet him, and he is remarkably good-looking, though with a disagreeable -expression.” - -“When one is hungry one seldom looks agreeable,” said Miss Charlotte. “I -wish I had noticed him before,” and she remembered, with a little pang -of remorse, that she had more than once preached to him about his soul, -while all the time she had been too dreamy and unobservant to see what -was really wrong with him. - -“Suppose,” she said timidly, “suppose I were to take him a little of the -stewed American beef we shall have for supper.” - -“Send it up by the girl,” said Miss Turnour, “she is still in the -kitchen. Don’t take it yourself—it would be awkward for both of you.” - -So Miss Charlotte meekly obeyed, and sent up by the shabby servant-girl -a most savory little supper. Unluckily the girl was a pert cockney, and -her loud, abrupt knock at the door in itself irritated Frithiof. - -“Come in,” he said, in a surly tone. - -“Look here,” said the girl, “here’s something to put you in a better -temper. Missus’s compliments, and she begs you’ll accept it,” and she -thrust the tray at him with a derisive grin. - -“Have the goodness to take that down again,” said Frithiof, in a fit of -unreasoning anger. “I’ll not be treated like your mistress’ pet dog.” - -Something in his manner cowed the girl. She beat a hasty retreat, and -was planning how she could manage to eat the despised supper herself, -when at the foot of the stairs she met Miss Charlotte, and her project -was nipped in the bud. - -“It aint no use, miss, ’e wont touch it,” she explained; “’e was as -angry as could be, and says ’e, ‘Take it away. I’ll not be treated like -your mistress’ pet dog,’ says ’e. So, bein’ frightened, I ran downstairs -agen.” - -Miss Charlotte looked troubled, and later on, when as usual she took up -the jug of hot water, she felt nervous and uncomfortable, and her knock -was more timid than ever. However, she had scarcely set down the jug on -the floor when there came sounds of hasty footsteps in the room, and -Frithiof flung open the door. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said. “You meant to be kind, I’m sure, but the -girl was rude, and I lost my temper. I ask your forgiveness.” - -There were both pathetic and comic elements in the little scene; the -meek Miss Charlotte stood trembling as if she had seen a ghost, gazing -up at the tall Norseman who, in the hurry of the moment, had forgotten -to remove the wet towel which, in common with most night-workers, he was -in the habit of tying round his forehead. - -Miss Charlotte stooped to pick up the jug. - -“I am so sorry the girl was rude,” she said. “I wish I had brought it -myself. You see, it was in this way; we all thought you looking so -poorly, and we were having the beef for supper and we thought perhaps -you might fancy some, and—and—” - -“It was very good of you,” he said, touched, in spite of himself, by the -kindness. “I regret what I said, but you must make allowance for a -bad-tempered man with a splitting headache.” - -“Is that the reason you tie it up?” asked Miss Charlotte. - -He laughed and pulled off the towel, passing his hand over the mass of -thick light hair which it had disordered. - -“It keeps it cooler,” he said, “and I can get through more work.” - -She glanced at the table, and saw that it was covered with papers and -books. - -“Are you wise to do so much work after being busy all day?” she said. -“It seems to me that you are not looking well.” - -“It is nothing but headache,” he said. “And the work is the only -pleasure I have in the world.” - -“I was afraid from your looks that you had a hard life,” she said -hesitatingly. - -“It is not hard outwardly. As far as work goes it is easy enough, but -there is a deadly monotony about it.” - -“Ah! if only”—she began. - -He interrupted her. - -“I know quite well what you are going to say—you are going to recommend -me to attend one of those religious meetings where people get so full of -a delightful excitement. Believe me, they would not have the slightest -effect on me. And yet, if you wish it, I will go. It shall be my sign of -penitence for my rudeness just now.” - -Miss Charlotte could not make out whether his smile was sarcastic or -genuine. However, she took him at his word, and the next evening carried -him off to a big brightly lighted hall, to a revivalist meeting, from -which she hoped great things. - -It was a hot June evening. He came there tired with the long day’s work, -and his head felt dull and heavy. Merely out of politeness to his -companion he tried to take some sort of interest in what went on, -stifled his inclination to laugh now and then, and watched the -proceedings attentively, though wearily enough. In front of him rose a -large platform with tiers of seats one above the other. The men and -women seated there had bright-looking faces. Some looked self-conscious -and self-satisfied, several of the women seemed overwrought and -hysterical, but others had a genuine look of content which impressed -him. Down below was a curiously heterogeneous collection of -instruments—cornets, drums, tambourines, trumpets, and pipes. A hymn was -given out, followed by a chorus; the words were solemn, but the tune was -the reverse; still it seemed to please the audience, who sung three -choruses to each verse, the first loud, the second louder, the third a -perfect frenzy of sound, the drums thundering, the tambourines dashing -about wildly, the pipes and cornets at their shrillest, and every one -present singing or shouting with all his might. It took him some time to -recover from the appalling noise, and meantime a woman was praying. He -did not much attend to what she said, but the audience seemed to agree -with her, for every minute or two there was a chorus of fervent “Amens,” -which rolled through the hall like distant thunder. After that the young -man who conducted the meeting read a story out of the Bible, and spoke -well and with a sort of simple directness. There was very little in what -he said, but he meant every word of it. It might have been summed up in -three sentences: “There is only one way of being happy. I have tried it -and have found it answer. All you who haven’t tried it begin at once.” - -But the words which meant much to him conveyed nothing to Frithiof. He -listened, and wondered how a man of his own age could possibly get up -and say such things. What was it he had found? How had he found it? If -the speaker had shown the least sign of vanity his words would have been -utterly powerless; but his quiet positiveness impressed people, and it -was apparent to every one that he believed in a strength which was not -his own. There followed much that seemed to Frithiof monotonous and -undesirable; about thirty people on the platform, one after another, got -up and spoke a few words, which invariably began with “I thank the Lord -I was saved on such and such a night.” He wondered and wondered what the -phrase meant to them, and revolved in his mind all the theological -dogmas he had ever heard of. Suddenly he was startled to find that some -one was addressing him, a hymn was being sung, and there was a good deal -of movement in the hall; people went and came, and an elderly woman had -stepped forward and taken a place beside him. - -“Brother,” she said to him, “are you saved?” - -“Madame,” he replied coldly, “I have not the slightest idea.” - -“Oh, then,” she said, with a little gesture that reminded him of Miss -Charlotte, “let me beg you to come at once to Christ.” - -“Madame,” he said, still in his coldly polite voice, “you must really -excuse me, but I do not know what you mean.” - -She was so much surprised and puzzled by both words and manner that she -hesitated what to reply; and Frithiof, who hated being questioned, took -his hat from the bench, and bowing formally to her, left the hall. In -the street he was joined by Miss Charlotte. - -“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I am so sorry you said that. You will have made -that poor woman so terribly unhappy.” - -“It is all her own fault,” said Frithiof. “Why did she come meddling -with my private affairs? If her belief was real she would have been able -to explain it in a rational way, instead of using phrases which are just -empty words.” - -“You didn’t leave her time to explain. And as to her belief being real, -do you think, if it were not real, that little, frail woman would have -had courage to go twice to prison for speaking in the streets? Do you -think she would have been able to convert the most abandoned thieves, -and induce them to make restitution, paying in week by week what they -could earn to replace what they had stolen?” - -“Does she do that? Then I respect her. When you see her again please -apologize for my abruptness, and tell her that her form of religion is -too noisy for my head and too illogical for my mind.” - -They walked home in silence, Miss Charlotte grieving over the hopeless -failure of the meeting to achieve what she desired. She had not yet -learned that different natures need different kinds of food, and that to -expect Frithiof to swallow the teachings which exactly suited certain -minds was about as sensible as to feed a baby with Thorley’s Food for -Cattle. However, there never yet was an honest attempt to do good which -really failed, though the vast majority fail apparently. It was -impossible that the revivalists’ teaching could ever be accepted by the -Norseman; but their ardent devotion, their practical, aggressive lives, -impressed him not a little, and threw a somewhat disagreeable light over -his own selfishness. Partly owing to this, partly from physical causes, -he felt bitterly out of heart with himself for the next few weeks. In -truth he was thoroughly out of health, and he had not the only power -which can hold irritability in check—the strong restraint of love. -Except a genuine liking for the Bonifaces, he had nothing to take him -out of himself, and he was quite ready to return with interest the -dislike which the other men in the shop felt for him, first on account -of his foreign birth, but chiefly because of his proud manner and hasty -temper. Sometimes he felt that he could bear the life no longer; and at -times, out of his very wretchedness, there sprung up in him a vague pity -for those who were in his own position. As he stood there behind the -counter he would say to himself, “There are thousands and thousands in -this city alone who have day after day to endure this horrible monotony, -to serve the customers who are rude, and the customers who are civil, -the hurried ones who are all impatience, the tiresome ones who dawdle, -the bores, who give you as much trouble as they can, often for nothing. -One day follows another eternally in the same dull round. I am a hundred -times better off than most—there are no hurried meals here, no fines, no -unfairness—and yet what drudgery it is!” - -And as he glanced out at the sunny street and heard the sound of horses’ -hoofs in the road, a wild longing used to seize him for the freedom and -variety of his life in Norway, and the old fierce rebellion against his -fate woke once more in his heart, and made him ready to fly into a rage -on the smallest provocation. - -One day he was sent for to Mr. Boniface’s private room; he was quite -well aware that his manner, even to Roy himself, whom he liked, had been -disagreeable in the extreme, and the thought crossed his mind that he -was going to receive notice to leave. - -Mr. Boniface was sitting at his writing-table, the sunlight fell on his -quiet, refined face, lighted up his white hair and trim beard, and made -his kindly gray eyes brighter than ever. “I wanted a few words with you, -Falck,” he said. “Sit down. It seems to me that you have not been -looking well lately, and I thought perhaps you had better take your -holiday at once instead of the third week in August. I have spoken to -Darnell, and he would be willing to give you his turn and take the later -time. What do you think?” - -“You are very good, sir,” said Frithiof, “but I shall do very well with -the August holiday, and, as a matter of fact, it will only mean that I -shall do more translating.” - -“Would you not do well to go home? Come, think of it, I would give you -three weeks if you want to go to Bergen.” - -Frithiof felt a choking sensation in his throat, because it was of the -old life that he had been dreaming all the morning with a restless, -miserable craving. - -“Thank you,” he said, with an effort, “but I can not go back to Norway.” - -“Now, tell me candidly, Falck, is it the question of expense that -hinders you?” said Mr. Boniface. “Because if it is merely that, I would -gladly lend you the money. You must remember that you have had a great -deal to bear lately, and I think you ought to give yourself a good -rest.” - -“Thank you,” replied Frithiof, “but it is not exactly the expense. I -have money enough in hand to pay for my passage, but I have made up my -mind not to go back till I can clear off the last of the debts of—of our -firm,” he concluded, with a slight quiver in his voice. - -“It is a noble resolution,” said Mr. Boniface, “and I would not for a -moment discourage you. Still you must remember that it is a great -undertaking, and that without good health you can never hope for -success. I don’t think you get enough exercise. Now, why don’t you join -our cricket club?” - -“I don’t play,” said Frithiof. “In Norway we are not great at those -games, or indeed at any kind of exercise for the mere sake of exercise. -That is an idea that one only finds among Englishmen.” - -“Possibly; but living in our climate you would do well to follow our -habits. Come, let me persuade you to join the club. You look to me as if -you needed greater variety.” - -“I will think about it for next year; but just now I have work for Herr -Sivertsen on hand which I can’t put aside,” said Frithiof. - -“Well, then, things must go on as they are for the present,” said Mr. -Boniface; “but at least you can bring your translating down to Rowan -Tree House, and spend your holiday with us.” - -“You are very kind,” said Frithiof, the boyish expression returning to -his face just for a minute. “I shall be only too delighted.” - -And the interview seemed somehow to have done him good, for during the -next few days he was less irritable, and found his work in consequence -less irksome. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - -But the change for the better did not last long, for Frithiof was -without the motive which “makes drudgery divine.” And there was no -denying that the work he had to do was really drudgery. - -It has been the fashion of late years to dwell much on the misery of the -slums, and most of us are quite ready to be stirred into active sympathy -with the abjectly poor, the hungry, or the destitute. It is to be -feared, however, that very few of us have much consideration for the -less romantic, less sensational lives of the middle class, the thousands -who toil for us day after day behind the counter or at the desk. And yet -are their lives one whit less worthy of sympathy? Are they not educated -to a point which makes them infinitely more sensitive? Hood has given us -a magnificent poem on the sorrows of a shirt-maker; but who will take -trouble to find poetry in the sorrows and weariness of shop assistants? -It has been said that the very atmosphere of trade kills romance, that -no poet or novelist would dare to take up such a theme; and yet -everywhere the human heart is the same, and shop-life does not interfere -with the loves and hatreds, the joys and sorrows which make up the life -of every human being, and out of which are woven all the romances which -were ever written. No one would dispute the saying that labor is -worship, yet nevertheless we know well enough that while some work of -itself ennobles the worker, there is other work which has to be ennobled -by the way in which it is done. An artist and a coal-heaver both toil -for the general good, but most people will admit that the coal-heaver is -heavily handicapped. If in the actual work of shop assistants there is a -prosaic monotony, then it is all the more probable that they need our -warmest sympathy, our most thoughtful considerateness, since they -themselves are no machines, but men and women with exactly the same -hopes and desires as the rest of us. It is because we consider them of a -different order that we tolerate the long hours, that we allow women to -stand all day long to serve us, though it has been proved that terrible -diseases are the consequence. It is because we do not in our hearts -believe that they are of the same flesh and blood, that we think with a -sort of contempt of the very people who are brought most directly into -contact with us, and whose hard-working lives often put ours to shame. - -About the middle of July the Bonifaces went down to Devonshire for their -usual summer holiday, and Frithiof found that, as Roy had predicted, Mr. -Horner made himself most disagreeable, and never lost a chance of -interfering. It must be owned that there are few things so trying as -fussiness, particularly in a man, of whom such weakness seems unworthy. -And Mr. Horner was the most fussy mortal on earth. It seemed as if he -called forth all that was bad in Frithiof, and Frithiof also called out -everything that was bad in him. The breach between the two was made much -wider by a most trivial incident. A miserable-looking dog unluckily made -its way into the shop one morning and disturbed Mr. Horner in his -sanctum. - -“What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed, bearing down upon Frithiof. -“Can you not keep stray curs off the premises? Just now too, with -hydrophobia raging!” And he drove and kicked the dog to the door. - -Now there is one thing which no Norseman can tolerate for a moment, and -that is any sort of cruelty to animals. Frithiof, in his fury, did not -measure his words, or speak as the employed to the employer, and from -that time Mr. Horner’s hatred of him increased tenfold. To add to all -this wretchedness an almost tropical heat set in, London was like a -huge, overheated oven; every day Frithiof found the routine of business -less bearable, every day he was less able to fight against his love for -Blanche, and he rapidly sunk into the state which hard-headed people -flatter themselves is a mere foolish fancy—that most real and trying -form of illness which goes by the name of depression. Again and again he -wrestled with the temptation that had assailed him long ago in Hyde -Park, and each sight of James Horner, each incivility from those he had -to serve, made the struggle harder. - -He was sitting at his desk one morning adding up a column which had been -twice interrupted, and which had three times come to a different result, -when once again the swing-door was pushed open, and a shadow falling -across his account-book warned him that the customer had come to the -song-counter. Annoyed and impatient, he put down his pen and went -forward, forcing up the sort of cold politeness which he assumed now, -and which differed strangely from the bright, genial courtesy, that had -once been part of his nature. - -The customer was evidently an Italian. He was young and strikingly -handsome; when he glanced at you, you felt that he had looked you -through and through, yet that his look was not critical, but kindly; it -penetrated yet at the same time warmed. Beside him was a bright-eyed boy -who looked up curiously at the Norseman, as though wondering how on such -a sunny day any one could wear such a clouded face. - -Now Frithiof was quite in the humor to dislike any one, more especially -a man who was young, handsome, well-dressed, and prosperous-looking; but -some subtle influence crept over him the instant he heard the Italian’s -voice; his hard eyes softened a little, and without being able to -explain it he felt a strong desire to help this man in finding the song -which he had come to inquire about, knowing only the words and the air, -not the name of the composer. Frithiof, who would ordinarily have been -inclined to grumble at the trouble which the search involved, now threw -himself into it heart and soul, and was as pleased as his customer when -after some little time he chanced to find the song. - -“A thousand thanks,” said the Italian warmly. “I am delighted to get -hold of this; it is for a friend who has long wanted to hear it again, -but who was only able to write down the first part of the air.” - -And he compared the printed song with the little bit of manuscript which -he had shown to Frithiof. “Now, was it only a happy fluke that made you -think of Knight’s name?” - -“I know another of his songs, and thought this bore a sort of likeness -to it,” said Frithiof, pleased with his success. - -“You know much more of English music than I do, most likely,” said the -Italian; “yet surely you, too, are a foreigner.” - -“Yes,” replied Frithiof, “I am Norwegian. I have only been here for nine -months, but to try and learn a little about the music is the only -interesting part of this work.” - -The stranger’s sympathetic insight showed him much of the weariness and -discontent and _Heimweh_ which lay beneath these words. - -“Ah, yes,” he said, “I suppose both work and country seem flat and dull -after your life among the fjords and mountains. I know well enough the -depression of one’s first year in a new climate. But courage! the worst -will pass. I have grown to love this England which once I detested.” - -“It is the airlessness of London which depresses one,” said poor -Frithiof, rolling up the song. - -“Yes, it is certainly very oppressive to-day,” said the Italian; “I am -sorry to have given you so much trouble in hunting up this song for me. -We may as well take it with us, Gigi, as we are going home.” - -And then with a pleasant farewell the stranger bowed and went out of the -shop, leaving behind him a memory which did more to prevent the blue -devils from gaining the mastery of Frithiof’s mind than anything else -could possibly have done. When he left, however, at his usual dinner -hour, he was without the slightest inclination to eat, and with a -craving for some relief from the monotony of the glaring streets he -walked up to Regent’s Park, hoping that there perhaps he might find the -fresh air for which he was longing. He thought much of his unknown -customer, half laughing to himself now and then to think that such a -chance encounter should have made upon him so deep an impression, should -have wakened within him desires such as he had never before felt for a -life which should be higher, nobler, more manly than his past. - -“Come along, will you?” shouted a rough voice behind him. He glanced -round and saw an evil-looking tramp who was speaking to a most forlorn -little boy at his heels. - -The child seemed ready to drop, but with a look of misery and fear and -effort most painful to see in such a young face, it hurried on, keeping -up a wretched little sort of trot at the heels of its father, who -tramped on doggedly. Frithiof was not in the habit of troubling himself -much about those he came across in life, his heart had been too much -embittered by Blanche’s treatment, he had got into the way now of -looking on coldly and saying with a shrug of the shoulders that it was -the way of the world. But to-day the magical influence of a noble life -was stirring within him; a man utterly unknown to him had spoken to him -a few kindly words, had treated him with rare considerateness, had -somehow raised him into a purer atmosphere. And so it happened that he, -too, began to feel something of the same divine sympathy, and to forget -his own wretchedness in the suffering of the little child. Presently the -tramp paused outside a public-house. - -“Wait for me there in the park,” he said to the child, giving it a push -in the direction. - -And the little fellow went on obediently, until, just at the gate, he -caught sight of a costermonger’s barrow on which cool green leaves and -ripe red strawberries were temptingly displayed. Frithiof lingered a -minute to see what would happen, but nothing happened at all, the child -just stood there patiently. There was no expectation on his tired little -face, nothing but intense appreciation of a luxury which must forever be -beyond his hopes of enjoyment. - -“Have you ever tasted them?” said Frithiof, drawing nearer. - -The boy shook his head shyly. - -“Would you like to?” - -Still he did not speak, but a look of rapture dawned in the wistful -child eyes, and he gave a little spring in the air which was more -eloquent than words. - -“Six-pennyworth,” said Frithiof to the costermonger; then signing to the -child to follow, he led the way into the park, sat down on the nearest -seat, put the basket of strawberries down beside him, and glanced at his -little companion. - -“There, now, sit down by me and enjoy them,” he said. - -And the child needed no second bidding, but began to eat with an eager -delight which was pleasant to see. After awhile he paused, however, and -shyly pushed the basket a little nearer to his benefactor. Frithiof, -absorbed in his own thoughts, did not notice it, but presently became -conscious of a small brown hand on his sleeve, and looked round. - -“Eat too,” said the child, pointing to the basket. - -And Frithiof, to please him, smiled and took two or three strawberries. - -“There, the rest are for you,” he said. “Do you like them?” - -“Yes,” said the child emphatically; “and I like you.” - -“Why do you like me?” - -“I was tired, and you was kind to me, and these is real jammy!” - -But after this fervent little speech, he said no more. He did not, as a -Norwegian child would have done, shake hands as a sign of gratitude, or -say in the pretty Norse way, “_Tak for maden_” (thanks for the meal); -there had never been any one to teach him the expression of the -courtesies of life, and with him they were not innate. He merely looked -at his friend with shining eyes like some animal that feels but cannot -speak its gratitude. Then before long the father reappeared, and the -little fellow with one shy nod of the head ran off, looking back -wistfully every now and then at the stranger who would be remembered by -him to the very end of his life. - -The next day something happened which added the last drops to Frithiof’s -cup of misery, and made it overflow. The troubles of the past year, and -the loneliness and poverty which he had borne, had gradually broken down -his health, and there came to him now a revelation which proved the -final blow. He was dining at his usual restaurant. Too tired to eat -much, he had taken up a bit of one of the society papers which some one -had left there, and his eye fell on one of those detestable paragraphs -which pander to the very lowest tastes of the public. No actual name was -given, but every one knowing anything about her could not fail to see -that Blanche Romiaux was the woman referred to. The most revolting -insinuations, the most contemptible gossip, ended with the words, “An -interesting divorce case may soon be expected.” - -Frithiof grew deathly white. He tried to believe that it was all a lie, -tried to work himself up into a rage against the editor of the paper, -tried to assure himself that, whatever Blanche might have been before -marriage, after it she must necessarily become all that was womanly and -pure. But deep down in his heart there lurked a fearful conviction that -in the main this story was true. Feeling sick and giddy, he made his way -along Oxford Street, noticing nothing, walking like a man in a dream. -Just in front of Buzzard’s a victoria was waiting, and a remarkably -good-looking man stood on the pavement talking to its occupant. Frithiof -would have passed by without observing them had not a familiar voice -startled him into keen consciousness. He looked up hastily and saw Lady -Romiaux—not the Blanche who had won his heart in Norway, for the lips -that had once been pressed to his wore a hard look of defiance, and the -eyes that had insnared him had now an expression that confirmed only too -well the story he had just read. He heard her give a little artificial -laugh in which there was not even the ghost of merriment, and after that -it seemed as if a great cloud had descended on him. He moved on -mechanically, but it was chiefly by a sort of instinct that he found his -way back to the shop. - -“Good heavens, Mr. Falck! how ill you are looking!” exclaimed the head -man as he glanced at him. “It’s a good thing Mr. Robert will be back -again soon. If I’m not very much mistaken, he’ll put you into the -doctor’s hands.” - -“Oh, it is chiefly this hot weather,” said Frithiof, and as if anxious -to put an end to the conversation, he turned away to his desk and began -to write, though each word cost him a painful effort, and seemed to be -dragged out of him by sheer force. At tea-time he wandered out in the -street, scarcely knowing what he was doing, and haunted always by -Blanche’s sadly altered face. When he returned he found that the boy who -dusted the shop had spilled some ink over his order-book, whereupon he -flew into one of those violent passions to which of late he had been -liable, so entirely losing his self-control that those about him began -to look alarmed. This recalled him to himself, and much disgusted at -having made such a scene, he sunk into a state of black depression. He -could not understand himself; could not make out what was wrong; could -not conceive how such a trifle could have stirred him into such -senseless rage. He sat, pen in hand, too sick and miserable to work, and -with a wild confusion of thoughts rushing through his brain. He was -driving along the Strand-gaden with Blanche, and talking gayly of the -intense enjoyment of mere existence; he was rowing her on the fjord, and -telling her the Frithiof Saga; he was saving her on the mountain, and -listening to her words of love; he was down in the sheltered nook below -the flagstaff at Balholm, and she was clinging to him in the farewell -which had indeed been forever. - -“I can bear it no longer,” he said to himself. “I have tried to bear -this life, but it’s no use—no use.” - -Yet after a while there rose within him a thought which checked the -haunting visions of failure and the longing for death. He remembered the -face which had so greatly struck him the day before, and again those -kindly words rang in his ear, “Courage! the worst will pass.” - -Who was this man? What gave him his extraordinary influence? How had he -gained his insight, and sympathy, and fearless brightness? If one man -had attained to all this, why not any man? Might not life still hold for -him something that was worth having? There floated back to him the -remembrance of the last pleasurable moment he had known—it was the sight -of the child’s enjoyment of the strawberries. - -At length closing-time came. He dragged himself back to Vauxhall, shut -himself into his dreary little room, pulled the table toward the open -window, and began to work at Herr Sivertsen’s translating. Night after -night he had gone on, with the dogged courage of his old Viking -ancestors, upheld by the same fierce, fighting nature which had made -them the terror of the North. But at last he was at the very end of his -strength. A violent shivering fit seized him. Work was no longer -possible; he could only stagger to the bed, with that terrible -consciousness of being utterly and hopelessly beaten, which to a man is -so hard to bear. - -Oppressed by a frightful sense of loneliness, dazed by physical pain, -and tortured by the thought of Blanche’s disgrace, there was yet one -thing which gave him moments of relief—like a child he strained his eyes -to see the picture of Bergen which hung by the bedside. - -Later on, when the summer twilight deepened into night, and he could no -longer make out the harbor, and the shipping, and the familiar -mountains, he buried his face in the pillow and sobbed aloud, in a -forlorn misery which, even in Paradise, must have wrung his mother’s -heart. - -Roy Boniface came back from Devonshire the following day, his holiday -being shortened by a week on account of the illness of Mrs. Horner’s -uncle. As there was every reason to expect a legacy from this aged -relative, Mr. Horner insisted on going down at once to see whether they -could be of any use; and since the shop was never left without one of -the partners, poor Roy, anathematizing the whole race of the Horners, -had to come back and endure as best he might a London August and an -empty house. - -Like many other business men, he relieved the monotony of his daily work -by always keeping two or three hobbies in hand. The mania for collecting -had always been encouraged at Rowan Tree House, and just now botany was -his keenest delight. It was even perhaps absorbing too much of his time, -and Cecil used laughingly to tell him that he loved it more than all the -men and women in the world put together. He was contentedly mounting -specimens on the night of his return, when James Horner looked in, the -prospective legacy making him more than ever fussy and pompous. - -“Ah, so you have come: that’s all right!” he exclaimed. “I had hoped you -would have come round to us. However, no matter; I don’t know that there -is anything special to say, and of course this sad news has upset my -wife very much.” - -“Ah,” said Roy, somewhat skeptical in his heart of hearts about the -depth of her grief. “We were sorry to hear about it.” - -“We go down the first thing to-morrow,” said James Horner, “and shall, -of course, stay on. They say there is no hope of recovery.” - -“What do you think of that?” said Roy, pointing to a very minute flower -which he had just mounted. “It is the first time it has ever been found -in England.” - -“H’m, is it really?” said James Horner, regarding it with that would-be -interested air, that bored perplexity, which Roy took a wicked delight -in calling forth. “Well, you know, I don’t understand,” he added, “how a -practical man like you can take an interest in such trumpery bits of -things. What are your flowers worth when you’ve done them? Now, if you -took to collecting autographs, there’d be some sense in that, for I -understand that a fine collection of autographs fetches a good round sum -in the market.” - -“That would only involve more desk-work,” said Roy, laughing. “Writing -to ask for them would bore me as much as writing in reply must bore the -poor celebrities.” - -“By the by,” said Mr. Horner, “I have just remembered to tell you that -provoking fellow, Falck, never turned up to-day. He never even had the -grace to send word that he wasn’t coming.” - -“Of course he must be ill,” said Roy, looking disturbed. “He is the last -fellow to stay away if he could possibly keep up. We all thought him -looking ill before he left.” - -“I don’t know about illness,” said James Horner, putting on his hat; -“but he certainly has the worst temper I’ve ever come across. It was -extremely awkward without him to-day, for already we are short of -hands.” - -“There can hardly be much doing,” said Roy. “London looks like a desert. -However, of course I’ll look up Falck. I dare say he’ll be all right -again by to-morrow.” - -But he had scarcely settled himself down comfortably to his work after -James Horner’s welcome departure when the thought of Frithiof came to -trouble him. After all, was it likely that a mere trifle would hinder a -man of the Norwegian’s nature from going to business? Was it not much -more probable that he was too ill even to write an excuse? And if so, -how helpless and desolate he would be! - -Like most people, Roy was selfish. Had he lived alone he would have -become more selfish every day; but it was impossible to live in the -atmosphere of Rowan Tree House without, at any rate, trying to consider -other people. With an effort he tore himself away from his beloved -specimens, and set off briskly for Vauxhall, where, after some -difficulty, he found the little side street in which, among dozens of -others precisely like it, was the house of the three Miss Turnours. - -A little withered-up lady opened the door to him, and replied nervously -to his question. - -“Mr. Falck is ill,” she said. “He seems very feverish; but he was like -it once before, when he first came to England, and it passed off in a -day or two.” - -“Can I see him?” said Roy. - -“Well, he doesn’t like being disturbed at all,” said Miss Charlotte. -“He’ll hardly let me inside the room. But if you would just see him, I -should really be glad. You will judge better if he should see the doctor -or not.” - -“Thank you, I’ll go up then. Don’t let me trouble you.” - -“It is noise he seems to mind so much,” said Miss Charlotte. “So if you -will find your way up alone, perhaps it would be best. It is the first -door you come to at the top of the last flight of stairs.” - -Roy went up quietly, opened the door as noiselessly as he could, and -went in. The window faced the sunset, so that the room was still fairly -light, and the utter discomfort of everything was fully apparent. - -“I wish you wouldn’t come in again,” said an irritable voice from the -bed. “The lightest footstep is torture.” - -“I just looked in to ask how you were,” said Roy, much shocked to see -how ill his friend seemed. - -“Oh, it’s you!” said Frithiof, turning his flushed face in the direction -of the speaker. “Thank God, you’ve come! That woman will be the death of -me. She does nothing but ask questions.” - -“I’ve only just got back from Devonshire, but they said you hadn’t -turned up to-day, and I thought I would come and see after you.” - -Frithiof dragged himself up and drank feverishly from the ewer which -stood on a chair beside him. - -“I tried to come this morning,” he said, “but I was too giddy to stand, -and had to give it up. My head’s gone wrong somehow.” - -“Poor fellow! you should have given up before,” said Roy. “You seem in -terrible pain.” - -“Yes, yes; it’s like a band of hot iron,” moaned poor Frithiof. Then -suddenly starting up in wild excitement, “There’s Blanche! there’s -Blanche! Let me go to her! Let me go! I will see her once more—only this -once!” - -Roy with some difficulty held him down, and after awhile he seemed to -come to himself. “Was I talking nonsense?” he said. “It’s a horrid -feeling not being able to control one’s self. If I go crazy you can just -let me die, please. Life’s bad enough now, and would be intolerable -then. There she is again! She’s smiling at me. Oh, Blanche—you did care -once. Come back! Come back! He can’t love you as I love! But it’s no -use—no use! she is worse than dead. I tell you I saw it in that cursed -paper, and I saw it in her own face. Why, one might have known! All -women are like it. What do they dare so long as their vanity is -satisfied? It’s just as Björnsen says: - - “‘If thou hadst not so smiled on me, - Now I should not thus weep for thee.’” - -And then he fell into incoherent talk, chiefly in Norwegian, but every -now and then repeating the English rendering of Björnsen’s lines. - -Meanwhile Roy turned over in his mind half a dozen schemes, and at -length decided to leave Frithiof during one of the quiet intervals, -while he went for their own doctor, Miss Charlotte mounting guard -outside the door, and promising to go to him if he seemed to need care. - -Dr. Morris, who was an old friend, listened to Roy’s description, and -returned with him at once, much to the relief of poor Miss Charlotte, -who was frightened out of her senses by one of Frithiof’s paroxysms of -wild excitement. - -“Do you think seriously of him?” said Roy, when, the excitement having -died down, Frithiof lay in a sort of stupor, taking no notice at all of -his surroundings. - -“If we can manage to get him any sleep he will pull through all right,” -said Dr. Morris, in his abrupt way. “If not, he will sink before many -days. You had better send for his mother, if he has one.” - -“He has only a sister, and she is in Norway.” - -“Well, send for her, for he will need careful nursing. You say you will -take charge of him? Very well; and to-morrow morning I will send in a -nurse, who will set you at liberty for a few hours. Evidently he has had -some shock. Can you make out what it was at all?” - -“Well; last autumn, I believe—indeed, I am sure—he was jilted by an -English girl with whom he was desperately in love. It all came upon the -top of the other troubles of which I told you.” - -“And what is this paper he raves about? What is the girl’s name? We -might get some clew in that way.” - -“Oh,” said Roy, “she was married some months ago. She is now Lady -Romiaux.” - -The doctor gave a stifled exclamation. - -“That explains all. I suppose the poor fellow honestly cared for her, -and was shocked to see the paragraph in this week’s _Idle Time_. Your -friend has had a narrow escape, if he could but see it in that light. -For the husband of that heartless little flirt must be the most -miserable man alive. We shall soon have another of those detestable -_causes célèbres_, and the newspapers lying about in every household -will be filled with all the poisonous details.” - -As Roy kept watch through the long nights and days that followed, as he -listened to the delirious ravings of his patient, and perceived how a -man’s life and health had been ruined by the faithlessness of a vain -girl, he became so absorbed in poor Frithiof, so devoted to him, that he -altogether forgot his specimens and his microscope. He wondered greatly -how many victims had been sacrificed to Blanche Romiaux’s selfish love -of admiration, and he longed to have her in that room, and point to the -man who tossed to and fro in sleepless misery, and say to her, “This is -what your hateful flirting has brought about.” - -But the little Norwegian episode had entirely passed out of Lady -Romiaux’s mind. Had she been questioned she would probably have replied -that her world contained too many hard realities to leave room for the -recollection of mere dreams. - -The dream, however, had gone hard with Frithiof. Sleeping draughts had -no effect on him, and his temperature remained so high that Dr. Morris -began to fear the worst. - -Roy used to be haunted by the thought that he had telegraphed for Sigrid -Falck, and that he should have to meet her after her long journey with -the news that all was over. And remembering the bright face and sunny -manner of the Norwegian girl, his heart failed him at the thought of her -desolation. But Frithiof could not even take in the idea that she had -been sent for. Nothing now made any difference to him. Sleep alone could -restore him. But sleep refused to come, and already the death-angel -hovered near, ready to give him the release for which he so greatly -longed. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - -Although it was the middle of August, a bitterly cold wind blew round -the dreary little posting station of Hjerkin, on the Dovrefield, and at -the very time when Frithiof lay dying in the intolerable heat of London, -Sigrid, shivering with cold, paced drearily along the bleak mountain -road with her aunt. They had come to the Dovrefield a fortnight before -for the summer holiday, but the weather had been unfavorable, and away -from home, with nothing very particular to occupy their time, Fru -Grönvold and Sigrid seemed to jar upon each other more than ever. -Apparently the subject they were discussing was not at all to the girl’s -taste, for as they walked along there were two ominous little -depressions in her forehead, nor did her black fur hat entirely account -for the shadow that overspread her face. - -“Yes,” said Fru Grönvold emphatically, “I am sorry to have to say such a -thing of you, Sigrid, but it really seems to me that you are playing the -part of the dog in the manger. You profess absolute indifference to -every man you meet, yet you go on absorbing attention, and standing in -Karen’s light, in a way which I assure you is very trying to me.” - -Sigrid’s cheek flamed. - -“I have done nothing to justify you in saying such a thing,” she said -angrily. - -“What!” cried Fru Grönvold. “Did not that Swedish botanist talk to you -incessantly? Does not the English officer follow you about whenever he -has the opportunity?” - -“The botanist talked because we had a subject in common,” replied -Sigrid. “And probably the officer prefers talking to me because my -English is more fluent than Karen’s.” - -“And that I suppose was the reason that you must be the one to teach him -the _spring dans_? And the one to sing him the ‘Bridal Song of the -Hardanger’?” - -“Oh!” exclaimed Sigrid, with an impatient little stamp of the foot, “am -I to be forever thinking of this wretched scheming and match-making? Can -I not even try to amuse a middle-aged Englishman who is disappointed of -his reindeer, and finds himself stranded in a dreary little inn with a -handful of foreigners? I have only been courteous to him—nothing more; -and if I like talking to him it is merely because he comes from -England.” - -“I don’t wish to be hard on you,” said Fru Grönvold, “but naturally I -have the feelings of a mother, and do not like to see Karen eclipsed. I -accuse you of nothing worse, my dear, than a slight forwardness—a little -deficiency in tact. There is no occasion for anger on your part.” - -Sigrid bit her lip hard to keep back the retort that she longed to make, -and they walked in silence toward the little cluster of wooden buildings -on the hill-side, the lowest of which contained the bedrooms, while -further up the hill the kitchen and dining-room stood on one side of the -open courtyard, and on the other the prettily arranged public -sitting-room. In warm weather Hjerkin is a little paradise, but on this -windy day, under a leaden sky, it seemed the most depressing place on -earth. - -“I shall go in and write to Frithiof,” said Sigrid, at length. And -escaping gladly from Fru Grönvold, she ran up to her room. - -“Here we are at Hjerkin,” she wrote, “for a month, and it is more -desolate than I can describe to you, uncle and Oscar out shooting all -day long, and scarcely a soul to speak to, for most of the English have -been driven away by the bad weather, and two girls from Stockholm who -were here for their health are leaving this afternoon, unable to bear -the dullness any longer. If something doesn’t happen soon I think I -shall grow desperate. But surely something will happen. We can’t be -meant to go on in this wretched way, apart from each other. I am -disappointed that you think there is no chance of any opening for me in -London. If it were not for Swanhild I think I should try for work—any -sort of work except teaching—at Christiania. But I can’t bear to leave -her, and uncle would object to my trying for anything of the sort in -Bergen. I can’t help thinking of the old times when we were children, -and of the summer holidays then. Don’t you remember when we had the -island all to ourselves, and used to rush down the fir-hill, and -frighten poor old Gro?” - - * * * * * - -She stopped writing because the thought of those past days had blinded -her with tears, and because the longing for her father’s presence had -overwhelmed her; they had been so much to each other that there was not -an hour in the day when she did not miss him. The dreary wind howling -and whistling round the little wooden house seemed to harmonize only too -well with her sadness, and when the unwelcome supper-bell began to ring -she wrapped her shawl about her, and climbed the steep path to the -dining-room, slowly and reluctantly, with a look on her pale face which -it was sad to see in one so young. - -Swanhild came dancing to meet her. - -“Major Brown has got us such beautiful trout for supper, Sigrid, and -uncle says I may go out fishing, too, some day. And you’ll come with us, -wont you?” - -“You had better take Karen,” said Sigrid listlessly. “You know I never -did care much for fishing. You shall catch them and I will eat them,” -she added, with a dreary little smile. And throughout supper she hardly -spoke, and at the first opportunity slipped away quietly, only, however, -to be pursued by Swanhild. - -“What is the matter?” said the child, slipping her arm round her -sister’s waist. “Are you not coming to the sitting-room?” - -“No,” said Sigrid, “I am tired, and it is so cold in there. I am going -into the kitchen to buy some stamps. Frithiof’s letter ought to go -to-morrow.” - -As she spoke she opened the door of the roomy old kitchen, which is the -pride of Hjerkin. Its three windows were shaded by snowy muslin -curtains; its spotless floor was strewn with juniper; the walls, painted -a peacock-blue, were hung with bright dish-covers, warming-pans, quaint -old bellows and kitchen implements. There was a tall old clock in a -black and gold case, a pretty corner cupboard in shaded brown, and a -huge, old-fashioned cabinet with cunning little drawers and nooks and -corners, all painted in red and blue and green, with an amount of -gilding which gave it quite an Eastern look. - -“Ah, how cozy the fire looks!” cried Swanhild, crossing over to the -curious old grate which filled the whole of one corner of the room, and -which certainly did look very tempting with its bright copper kettles -and saucepans all glowing in the ruddy light. - -“Bless your heart,” said the kind old landlady, “sit down and warm -yourself.” - -And one of the white-sleeved servant-girls brought a little chair which -stood by a long wooden settle, and put it close by the fire for the -child, and Sigrid, her purchase made, joined the little group, and sat -silently warming her hands, finding a sort of comfort in the mere -physical heat, and in the relief of being away from her aunt. The -landlady told Swanhild stories, and Sigrid listened dreamily, letting -her thoughts wander off now and then to Frithiof, or back into the far -past, or away into the future which looked so dreary. Still the kindness -of these people, and the interest and novelty of her glimpse into a -different sort of life, warmed her heart and cheered her a little. -Sitting there in the firelight she felt more at home than she had done -for many months. - -“Come, Swanhild,” she said at last reluctantly, “it is ten o’clock, and -time you were in bed.” - -And thanking the landlady for her kindness, the two sisters crossed over -the courtyard to the sitting-room, where Fru Grönvold was watching the -progress of a rubber in which Karen was Major Brown’s partner, and had -just incurred his wrath by revoking. - -“Where in the world have you been?” said Fru Grönvold, knitting -vehemently. “We couldn’t think what had become of you both.” - -“I went to the kitchen to get some stamps,” said Sigrid coldly. She -always resented her aunt’s questioning. - -“And it was so lovely and warm in there,” said Swanhild gayly, “and Fru -Hjerkin has been telling me such beautiful stories about the Trolds. Her -mother really saw one, do you know.” - -After this a cold good-night was exchanged, and Fru Grönvold’s brow grew -darker still when Major Brown called out in his hearty way: - -“What, going so early, Miss Falck? We have missed you sadly to-night.” -Then, as she said something about the English mail, “Yes, yes, quite -right. And I ought to be writing home, too, instead of playing.” - -“That means that he will not have another rubber,” thought Sigrid, as -she hurried down the hill to the _dépendence_, “and I shall be blamed -for it.” - -She fell into a state of blank depression, and long after Swanhild was -fast asleep she sat struggling with the English letter, which, do what -she would, refused to have a cheerful tone forced into it. - -“The only comfort is,” she thought, “that the worst has happened to us; -what comes now must be for the better. How the wind is raging round the -house and shrieking at the windows! And, oh, how dreary and wretched -this life is!” - -And in very low spirits she blew out the candle, and lay down to sleep -as best she might in a bed which shook beneath her in the gale. - -With much that was noble in Sigrid’s nature there was interwoven a -certain fault of which she herself was keenly conscious. She could love -a few with the most ardent and devoted love, but her sympathies were not -wide; to the vast majority of those she met she was absolutely -indifferent, and though naturally bright and courteous and desirous of -giving pleasure, yet she was too deeply reserved to depend at all on the -outer circle of friends; she liked them well enough, but it would not -greatly have troubled her had she never met them again. Very few had the -power to call out all the depths of tenderness, all the womanly -sweetness which really characterized her, while a great many repelled -her, and called out the harder side of her nature. - -It was thus with Fru Grönvold. To her aunt, Sigrid was like an icicle, -and her hatred of the little schemes and hopes and anxieties which -filled Fru Grönvold’s mind blinded her to much that was worthy of all -admiration. However, like all the Falcks, Sigrid was conscientious, and -she had been struggling on through the spring and summer, making -spasmodic efforts to overcome her strong dislike to one who in the main -was kind to her, and the very fact that she had tried made her now more -conscious of her failure. - -“My life is slipping by,” she thought to herself, “and somehow I am not -making the most of it. I am harder and colder than before all this -trouble came; I was a mere fine-weather character, and the storm was too -much for me. If I go on hating auntie perhaps I shall infect Swanhild, -and make her turn into just such another narrow-hearted woman. Oh, why -does one have to live with people that rub one just the wrong way?” - -She fell asleep before she had solved this problem, but woke early and -with a restless craving, which she could not have explained, dressed -hastily, put on all the wraps that she possessed, and went out into the -fresh morning air. - -“I have got to put up with this life,” she said to herself, “and I shall -just walk off this stupid discontented mood. What can’t be cured must be -endured. Oh, how beautiful it is out all alone in the early morning! I -am glad the wind is quite gone down, it has just cooled the air so that -to breathe it is like drinking iced water. After all, one can’t talk of -merely enduring life when there is all this left to one.” - -Leaving the steep high-road, she struck off to the left, intent on -gaining the top of Hjerkinshö. Not a house was in sight, not a trace of -any living being; she walked on rapidly, for, although the long upward -slope was in parts fairly steep, the gray lichen with which the ground -was thickly covered was so springy and delicious to walk on that she -felt no fatigue, the refreshing little scrunch that it made beneath her -feet seemed in itself to invigorate her. By the time she reached the top -of the hill she was glowing with exercise, and was glad to sit down and -rest by the cairn of stones. All around her lay one great undulating -sweep of gray country, warmed by the bright sunlight of the summer -morning, and relieved here and there by the purple shadow of some cloud. -Beyond, there rose tier above tier of snowy peaks, Snehaetten standing -out the most nobly of all, and some eighty attendant peaks ranged round -the horizon line as though they were courtiers in attendance on the -monarch of the district. At first Sigrid was so taken up by this -wonderful panorama that she had not a thought for anything beyond it, -but after awhile the strange stillness roused her; for the first time in -her life she had come into absolute silence, and what made the silence -was the infinite space. - -“If one could always be in a peace like this,” she thought, “surely life -would be beautiful then! If one could get out of all the littleness and -narrowness of one’s own heart, and be silent and quiet from all the -worries and vexations and dislikes of life! Perhaps it was the longing -for this that made women go into convents; some go still into places -where they never speak. That would never suit me; out of sheer -perversity I should want to talk directly. But if one could always have -a great wide open space like this that one could go into when one began -to get cross—” - -But there all definite thought was suddenly broken, because nature and -her own need had torn down a veil, and there rushed into her -consciousness a perception of an infinite calm, into which all might at -any moment retire. The sense of that Presence which had so clearly -dawned on her on the night of her father’s death returned to her now -more vividly, and for the first time in her life she was absolutely at -rest. - -After a time she rose and walked quietly home, full of an eager -hopefulness, to begin what she rightly felt would be a new life. She -stopped to pick a lovely handful of flowers for her aunt; she smiled at -the thought of the annoyance she had felt on the previous night about -such a trifle, and went forward almost gayly to meet the old troubles -which but a few hours before had seemed intolerable, but now looked -slight and easy. - -Poor Sigrid! she had yet to learn that with fresh strength comes harder -fighting in the battle of life, and that of those to whom much is given -much will be required. - -They were very cheerful that morning at breakfast; Fru Grönvold seemed -pleased with the flowers, and everything went smoothly. Afterward, when -they were standing in a little group outside the door, she even passed -her arm within Sigrid’s quite tenderly, and talked in the most amiable -way imaginable of the excursion which was being planned to Kongswold. - -“Look! look!” cried Swanhild merrily, “here are some travelers. Two -carioles and a stolkjaerre coming up the hill. Oh! I hope they will be -nice, and that they will stay here.” - -The arrival caused quite a little bustle of excitement, and many -speculations were made as to the relationship of the two sportsmen and -the two ladies in the stolkjaerre. Major Brown came forward to do the -honors of the place, as the landlord happened not to be at hand. - -“Is there any one of the name of Falck here?” asked one of the travelers -as he dismounted from his cariole. “We were at Dombaas last night and -promised to bring this on; we told the landlord that we meant to sleep -at Fokstuen, but he said there was no quicker way of delivery. Seems a -strange mode of delivering telegrams, doesn’t it?” - -“Why, Miss Falck, I see it is for you,” said Major Brown, glancing at -the direction. - -She stepped hastily forward to take it from him with flushed cheeks and -trembling hands; it seemed an eternity before she had torn it open, and -the few words within half paralyzed her. - -For a moment all seemed to stand still, then she became conscious of the -voices around. - -“Oh, we were almost blown away at Fokstuen,” said one. - -“But such _flatbrod_ as they make there!” said another, “we brought away -quite a tinful.” - -“Nothing wrong, my dear, I hope?” said Fru Grönvold. “Child, child, what -is it? Let me read.” - -Then came an almost irresistible impulse to burst into a flood of tears, -checked only by the presence of so many strangers, and by the necessity -of explaining to her aunt. - -“It is in English,” she said in a trembling voice. “From Mr. Boniface. -It says only, ‘Frithiof dangerously ill. Come.’” - -“Poor child! you shall go at once,” said Fru Grönvold. “What can be -wrong with Frithiof? Dangerously ill! See, it was sent from London -yesterday. You shall not lose a moment, my dear. Here is your uncle, -I’ll tell him everything, and do you go and pack what things you need.” - -The girl obeyed; it seemed as if when once she had moved she was capable -only of the one fear—the terrible fear lest she should miss the English -steamer. Already it was far too late to think of catching the Thursday -steamer from Christiania to London, but she must strain every nerve to -catch the next one. Like one in a frightful dream she hastily packed, -while Swanhild ran to and fro on messages, her tears falling fast, for -she, poor little soul, would be left behind, since it was impossible -that she should be taken to London lodgings, where, for aught they knew, -Frithiof might be laid up with some infectious illness. In all her -terrible anxiety Sigrid felt for the child, and with a keen pang -remembered that she had not set her the best of examples, and that all -her plans for a new life, and for greater sympathy with her aunt, were -now at an end. The old life with all its lost opportunities was over—it -was over, and she rightly felt that she had failed. - -“I have murmured and rebelled,” she thought to herself, “and now God is -going to take from me even a chance of making up for it. Oh, how hard it -is to try too late!” - -“We have been looking out the routes, dear,” said Fru Grönvold, coming -into the room, “and the best way will be for you to try for the Friday -afternoon boat from Christiania; it generally gets to Hull a little -before the Saturday one from Bergen, your uncle says.” - -“When can I start?” asked Sigrid eagerly. - -“You must start almost at once for Lille-elvedal; it will be a terribly -tiring drive for you, I’m afraid—eighty-four kilometers and a rough -road. But still there is time to do it, which is the great thing. At -Lille-elvedal you will take the night train to Christiania; it is a -quick one, and will get you there in ten hours, quite in time to catch -the afternoon boat, you see. Your uncle will take you and see you into -the train, and if you like we can telegraph to some friend to meet you -at the Christiania station: the worst of it is, I fear most people are -away just now.” - -“Oh, I shall not want any one,” said Sigrid. “If only I can catch the -steamer nothing matters.” - -“And do not worry more than you can help,” said Fru Grönvold. “Who -knows? You may find him much better.” - -“They would not have sent unless they feared—” Sigrid broke off -abruptly, unable to finish her sentence. And then with a few incoherent -words she clung to her aunt, asking her forgiveness for having annoyed -her so often, and thanking her for all her kindness. And Fru Grönvold, -whose conscience also pricked her, kissed the girl, and cried over her, -and was goodness itself. - -Then came the wrench of parting with poor Swanhild, who broke down -altogether, and had to be left in the desolate little bedroom sobbing -her heart out, while Sigrid went downstairs with her aunt, bade a -hurried farewell to Major Brown, Oscar, and Karen; then, with a pale, -tearless face she climbed into the stolkjaerre, and was driven slowly -away in the direction of Dalen. - -Her uncle talked kindly, speculating much as to the cause of Frithiof’s -illness, and she answered as guardedly as she could, all the time -feeling convinced that somehow Blanche Morgan was at the bottom of it -all. Were they never to come to the end of the cruel mischief wrought by -one selfish woman’s vanity? One thing was clear to her; if Frithiof was -spared to them she could never leave him again, and the thought of a -possible exile from Norway made her look back lingeringly at the scenes -she was leaving. Snehaetten’s lofty peaks still appeared in the -distance, rising white and shining into the clear blue sky; what ages it -seemed since she had watched it from Hjerkinshö in the wonderful -stillness which had preceded this great storm! Below her, to the right, -lay a lovely, smiling valley with birch and fir-trees, and beyond were -round-topped mountains, with here and there patches of snow gleaming out -of black, rocky clefts. - -But soon all thought of her present surroundings was crowded out by the -one absorbing anxiety, and all the more because of her father’s recent -death hope seemed to die within her, and something seemed to tell her -that this hurried journey would be in vain. Each time the grisly fear -clutched at her heart, the slowness of their progress drove her almost -frantic, and the easy-going people at Dalen, who leisurely fetched a -horse which proved to be lame, and then, after much remonstrance, -leisurely fetched another, tried her patience almost beyond bearing. -With her own hands she helped to harness the fresh pony, and at the -dreary little station of Kroghaugen, where all seemed as quiet as the -grave, she not only made the people bestir themselves, but on hearing -that it was necessary to make some sort of a meal there, fetched the -fagots herself to relight the fire, and never rested till all that the -place would afford was set before Herr Grönvold. - - * * * * * - -At length the final change had been made. Ryhaugen was passed, and they -drove on as rapidly as might be for the last stage of their journey. At -any other time the beautiful fir forest through which they were passing -would have delighted her, and the silvery river in the valley below, -with its many windings and its musical ripple, would have made her long -to stay. Now she scarcely saw them; and when, in the heart of the -forest, the skydsgut declared that his horse must rest for half an hour, -she was in despair. - -“But there is plenty of time, dear,” said her uncle kindly. “Come and -take a turn with me; it will rest you.” - -She paced to and fro with him, trying to conquer the frenzy of -impatience which threatened to overmaster her. - -“See,” he said at length, as they sat down to rest on one of the -moss-covered boulders, “I will give you now, while we are quiet and -alone, the money for your passage. Here is a check for fifty pounds, you -will have time to get it cashed in Christiania”; then as she protested -that it was far too much, “No, no; you will need it all in England. It -may prove a long illness; and, in any case,” he added awkwardly, “there -must be expenses.” - -Sigrid, with a horrible choking in her throat, thanked him for his help, -but that “in any case” rang in her ears all through the drive, all -through the waiting at the hotel at Lille-elvedal, all through that -weary journey in the train. - -Yet it was not until she stood on board the _Angelo_ that tears came to -her relief. A great crowd had collected on the quays, for a number of -emigrants were crossing over to England _en route_ for America. Sigrid, -standing there all alone, watched many a parting, saw strong men step on -to the deck sobbing like children, saw women weeping as though their -hearts would break. And when the crowd of those left behind on the quay -began to sing the songs of the country, great drops gathered in her eyes -and slowly fell. They sung with subdued voices. “For Norge, Kjaempers -Foderland,” and “Det Norske Flagg.” Last of all, as the great steamer -moved off, they sung, with a depth of pathos which touched even the -unconcerned foreigners on board, “Ja, vi elsker dette landet.” - -The bustle and confusion on the steamer, the busy sailors, the weeping -emigrants, the black mass of people on shore waving their hats and -handkerchiefs, some sobbing, some singing to cheer the travelers, and -behind the beautiful city of Christiania with its spires and towers, all -this had to Sigrid the strangest feeling of unreality; yet it was a -scene that no one present could ever forget. Bravely the friends on -shore sung out, their voices bridging over the widening waters of the -fjord, the sweet air well suiting the fervor of the words: - - “Yes, we love with fond devotion Norway’s mountain domes, - Rising storm-lashed o’er the ocean, with their thousand homes— - Love our country when we’re bending thoughts to fathers grand, - And to saga night that’s sending dreams upon our land. - Harald on its throne ascended by his mighty sword; - Hakon Norway’s rights defended, helped by Oyvind’s sword; - From the blood of Olaf sainted, Christ’s red cross arose.” - -But there the distance became too great for words to traverse it, only -the wild beauty of the music floated after the outward-bound vessel, and -many a man strained his ears to listen to voices which should never -again be heard by him on earth, and many a woman hid her face and sobbed -with passionate grief. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - -On the following Monday afternoon, Roy Boniface, pale and worn with all -that he had been through, paced the arrival platform at King’s Cross -Station. Already the train from Hull was signaled and he longed for -Sigrid’s advent, yet dreaded unspeakably the first few moments, the -hurried questions, the sad answers that must follow. The steamer had -been hindered by a fog, and the passengers had not been landed at Hull -until that morning, so that Sigrid had only had time to telegraph the -hour of her arrival, and had been unable to wait for a reply to tell her -of Frithiof’s state. He should have to tell her all—tell her amid the -unsympathizing crowd which jarred upon him even now; for during the last -few days he had lived so entirely with his patient that the outer world -seemed strange to him. His heart beat quickly as the engine darted into -sight and one carriage after another flitted past him. For a minute he -could nowhere see her; but hastening up the platform, and closely -scanning the travelers, he at length caught sight of the golden hair and -black dress which he had been imagining to himself, and heard the clear -voice saying, with something of Frithiof’s quiet decision: - -“It is a black trunk from Hull, and the name is Falck.” - -Roy came quickly forward, and the instant she caught sight of him all -her calmness vanished. - -“Frithiof?” she asked, as he took her hand in his. - -“He is still living,” said Roy, not daring to give an evasive answer to -the blue eyes which seemed to look into his very heart. Whether she had -feared the worst, or had hoped for better news, he could hardly tell; -she turned deathly white, and her lips quivered piteously. - -“I will see to your luggage,” he said; “but before you go to him you -must have something to eat; I see you are quite worn out with the long -journey, and unless you are calm, you will only agitate him.” - -She did not speak a word, but passively allowed him to take her to the -refreshment-room and get her some tea; she even made a faint effort to -attack the roll and butter which had been placed before her, but felt -too completely tired out to get on with it. Roy, seeing how matters -were, quietly drew the plate away, cut the roll into thin slices, and -himself spread them for her. It was months since they had parted at -Balholm as friendly fellow-travelers, yet it seemed now to Sigrid the -most natural thing in the world to depend on him, while he, at the first -glimpse of her questioning face, at the first grasp of her hand, had -realized that he loved her. After her lonely journey, with its lack of -sympathy, it was inexpressibly comforting to her to have beside her one -who seemed instantly to perceive just what she needed. To please him she -tried hard to eat and drink, and before long they were driving to -Vauxhall, and all fear lest she should break down was over. - -“Now,” she said at last, “tell me more about his illness. What brought -it on?” - -“The doctor says it must have been brought on by a great shock, and it -seems that he heard very sad news that day of Lady Romiaux.” - -“I knew it was that wretched girl in some way,” cried Sigrid, clenching -her hand. “I wish she were dead!” - -He was startled by her extreme bitterness, for by nature she was gentle, -and he had not expected such vehemence from her. - -“She is, as Frithiof incessantly says, ‘Worse than dead,’” replied Roy. -“It is a miserable story. Apparently he got hold of some newspaper, read -it all, and was almost immediately broken down by it. They say he was -hardly himself when he left the shop that night, and the next evening, -when I saw him, I found him delirious.” - -“It is his brain that is affected, then?” she faltered. - -“Yes; he seems to have been out of health for a long time, but he never -would give way. All the troubles of last autumn told on him, and this -was merely, as they say, the last straw. But if only we could get him -any sleep, he might even now recover.” - -“How long has he been without it?” - -“I came to him on Tuesday evening; it was on the Monday that he read -that paragraph, just this day week, and he has never slept since then. -When did my telegram reach you, by the by?” - -“Not until Thursday. You see, though you sent it on Wednesday morning, -yet it had to be forwarded from Bergen, as we were in an out-of-the-way -place on the Dovrefield.” - -“And you have been traveling ever since? You must be terribly worn out.” - -“Oh, the traveling was nothing; it was the terrible anxiety and the -slowness of everything that almost maddened one. But nothing matters -now. I am at least in time to see him.” - -“This is the house where he is lodging,” said Roy as the cab drew up. -“Are you fit to go to him now, or had you not better rest first?” - -“No, no, I must go to him directly,” she said. And, indeed, it seemed -that the excitement had taken away all her fatigue; her cheeks were -glowing, her eyes, though so wistful, were full of eagerness. She -followed him into the gloomy little house, spoke a courteous word or two -to Miss Charlotte, stood in the passage to receive her, and then hastily -mounted the stairs, and entered the darkened room where, instead of the -excitement which she had pictured to herself, there reigned an ominous -calm. A hospital nurse, whose sweet, strong face contrasted curiously -with her funereal garments, was sitting beside the mattresses, which for -greater convenience had been placed on the floor. Frithiof lay in the -absolute stillness of exhaustion, and Sigrid, who had never seen him -ill, was for a moment almost overcome. That he, who had always been so -strong, so daring, so full of life and spirit, should have sunk to this! -It seemed hardly possible that the thin, worn, haggard face on the -pillow could be the same face which had smiled on her last from the deck -of the steamer when he had started on that fatal visit to the Morgans. -He was talking incoherently, and twice she caught the name of Blanche. - -“If she were here I could kill her!” she thought to herself; but the -fierce indignation died down almost instantly, for all the tenderness of -her womanly nature was called out by Frithiof’s need. - -“Try if you can get him to take this,” said the nurse, handing her a cup -of beef-tea. - -He took it passively, but evidently did not in the least recognize her. -It was only after some time had gone by that the tone of her voice and -the sound of his native tongue affected him. His eyes, which for so many -days had seen only the phantoms of his imagination, fixed themselves on -her face, and by degrees a light of recognition dawned in them. - -“Sigrid!” he exclaimed, in a tone of such relief that tears started to -her eyes. - -She bent down and kissed him. - -“I have come to take care of you. And after you have been to sleep we -will have a long talk,” she said gently. “There, let me make your -pillows comfortable.” - -Her presence, instead of exciting him to wonder or to ask questions, -acted upon him like a soothing spell. - -“Talk,” he said. “It is so good to hear Norse once more.” - -“I will talk if you will try to sleep. I will sit here and say you some -of Björnsen’s songs.” And, with his hand still in hers, she said, in her -quieting voice, “Jeg har sogt,” and “Olaf Trygvason,” and “Prinsessen.” - -This last seemed specially to please him, and while, for the sixth time, -she was repeating it, Roy, who had been watching them intently, made her -a little sign, and, glancing down, she saw that Frithiof had fallen -asleep. No one stirred, for they all knew only too well how much -depended on that sleep. The nurse, who was one of those cheerful and -buoyant characters that live always in the present—and usually in the -present of others—mused over her three companions, and settled in her -practical mind the best means of relieving Sigrid without disturbing the -patient. - -Sigrid herself was living in the past, and was watching sadly enough -Frithiof’s altered face. Could he ever again be the same strong, hardy, -dauntless fellow he had once been? She remembered how in the old days he -had come back from hunting fresh and invigorated when every one else had -been tired out. She thought of his room in the old home in Kalvedalen -with its guns and fishing-tackle, its reindeer skins and bear skins, its -cases of stuffed birds, all trophies of his prowess. And then she looked -round this dreary London room, and thought how wretched it must have -felt to him when night after night he returned to it and sat working at -translations in which he could take no sort of interest. - -As for Roy, having lived for so many days in that sick-room with -scarcely a thought beyond it, he had now plunged into a sudden reaction; -a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Sigrid had come, and -with one bound he had stepped into a bright future; a future in which he -could always watch the fair, womanly face now before him; a future in -which he should have the right to serve and help her, to shield her from -care and turn her poverty to wealth. But that last thought brought a -certain anxiety with it. For he fancied that Sigrid was not without a -share of Frithiof’s independent pride. If once she could love him the -question of money could, of course, make no difference, but he feared -that her pride might perhaps make out of her poverty and his riches a -barrier which should shut out even the thought of love. - -Of all those who were gathered together in that room, Frithiof was the -most entirely at rest, for at last there had come to his relief the -priceless gift of dreamless and unbroken sleep. For just as the -spiritual life dies within us if we become absorbed in the things of -this world and neglect the timeless calm which is our true state, so the -body and mind sink if they cannot for brief intervals escape out of the -bonds of time into the realms of sleep. The others lived in past, -present, or future, but Frithiof lay in that blissful state of entire -repose which builds up, all unconsciously to ourselves, the very fibers -of our being. What happens to us in sleep that we wake once more like -new beings? No one can exactly explain. What happens to us when - - “We kneel how weak, we rise how full of power”? - -No one can precisely tell us. But the facts remain. By these means are -body and spirit renewed. - -For the next day or two Frithiof realized little. To the surprise and -delight of all he slept almost incessantly, waking only to take food, to -make sure that Sigrid was with him, and to enjoy a delicious sense of -ease and relief. - -“He is out of the wood now,” said Dr. Morris cheerfully. “You came just -in time, Miss Falck. But I will give you one piece of advice: if -possible stay in England and make your home with him; he ought not to be -so much alone.” - -“You think that he may have such an attack again?” asked Sigrid -wistfully. - -“No, I don’t say that at all. He has a wonderful constitution, and there -is no reason why he should ever break down again. But he is more likely -to get depressed if he is alone, and you will be able to prevent his -life from growing too monotonous.” - -So as she lived through those quiet days in the sick-room, Sigrid racked -her brain to think of some way of making money, and searched, as so many -women have done before her, the columns of the newspapers, and made -fruitless inquiries, and wasted both time and money in the attempt. One -day Roy, coming in at his usual hour in the morning to relieve guard, -brought her a fat envelope which he had found waiting for her in the -hall. She opened it eagerly, and made a little exclamation of -disappointment and vexation. - -“Anything wrong?” he asked. - -She began to laugh, though he fancied he saw tears in her eyes. “Oh,” -she said, “it seems so ridiculous when I had been expecting such great -things from it. You know I have been trying to hear of work in London, -and there was an advertisement in the paper which said that two pounds a -week might easily be realized either by men or women without interfering -with their present occupations, and that all particulars would be given -on the receipt of eighteen-pence. So I sent the money, and here is a -wretched aluminium pencil in return, and I am to make this two pounds a -week by getting orders for them.” - -The absurdity of the whole thing struck her more forcibly and she -laughed again more merrily; Roy laughed too. - -“Have you made any other attempts?” he asked. - -“Oh, yes,” said Sigrid, “I began to try in Norway, and even attempted a -story and sent it to one of our best novelists to ask his opinion.” - -“And what did he say?” - -“Well,” she said, smiling, “he wrote back very kindly, but said that he -could not conscientiously recommend any one to write stories whose sole -idea in taking up the profession was the making of money. My conscience -pricked me there, and so I never tried writing again and never will. -Then the other day I wrote to another place which advertised, and got -back a stupid bundle of embroidery patterns. It is mere waste of money -answering these things. They say a woman can earn a guinea a time by -shaving poodles, but you see I have no experience of poodles,” and she -laughed merrily. - -Roy sat musing over the perplexities of ordinary life. Here was he with -more money than he knew what to do with, and here was the woman he loved -struggling in vain to earn a few shillings. Yet, the mere fact that he -worshiped her made him chivalrously careful to avoid laying her under -any obligation. As far as possible he would serve her, but in this vital -question of money it seemed that he could only stand aside and watch her -efforts. Nor did he dare to confess the truth to her as yet, for he -perceived quite plainly that she was absorbed in Frithiof, and could not -possibly for some time to come be free even to consider her own personal -life. Clearly at present she regarded him with that frank friendliness -which he remembered well at Balholm, and in his helpfulness had -discerned nothing that need be construed as the attentions of a lover. -After all he was her brother’s sole friend in England, and it was -natural enough that he should do all that he could for them. - -“My father and mother come home to-night,” he said at length, “and if -you will allow me I will ask them if they know of anything likely to -suit you. Cecil will be very anxious to meet you again. Don’t you think -you might go for a drive with her to-morrow afternoon? I would be here -with your brother.” - -“Oh, I should so like to meet her again,” said Sigrid, “we all liked her -so much last summer. I don’t feel that I really know her at all yet, for -she is not very easy to know, but she interested me just because of -that.” - -“I don’t think any one can know Cecil who has not lived with her,” said -Roy, “she is so very reserved.” - -“Yes; at first I thought she was just gentle and quiet without very much -of character, but one day when we were out together we tried to get some -branches of willow. They were so stiff to break that I lazily gave up, -but she held on to hers with a strong look in her face which quite -startled me, and said, ‘I can’t be beaten just by a branch.’” - -“That is Cecil all over,” said Roy, smiling; “she never would let -anything daunt her. May I tell her that you will see her to-morrow?” - -Sigrid gladly assented, and the next day both Mrs. Boniface and Cecil -drove to the little house at Vauxhall. Roy brought Sigrid down to the -carriage, and with a very happy, satisfied feeling introduced her to his -mother, and watched the warm meeting with Cecil. - -“I can’t think what would have become of Frithiof if it had not been for -all your kindness,” said Sigrid. “Your son has practically saved his -life, I am sure, by taking care of him through this illness.” - -“And the worst is over now, I hope,” said Mrs. Boniface. “That is such a -comfort.” - -At the first moment Sigrid had fallen in love with the sweet-natured, -motherly old lady, and now she opened all her heart to her, and they -discussed the sad cause of Frithiof’s breakdown, and talked of past days -in Norway, and of the future that lay before him, Cecil listening with -that absolute command of countenance which betokens a strong nature, and -her companions little dreaming that their words, though eagerly heard, -were like so many sword-thrusts to her. The neat brougham of the -successful tradesman might have seemed prosaic enough, and an unlikely -place in which to find any romance, but nevertheless the three occupants -with their joys and sorrows, their hopes and fears, were each living out -an absorbing life story. For every heart has its own romance, and -whether living in the fierce glare of a palace, in the whirl of society, -in a quiet London suburb, or in an East-end court, it is all the same. -The details differ, the accessories are strangely different, but the -love which is the great mainspring of life is precisely the same all the -world over. - -“What makes me so miserable,” said Sigrid, “is to feel that his life is, -as it were, over, though he is so young: it has been spoiled and ruined -for him when he is but one-and-twenty.” - -“But the very fact of his being so young seems to me to give hope that -brighter things are in store for him,” said Mrs. Boniface. - -“I do not think so,” said Sigrid. “That girl has taken something from -him which can never come again: it does not seem to me possible that a -man can love like that twice in a lifetime.” - -“Perhaps not just in that way,” said Mrs. Boniface. - -“And besides,” said Sigrid, “what girl would care to take such love as -he might now be able to give? I am sure nothing would induce me to -accept any secondary love of that kind.” - -She spoke as a perfectly heart-whole girl, frankly and unreservedly. And -what she said was true. She never could have been satisfied with less -than the whole; it was her nature to exact much; she could love very -devotedly, but she would jealously demand an equal devotion in return. - -Now Cecil was of a wholly different type. Already love had taken -possession of her, it had stolen into her heart almost unconsciously and -had brought grave shadows into her quiet life, shadows cast by the -sorrow of another. Her notion of love was simply freedom to love and -serve; to give her this freedom there must of course be true love on the -other side, but of its kind or of its degree she would never trouble -herself to think. For already her love was so pure and deep that it -rendered her almost selfless. Sigrid’s speech troubled her for a minute -or two; if one girl could speak so, why not all girls? Was she perhaps -less truly womanly that she thought less of what was owing to herself? - -“It may be so,” she admitted, yet with a latent consciousness that so -infinite a thing as love could not be bound by any hard and fast rules. -“But I cannot help it. Whether it is womanly or not, I would die to give -him the least real comfort.” - -“Tell Harris to stop, Cecil,” said Mrs. Boniface. “We will get some -grapes for Mr. Falck.” - -And glad to escape from the carriage for a minute, and glad, too, to be -of use even in such a far-off way, Cecil went into the fruiterer’s, -returning before long with a beautiful basket of grapes and flowers. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - -“See what I have brought you,” said Sigrid, re-entering the sick-room a -little later on. - -Frithiof took the basket and looked, with a pleasure which a few weeks -ago would have been impossible to him, at the lovely flowers and fruit. - -“You have come just at the right time, for he will insist on talking of -all the deepest things in heaven and earth,” said Roy, “and this makes a -good diversion.” - -“They are from Mrs. Boniface. Is it not kind of her! And do you know, -Frithiof, she and Doctor Morris have been making quite a deep plot; they -want to transplant us bodily to Rowan Tree House, and Doctor Morris -thinks the move could do you no harm now that you are getting better.” - -His face lighted up with something of its former expression. - -“How I should like never to see this hateful room again!” he exclaimed. -“You don’t know how I detest it. The old ghosts seem to haunt it still. -There is nothing that I can bear to look at except your picture of -Bergen, which has done me more than one good turn.” - -Sigrid, partly to keep him from talking too much, partly because she -always liked to tell people of that little act of kindness, gave Roy the -history of the picture, and Frithiof lay musing over the curious -relative power of kindness and cruelty, and was obliged, though somewhat -reluctantly, to admit to himself that a very slight act of kindness -certainly did exert an enormous and unthought-of influence. - -Physical disorder had had much to do with the black view of life which -he had held for the last few months, but now that the climax had been -reached and rest had been forced upon him, his very exhaustion and -helplessness enabled him to see a side of life which had never before -been visible to him. He was very much softened by all that he had been -through. It seemed that while the events of the past year had imbittered -and hardened him, this complete breakdown of bodily strength had brought -back something of his old nature. The bright enjoyment of mere existence -could of course never return to him, but still, notwithstanding the scar -of his old wound, there came to him during those days of his -convalescence a sense of keen pleasure in Sigrid’s presence, in his -gradually returning strength, and in the countless little acts of -kindness which everybody showed him. - -The change to Rowan Tree House seemed to work wonders to him. The house -had always charmed him, and the recollection of the first time he had -entered it, using it as a shelter from the storm of life, much as Roy -and Cecil had used his father’s house as a shelter from the drenching -rain of Bergen, returned to him again and again through the quiet weeks -that followed. The past year looked now to him like a nightmare to a man -who was awakened in broad daylight. It seemed to him that he was lying -at the threshold of a new life, worn and tired with the old life, it was -true, yet with a gradually increasing interest in what lay beyond, and a -perception that there were many things of which he had as yet but the -very faintest notion. - -Sigrid told him all the details of her life in Norway since they had -last seen each other, of her refusal of Torvald Lundgren, of her -relations with her aunt, of the early morning on Hjerkinshö. And her -story touched him. When, stirred by all that had happened into unwonted -earnestness, she owned to him that after that morning on the mountain -everything had seemed different, he did not, as he would once have done, -laughingly change the subject, or say that religion was all very well -for women. - -“It was just as if I had worn a crape veil all my life,” she said, -looking up from her work for a moment with those clear, blue, practical -eyes of hers. “And up there on the mountain it seemed as if some one had -lifted it quite away.” - -Her words stirred within him an uneasy sense of loss, a vague desire, -which he had once or twice felt before. He was quite silent for some -time, lying back idly in his chair and watching her as she worked. - -“Sigrid!” he said at last, with a suppressed eagerness in his voice, -“Sigrid, you wont go back again to Norway and leave me?” - -“No, dear, I will never leave you,” she said warmly. “I will try to find -some sort of work. To-night I mean to talk to Mr. Boniface about it. -Surely in this huge place there must be something I can do.” - -“It is its very hugeness that makes one despair,” said Frithiof. “Good -God! what I went through last autumn! And there are thousands in the -same plight, thousands who would work if only they could meet with -employment.” - -“Discussing the vexed question of the unemployed?” said Mr. Boniface, -entering the room in time to hear this last remark. - -“Yes,” said Sigrid, smiling. “Though I’m a wretched foreigner come to -swell their number. But what can be the cause of such distress?” - -“I think it is this,” said Mr. Boniface, “population goes on increasing, -but practical Christianity does not increase at the same rate.” - -“Are you what they call a Christian Socialist?” asked Sigrid. - -“No; I am not very fond of assuming any distinctive party name, and the -Socialists seem to me to look too much to compulsion. You can’t make -people practical Christians by Act of Parliament; you have no right to -force the rich to relieve the poor. The nation suffers, and all things -are at a dead-lock because so many of us neglect our duty. If we argued -less about the ‘masses,’ and quietly did as we would be done by to those -with whom life brings us into contact, I believe the distress would soon -be at an end.” - -“Do you mean by that private almsgiving?” asked Frithiof. “Surely that -can only pauperize the people.” - -“I certainly don’t mean indiscriminate almsgiving,” said Mr. Boniface; -“I mean only this. You start with your own family; do your duty by them. -You have a constant succession of servants passing through your -household; be a friend to them. You have men and women in your employ; -share their troubles. Perhaps you have tenants; try to look at life from -their point of view. If we all tried to do this the cure would indeed be -found, and the breach between the rich and poor bridged over.” - -How simply and unostentatiously Mr. Boniface lived out his own theory -Frithiof knew quite well. He reflected that all the kindness he himself -had received had not tended to pauperize him, had not in the least -crushed his independence or injured his self-respect. On the contrary, -it had saved him from utter ruin, and had awakened in him a gratitude -which would last all his life. But this new cure was not to depend only -on taxation or on the State, but on a great influence working within -each individual. The idea set him thinking, and the sense of his own -ignorance weighed upon him. - -One morning it chanced that, sitting out in the veranda at the back of -the house, he overheard Lance’s reading-lesson, which was going on in -the morning-room. Sounds of laborious wrestling with the difficulties of -“Pat a fat cat,” and other interesting injunctions, made him realize how -very slow human nature is to learn any perfectly new thing, and how -toilsome are first steps. Presently came a sound of trotting feet. - -“Gwen! Gwen!” shouted Lance, “come here to us. Cecil is going to read to -us out of her Bible, and it’s awfully jolly!” - -He heard a stifled laugh from Cecil. - -“Oh, Lance,” she said, “Gwen is much too young to care for it. Come, -shut the door, and we will begin.” - -Again came the sound of trotting feet, then Cecil’s clear, low voice. -“What story do you want?” - -“Read about the three men walking in the fender and the fairy coming to -them,” said Lance promptly. - -“Not a fairy, Lance.” - -“Oh, I mean a angel,” he replied apologetically. - -So she read him his favorite story of Nebuchadnezzar the king, and the -golden image and the three men who would not bow down to it. - -“You see,” she said at the end, “they were brave men; they would not do -what they knew to be wrong. We want you to grow like them.” - -There was a silence, broken at last by Lance. - -“I will only hammer nails in wood,” he said gravely. - -“How do you mean?” asked Cecil, not quite seeing the connection. - -“Not into the tables and chairs,” said Lance, who had clearly -transgressed in this matter, and had applied the story to his own life -with amusing simplicity. - -“That’s right,” said Cecil. “God will be pleased if you try.” - -“He can see us, but we can’t see him,” said Lance, in his sweet childish -tones, quietly telling forth in implicit trust the truth that many a man -longs to believe. - -A minute after he came dancing out into the garden, his short, sunny -curls waving in the summer wind, his cheeks glowing, his hazel eyes and -innocent little mouth beaming with happiness. - -“He looks like an incarnate smile,” thought Frithiof. - -And then he remembered what Roy had told him of the father and mother, -and he thought how much trouble awaited the poor child, and felt the -same keen wish that Cecil had felt that he might be brought up in a way -which should make him able to resist whatever evil tendencies he had -inherited. “If anything can save him it will be such a home as this,” he -reflected. - -Then, as Cecil came out into the veranda, he joined her, and they walked -together down one of the shady garden paths. - -“I overheard your pupil this morning,” he began, and they laughed -together over the child’s quaint remarks. “That was very good, his -turning the story to practical account all by himself. He is a lucky -little beggar to have you for his teacher. I wonder what makes a child -so ready to swallow quite easily the most difficult things in heaven and -earth?” - -“I suppose because he knows he can’t altogether understand, and is -willing to take things on trust,” said Cecil. - -“If anything can keep him straight when he grows up it will be what you -have taught him,” said Frithiof. “You wonder that I admit that, and a -year ago I couldn’t have said as much, but I begin to think that there -is after all a very great restraining power in the old faith. The -difficulty is to get up any sort of interest in that kind of thing.” - -“You talk as if it were a sort of science,” said Cecil. - -“That is precisely what it seems to me; and just as one man is born with -a love of botany, another takes naturally to astronomy, and a third has -no turn for science whatever, but is fond of hunting and fishing, so it -seems to me with religion. All of you, perhaps, have inherited the -tendency from your Puritan forefathers, but I have inherited quite the -opposite tendency from my Viking ancestors. Like them, I prefer to love -my friend and hate my enemy, and go through life in the way that best -pleases me. I am not a reading man; I can’t get up the faintest sort of -interest in these religious matters.” - -“We are talking of two different things,” said Cecil. “It is of the mere -framework of religion that you are speaking. Very likely many of us are -born without any taste for theology, or sermons, or Church history. We -are not bound surely to force up an interest in them.” - -“Then if all that is not religion, pray what is it? You are not like -Miss Charlotte, who uses phrases without analyzing them. What do you -mean by religion?” - -“I mean knowing and loving God,” she said, after a moment’s pause. - -Her tone was very gentle, and not in the least didactic. - -“I have believed in a God always—more or less,” said Frithiof slowly. -“But how do you get to know Him?” - -“I think it is something in the same way that people get to know each -other,” said Cecil. “Cousin James Horner, for instance, sees my father -every day; he has often stayed in the same house with him, and has in a -sense known him all his life. But he doesn’t really know him at all. He -never takes the trouble really to know any one. He sees the outside of -my father—that is all. They have hardly anything in common.” - -“Mr. Horner is so full of himself and his own opinions that he never -could appreciate such a man as your father,” said Frithiof. Then, -perceiving that his own mouth had condemned him, he relapsed into -silence. “What is your receipt, now, for getting to know a person?” he -said presently, with a smile. - -“First,” she said thoughtfully, “a desire to know and a willingness to -be known. Then I think one must forget one’s self as much as possible, -and try to understand the feelings, and words, and acts of the one you -wish to know in the light of the whole life, or as much as you can learn -of it, not merely of the present. Then, too, I am quite sure that you -must be alone together, for it is only alone that people will talk of -the most real things.” - -He was silent, trying in his own mind to fit her words to his own need. - -“Then you don’t think, as some do, that when once we set out with a real -desire all the rest is quite easy and to be drifted into without any -special effort.” - -“No,” she said, “I do not believe in drifting. And if we were not so -lazy I believe we should all of us know more of God. It is somehow -difficult to take quite so much pains about that as about other things.” - -“It can’t surely be difficult to you; it always seems to be easy to -women, but to us men all is so different.” - -“Are you so sure of that?” she said quietly. - -“I have always fancied so,” he replied. “Why, the very idea of shutting -one’s self in alone to think—to pray—it is so utterly unnatural to a -man.” - -“I suppose the harder it is the more it is necessary,” said Cecil. “But -our Lord was not always praying on mountains; he was living a quite -ordinary shop life, and must have been as busy as you are.” - -Her words startled him; everything connected with Christianity had been -to him lifeless, unreal, formal—something utterly apart from the -every-day life of a nineteenth century man. She had told him that to her -religion meant “knowing” and “loving,” and he now perceived that by -“loving” she meant the active living of the Christ-life, the constant -endeavor to do the will of God. She had not actually said this in so -many words, but he knew more plainly than if she had spoken that this -was her meaning. - -They paced in silence the shady garden walk. To Frithiof the whole world -seemed wider than it had ever been before. On the deadly monotony of his -business life there had arisen a light which altogether transformed it. -He did his best even now to quench its brightness, and said to himself, -“This will not last; I shall hate desk and counter and all the rest of -it as badly as ever when I go back.” For it was his habit since Blanche -had deceived him to doubt the lastingness of all that he desired to -keep. Still, though he doubted for the future, the present was -wonderfully changed, and the new idea that had come into his life was -the best medicine he could have had. - -Sigrid watched his returning strength with delight; indeed, perhaps she -never realized what he had been during his lonely months of London life. -She had not seen the bitterness, the depression, the hardness, the too -evident deterioration which had saddened Cecil’s heart through the -winter and spring; and she could not see as Cecil saw how he was -struggling up now into a nobler manhood. Roy instinctively felt it. Mr. -Boniface, with his ready sympathy and keen insight, found out something -of the true state of the case; but only Cecil actually knew it. She had -had to bear the worst of the suffering all through those long months, -and it was but fair that the joy should be hers alone. - -Frithiof hardly knew which part of the day was most pleasant to him, the -quiet mornings after Mr. Boniface and Roy had gone to town, when he and -Sigrid were left to their own devices; the pleasant little break at -eleven, when Mrs. Boniface looked in to remind them that fruit was good -in the morning, and to tempt him with pears and grapes, while Cecil and -the two children came in from the garden, bringing with them a sense of -freshness and life; the drowsy summer afternoon when he dozed over a -novel; the drive in the cool of the day, and the delightful home -evenings with music and reading aloud. - -Quiet the life was, it is true, but dull never. Every one had plenty to -do, yet not too much, for Mr. Boniface had a horror of the modern craze -for rushing into all sorts of philanthropic undertakings, would have -nothing to do with bazaars, groaned inwardly when he was obliged by a -sense of duty to attend any public meeting, and protested vehemently -against the multiplication of “Societies.” - -“I have a pet Society of my own,” he used to say with a smile. “It is -the Keeping at Home Society. Every householder is his own president, and -the committee is formed by his family.” - -Notwithstanding this, he was the most widely charitable man, and was -always ready to lend a helping hand; but he loved to work quietly, and -all who belonged to him caught something of the same tone, so that in -the house there was a total absence of that wearing whirl of good works -in which many people live nowadays, and though perhaps they had not so -many irons in the fire, yet the work they did was better done in -consequence, and the home remained what it was meant to be, a center of -love and life, not a mere eating-house and dormitory. - -Into the midst of this home there had come now some strangely fresh -elements. Three distinct romances were being worked out beneath that -quiet roof. There was poor Frithiof with his shattered life, his past an -agony which would scarcely bear thinking of, his future a desperate -struggle with circumstances. There was Cecil, whose life was so far -bound up with his that when he suffered she suffered too, yet had to -live on with a serene face and make no sign. There was Roy already madly -in love with the blue-eyed, fair-haired Sigrid, who seemed in the glad -reaction after all her troubles to have developed into a totally -different being, and was the life of the party. And yet in spite of the -inevitable pain of love, these were happy days for all of them. Happy to -Frithiof because his strength was returning to him; because, with an -iron resolution, he as far as possible shut out the remembrance of -Blanche; because the spirit life within him was slowly developing, and -for the first time he had become conscious that it was a reality. - -Happy for Cecil, because her love was no foolish sentimentality, no -selfish day-dream, but a noble love which taught her more than anything -else could possibly have done; because, instead of pining away at the -thought that Frithiof was utterly indifferent to her, she took it on -trust that God would withhold from her no really good thing, and made -the most of the trifling ways in which she could at present help him. -Happiest of all perhaps for Roy, because his love-story was full of -bright hope—a hope that each day grew fuller and clearer. - -“Robin,” said Mrs. Boniface, one evening, to her husband, as together -they paced to and fro in the veranda, while Frithiof was being initiated -into lawn-tennis in the garden, “I think Sigrid Falck is one of the -sweetest girls I ever saw.” - -“So thinks some one else, if I am not much mistaken,” he replied. - -“Then you, too, have noticed it. I am so glad. I hoped it was so, but -could not feel sure. Oh, Robin, I wonder if he has any chance? She would -make him such a sweet little wife!” - -“How can we tell that she has not left her heart in Norway?” - -“I do not think so,” said Mrs. Boniface. “No, I feel sure that can’t be, -from the way in which she speaks of her life there. If there is any -rival to be feared it is Frithiof. They seem to me wrapped up in each -other, and it is only natural, too, after all their trouble and -separation and this illness of his. How strong he is getting again, and -how naturally he takes to the game! He is such a fine-looking fellow, -somehow he dwarfs every one else,” and she glanced across to the -opposite side of the lawn, where Roy with his more ordinary height and -build certainly did seem somewhat eclipsed. And yet to her motherly eyes -that honest, open, English face, with its sun-burned skin, was perhaps -the fairest sight in the world. - -Not that she was a blindly and foolishly loving mother; she knew that he -had his faults. But she knew, too, that he was a sterling fellow, and -that he would make the woman he married perfectly happy. - -They were so taken up with thoughts of the visible romance that was -going on beneath their eyes, that it never occurred to them to think of -what might be passing in the minds of the two on the other side of the -net. And perhaps that was just as well, for the picture was a sad one, -and would certainly have cast a shadow upon their hearts. Cecil was too -brave and resolute and self-controlled to allow her love to undermine -her health; nor did she so brood upon her inevitable loss that she -ceased to enjoy the rest of her life. There was very much still left to -her, and though at times everything seemed to her flavorless and -insipid, yet the mood would pass, and she would be able intensely to -enjoy her home life. Still there was no denying that the happiness which -seemed dawning for Roy and Sigrid was denied to the other two; they were -handicapped in the game of life just as they were at tennis—the setting -sun shone full in their faces and made the play infinitely more -difficult, whereas the others playing in the shady courts had a -considerable advantage over them. - -“Well, is the set over?” asked Mr. Boniface, as the two girls came -toward them. - -“Yes,” cried Sigrid merrily. “And actually our side has won! I am so -proud of having beaten Cecil and Frithiof, for, as a rule, Frithiof is -one of those detestable people who win everything. It was never any fun -playing with him when we were children, he was always so lucky.” - -As she spoke Frithiof had come up the steps behind her. - -“My luck has turned, you see,” he said, with a smile in which there was -a good deal of sadness. But his tone was playful, and indeed it seemed -that he had entirely got rid of the bitterness which had once dominated -every look and word. - -“Nonsense!” she cried, slipping her hand into his arm. “Your luck will -return; it is only that you are not quite strong again yet. Wait a day -or two, and I shall not have a chance against you. You need not grudge -me my one little victory.” - -“It has not tired you too much?” asked Mrs. Boniface, glancing up at -Frithiof. There was a glow of health in his face which she had never -before seen, and his expression, which had once been stern, had grown -much more gentle. “But I see,” she added, “that is a foolish question, -for I don’t think I have ever seen you looking better. It seems to me -this is the sort of exercise you need. We let you stay much too long -over that translating in the old days.” - -“Yes,” said Sigrid; “I hardly know whether to laugh or cry when I think -of Frithiof, of all people in the world, doing learned translations for -such a man as Herr Sivertsen. He never could endure sedentary life.” - -“And yet,” said Mr. Boniface, pacing along the veranda with her, “I -tried in vain to make him take up cricket. He declared that in Norway -you did not go in for our English notions of exercise for the sake of -exercise.” - -“Perhaps not,” said Sigrid; “but he was always going in for the wildest -adventures, and never had the least taste for books. Poor Frithiof, it -only shows how brave and resolute he is; he is so set upon paying off -these debts that he will sacrifice everything to that one idea, and will -keep to work which must be hateful to him.” - -“He is a fine fellow,” said Mr. Boniface. “I had hardly realized what -his previous life must have been, though of course I knew that the -drudgery of shop life was sorely against the grain.” - -“Ever since he was old enough to hold a gun, he used to go with my -father in August to the mountains in North Fjord for the reindeer -hunting,” said Sigrid. “And every Sunday through the winter he used to -go by himself on the wildest excursions after sea-birds. My father said -it was good training for him, and as long as he took with him old Nils, -his skydsmand—I think you call that boatman in English—he was never -worried about him when he was away. But sometimes I was afraid for him, -and old Gro, our nurse, always declared that he would end by being -drowned. Come here, Frithiof, and tell Mr. Boniface about your night on -the fjord by Bukken.” - -His eyes lighted up at the recollection. - -“Ah, it was such fun!” he cried; “though we were cheated out of our -sport after all. I had left Bergen on the Saturday, going with old Nils -to Bukken, and there as usual we took a boat to row across to Gjelleslad -where I generally slept, getting up at four in the morning to go after -the birds. Well, that night Nils and I set out to row across, but had -not got far when the most fearful storm came down on us. I never saw -such lightning, before or since, and the wind was terrific; we could do -nothing against it, and indeed it was wonderful that we did not go to -the bottom. By good luck we were driven back to land, and managed to -haul up the boat, turn it up, and shelter as best we could under it, old -Nils swearing like a trooper and declaring I should be the death of him -some day. For four mortal hours we stayed there, and the storm still -raged. At last, by good luck, I hunted up four men who were willing to -run the risk of rowing us back to Bergen. Then off we set, Nils vowing -that we should be drowned, and so we were very nearly. It was the -wildest night I ever knew, and the rowing was fearful work, but at last -we got safely home.” - -“And you should have seen him,” cried Sigrid. “He roused us all up at -half-past six in the morning, and there he was, soaked to the skin, but -looking so bright and jolly, and making us roar with laughter with his -description of it all. And I really believe it did him good; for after a -few hours’ sleep he came down in the best possible of humors. And don’t -you remember, Frithiof, how you played it all on your violin?” - -“And was only successful in showing how well Nils growled,” said -Frithiof, laughing. - -The reference to the violin suggested the usual evening’s music, and -they went into the drawing-room, where Sigrid played them some Norwegian -airs, Roy standing near her, and watching her fair, sweet face, which -was still glowing with the recollection of those old days of which they -had talked. - -“Was it possible,” he thought, “that she who was so devoted to her -brother, that she who loved the thought of perilous adventures, and so -ardently admired the bold, fearless, peril-seeking nature of the old -Vikings, was it possible that she could ever love such an ordinary, -humdrum, commonplace Londoner as himself?” He fell into great -despondency, and envied Frithiof his Norse nature, his fine physique, -his daring spirit. - -How infinitely harder life was rendered to his friend by that same -nature, he did not pause to think, and sorry as he was for Frithiof’s -troubles, he scarcely realized at all the force with which they had -fallen upon the Norwegian’s proud, self-reliant character. - -Absorbed in the thought of his own love, he had little leisure for such -observations. The one all-engrossing question excluded everything else. -And sometimes with hope he asked himself, “Can she love me?”—sometimes -in despair assured himself that it was impossible—altogether impossible. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - -If any one had told Roy that his fate was to be seriously affected by -Mrs. James Horner, he would scarcely have credited the idea. But the -romances of real life are not as a rule spoiled by some black-hearted -villain, but are quite unconsciously checked by uninteresting matrons, -or prosaic men of the world, who, with entire innocence, frustrate hopes -and in happy ignorance go on their way, never realizing that they have -had anything to do with the actual lives of those they meet. If the life -at Rowan Tree House had gone on without interruption, if Sigrid had been -unable to find work and had been at perfect leisure to consider Roy’s -wooing, it is quite probable that in a few weeks their friendship might -have ended in betrothal. But Mrs. James Horner gave a children’s party, -and this fact changed the whole aspect of affairs. - -“It is, as you say, rather soon after my poor uncle’s death for us to -give a dance,” said Mrs. Horner, as she sat in the drawing-room of Rowan -Tree House discussing the various arrangements. “But you see it is dear -Mamie’s birthday, and I do not like to disappoint her; and Madame -Lechertier has taken the idea up so warmly, and has promised to come as -a spectator. It was at her suggestion that we made it a fancy dress -affair.” - -“Who is Madame Lechertier?” asked Sigrid, who listened with all the -interest of a foreigner to these details. - -“She is a very celebrated dancing mistress,” explained Cecil. “I should -like you to see her, for she is quite a character.” - -“Miss Falck will, I hope, come to our little entertainment,” said Mrs. -Horner graciously. For, although she detested Frithiof, she had been, -against her will, charmed by Sigrid. “It is, you know, quite a small -affair—about fifty children, and only from seven to ten. I would not, -for the world, shock the congregation, Loveday, so I mean to make it all -as simple as possible. I do not know that I shall even have ices.” - -“My dear, I do not think ices would shock them,” said Mrs. Boniface, -“though I should think perhaps they might not be wholesome for little -children who have got heated with dancing.” - -“Oh, I don’t really think they’ll be shocked at all,” said Mrs. Horner, -smiling. “James could do almost anything before they’d be shocked. You -see, he’s such a benefactor to the chapel and is so entirely the leading -spirit, why, where would they be without him?” - -Mrs. Boniface murmured some kindly reply. It was quite true, as she knew -very well. James Horner was so entirely the rich and generous head of -the congregation that everything had to give way to him, and the -minister was not a little hampered in consequence. It was perhaps the -perception of this which made Mr. Boniface, an equally rich and generous -man, play a much more quiet part. He worked quite as hard to further the -good of the congregation, but his work was much less apparent, nor did -he ever show the least symptom of that love of power which was the bane -of James Horner’s existence. - -Whether Mr. Boniface entirely approved of this children’s fancy-dress -dance, Sigrid could not feel sure. She fancied that, in spite of all his -kindly, tolerant spirit, he had an innate love of the older forms of -Puritanism, and that his quiet, home-keeping nature could not understand -at all the enjoyment of dancing or of character-dresses. Except with -regard to music, the artistic side of his nature was not highly -developed, and while his descent from Puritan forefathers had given him -an immense advantage in many ways, and had undoubtedly helped to make -him the conscientious, liberty loving, God-fearing man he was, yet it -had also given him the Puritan tendency to look with distrust on many -innocent enjoyments. He was always fearful of what these various forms -of amusement might lead to. But he forgot to think of what dullness and -dearth of amusement might lead to, and had not fully appreciated the -lesson which Englishmen must surely have been intended to learn from the -violent reaction of the Restoration after the restrictions of the -Commonwealth. - -But no matters of opinion ever made even a momentary discomfort in that -happy household. Uniformity there was not, for they thought very -differently, and each held fast to his own view; but there was something -much higher than uniformity, there was unity, which is the outcome of -love. Little differences of practice came from time to time; they went -their various ways to church and chapel on Sunday, and Roy and Cecil -would go to hear Donati at the opera-house, while the father and mother -would have to wait till there was a chance of hearing the celebrated -baritone at St. James’s Hall; but in the great aims of life they were -absolutely united, and worked and lived in perfect harmony. At length -the great day came, and Mr. Boniface and Roy on their return from town -were greeted by a bewitching little figure on the stairs, with curly -hair combed out to its full length and a dainty suit of crimson velvet -trimmed with gold lace. - -“Why, who are you?” said Mr. Boniface, entering almost unconsciously -into the fun of the masquerade. - -“I’m Cinderella’s prince,” shouted Lance gleefully, and in the highest -spirits the little fellow danced in to show Frithiof his get-up, -capering all over the room in that rapturous enjoyment of childhood, the -sight of which is one of the purest pleasures of all true men and women. -Frithiof, who had been tired and depressed all day, brightened up at -once when Lance, who was very fond of him, came to sit on his knee in -that ecstasy of happy impatience which one only sees in children. - -“What is the time now?” he asked every two minutes. “Do you think it -will soon be time to go? Don’t you almost think you hear the carriage -coming?” - -“As for me,” said Sigrid, “I feel like Cinderella before the fairy -godmother came. You are sure Mrs. Horner will not mind this ordinary -black gown?” - -“Oh, dear, no,” said Cecil. “You see, she herself is in mourning; and -besides, you look charming, Sigrid.” - -The compliment was quite truthful, for Sigrid, in her quiet black dress, -which suited her slim figure to perfection, the simple folds of white -net about her neck, and the delicate blush roses and maidenhair which -Roy had gathered for her, certainly looked the most charming little -woman imaginable. - -“I wish you could come, too,” said Cecil, glancing at Frithiof, while -she swathed the little prince in a thick plaid. “It will be very pretty -to see all the children in costume.” - -“Yes,” he replied; “but my head would never stand the noise and the -heat. I am better here.” - -“We shall take great care of him,” said Mrs. Boniface; “and you must -tell us all about it afterward. Don’t keep Lance up late if he seems to -get tired, dearie. Good-by, and mind you enjoy yourself.” - -“There goes a happy quartet,” said Mr. Boniface, as he closed the door -behind them. “But here, to my way of thinking, is a more enviable trio. -Did you ever see this book, Frithiof?” - -Since his illness they had fallen into the habit of calling him by his -Christian name, for he had become almost like one of the family. Even in -his worst days they had all been fond of him, and now in these days of -his convalescence, when physical suffering had brought out the gentler -side of his nature, and his strength of character was shown rather in -silent patience than in dogged and desperate energy, as of old, he had -won all hearts. The proud, willful isolation which had made his -fellow-workers detest him had been broken down at length, and gratitude -for all the kindness he had received at Rowan Tree House had so changed -him that it seemed unlikely that he would ever sink again into such an -extremity of hard bitterness. His laughter over the book which Mr. -Boniface had brought him seemed to his host and hostess a promising -sign, and over “Three in Norway” these three in England passed the -pleasant evening which Mr. Boniface had predicted. - -Meanwhile Sigrid was thoroughly enjoying herself. True, Mr. and Mrs. -Horner were vulgar, and now and then said things which jarred on her, -but with all their failings they had a considerable share of genuine -kindliness, and the very best side of them showed that night, as they -tried to make all their guests happy. A children’s party generally does -call out whatever good there is in people; unkind gossip is seldom heard -at such a time, and people are never bored, for they are infected by the -genuine enjoyment of the little ones, the dancers who do not, as in -later life, wear masks, whose smiles are the smiles of real and intense -happiness, whose laughter is so inspiriting. It was, moreover, the first -really gay scene which had met Sigrid’s eyes for nearly a year, and she -enjoyed to the full the quaint little cavaliers, the tiny court ladies, -with their powdered hair and their patches; the Red Riding-hoods and -Bo-Peeps; the fairies and the peasants; the Robin Hoods and Maid -Marians. The dancing was going on merrily when Mme. Lechertier was -announced, and Sigrid looked up with interest to see what the lady who -was pronounced to be “quite a character” was like. She was a tall and -wonderfully graceful woman, with an expressive but plain face. In repose -her expression was decidedly autocratic, but she had a most charming -smile, and a perfect manner. The Norwegian girl took a great fancy to -her, and the feeling was mutual, for the great Mme. Lechertier, who, it -was rumored, was of a keenly critical disposition, instantly noticed -her, and turned to the hostess with an eager question. - -“What a charming face that golden-haired girl has!” she said in her -outspoken and yet courteous way. “With all her simplicity there is such -a pretty little touch of dignity. See how perfect her bow is! What is -her name? And may I not be introduced to her?” - -“She is a friend of my cousin’s,” explained Mrs. Horner, glad to claim -this sort of proprietorship in any one who had called forth compliments -from the lips of so critical a judge. - -“She is Norwegian, and her name is Falck.” - -Sigrid liked the bright, clever, majestic-looking Frenchwoman better -than ever after she had talked with her. There was, indeed, in Mme. -Lechertier something very refreshing. Her chief charm was that she was -so utterly unlike any one else. There was about her an individuality -that was really astonishing, and when you heard her talk you felt the -same keen sense of novelty and interest that is awakened by the first -sight of a foreign country. She in her turn was enchanted by Sigrid’s -perfect naturalness and vivacity, and they had become fast friends, when -presently a pause in the music made them both look up. - -The pianist, a pale, worn-looking lady, whose black silk dress had an -ominously shiny back, which told its tale of poverty, all at once broke -down, and her white face touched Sigrid’s heart. - -“I think she is faint,” she exclaimed. “Do you think I might offer to -play for her?” - -“It is a kind thought,” said Mme. Lechertier, and she watched with -interest while the pretty Norwegian girl hastened to the piano, and with -a few hurried words relieved the pianist, who beat a hasty retreat into -the cooler air of the hall. - -She played extremely well, and being herself a born dancer, entered into -the spirit of the waltz in a way which her predecessor had wholly failed -to do. Mme. Lechertier was delighted, and when by and by Sigrid was -released she rejoined her, and refused to be borne off to the -supper-room by Mr. Horner. - -“No, no,” she said; “let the little people be attended to first. Miss -Falck and I mean to have a quiet talk here.” - -So Sigrid told her something of her life at Bergen, and of the national -love of music and dancing, and thoroughly interested her. - -“And when do you return?” asked Mme. Lechertier. - -“That depends on whether I can find work in England,” replied Sigrid. -“What I wish is to stay in London with my brother. He has been very ill, -and I do not think he ought to live alone.” - -“What sort of work do you wish for?” asked Madame Lechertier. - -“I would do anything,” said Sigrid. “But the worst of it is everything -is so crowded already, and I have no very special talent.” - -“My dear,” said Madame Lechertier, “it seems to me you have a very -decided talent. You play dance music better than any one I ever heard, -and that is saying a good deal. Why do you not turn this to account?” - -“Do you think I could?” asked Sigrid, her eyes lighting up eagerly. “Do -you really think I could earn my living by it?” - -“I feel sure of it,” said Madame Lechertier. “And if you seriously think -the idea is good I will come and discuss the matter with you. I hear you -are a friend of my old pupil, Miss Boniface.” - -“Yes, we are staying now at Rowan Tree House; they have been so good to -us.” - -“They are delightful people—the father is one of nature’s true -gentlemen. I shall come and see you, then, and talk this over. To-morrow -morning, if that will suit you.” - -Sigrid went home in high spirits, and the next day, when as usual she -and Frithiof were alone in the morning-room after breakfast, she told -him of Madame Lechertier’s proposal, and while they were still -discussing the matter the good lady was announced. - -Now, like many people, Madame Lechertier was benevolent by impulse. Had -Sigrid been less attractive, she would not have gone out of her way to -help her; but the Norwegian girl had somehow touched her heart. - -“It will be a case of ‘Colors seen by candlelight will not look the same -by day,’” she had reflected as she walked to Rowan Tree House. “I shall -find my pretty Norse girl quite commonplace and uninteresting, and my -castle in the air will fall in ruins.” - -But when she was shown into the room where Sigrid sat at work, all her -fears vanished. “The girl has bewitched me!” she thought to herself. -“And the brother, what a fine-looking fellow! There is a history behind -that face if I’m not mistaken.” - -“We have just been talking over what you said to me last night, Madame,” -said Sigrid brightly. - -“The question is,” said Madame Lechertier, “whether you are really in -earnest in seeking work, and whether you will not object to my proposal. -The fact is that the girl who for some time has played for me at my -principal classes is going to be married. I have, of course, another -assistant upon whom I can, if need be, fall back; but she does not -satisfy me, we do not work well together, and her playing is not to be -compared to yours. I should only need you in the afternoon, and during -the three terms of the year. Each term is of twelve weeks, and the -salary I should offer you would be £24 a term—£2 a week, you see.” - -“Oh, Frithiof!” cried Sigrid, in great excitement, “we should be able to -help Swanhild. We could have her over from Norway. Surely your salary -and mine together would keep us all?” - -“Who is Swanhild?” asked Madame Lechertier. - -“She is our little sister, Madame. She is much younger—only eleven years -old, and as we are orphans, Frithiof and I are her guardians.” - -Madame Lechertier looked at the two young faces, smiling to think that -they should be already burdened with the cares of guardianship. It -touched her, and yet at the same time it was almost comical to hear -these two young things gravely talking about their ward. - -“You see,” said Frithiof, “there would be her education; one must not -forget that.” - -“But at the high schools it is very cheap, is it not, Madame?” said -Sigrid. - -“About ten pounds a year,” said Madame Lechertier. “What is your little -sister like, because if she is at all like you—” - -“Here is her photograph,” said Sigrid, unfastening her writing-case and -taking out Swanhild’s picture. “This is taken in her peasant costume -which she used to wear sometimes for fun when when we were in the -country. It suits her very well, I think.” - -“But she is charming,” cried Madame Lechertier. “Such a dainty little -figure—such well-shaped legs! My dear, I have a bright thought—an -inspiration. Send for your little Swanhild, and when you come to me each -afternoon bring her also in this fascinating costume. She shall be my -little pupil-teacher, and though, of course, her earnings would be but -small, yet they would more than cover her education at a high school, -and she would be learning a useful profession into the bargain.” - -She glanced at Frithiof and saw quite plainly that he shrank from the -idea, and that it would go hard with his proud nature to accept such an -offer. She glanced at Sigrid, and saw that the sister was ready to -sacrifice anything for the sake of getting the little girl to England. -Then, having as much tact as kindness, she rose to go. - -“You will talk it over between you and let me know your decision,” she -said pleasantly. “Consult Mr. and Mrs. Boniface, and let me know in a -day or two. Why should you not come in to afternoon tea with me -to-morrow, for I shall be at home for once, and can show you my -canaries? Cecil will bring you. She and I are old friends.” - -When she was gone Sigrid returned to the room with dancing eyes. - -“Is she not delightful!” she cried. “For myself, Frithiof, I can’t -hesitate for a moment. The work will be easy, and she will be thoroughly -kind.” - -“She has a bad temper,” said Frithiof. - -“How do you know?” - -“Because no sweet-tempered woman ever had such a straight, thin-lipped -mouth.” - -“I think you are very horrid to pick holes in her when she has been so -kind to us. For myself I must accept. But how about Swanhild?” - -“I hate the thought for either of you,” said Frithiof moodily. - -Somehow, though his own descent in the social scale had been -disagreeable enough, yet it had not been so intolerable to him as this -thought of work for his sisters. - -“Now, Frithiof, don’t go and be a goose about it,” said Sigrid -caressingly. “If we are ever to have a nice, cosy little home together -we must certainly work at something, and we are not likely to get -lighter, or more congenial, or better-paid work than this. Come, dear, -you have got, as Lance would say, to ‘grin and bear it.’” - -He sighed. - -“In any case, we must give Swanhild herself a voice in the matter,” he -said at length. “Accept the offer if you like, provisionally, and let us -write to her and tell her about it.” - -“Very well, we will write a joint letter and give her all sorts of -guardianly advice. But, all the same, you know as well as I do that -Swanhild will not hesitate for a moment. She is dying to come to -England, and she is never so happy as when she is dancing.” - -Frithiof thought of that day long ago, when he had come home after -meeting the Morgans at the Bergen landing quay, and had heard Sigrid -playing as he walked up the garden path, and had found Swanhild dancing -so merrily with Lillo, and the old refrain that had haunted him then -returned to him now in bitter mockery: - - “To-day is just a day to my mind; - All sunny before and sunny behind, - Over the heather.” - -When Roy came home that evening the matter was practically decided. -Frithiof and Sigrid had had a long talk in the library with Mr. and Mrs. -Boniface, and by and by in the garden Sigrid told him gleefully what she -called the “good news.” - -“I can afford to laugh now at my aluminium pencils and the embroidery -patterns, and the poodle shaving,” she said gayly. “Was it not lucky -that we happened to go to Mrs. Horner’s party, and that everything -happened just as it did?” - -“Do you really like the prospect?” asked Roy. - -“Indeed I do. I haven’t felt so happy for months. For now we need never -again be parted from Frithiof. It will be the best thing in the world -for him to have a comfortable little home; and I shall take good care -that he doesn’t work too hard. Mr. Boniface has been so good. He says -that Frithiof can have some extra work to do if he likes; he can attend -some of your concerts, and arrange the platform between the pieces; and -this will add nicely to his salary. And then, too, when he heard that I -had quite decided on accepting Mme. Lechertier’s offer, he proposed -something else for us too.” - -“What was that?” said poor Roy, his heart sinking down like lead. - -“Why, he thinks that he might get us engagements to play at children’s -parties or small dances. Frithiof’s violin playing is quite good enough, -he says. And don’t you think it would be much better for him than poring -so long over that hateful work of Herr Sivertsen’s?” - -Roy was obliged to assent. He saw only too clearly that to speak to her -now of his love would be utterly useless—indeed, worse than useless. She -would certainly refuse him, and there would be an end of the pleasant -intercourse. Moreover, it would be far more difficult to help them, as -they were now able to do in various small ways. - -“Frithiof is rather down in the depths about it,” said Sigrid. “And I do -hope you will cheer him up. After all, it is very silly to think that -there is degradation in any kind of honest work. If you had known what -it was to live in dependence on relations for so long you would -understand how happy I am to-night. I, too, shall be able to help in -paying off the debts!” - -“Is her life also to be given up to that desperate attempt?” thought Roy -despondently. - -And if Sigrid had not been absorbed in her own happy thoughts, his -depression, and perhaps the cause of it, would have been apparent to -her. But she strolled along the garden path beside him, in blissful -ignorance, thinking of a busy, successful future, in which Roy Boniface -played no part at all. - -She was his friend, she liked him heartily. But that was all. Whether -their friendship could ever now deepen into love seemed doubtful. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - -During the next few days Sigrid was absorbed in deep calculations. She -found that, exclusive of Swanhild’s small earnings, which would be -absorbed by her education and the few extras that might be needed, their -actual yearly income would be about £150. Frithiof’s work for Herr -Sivertsen, and whatever they might earn by evening engagements, could be -laid aside toward the fund for paying off the debts, and she thought -that they might perhaps manage to live on the rest. Mrs. Boniface seemed -rather aghast at the notion, and said she thought it impossible. - -“I don’t suppose that we shall spend as little on food as Frithiof did -when he was alone,” said Sigrid, “for he nearly starved himself; and I -don’t mean to allow him to try that again. I see that the great -difficulty will be rent, for that seems so high in London. We were -talking about it this morning, and Frithiof had a bright idea. He says -there are some very cheap flats—workmen’s model lodgings—that might -perhaps do for us; only of course we must make sure that they are quite -healthy before we take Swanhild there.” - -“Clean and healthy they are pretty sure to be,” said Mrs. Boniface, “but -I fancy they have strict rules which might be rather irksome to you. -Still, we can go and make inquiries. After all, you would in some ways -be better off than in ordinary lodgings, where you are at the mercy of -the landlady.” - -So that afternoon they went to an office where they could get -information as to model dwellings, and found that four rooms could be -obtained in some of them at the rate of seven and sixpence a week. At -this their spirits rose not a little, and they drove at once to a block -which was within fairly easy distance both of the shop and of the rooms -in which Madame Lechertier gave her afternoon dancing-classes. - -To outward view the model dwellings were certainly not attractive. The -great high houses with their uniform ugly color, the endless rows of -windows, all precisely alike; the asphalt courtyard in the center, -though tidy and clean, had a desolate look. Still, when you realized -that one might live in such a place for so small a sum, and thought of -many squalid streets where the rental would be twice as high, it was -more easy to appreciate these eminently respectable lodgings. - -“At present we have no rooms to let, sir,” was the answer of the -superintendent to Frithiof’s inquiry. - -Their spirits sank, but rose again when he added, “I think, though, we -are almost certain to have a set vacant before long.” - -“Could we see over them?” they asked. - -“Well, the set that will most likely be vacant belongs to a -north-country family, and I dare say they would let you look in. Here, -Jessie, ask your mother if she would mind just showing her rooms, will -you?” - -The child, glancing curiously at the visitors, led the way up flight -after flight of clean stone stairs, past wide-open windows, through -which the September wind blew freshly, then down a long passage until at -length she reached a door, which she threw open to announce their -advent. A pleasant-looking woman came forward and asked them to step in. - -“You’ll excuse the place being a bit untidy,” she said. “My man has just -got fresh work, and he has but now told me we shall have to be flitting -in a week’s time. We are going to Compton Buildings in the Goswell -Road.” - -After Rowan Tree House, the rooms, of course, felt tiny, and they were a -good deal blocked up with furniture, to say nothing of five small -children who played about in the kitchen. But the place was capitally -planned, every inch was turned to account, and Sigrid thought they might -live there very comfortably. She talked over sundry details with the -present owner. - -“There’s but one thing, miss, I complain of, and that is that they don’t -put in another cupboard or two,” said the good woman. “Give me another -cupboard and I should be quite content. But you see, miss, there’s -always a something that you’d like to alter, go where you will.” - -“I wonder,” said Sigrid, “if we took them, whether I could pay one of -the neighbors to do my share of sweeping and scrubbing the stairs, and -whether I could get them to scrub out these rooms once a week. You see, -I don’t think I could manage the scrubbing very well.” - -“Oh, miss, there would be no difficulty in that,” said the woman. -“There’s many that would be thankful to earn a little that way, and the -same with laundry work. You wont find no difficulty in getting that -done. There’s Mrs. Hallifield in the next set; she would be glad enough -to do it, I know, and you couldn’t have a pleasanter neighbor; she’s a -bit lonesome, poor thing, with her husband being so much away. He’s a -tram-car man, he is, and gets terrible long hours week-day and Sunday -alike.” - -Owing to the good woman’s north-country accent Sigrid had not been able -quite to follow this last speech, but she understood enough to awaken in -her a keen curiosity, and to show her that their new life might have -plenty of human interest in it. She looked out of one of the windows at -the big square of houses and tried to picture the hundreds of lives -which were being lived in them. - -“Do you know, I begin to like this great court-yard,” she said to Cecil. -“At first it looked to me dreary, but now it looks to me like a great, -orderly human hive; there is something about it that makes one feel -industrious.” - -“We will settle down here, then,” said Frithiof, smiling; “and you shall -be queen bee.” - -“You think it would not hurt Swanhild?” asked Sigrid, turning to Mrs. -Boniface. “The place seems to me beautifully airy.” - -“Indeed,” said Mrs. Boniface, “I think in many ways the place is most -comfortable, and certainly you could not do better, unless you give a -very much higher rent.” - -But nevertheless she sighed a little, for though she admired the -resolute way in which these two young things set to work to make the -best of their altered life, yet she could not help feeling that they -scarcely realized how long and tedious must be the process of slowly -economizing on a narrow income until the burden which they had taken on -their shoulders could at length be removed. Even to try to pay off debts -which must be reckoned by thousands out of precarious earnings which -would be counted by slow and toilsome units, seemed to her hopeless. Her -kind, gentle nature was without that fiber of dauntless resolution which -strengthened the characters of the two Norwegians. She did not -understand that the very difficulty of the task incited them to make the -attempt, nerved them for the struggle, and stimulated them to that -wonderful energy of patience which overcomes everything. - -As for Sigrid, she was now in her element. A true woman, she delighted -in the thought of having rooms of her own to furnish and arrange. She -thought of them by day, she dreamed of them by night; she pored over -store lists and furniture catalogues, and amused them all by her -comments. - -“Beds are ruinously dear,” she said, after making elaborate -calculations. “We must have three really comfortable ones since we mean -to work hard all day, and they must certainly be new; the three of them -with all their belongings will not leave very much out of twelve pounds, -I fear. But then as to chairs and tables they might well be second-hand, -and we wont go in for a single luxury; it will look rather bare, but -then there will be less trouble about cleaning and dusting.” - -“You will become such a domestic character that we shant know you,” said -Frithiof, laughing. “What do you think we can possibly furnish the rooms -on?” - -“Wait a moment and I’ll add up my list,” she said cheerfully. “I never -knew before how many things there were in a house that one can’t do well -without. Now that must surely be all. No, I have forgotten brushes and -brooms and such things. Now then for the adding up. You check me, Cecil, -for fear I make it too little—this is a terrible moment.” - -“Twenty-eight pounds,” exclaimed both girls in a breath. - -“You can surely never do it on that?” said Cecil. - -“It seems a great deal to me,” said Sigrid; “still, I have more than -that over from uncle’s fifty-pound check, even after Doctor Morris is -paid. No, on the whole, I think we need not worry, but may spend as much -as that with a clear conscience. The thing I am anxious about is my -weekly bill. Look here, we must somehow manage to live on one hundred -and forty-five pounds a year, that will leave five pounds in case of -illness or any great need. For charity it leaves nothing, but we can’t -give while we are in debt. Two pounds fifteen shillings a week for three -of us! Why, poor people live on far less.” - -“But then you are accustomed to such a different way of living,” said -Cecil. - -“That’s true. But still, I think it can somehow be done. You must still -go on with your sixpenny dinners, Frithiof, for it will fit in better. -Then as you and Swanhild will be out all day and I am out for a great -part of the year in the afternoon, I think our coals will last well, -only one fire for part of the day will surely not ruin us.” - -“Let me see that neatly arranged paper,” said Frithiof. “I have become -rather a connoisseur in the matter of cheap living, and you had better -take me into your counsels.” - -“You don’t know anything about it,” said Sigrid, laughing. “Yours was -not cheap living but cheap starving, which in the end is a costly -affair.” - -Frithiof did not argue the point, having in truth often known what -hunger meant in the old days; but he possessed himself of the paper and -studied it carefully. It contained for him much more than the bare -details, it was full of a great hope, of an eager expectation, the -smallness of each item represented a stepping-stone in the highway of -honor, a daily and hourly clearing of his father’s name. He looked long -at the carefully considered list. - - £ s. d. - - Food, 1 2 0 - Rent, 0 7 6 - Fuel and light, 0 2 0 - Laundress, 0 5 0 - Charwoman, 0 3 0 - Clothing, 0 14 0 - Extras, 0 1 6 - —— —— —— - Total, £2 15 0 - —— —— —— - -“With a clever manager it will be quite possible,” he said, “and you are -no novice, Sigrid, but have been keeping house for the last eleven -years.” - -“After a fashion,” she replied, “but old Gro really managed things. -However, I know that I shall really enjoy trying my hand at anything so -novel, and you will have to come and see me very often, Cecil, to -prevent my turning into a regular housekeeping drudge.” - -Cecil laughed and promised, and the two girls talked merrily together as -they stitched away at the household linen, Frithiof looking up from his -newspaper every now and then to listen. Things had so far brightened -with him that he was ready to take up his life again with patience, but -he had his days of depression even now, though, for Sigrid’s sake, he -tried not to give way more than could be helped. There was no denying, -however, that Blanche had clouded his life, and though he never -mentioned her name, and as far as possible crowded the very thought of -her out of his mind, resolutely turning to work, or books, or the lives -of others, yet her influence was still strong with him, and was one of -the worst foes he had to fight against. It was constantly mocking him -with the vanity of human hopes, with the foolishness of his perfect -trust which had been so grossly betrayed; it was an eternal temptation -to think less highly of women, to take refuge in cynical contempt, and -to sink into a hard, joyless skepticism. - -On the other hand, Sigrid, as his sister, and Cecil, as a perfectly -frank and outspoken friend, were no small help to him in the battle. -They could not altogether enter into his thoughts or wholly understand -the loneliness and bitterness of his life, any more than he could enter -into their difficulties, for, even when surrounded by those we love, it -is almost always true that - - “Our hermit spirits dwell and range apart.” - -But they made life a very different thing to him and gave him courage to -go on, for they were a continual protest against that lowered side of -womanhood that Blanche had revealed to him. One woman having done her -best to ruin the health alike of his body and his soul, it remained for -these two to counteract her bad influence, and to do for him all that -can be done by sisterly love and pure unselfish friendship. - -If there is one thing more striking to an observer of life than any -other it is the strange law of compensation, and its wholly unexpected -working. We see people whose lives are smooth and easy rendered -miserable by some very trifling cause. And, again, we see people whose -griefs and wrongs are heartrending, and behold in spite of their sorrows -they can take pleasure in some very slight amusement, which seems to -break into their darkened lives with a welcome brightness enhanced by -contrast. It was thus with Frithiof. He entered, as men seldom trouble -themselves to enter, into all the minutiæ of the furnishing, spent hours -in Roy’s workshop busy at the carpenter’s bench over such things as -could be made or mended, and enjoyed heartily the planning and arranging -which a year ago he would have voted an intolerable bore. - -At length the day came when they were to leave Rowan Tree House. Every -one was sorry to lose them, and they felt going very much, for it was -impossible to express how much those restful weeks had done for them -both. They each tried to say something of the sort to Mr. and Mrs. -Boniface, but not very successfully, for Sigrid broke down and cried, -and Frithiof felt that to put very deep gratitude into words is a task -which might well baffle the readiest speaker. However, there was little -need for speech on either side. - -“And when you want change or rest,” said Mrs. Boniface, shaking his hand -warmly, “you have only got to lock up your rooms and come down here to -us. There will always be a welcome ready for the three of you. Don’t -forget that.” - -“Let it be your second home,” said Mr. Boniface. - -Cecil, who was the one to feel most, said least. She merely shook hands -with him, made some trifling remark about the time of Swanhild’s train, -and wished him good-by; then, with a sore heart, watched the brother and -sister as they stepped into the carriage and drove away. - -That chapter of her life was over, and she was quite well aware that the -next chapter would seem terribly dull and insipid. For a moment the -thought alarmed her. - -“What have I been doing,” she said to herself, “to let this love get so -great a hold on me? Why is it that no other man in the world seems to me -worth a thought, even though he may be better, and may live a nobler -life than Frithiof?” - -She could not honestly blame herself, for it seemed to her that this -strange love had, as the poet says, “Slid into her soul like light.” -Unconsciously it had begun at their very first meeting on the steamer at -Bergen; it had caused that vague trouble and uneasiness which had seized -her at Balholm, and had sprung into conscious existence when Frithiof -had come to them in England, poor, heartbroken, and despairing. The -faithlessness of another woman had revealed to her the passionate -devotion which surged in her own heart, and during these weeks of close -companionship her love had deepened inexpressibly. She faced these facts -honestly, with what Mrs. Horner would have termed “an entire absence of -maidenly propriety.” For luckily Cecil was not in the habit of -marshalling her thoughts into the prim routine prescribed by the world -in general, she had deeper principles to fall back upon than the -conventionalities of such women as Mrs. Horner, and she did not think it -well either willfully to blind herself to the truth, or to cheat her -heart into believing a lie. Quite quietly she admitted to herself that -she loved Frithiof, with a pain which it was impossible to ignore, she -allowed that he did not love her, and that it was quite possible—nay, -highly probable—that she might never be fit to be more to him than a -friend. - -Here were the true facts, and she must make the best she could of them. -The thought somehow braced her up. Was “the best” to sit there in her -room sobbing as if her heart would break? How could her tears serve -Frithiof? How could they do anything but weaken her own character and -unfit her for work? They did not even relieve her, for such pain is to -be relieved, not by tears, but by active life. No, she must just go on -living and making the most of what had been given her, leaving the rest - - “In His high hand - Who doth hearts like streams command.” - -For her faith was no vague shadow, but a most practical reality, and in -all her pain she was certain that somehow this love of hers was to be of -use, as all real love is bound to be. She stood for some minutes at the -open window; a bird was perched on a tree close by, and she watched it -and noticed how, when suddenly it flew away, the branch quivered and -trembled. - -“It is after all only natural to feel this going away,” she reflected. -“Like the tree, I shall soon grow steady again.” And then she heard -Lance’s voice calling her, and, going to the nursery, found a childish -dispute in need of settling, and tiny arms to cling about her, and soft -kisses to comfort her. - -Meanwhile, Frithiof and Sigrid had reached the model lodgings, and, key -in hand, were toiling up the long flights of stone stairs. All had been -arranged on the previous day, and now, as they unlocked their door, the -moment seemed to them a grave one, for they were about to begin a new -and unknown life. Sigrid’s heart beat quickly as they entered the little -sitting-room. The door opened straight into it, which was a drawback, -but Mrs. Boniface’s present of a fourfold Japanese screen gave warmth -and privacy, and picturesqueness, by shutting off that corner from view; -and, in spite of extreme economy in furnishing, the place looked very -pretty. A cheerful crimson carpet covered the floor, the buff-colored -walls were bare indeed, for there was a rule against knocking in nails, -but the picture of Bergen stood on the mantel-piece between the -photographs of their father and mother, serving as a continual -remembrance of home and of a countryman’s kindness. Facing the fire was -a cottage piano lent by Mr. Boniface for as long as they liked to keep -it, and on the open shelves above a corner cupboard were ranged the blue -willow-pattern cups and saucers which Sigrid had delighted in buying. - -“They were much too effective to be banished to the kitchen, were they -not?” she said. “I am sure they are far prettier than a great deal of -the rare old china I have seen put up in drawing-rooms.” - -“How about the fire?” said Frithiof. “Shall I light it?” - -“Yes; do. We must have a little one to boil the kettle, and Swanhild is -sure to come in cold after that long journey. I’ll just put these -flowers into Cecil’s little vases. How lovely they are! Do you know, -Frithiof, I think our new life is going to be like the smell of these -chrysanthemums—healthy and good, and a sort of bitter-sweet.” - -“I never knew they had any smell,” he said, still intent on his fire. - -“Live and learn,” said Sigrid, laughingly holding out to him the basket -of beautiful flowers—red, white, crimson, yellow, russet, and in every -variety. - -He owned that she was right. And just as with the scent of violets there -always rose before him the picture of the crowded church, and of Blanche -in her bridal dress, so ever after the scent of chrysanthemums brought -back to him the bright little room and the flickering light of the newly -kindled fire, and Sigrid’s golden hair and sweet face. So that, in -truth, these flowers were to him a sort of tonic, as she had said, -“Healthy and good.” - -“I should like to come to King’s Cross too,” said Sigrid. “But perhaps -it is better that I should stay here and get things quite ready. I hope -Swanhild will turn up all right. She seems such a little thing to travel -all that way alone.” - -When he had set off, she began with great satisfaction to lay the table -for tea; the white cloth was certainly coarse; but she had bought it and -hemmed it, and declared that fine damask would not have suited the -willow-pattern plates nearly so well. Then, after a struggle, the tin of -pressed beef was opened, and the loaf and butter and the vases of -chrysanthemums put in their places, and the toast made and standing -before the fire to keep hot. After that she kept putting a touch here -and a touch there to one thing and another, and then standing back to -see how it looked, much as an artist does when finishing a picture. How -would it strike Swanhild? was the thought which was always with her. She -put everything tidy in the bare little kitchen, where, in truth, there -was not one unnecessary piece of furniture. She took some of Frithiof’s -things out of his portmanteau, and made his narrow little bedroom look -more habitable; and she lingered long in the room with the two beds side -by side, tidying and arranging busily, but running back into the -sitting-room every few minutes to see that all was well there. - -At last she heard the door-handle turned, and Frithiof’s voice. - -“You’ll find her quite a domesticated character,” he was saying; and in -another minute Swanhild was in her arms, none the worse for her lonely -journey, but very glad to feel her cares at an end. - -“Oh, Sigrid!” she cried, with childlike glee; “what a dear, funny little -room! And how cosy you have made it! Why, there’s the picture of Bergen! -and oh, what a pretty-looking tea-table! I’m dreadfully hungry, Sigrid. -I was afraid to get out of the train for fear it should go on. They seem -to go so dreadfully fast here, everything is in a bustle.” - -“You poor child, you must be starving!” cried Sigrid. “Come and take -your things off quickly. She really looks quite thin and pale, does she -not, Frithiof?” - -He glanced at the fair, merry little face, smiling at him from under its -fringe of golden hair. - -“She doesn’t feel so very bony,” he said, laughing. - -“Oh, and I did eat something,” explained Swanhild. “There was an old -lady who gave me two sandwiches, but they were so dreadfully full of -fat. I do really think there ought to be a law against putting fat in -sandwiches so that you bite a whole mouthful of it.” - -They all laugh, and Frithiof, who was unstrapping the box which he had -carried up, looked so cheerful and bright, that Sigrid began to think -Swanhild might prove a very valuable little companion. - -“What do you think of your new bedroom?” he asked. - -“It’s lovely!” cried Swanhild. “What a funny, round bath, and such a -tiny tin washing-stand, just like the one in the old doll’s house on -three legs. And oh, Sigrid, auntie has sent us three lovely eider-down -quilts as a Christmas present, only she thought I might as well bring -them now.” - -It was a very merry meal, that first tea in the model lodgings. Swanhild -had so much to tell them and so much to hear, and they lingered at the -table with a pleasant consciousness that actual work did not begin till -the following day. - -“There’s one thing which we had better make up our minds to at once,” -said Sigrid, when at length they rose. “Since we have got to wait on -ourselves, we may as well try to enjoy it and get what fun we can out of -it. Come, Swanhild, I will wash the tea-things and you shall dry them.” - -“As for me,” said Frithiof, suddenly appearing at the kitchen door in -his shirt sleeves, “I am shoe-black to the establishment.” - -“You! oh, Frithiof!” cried Swanhild, startled into gravity. There was -something incongruous in the idea of her big brother turning to this -sort of work. - -“I assure you it is in the bond,” he said, smiling. “Sigrid is cook and -housekeeper; you are the lady-help; and I am the man for the coals, -knives, and boots. Every respectable household has a man for that part -of the work, you know.” - -“Yes, yes,” she hesitated; “but you—” - -“She clearly doesn’t think me competent,” he said, laughingly -threatening her with his brush. - -“Order! order! you two, or there will be teacups broken,” said Sigrid, -laughing. “I believe he will do the boots quite scientifically, for he -has really studied the subject. There, put the china in the -sitting-room, Swanhild, on the corner shelves, and then we will come and -unpack.” - -By nine o’clock everything was arranged, and they came back to the -sitting-room, where Frithiof had lighted the pretty little lamp, and was -writing to Herr Sivertsen to say he would be glad of more work. - -“Come,” said Sigrid, “the evening wont be complete without some music, -and I am dying to try that piano. What shall be the first thing we play -in our new home, Swanhild?” - -“‘For Norge,’” said the little girl promptly. - -“Do you know we had quite a discussion about that at Rowan Tree House -the other night,” said Sigrid. “They were all under the impression that -it was an English air, and only knew it as a glee called “The Hardy -Norseman.” Mr. Boniface calls Frithiof his Hardy Norseman because he got -well so quickly.” - -“Come and sing, Frithiof, do come,” pleaded Swanhild, slipping her hand -caressingly into his and drawing him toward the piano. And willingly -enough he consented, and in their new home in this foreign land they -sang together the stirring national song— - - “To Norway, mother of the brave, - We crown the cup of pleasure, - And dream our freedom come again - And grasp the vanished treasure. - When once the mighty task’s begun, - The glorious race is swift to run; - To Norway, mother of the brave, - We crown the cup of pleasure. - - * * * * * - - “Then drink to Norway’s hills sublime, - Rocks, snows, and glens profound; - ‘Success!’ her thousand echoes cry, - And thank us with the sound. - Old Dovre mingles with our glee, - And joins our shouts with three times three. - Then drink to Norway’s hills sublime. - Rocks, snows, and glens profound.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - -“My dear, she is charming, your little Swanhild! She is a born dancer -and catches up everything with the greatest ease,” said Madame -Lechertier one autumn afternoon, when Sigrid at the usual time entered -the big, bare room where the classes were held. She was dressed at -madame’s request in her pretty peasant costume, and Swanhild, also, had -for the first time donned hers, which, unlike Sigrid’s, was made with -the shortest of skirts, and, as Madame Lechertier said, would prove an -admirable dress for a pupil teacher. - -“You think she will really be of use to you, Madame?” asked Sigrid, -glancing to the far end of the big room, where the child was, for her -own amusement, practicing a step which she had just learnt. “If she is -no good we should not of course like her to take any money.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Madame Lechertier, patting her on the shoulder -caressingly. “You are independent and proud, I know it well enough. But -I assure you, Swanhild will be a first-rate little teacher, and I am -delighted to have her. There is no longer any need for her to come to me -every morning, for I have taught her all that she will at present need, -and no doubt you are in a hurry for her to go on with her ordinary -schooling.” - -“I have arranged for her to go to a high school, in the mornings, after -Christmas,” said Sigrid, “and she must, till then, work well at her -English or she will not take a good place. It will be a very busy life -for her, but then we are all of us strong and able to get through a good -deal.” - -“And her work with me is purely physical and will not overtask her,” -said Madame, glancing with approving eyes at the pretty little figure at -the end of the room. “Dear little soul! she has the most perfect manners -I ever saw in a child! Her charm to me is that she is so bright and -unaffected. What is it, I wonder, that makes you Norwegians so -spontaneous? so perfectly simple and courteous?” - -“In England,” said Sigrid, “people seem to me to have two sides, a rough -home side, and a polite society side. The Bonifaces reverse the order -and keep their beautiful side for home and a rather shy side for -society, but still they, like all the English people I have met, have -distinctly two manners. In Norway there is nothing of that. I think -perhaps we think less about the impression we are making; and I think -Norwegians more naturally respect each other.” - -She was quite right; it was this beautiful respect, this reverence for -the rights and liberties of each other, that made the little home in the -model lodgings so happy; while her own sunny brightness and sweetness of -temper made the atmosphere wholesome. Frithiof, once more amid congenial -surroundings, seemed to regain his native courtesy, and though Mr. -Horner still disliked him, most of those with whom he daily came in -contact learnt at any rate to respect him, and readily forgave him his -past pride and haughtiness when they learnt how ill he had been and saw -what a change complete recovery had wrought in him. - -Swanhild prospered well on that first Saturday afternoon, and Madame -Lechertier was quite satisfied with her little idea as to the Norwegian -costumes; the pretty foreigner at the piano, and the dainty little Norse -girl who danced so bewitchingly, caused quite a sensation in the class, -and the two sisters went home in high spirits, delighted to have pleased -their kind-hearted employer. They had only just returned and taken off -their walking things when there came a loud knock at the door. Swanhild -still in her Hardanger dress ran to see what was wanted, and could -hardly help laughing at the funny-looking old man who inquired whether -Frithiof were in. - -“Still out, you say,” he panted; “very provoking. I specially wanted to -see him on a matter of urgency.” - -“Will you not come in and wait?” said the child. “Frithiof will soon be -home.” - -“Thank you,” said old Herr Sivertsen. “These stairs are terrible work. I -shall be glad not to have to climb them again. But houses are all alike -in London—all alike! Story after story, till they’re no better than the -Tower of Babel.” - -Sigrid came forward with her pretty, bright greeting and made the old -man sit down by the fire. - -“Frithiof has gone for a walk with a friend of his,” she explained. “But -he will be home in a few minutes. I always persuade him to take a good -walk on Saturday if possible.” - -“In consequence of which he doesn’t get through half as much work for -me,” said Herr Sivertsen. “However, you are quite right. He needed more -exercise. Is he quite well again?” - -“Quite well, thank you; though I suppose he will never be so strong as -he once was,” she said a little sadly. “You see, overwork and trouble -and poor living must in the long run injure even a strong man.” - -“There are no strong men nowadays, it seems to me,” said the old author -gruffly. “They all knock up sooner or later—a degenerate race—a -worthless generation.” - -“Well, the doctor says he must have had a very fine constitution to have -recovered so fast,” said Sigrid. “Still, I feel rather afraid sometimes -of his doing too much again. Were you going to suggest some more work -for him?” - -“Yes, I was; but perhaps it is work in which you could help him,” said -Herr Sivertsen, and he explained to her his project. - -“If only I could make time for it,” she cried. “But you see we all have -very busy lives. I have to see to the house almost entirely, and there -is always either mending or making in hand. And Swanhild and I are out -every afternoon at Madame Lechertier’s academy. By the by, that is why -we have on these peasant costumes, which must have surprised you.” - -“It is a pretty dress, and takes me back to my old days at home,” said -Herr Sivertsen. “As to the work, do what you can of it, there is no -immediate hurry. Here comes your brother!” and the old man at once -button-holed Frithiof, while Roy, who had returned with him, was ready -enough to talk with Sigrid as she stood by the fire making toast, little -Swanhild in the mean time setting the table for afternoon tea, lighting -the lamp, and drawing the curtains. - -Herr Sivertsen found himself drinking tea before he knew what he was -about, and the novelty of the little household quite shook him out of -his gruff surliness. Strange bygone memories came floating back to him -as he listened to the two girls’ merry talk, watched them as suddenly -they broke into an impromptu dance, and begged them to sing to him the -old tunes which for so many years he had not heard. - -“I am sorry to say,” observed Sigrid, laughing, “that our next-door -neighbor, Mrs. Hallifield, tells me the general belief in the house is -that we belong to the Christy Minstrels. English people don’t seem to -understand that one can dance and sing at home for pure pleasure and not -professionally.” - -After that the old author often paid them a visit, and they learned to -like him very much and to enjoy his tirades against the degenerate -modern race. And thus with hard work, enlivened now and then by a visit -to Rowan Tree House, or by a call from the Bonifaces, the winter slipped -by, and the trees grew green once more, and they were obliged to own -that even this smoky London had a beauty all its own. - -“Did you ever see anything so lovely as all this pink may and yellow -laburnum?” cried Sigrid, as one spring evening she and Frithiof walked -westward to fulfill one of the evening engagements to which they had now -become pretty well accustomed. - -“No; we had nothing equal to this at Bergen,” he admitted, and in very -good spirits they walked on, past the great wealthy houses; he with his -violin-case, and she with a big roll of music, well content with the -success they had worked hard to win, and not at all disposed to envy the -West End people. It was indeed a great treat to Sigrid to have a glimpse -of so different a life. She had toiled so often up the long stone -stairs, that to be shown up a wide, carpeted staircase, into which one’s -feet seemed to sink as into moss, was a delightful change, and snugly -ensconced in her little corner behind the piano, she liked to watch the -prettily decorated rooms and the arrival of the gayly dressed people. -Frithiof, who had at first greatly disliked this sort of work, had -become entirely accustomed to it: it no longer hurt his pride, for -Sigrid had nearly succeeded in converting him to her doctrine, that a -noble motive ennobles any work; and if ever things annoyed him or chafed -his independence, he thought of the debts at Bergen, and was once more -ready to endure anything. This evening he happened to be particularly -cheerful; things had gone well lately at the shop; his health was -increasing every day, and the home atmosphere had done a great deal to -banish the haunting thoughts of the past which in solitude had so preyed -on his mind. They discussed the people in Norwegian during the -intervals, and in a quiet way were contriving to get a good deal of fun -out of the evening, when suddenly their peace was invaded by the -unexpected sight of the very face which Frithiof had so strenuously -tried to exile from his thoughts. They had just finished a waltz. Sigrid -looked up from her music and saw, only a few yards distant from her, the -pretty willowy figure, the glowing face and dark eyes and siren-like -smile of Lady Romiaux. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating, -then with a wild hope that possibly Frithiof might not have noticed her, -she turned to him with intense anxiety. But his profile looked as though -it were carved in white stone, and she saw only too plainly that the -hope was utterly vain. - -“Frithiof,” she said in Norwegian, “you are faint. Go out into the cool -and get some water before the next dance.” - -He seemed to hear her voice, but not to take in her words; there was a -dazed look in his face, and such despair in his eyes that her heart -failed her. All the terrible dread for his health again returned to her. -It seemed as if nothing could free him from the fatal influence which -Blanche had gained over him. - -How she longed to get up and rush from the house! How she loathed that -woman who stood flirting with the empty-headed man standing at her side! -If it had not been for her perfidy how different all might now be! - -“I can’t help hating her!” thought poor Sigrid. “She has ruined -Frithiof’s life, and now in one moment has undone the work of months. -She brought about my father’s failure; if she had been true we should -not now be toiling to pay off these terrible debts—hundreds of homes in -Bergen would have been saved from a cruel loss—and he—my father—he might -have been alive and well! How can I help hating her?” - -At that moment Blanche happened to catch sight of them. The color -deepened in her cheeks. - -“Have they come to that?” she thought. “Oh, poor things! How sorry I am -for them! Papa told me Herr Falck had failed; but to have sunk so low! -Well, since they lost all their money it was a mercy that all was over -between us. And yet, if I had been true to him—” - -Her companion wondered what made her so silent all at once. But in truth -poor Blanche might well be silent, for into her mind there flashed a -dreadful vision of past sins; standing there in the ball-room in her gay -satin dress and glittering diamonds, there had come to her, almost for -the first time, a sense of responsibility for the evil she had wrought. -It was not Frithiof’s life alone that she had rendered miserable. She -had sinned far more deeply against her husband, and though in a sort of -bravado she tried to persuade herself that she cared for nothing, and -accepted the invitations sent her by the people who would still receive -her at their houses, she was all the time most wretched. So strangely -had good and evil tendencies been mingled in her nature that she caught -herself wondering sometimes whether she really was one woman; she had -her refined side and her vulgar side; she could be one day -tender-hearted and penitent, and the next day a hard woman of the world; -she could at one time be the Blanche of that light-hearted Norwegian -holiday, and at another the Lady Romiaux of notoriety. - -“How extraordinary that I should chance to meet my Viking here!” she -thought to herself. “How very much older he looks! How very much his -face has altered! One would have thought that to come down in the world -would have cowed him a little; but it seems somehow to have given him -dignity. I positively feel afraid of him. I, who could once turn him -round my finger—I, for whom he would have died! How ridiculous of me to -be afraid! After all, I could soon get my old power over him if I chose -to try. I will go and speak to them; it would be rude not to notice them -in their new position, poor things.” - -With a word of explanation to her partner she hastily crossed over to -the piano. But when she met Frithiof’s eyes her heart began to beat -painfully, and once more the feeling of fear returned to her. He looked -very grave, very sad, very determined. The greeting which she had -intended to speak died away on her lips; instead, she said, rather -falteringly: - -“Will you tell me the name of the last waltz?” - -He bowed, and began to turn over the pile of music to find the piece. - -“Frithiof,” she whispered, “have you forgotten me? Have you nothing to -say to me?” - -But he made as though he did not hear her, gravely handed her the music, -then, turning away, took up his violin and signed to Sigrid to begin the -next dance. - -Poor Blanche was eagerly claimed by her next partner, and with burning -cheeks and eyes bright with unshed tears, was whirled off though her -feet seemed weighted and almost refused to keep time with that violin -whose tones seemed to tear her heart. “I have no longer any power over -him,” she thought. “I have so shocked and disgusted him that he will not -even recognize me—will not answer me when I speak to him! How much -nobler he is than these little toads with whom I have to dance, these -wretches who flatter me, yet all the time despise me in their hearts! -Oh, what a fool I have been to throw away a heart like that, to be -dazzled by a mere name, and, worst of all, to lose not only his love but -his respect! I shall see his face in a moment as we go past that corner. -There he is! How sad and stern he looks, and how resolutely he goes on -playing! I shall hate this tune all my life long. I have nothing left -but the power to give him pain—I who long to help him, who am tortured -by this regret!” - -All this time she was answering the foolish words of her partner at -random. And the evening wore on, and she laughed mechanically and talked -by rote, and danced, oh, how wearily! thinking often of a description of -the Inferno she had lately seen in one of the magazines, in which the -people were obliged to go on pretending to amuse themselves, and -dancing, as she now danced, when they only longed to lie down and die. - -“But, after all, I can stop,” she reflected. “I am not in the Inferno -yet—at least I suppose not, though I doubt if it can be much worse than -this. How pretty and innocent that little fair-haired girl looks—white -net and lilies of the valley; I should think it must be her first dance. -Will she ever grow like me, I wonder? Perhaps some one will say to her, -‘That is the celebrated Lady Romiaux.’ Perhaps she will read the -newspapers when the case comes on, as it must come soon. They may do her -terrible harm. Oh, if only I could undo the past! I never thought of all -this at the time. I never thought till now of any one but myself.” - -That thought of the possibility of stopping the dismal mockery of -enjoyment came to her again, and she eagerly seized the first -opportunity of departure; but when once the strain of the excitement was -over her strength all at once evaporated. Feeling sick and faint, she -lay back in a cushioned chair in the cloak-room; her gold plush mantle -and the lace mantilla which she wore on her head made her look ghastly -pale, and the maid came up to her with anxious inquiries. - -“It is nothing but neuralgia,” she replied wearily. “Let them call my -carriage.” - -And then came a confused sound of wheels outside in the street and -shouts echoing through the night, while from above came the sound of the -dancers, and that resolute, indefatigable violin still going on with the -monotonous air of “Sir Roger de Coverley,” as though it were played by a -machine rather than by a man with a weary head and a heavy heart. -Blanche wandered back to recollections of Balholm; she saw that merry -throng in the inn parlor, she saw Ole Kvikne with his kindly smile, and -Herr Falck with his look of content, and she flew down the long lines of -merry dancers once more to meet Frithiof—the boyish, happy-looking -Frithiof with whom she had danced “Sir Roger” two years ago. - -“Lady Romiaux’s carriage is at the door,” said a voice, and she hastily -got up, made her way through the brightly lighted hall, and with a sense -of relief stepped into her brougham. Still the violin played on, its gay -tune ringing out with that strange sadness which dance music at a -distance often suggests. Blanche could bear it no longer; she drew up -the carriage window, sank back into the corner, and broke into a -passionate fit of weeping. - -It was quite possible for Lady Romiaux to go, but the dance was not yet -over, and Frithiof and Sigrid had, of course, to stay to the bitter end. -Sigrid, tired as she was herself, had hardly a thought for anything -except her twin. As that long, long evening wore on it seemed to her -that if possible she loved him better than she had ever done before; his -quiet endurance appealed to her very strongly, but for his sake she -eagerly wished for the end, for she saw by the look of his forehead that -one of his worst headaches had come on. - -And at length the programme had been toiled through. She hurried -downstairs to put on her cloak and hat, rejoining Frithiof in a few -minutes in the crowded hall, where he stood looking, to her fond fancy, -a thousand times nobler and grander than any of the other men about him. - -He gave a sigh of relief as they passed from the heated atmosphere of -the house into the cool darkness without. The stars were still visible, -but faint tokens of the coming dawn were already to be seen in the -eastern sky. The stillness was delightful after the noise of the music -and dancing, which had so jarred upon him; but he realized now how great -the strain had been, and even out here in the quiet night it seemed to -him that shadowy figures were being whirled past him, and that Blanche’s -eyes were still seeking him out. - -“You are very tired?” asked Sigrid, slipping her arm into his. - -“Yes, tired to death,” he said. “It is humiliating for a fellow to be -knocked up by so little.” - -“I do not call it ‘little,’” she said eagerly. “You know quite well it -was neither the heat nor the work which tired you. Oh, Frithiof, how -could that woman dare to speak to you!” - -“Hush!” he said sadly. “Talking only makes it worse. I wish you would -drive the thought out of my head with something else. Say me some -poetry—anything.” - -“I hardly know what I can say unless it is an old poem that Cecil gave -me when we were at Rowan Tree House, but I don’t think it is in your -style quite.” - -“Anything will do,” he said. - -“Well, you shall have it then; it is an old fourteenth-century hymn.” -And in her clear voice she repeated the following lines as they walked -home through the deserted streets: - - “Fighting the battle of life, - With a weary heart and head; - For in the midst of the strife - The banners of joy are fled! - Fled, and gone out of sight, - When I thought they were so near, - And the murmur of hope this night - Is dying away on my ear. - - Fighting alone to-night, - With not even a stander-by - To cheer me on in the fight, - Or to hear me when I cry; - Only the Lord can hear, - Only the Lord can see, - The struggle within, how dark and drear, - Though quiet the outside be. - - Lord, I would fain be still - And quiet behind my shield, - But make me to know Thy will, - For fear I should ever yield; - Even as now my hands, - So doth my folded will, - Lie waiting Thy commands, - Without one anxious thrill. - - But as with sudden pain - My hands unfold and clasp, - So doth my will stand up again - And take its old firm grasp; - Nothing but perfect trust, - And love of Thy perfect will, - Can raise me out of the dust, - And bid my fears be still. - - Oh, Lord, Thou hidest Thy face, - And the battle-clouds prevail; - Oh, grant me Thy sweet grace, - That I may not utterly fail. - Fighting alone to-night, - With what a beating heart! - Lord Jesus in the fight, - Oh! stand not Thou apart!” - -He made no comment at all when she had ended the poem, but in truth it -had filled his mind with other thoughts. And the dim, dreary streets -through which they walked, and the gradually increasing light in the -east, seemed like a picture of his own life, for there dawned for him in -his sadness a clearer revelation of the Unseen than had ever before been -granted him. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - -It seemed to Sigrid that she had hardly gone to bed before it was time -to get up again; she sleepily wished that Londoners would give dances at -more reasonable hours, then, remembering all that had happened, she -forgot her own weariness and turned with an eager question to Swanhild. -It was the little sister’s daily duty to go in and wake Frithiof up, a -task of some difficulty, for either his bad habit of working at night -during his lonely year in town, or else his illness, had left him with a -tendency to be wide awake between twelve and two and sound asleep -between six and seven. - -“You haven’t called him yet, have you?” asked Sigrid, rubbing her eyes. - -“No, but it is quite time,” said Swanhild, shutting up her atlas and -rearing up in the bed where she had been luxuriously learning geography. - -“Oh, leave him a little longer,” said Sigrid. “We were so late last -night, and his head was so bad, that I don’t suppose he has had much -sleep. And, Swanhild, whatever you do, don’t speak of the dance to him -or ask him any questions. As ill luck would have it Lady Romiaux was -there.” - -Now Swanhild was a very imaginative child, and she was just at the age -when girls form extravagant adorations for women. At Balholm she had -worshiped Blanche; even when told afterward how badly Frithiof had been -treated her love had not faltered, she had invented every possible -excuse for her idol, and though never able to speak of her, still -cherished a little hoard of souvenirs of Balholm. There is something -laughable and yet touching in these girlish adorations, and as -safeguards against premature thoughts of real love they are certainly -worthy of all encouragement. Men were at present nothing at all to her -but a set of big brothers, who did well enough as playfellows. All the -romance of her nature was spent on an ideal Blanche—how unlike the real -Lady Romiaux innocent Swanhild never guessed. While the world talked -hard things, this little Norwegian girl was secretly kissing a fir-cone, -which Blanche had once picked up on their way to the priest’s _saeter_, -or furtively unwrapping a withered rose which had been fastened in -Blanche’s hair at the merry dance on that Saturday night. Her heart beat -so fast that she felt almost choked when Sigrid suddenly mentioned Lady -Romiaux’s name. - -“How was she looking?” she asked, turning away her blushing face with -the most comical parody of a woman’s innate tendency to hide her love. - -“Oh, she was looking just as usual, as pretty, and as siren-like as -ever, wretched woman!” Then, remembering that Swanhild was too young to -hear all the truth, she suddenly drew up. “But there, don’t speak of her -any more. I never wish to hear her name again.” - -Poor Swanhild sighed; she thought Sigrid very hard and unforgiving, and -this made her cling all the more to her beloved ideal; it was true she -had been faithless to Frithiof, but no doubt she was very sorry by this -time, and as the child knelt down to say her morning prayers she paused -long over the petition for “Blanche,” which for all this time had never -been omitted once. - -Frithiof came to breakfast only a few minutes before the time when he -had to start for business. His eyes looked very heavy, and his face had -the pale, set look which Sigrid had learnt to interpret only too well. -She knew that while they had been sleeping he had been awake, struggling -with those old memories which at times would return to him; he had -conquered, but the conquest had left him weary, and exhausted and -depressed. - -“If only she had been true to him!” thought Swanhild. “Poor Blanche! if -he looked at all like this last night how terribly sorry she must have -felt.” - -After all, the child with her warm-hearted forgiveness, and her scanty -knowledge of facts, was perhaps a good deal nearer the truth than -Sigrid. Certainly Blanche was not the ideal of her dreams, but she was -very far from being the hopelessly depraved character that Sigrid deemed -her; she was a woman who had sinned very deeply, but she was not utterly -devoid of heart, and there were gleams of good in her to which the -Norwegian girl, in her hot indignation, was altogether blind. Sigrid was -not faultless, and as with Frithiof, so there lingered too with her a -touch of the fierce, unforgiving spirit which had governed their Viking -ancestors. - -More than once that morning as she moved about her household tasks she -said under her breath—“I wish that woman were dead!—I wish she were -dead!” - -“You don’t look well this morning, Mr. Falck,” said the foreman, a -cheerful, bright-eyed, good-hearted old man, who had managed to bring up -a large family on his salary, and to whom Frithiof had often applied for -advice on the subject of domestic economy. The two liked each other now -cordially, and worked well together, Foster having altogether lost the -slight prejudice he had at first felt against the foreigner. - -“We were up late last night,” said Frithiof, by way of explanation. But -the old man was shrewd and quick-sighted, and happening later on to be -in Mr. Boniface’s private room, he seized the opportunity to remark: - -“We shall have Mr. Falck knocking up again, sir, if I’m not mistaken: he -is looking very ill to-day.” - -“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mr. Boniface. “You were quite right to -tell me, Foster. We will see what can be done.” - -And the foreman knew that there was no favoritism in this speech, for -Mr. Boniface considered the health of his employees as a matter of the -very highest importance, and being a Christian first and a tradesman -afterward, did not consider money-making to be the great object of life. -Many a time good old Foster himself had been sent down for a few days at -the seaside with his family, and it was perhaps a vivid remembrance of -the delights of West Codrington that made him add as he left the room: - -“He looks to me, sir, as if he needed bracing up.” - -Mr. Boniface was much of the same opinion when he noticed Frithiof later -on in the day. A thoroughly good salesman the Norwegian had always -been—clear-headed, courteous, and accurate; but now the look of effort -which he had borne for some time before his illness was clearly visible, -and Mr. Boniface seized the first chance he could get of speaking to him -alone. About five o’clock there came a lull in the tide of customers; -Darnell, the man at the opposite counter, had gone to tea, and Frithiof -had gone back to his desk to enter some songs in the order-list. - -“Frithiof,” said Mr. Boniface, coming over to him and dropping the -somewhat more formal style of address which he generally used toward him -during business hours, “you have got one of your bad headaches.” - -“Yes,” replied the Norwegian candidly, “but it is not a disabling one. I -shall get through all right.” - -“What plans have you made for your Whitsuntide holiday?” - -“I don’t think we had made any plan at all.” - -“Then I want you all to come away with us for a few days,” said the -shop-owner. “You look to me as if you wanted rest. Come to us for a -week; I will arrange for your absence.” - -“You are very good,” said Frithiof warmly. “But indeed I would rather -only take the general holiday of Saturday to Tuesday. I am not in the -least ill, and would rather not take extra days when there is no need.” - -“Independent as ever,” said Mr. Boniface, with a smile. “Well, it must -be as you like. We will see what the three days will do for you.” - -Where and how this holiday was to be spent only Mr. and Mrs. Boniface -knew, and Cecil and Roy were as much astonished as any one when, at two -o’clock on Saturday afternoon, a coach and four stopped at the gate of -Rowan Tree House. - -“What! are we to drive there?” asked Cecil. “Oh, father, how delightful! -Will it be very far?” - -“Yes, a long drive; so keep out plenty of wraps, in case the evening is -chilly. We can tuck away the children inside if they get tired. Now, are -we all ready? Then we will drive to the model lodgings.” - -So off they started, a very merry party, but still merrier when the -three Norwegians had joined them, the girls, as usual, dressed in black, -for economy’s sake, but wearing very dainty little white sailor hats, -which Sigrid had sat up on the previous night to trim. She enjoyed her -new hat amazingly; she enjoyed locking up the lodgings and handing the -key to the caretaker; she enjoyed the delicious prospect of three days’ -immunity from cooking, and cleaning, and anxious planning of food and -money; and she enjoyed Roy’s presence, with the frank, free happiness of -a girl who is as yet quite heart-whole. - -“I feel like the ‘linen-draper bold,’ in the ballad,” said Mr. Boniface, -with his hearty laugh. “But I have taken precautions, you see, against a -similar catastrophe. We have had more than the ‘twice ten tedious years’ -together, have we not, Loveday?” - -“Yes,” she said, with her sweet, expressive smile, “we are just -beginning the twenty-seventh, Robin, and have had many holidays, unlike -Mr. and Mrs. Gilpin.” - -They were still like lovers, this husband and wife of twenty-six years’ -standing; and it was with a sort of consciousness that they would be -happier if left to themselves, that Frithiof, who sat between Mrs. -Boniface and Cecil, turned toward the latter, and began to talk to her. - -Cecil was looking her very best that day. The sun lighted up her fair -hair, the fresh wind brought a glow of healthy color to her cheeks, her -honest gray eyes had lost the grave look which they usually wore, and -were bright and happy-looking; for she was not at all the sort of girl, -who, because she could not get her own wish, refused to enjoy life. She -took all that came to her brightly enough, and, with a presentiment that -such a treat as this drive with Frithiof would not often fall to her -lot, she gave herself up to present happiness, and put far from her all -anxieties and fears for the future. From the back seat, peals of -laughter from Lance, and Gwen, and Swanhild reached them. In front, by -the side of the driver, they could see Roy and Sigrid absorbed in their -own talk; and with such surroundings it would have been hard indeed if -these two, the Norwegian, with his sad story, and Cecil, with her life -overshadowed by his trouble, had not been able for a time to throw off -everything that weighed them down, and enjoy themselves like the rest. - -“This is a thousand times better than a cariole or a stolkjaerre,” said -Frithiof. “What a splendid pace we are going at, and how well you see -the country! It is the perfection of traveling.” - -“So I think,” said Cecil. “At any rate, on such a day as this. In rain, -or snow, or burning heat, it might be rather trying. And then, of -course, in the old days we should not have had it all snugly to -ourselves like this; which makes such a difference.” - -He thought over those last words for a minute, and reflected how among -“ourselves” Cecil included the little children of a criminal, and the -foreigners who had scarcely been known to them for two years. Her warm, -generous heart had for him a very genuine attraction. Possibly, if it -had not been for that chance meeting with Blanche, which had caused an -old wound to break out anew, some thought of love might have stirred in -his breast. As it was, he was merely grateful to her for chasing away -the gloom that for the last few days had hung about him like a fog. She -was to him a cheering ray of sunshine; a healthy breeze that dispersed -the mist; a friend—but nothing more. - -On they drove, free of houses at last, or passing only isolated farms, -little villages, and sleepy country towns. The trees were in all the -exquisite beauty of early June, and the Norwegians, accustomed to less -varied foliage, were enthusiastic in their admiration. They had never -known before what it was to drive along a road bordered by picturesque -hedges, with stately elms here and there, and with oaks and beeches, -sycamores and birches, poplars and chestnuts scattered in such lavish -profusion throughout the landscape. - -“If we can beat you in mountains, you can certainly beat us in trees!” -cried Sigrid, her blue eyes bright with happiness. - -She was enjoying it all as only those who have been toiling in a great -town can enjoy the sights and sounds of the country. The most humdrum -things had an attraction for her, and when they stopped by and by for -tea, at a little roadside inn, she almost wished their drive at an end, -such a longing came over her to run out into the fields and just gather -flowers to her heart’s content. - -At last, after a great deal of tea and bread and butter had been -consumed, they mounted the coach again, leaving a sort of reflection of -their happiness in the hearts of the people of the inn. - -“There’s merry-makers and merry-makers,” remarked the landlord, glancing -after them; “yon’s the right sort, and no mistake.” - -And now Mr. Boniface began to enjoy to the full his surprise. How he -laughed when they implored him to say where they were going! How -triumphant he was when the driver, who was as deaf as a post, utterly -declined to answer leading questions put to him by Roy! - -“I believe we are going to Helmstone, or some great watering-place, -where we shall have to be proper and wear gloves,” said Cecil. - -This was received with groans. - -“But to get a sight of the sea one would put up with glove-wearing,” -said Sigrid. “And we could, at any rate, walk out into the country, I -suppose, for flowers.” - -Mr. Boniface only smiled, however, and looked inscrutable. And finding -that they could not guess their destination in the least, they took to -singing rounds, which made the time pass by very quickly. At length -Frithiof started to his feet with an eager exclamation. - -“The sea!” he cried. - -And sure enough, there, in the distance, was the first glimpse of a long -blue line, which made the hearts of the Norwegians throb with eager -delight. - -“It seems like being at home again,” said Swanhild, while Frithiof -seemed to drink in new life as the fresh salt wind blew once more upon -him, bringing back to his mind the memory of many a perilous adventure -in his free, careless boyhood. - -“A big watering-place,” groaned Roy. “I told you so. Houses, churches, a -parade, and a pier; I can see them all.” - -“Where? where?” cried every one, while Mr. Boniface laughed quietly and -rubbed his hands. - -“Over there, to the left,” said Roy. - -“You prophet of evil!” cried Cecil merrily; “we are turning quite away -to the right.” - -And on they went between the green downs, till they came to a tiny -village, far removed from railways, and leaving even that behind them, -paused at length before a solitary farm-house, standing a little back -from the road, with downs on either side of it, and barely a quarter of -a mile from the sea. - -“How did you hear of this delightful place, father?” cried Cecil; “it is -just perfect.” - -“Well, I saw it when you and Roy were in Norway two summers ago,” said -Mr. Boniface. “Mother and I drove out here from Southborne, and took -such a fancy to this farm that, like Captain Cuttle, we made a note of -it, and kept it for a surprise party.” - -Mr. Horner, in his suburban villa, was at that very moment lamenting his -cousin’s absurd extravagance. - -“He was always wanting in common-sense, poor fellow,” observed Mrs. -Horner. “But to hire a coach-and-four just to take into the country his -own family and that criminal’s children, and those precious Norwegians, -who apparently think themselves on a level with the highest in the -land—that beats everything! I suppose he’ll be wanting to hire a palace -for them next bank holiday!” - -As a matter of fact, the farm-house accommodation was rather limited, -but no one cared about that. Though the rooms were small, they had a -most delicious smell of the country about them, and every one, moreover, -was in a humor to be as much out of doors as possible. - -The time seemed to all of them a little like that summer holiday at -Balholm in its freedom and brightness and good-fellowship. The -delightful rambles over the breezy downs, the visit to the lighthouse, -the friendly chats with the coast-guardsmen, the boating excursions, and -the quiet country Sunday—all remained in their memories for long after. - -To Roy those days were idyllic; and Sigrid, too, began to understand for -the first time that he was something more to her than Frithiof’s friend. -The two were much together, and on the Monday afternoon, when the rest -of the party had gone off again to the lighthouse for Lance’s special -benefit, they wandered away along the shore, nominally searching among -the rocks for anemones, but far too much absorbed in each other to prove -good collectors. - -It took a long time really to know Roy, for he was silent and reserved; -but by this time Sigrid had begun to realize how much there was in him -that was well worth knowing, and her bright, easy manner had always been -able to thaw his taciturn moods. He had, she perceived, his father’s -large-mindedness; he studied the various problems of the day in the same -spirit; to money he was comparatively indifferent; and he was wholly -without that spirit of calculation, that sordid ambition which is very -unjustly supposed to animate most of those engaged in retail trade. -Sigrid had liked him ever since their first meeting in Norway, but only -within the last two days had any thought of love occurred to her. Even -now that thought was scarcely formed; she was only conscious of being -unusually happy, and of feeling a sort of additional happiness, and a -funny sense of relief when the rest of the party climbed the hill to the -lighthouse, leaving her alone with Roy. Of what they talked she scarcely -knew, but as they wandered on over low rocks and pools and shingle, hand -in hand, because the way was slippery and treacherous, it seemed to her -that she was walking in some new paradise. The fresh air and beauty -after the smoke and the wilderness of streets; the sense of protection, -after the anxieties of being manager-in-chief to a very poor household; -above all, the joyous brightness after a sad past, made her heart dance -within her; and in her happiness she looked so lovely that all thought -of obstacles and difficulties left Roy’s mind. - -They sat down to rest in a little sheltered nook under the high chalk -cliffs, and it was there that he poured out to her the confession of his -love, being so completely carried away that for once words came readily -to his lips, so that Sigrid was almost frightened by his eagerness. How -different was this from Torvald Lundgren’s proposal! How utterly changed -was her whole life since that wintry day when she had walked back from -the Bergen cemetery! - -What was it that had made everything so bright to her since then? Was it -not the goodness of the man beside her—the man who had saved her -brother’s life—who had brought them together once more—who now loved her -and asked for her love? - -When at last he paused, waiting for her reply, she was for a minute or -two quite silent; still her face reassured Roy, and he was not without -hope, so that the waiting-time was not intolerable to him. - -“If it were only myself to be thought about,” she said at length, “I -might perhaps give you an answer more readily. But, you see, there are -other people to be considered.” - -The admission she had made sent a throb of delight to Roy’s heart. Once -sure of her love he dreaded no obstacles. - -“You are thinking of Frithiof,” he said. “And of course I would never -ask you to leave him; but there would be no need. If you could love -me—if you will be my wife—you would be much freer than you now are to -help him.” - -The thought of his wealth suddenly flashed into Sigrid’s mind, giving -her a momentary pang; yet, since she really loved him, it was impossible -that this should be a lasting barrier between them. She looked out over -the sea, and the thought of her old home, and of the debts, and the slow -struggle to pay them, came to her; yet all the time she knew that these -could not separate her from Roy. She loved him, and the world’s praise -or blame were just nothing to her. She could not care in the least about -the way in which such a marriage would be regarded by outsiders. She -loved him; and when once sure that her marriage would be right—that it -would not be selfish, or in any way bad in its effects on either -Frithiof or Swanhild—it was impossible that she should hesitate any -longer. - -But of this she was not yet quite sure. All had come upon her so -suddenly that she felt as if she must have time to think it out quietly -before making a definite promise. - -“Give me a fortnight,” she said, “and then I will let you have my -answer. It would not be fair to either of us if I spoke hastily when so -much is at stake.” - -Roy could not complain of this suggestion: it was much that he was able -at last to plead his own cause with Sigrid, and in her frank blue eyes -there lurked something which told him that he need fear no more. - -Meanwhile time sped on, and, unheeded by these two, the tide was coming -in. They were so absorbed in their own affairs that it was not until a -wave swept right into the little bay, leaving a foam-wreath almost at -their feet, that they realized their danger. With a quick exclamation -Roy started up. - -“What have I been thinking of?” he cried in dismay. “Why, we are cut -off!” - -Sigrid sprang forward and glanced toward Britling Gap. It was too true. -Return was absolutely impossible. - -“We could never swim such a distance,” she said. And turning, she -glanced toward the steep white cliff above. - -“And that too is utterly impossible,” said Roy. “Our only hope is in -some pleasure-boat passing. Stay, I have an idea.” - -Hastily opening his knife he began to scoop out footholds in the chalk. -He saw that their sole chance lay in making a standing-place out of -reach of the water, and he worked with all his might, first securing a -place for the feet, then, higher up, scooping holes for the hands to -cling to; he spoke little, his mind was too full of a torturing sense of -blame, a bitter indignation with himself for allowing his very love to -blind him to such a danger. - -As for Sigrid, she picked up a pointed stone and began to work too with -desperate energy. She was naturally brave, and as long as she could do -anything her heart scarcely beat faster than usual. It was the -waiting-time that tried her, the clinging to that uncompromising white -cliff, while below the waves surged to and fro with the noise that only -that morning she had thought musical, but which now seemed to her almost -intolerable. If it had not been that Roy’s arm was round her, holding -her closely, she could never have borne up so long; she would have -turned giddy and fallen back into the water. But his strength seemed to -her equal to anything, and her perfect confidence in him filled her with -a wonderful energy of endurance. - -In their terrible position all sense of time left them; they could not -tell whether it was for minutes or for hours that they had clung to -their frail refuge, when at length a shout from above reached their -ears. - -“Courage!” cried a voice. “A boat is coming to your help. Hold on!” - -Hope renewed their strength in a wonderful way; they were indeed less to -be pitied than those who had the fearful anxiety of rescuing them, or -watching the rescue. - -It was Frithiof who had first discovered them; the rest of the party, -after seeing over the lighthouse, had wandered along the cliffs talking -to an old sailor, and, Lance being seized with a desire to see over the -edge, Frithiof had set Cecil’s mind at rest by lying down with the -little fellow and holding him securely while he glanced down the sheer -descent to the sea. A little farther on, to the left, he suddenly -perceived, to his horror, the two clinging figures, and at once -recognized them. Dragging the child back, he sprang up and seized the -old sailor’s arm, interrupting a long-winded story to which Mr. Boniface -was listening. - -“There are two people down there, cut off by the tide,” he said. “What -is the quickest way to reach them?” - -“Good Lord!” cried the old man; “why, there’ll be nought quicker than a -boat at Britling Gap, or ropes brought from there and let down.” - -“Tell them help is coming,” said Frithiof “I will row round.” - -And without another word he set off running like the wind toward the -coast-guard station. On and on he rushed over the green downs, past the -little white chalk-heaps that marked the coast-guard’s nightly walk, -past the lighthouse and down the hill to the little sheltered cove. -Though a good runner, he was sadly out of training; his breath came now -in gasps, his throat felt as though it were on fire, and all the time a -terrible dread filled his heart. Supposing he were too late! - -At Britling Gap not a soul was in sight, and he dared not waste time in -seeking help. The boat was in its usual place on the beach. He shoved it -out to sea, sprang into it, paused only to fling off his coat, then with -desperate energy pulled toward the place where Roy and Sigrid awaited -their rescuer with fast-failing strength. - -And yet in all Frithiof’s anxiety there came to him a strange sense of -satisfaction, an excitement which banished from his mind all the -specters of the past, a consciousness of power that in itself was -invigorating. Danger seemed to be his native element, daring his -strongest characteristic, and while straining every nerve and making the -little boat bound through the water, he was more at rest than he had -been for months, just because everything personal had faded into entire -insignificance before the absorbing need of those whom he loved. - -How his pulses throbbed when at length he caught sight of Sigrid’s -figure! and with what skill he guided his boat toward the cliff, -shouting out encouragement and warning! The two were both so stiff and -exhausted that it was no easy task to get them down into the boat, but -he managed it somehow, and a glad cheer from above showed that the -watchers were following their every movement with eager sympathy. - -“Let us walk back quickly,” said Mr. Boniface, “that we may be ready to -meet them,” and with an intensity of relief they hurried back to -Britling Gap, arriving just in time to greet the three as they walked up -the beach. Sigrid, though rather pale and exhausted, seemed little the -worse for the adventure, and a glad color flooded her cheeks when Mr. -Boniface turned to Frithiof and grasping his hand, thanked him warmly -for what he had done. Cecil said scarcely anything; she could hardly -trust herself to speak, but her heart beat fast as, glancing at -Frithiof, she saw on his face the bright look which made him once more -like the Frithiof she had met long ago at Bergen. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - -Mr. Boniface insisted on keeping them all till the following day, when -once more they enjoyed the delights of coaching, getting back to London -in the cool of the evening, laden with wild roses, hawthorn, and field -flowers, which gladdened more than one of their neighbors’ rooms in the -model lodgings. - -It was not till Wednesday in Whitsun-week that Frithiof found himself in -his old place behind the counter, and it took several days before they -all got into working order again, for though the holiday had done them -good, yet it was not very easy to get back into the routine of business. -But by Monday everything was in clockwork order again, and even Mr. -Horner, though ready enough at all times to grumble, could find nothing -to make a fuss about. It happened that day that Mr. Horner was more in -the shop than usual, for Roy had unexpectedly been obliged to go to -Paris on business, and it chanced, much to his satisfaction, that, while -Mr. Boniface was dining, Sardoni the tenor called to speak about a song. -There was nothing that he enjoyed so much as interviewing any well-known -singer; he seemed to gain a sort of reflected glory in the process, and -Frithiof could hardly help smiling when at the close of the interview -they passed through the shop, so comical was the obsequious manner of -the little man toward the tall, jolly-looking singer, and so curious the -contrast between the excessive politeness of his tone to the visitor, -and his curt command, “Open the door, Falck.” - -Frithiof opened the door promptly, but the tenor, whose mischievous eyes -evidently took in everything that savored of fun, saw plainly enough -that the Norseman, with his dignity of manner and nobility of bearing, -deemed Mr. Horner as a man beneath contempt. - -“Oh, by the way, Mr. Horner,” he exclaimed suddenly, turning back just -as he had left the shop; “I quite forgot to ask if you could oblige me -with change for a five-pound note. I have tried to get it twice this -morning, but change seems to be short.” - -“With the greatest pleasure,” said Mr. Horner deferentially. - -And pushing past Frithiof, he himself deposited the note in the till and -counted out five sovereigns, which he handed with a bow to Sardoni. - -Then, with a friendly “good-day,” the singer went out, and Mr. Horner, -rubbing his hands with an air of great satisfaction, retired to Mr. -Boniface’s room. The afternoon passed on just as hundreds of afternoons -had passed before it, with the usual succession of customers, the usual -round of monotonous work; there was nothing to mark it in any way, and -no sense of coming evil made itself felt. In the most prosaic manner -possible, Frithiof went out for the few minutes’ stroll in the streets -which he called tea-time. He was in good spirits, and as he walked along -he thought of the days by the sea, and of the boating which he had so -much enjoyed, living it all over again in this hot, dusty London, where -June was far from delightful. Still, it was something to be out in the -open air, to get a few moments of leisure and to stretch one’s legs. He -walked along pretty briskly, managing to get some little enjoyment out -of his short respite, and this was well; for it was long before he could -enjoy anything again in that unconcerned, free-hearted way. Yet nothing -warned him of this; quite carelessly he pushed open the double -swing-doors and re-entered the shop, glancing with surprise but with no -special concern at the little group behind the counter. Mr. Horner was -finding fault about something, but that was a very ordinary occurrence. -A thin, grave-looking man stood listening attentively, and Mr. Boniface -listened too with an expression of great trouble on his face. Looking -up, he perceived Frithiof, and with an exclamation of relief came toward -him. - -“Here is Mr. Falck!” he said; “who no doubt will be able to explain -everything satisfactorily. A five-pound note has somehow disappeared -from your till this afternoon, Frithiof; do you know anything about it?” - -“It was certainly in the till when I last opened it,” said Frithiof; -“and that was only a few minutes before I went out.” - -“Very possibly,” said Mr. Horner. “The question is whether it was there -when you shut it again.” - -The tone even more than the words made Frithiof’s blood boil. - -“Sir,” he said furiously, “do you dare to insinuate that I—” - -But Mr. Boniface laid a hand on his arm and interrupted him. - -“Frithiof,” he said, “you know quite well that I should as soon suspect -my own son as you. But this note has disappeared in a very extraordinary -way, while only you and Darnell were in the shop, and we must do our -best to trace it out. I am sure you will help me in this disagreeable -business by going through the ordinary form quietly.” - -Then, turning to the private detective who had been hastily called in by -Mr. Horner, he suggested that they should come to his own room. Mr. -Horner shut the door with an air of satisfaction. From the first he had -detested the Norwegian, and now was delighted to feel that his dislike -was justified. Mr. Boniface, looking utterly miserable, sat down in his -arm-chair to await the result of the inquiry, and the two men who lay -under suspicion stood before the detective, who with his practiced eye -glanced now at one, now at the other, willing if possible to spare the -innocent man the indignity of being searched. - -Darnell was a rather handsome fellow, with a short dark beard and heavy -moustache: he looked a trifle paler than usual, but was quite quiet and -collected, perhaps a little upset at the unusual disturbance in the shop -where for so long he had worked, yet without the faintest sign of -personal uneasiness about him. Beside him stood the tall Norwegian, his -fair skin showing all too plainly the burning color that had rushed to -his face the instant he knew that he lay actually under suspicion of -thieving. Mr. Horner’s words still made him tingle from head to foot, -and he could gladly have taken the man by the throat and shaken the -breath out of him. For the suspicion, hard enough for any man to bear, -was doubly hard to him on account of his nationality. That a Norwegian -should be otherwise than strictly honorable was to Frithiof a monstrous -idea. He knew well that he and his countrymen in general had plenty of -faults, but scrupulous honesty was so ingrained in his Norse nature, -that to have the slightest doubt cast upon his honor was to him an -intolerable insult. The detective could not, of course, understand this. -He was a clever and a conscientious man, but his experience was, after -all, limited. He had not traveled in Norway, or studied the character of -its people; he did not know that you may leave all your luggage outside -an inn in the public highway without the least fear that in the night -any one will meddle with it: he did not know that if you give a Norse -child a coin equal to sixpence in return for a great bowl of milk, it -will refuse with real distress to keep it, because the milk was worth a -little less; he had not heard the story of the lost chest of plate, -which by good chance was washed up on the Norwegian coast, how the -experts examined the crest on the spoons, and after infinite labor and -pains succeeded in restoring it to its rightful owner in a far-away -southern island. It was, after all, quite natural that he should suspect -the man who had colored so deeply, who protested so indignantly against -the mere suspicion of guilt, who clearly shrank from the idea of being -searched. - -“I will examine you first,” said the detective; and Frithiof, seeing -that there was no help for it, submitted with haughty composure to the -indignity. For an instant even Mr. Horner was shaken in his opinion, -there was such an evident consciousness of innocence in the Norwegian’s -whole manner and bearing now that the ordeal had actually come. - -In solemn silence two pockets were turned inside out. The right-hand -waistcoat pocket was apparently empty, but the careful detective turned -that inside out too. Suddenly Mr. Boniface started forward with an -ejaculation of astonishment. - -“I told you so,” cried Mr. Horner vehemently. - -And Frithiof, roused to take notice, which before he had not -condescended to do, looked down and saw a sight that made his heart -stand still. - -Carefully pinned to the inside of the pocket was a clean, fresh, -five-pound note. He did not speak a word, but just stared at the thing -in blank amazement. There was a painful silence. Surely it could be -nothing but a bad dream! - -He looked at the unconcerned detective, and at Mr. Horner’s excited -face, and at Mr. Boniface’s expression of grief and perplexity. It was -no dream; it was a most horrible reality—a reality which he was utterly -incapable of explaining. With an instinct that there was yet one man -present who trusted him, in spite of appearances, he made a step or two -toward Mr. Boniface. - -“Sir,” he said, in great agitation, “I swear to you that I knew nothing -of this. It has astounded me as much as it has surprised you. How it -came there I can’t say, but certainly I didn’t put it there.” - -Mr. Boniface was silent, and glancing back Frithiof saw on the thin lips -of the detective a very expressive smile. The sight almost maddened him. -In the shock of the discovery he had turned very pale, now the violence -of his wrath made him flush to the roots of his hair. - -“If you didn’t put it there, who did?” said Mr. Horner indignantly. -“Don’t add to your sin, young man, by falsehood.” - -“I have never spoken a falsehood in my life; it is you who lie when you -say that I put the note there,” said Frithiof hotly. - -“My poor fellow,” said Mr. Boniface, “I am heartily sorry for you, but -you must own that appearances are against you.” - -“What! you too, sir!” cried Frithiof, his indignation giving place to -heartbroken wonder. - -The tone went to Mr. Boniface’s heart. - -“I think you did it quite unconsciously,” he said. “I am sure you never -could have taken it had you known what you were about. You did it in -absence of mind—in a fit of temporary aberration. It is, perhaps, a mere -result of your illness last summer, and no one would hold you -responsible for it.” - -A horrible wave of doubt passed over Frithiof. Could this indeed be the -explanation? But it was only for a moment. He could not really believe -it; he knew that there was no truth in this suggestion of brain -disturbance. - -“No one in absence of mind could deliberately have pinned the note in,” -he said. “Besides my head was perfectly clear, not even aching or -tired.” - -“Quite so; I am glad that so far you own the truth,” said Mr. Horner. -“Make a free confession at once and we will not press the prosecution. -You yielded to a sudden temptation, and, as we all know, have special -reasons for needing money. Come, confess!” - -“You are not bound to incriminate yourself,” said the detective, who, as -acting in a private capacity, was not bound to urge the prosecution. -“Still, what the gentleman suggests is by far the best course for you to -take. There’s not a jury in the land that would not give a verdict -against you.” - -“I shall certainly not tell a lie to save open disgrace,” said Frithiof. -“The jury may say what it likes. God knows I am innocent.” - -The tone in which he said the last words made Mr. Boniface look at him -more closely. Strangely enough it was in that moment of supreme -bitterness, when he fully realized the hopelessness of his position, -when one of his employers deemed him a madman and the other a thief, -then, when disgrace and ruin and utter misery stared him in the face, -that the faint glimpses of the Unseen, which, from time to time, had -dawned for him, broadened into full sunlight. For the first time in his -life he stood in close personal relationship with the Power in whom he -had always vaguely believed, the higher Presence became to him much more -real than men surrounding him with their pity and indignation and -contempt. - -But Mr. Horner was not the sort of man to read faces, much less to read -hearts; the very emphasis with which Frithiof had spoken made him more -angry. - -“Now I _know_ that you are lying!” he cried: “don’t add blasphemy to -your crime. You are the most irreligious fellow I ever came across—a man -who, to my certain knowledge, never attends any place of public worship, -and do you dare to call God to witness for you?” - -Nothing but the strong consciousness of this new Presence kept Frithiof -from making a sharp retort. But a great calmness had come over him, and -his tone might have convinced even Mr. Horner had he not been so full of -prejudice. “God knows I am innocent,” he repeated; “and only He can tell -how the note got here; I can’t.” - -“One word with you, if you please, Mr. Harris,” said Robert Boniface, -suddenly pushing back his chair and rising to his feet, as though he -could no longer tolerate the discussion. - -He led the way back to the shop, where, in low tones, he briefly gave -the detective his own opinion of the case. He was sure that Frithiof -firmly believed he was telling the truth, but, unable to doubt the -evidence of his own senses, he was obliged to take up the plausible -theory of temporary aberration. The detective shrugged his shoulders a -little, and said it might possibly be so, but the young man seemed to -him remarkably clear-headed. However, he accepted his fee and went off, -and Mr. Boniface returned sadly enough to his room. - -“You can go back to the shop, Darnell,” he said. - -The man bowed and withdrew, leaving Frithiof still standing -half-bewildered where the detective had left him, the cause of all his -misery lying on the writing-table before him, just as fresh and -crisp-looking as when it had issued from the Bank of England. - -“This has been a sad business, Frithiof,” said Mr. Boniface, leaning his -elbow on the mantel-piece, and looking with his clear, kindly eyes at -the young Norwegian. “But I am convinced that you had no idea what you -were doing, and I should not dream of prosecuting you, or discharging -you.” - -Poor Frithiof was far too much stunned to be able to feel any gratitude -for this. Mr. Horner, however, left him no time to reply. - -“I think you have taken leave of your senses, Boniface,” he said -vehemently. “Save yourself the annoyance of prosecuting, if you like; -but it is grossly unfair to the rest of your employees to keep a thief -in your house. Not only that, but it is altogether immoral; it is -showing special favor to vice; it is admitting a principle which, if -allowed, would ruin all business life. If there is one thing noticeable -in all successful concerns it is that uncompromising severity is shown -to even trifling errors—even to carelessness.” - -“My business has hitherto been successful,” said Mr. Boniface quietly, -“and I have never gone on that principle, and never will. Why are we to -have a law of mercy and rigidly to exclude it from every-day life? But -that is the way of the world. It manages, while calling itself -Christian, to shirk most of Christ’s commands.” - -“I tell you,” said Mr. Horner, who was now in a towering passion, “that -it is utterly against the very rules of religion. The fellow is not -repentant; he persists in sticking to a lie, and yet you weakly forgive -him.” - -“If,” said Mr. Boniface quietly, “you knew a little more of Frithiof -Falck you would know that it is quite impossible that he could -consciously have taken the money. When he took it he was not himself. If -he had wanted to hide it—to steal it—why did he actually return to the -shop with it in his possession? He might easily have disposed of it -while he was out.” - -“If that is your ground, then I object to having a man on my premises -who is afflicted with kleptomania. But it is not so. The fellow is as -long-headed and quick-witted as any one I know; he has managed to -hoodwink you, but from the first I saw through him, and knew him to be a -designing—” - -“Sir,” broke in Frithiof, turning to Mr. Boniface—his bewildered -consternation changing now to passionate earnestness—“this is more than -I can endure. For God’s sake call back the detective, examine further -into this mystery; there _must_ be some explanation!” - -“How can any man examine further?” said Mr. Boniface sadly. “The note is -missed, and is actually found upon you. The only possible explanation is -that you were not yourself when you took it.” - -“Then the least you can do is to dismiss him,” resumed Mr. Horner. But -Mr. Boniface interrupted him very sharply. - -“You will please remember, James, that you are in no way concerned with -the engagement or dismissal of those employed in this house. That is -entirely my affair, as is set forth in our deed of partnership.” - -“Which partnership will need renewing in another six months,” said Mr. -Horner, growing red with anger. “And I give you fair warning that, if -this dishonest fellow is kept on, I shall then withdraw my capital and -retire from the business.” - -With this Parthian shot he went out, banging the door behind him. - -Frithiof had borne in silence all the taunts and insults showered on -him; but when he found himself alone with the man to whom he owed so -much, he very nearly broke down altogether. “Sir,” he said, trying in -vain to govern his voice, “you have been very good to me; but it will be -best that I should go.” - -“I would not have you leave for the world,” said Mr. Boniface. “Remember -that your sisters are dependent on you. You must think first of them.” - -“No,” said Frithiof firmly; “I must first think of what I owe to you. It -would be intolerable to me to feel that I had brought any loss on you -through Mr. Horner’s anger. I must go.” - -“Nonsense,” said Mr. Boniface. “I cannot hear of such a thing. Why, how -do you think you would get another situation with this mystery still -hanging over you? I, who know you so well, am convinced of your perfect -freedom from blame. But strangers could not possibly be convinced of -it.” - -Frithiof was silent; he thought of Sigrid and Swanhild suffering through -his trouble, he remembered his terrible search for work when he first -came to London, and he realized that it was chiefly his own pride that -prompted him never to return to the shop. After all, what a prospect it -was! With one partner deeming him a thief and the other forced to say -that he must be subject to a form of insanity; with the men employed in -the shop all ready to deem him a dishonest foreigner! How was he to bear -such a terrible position? Yet bear it he must; nay, he must be thankful -for the chance of being allowed to bear it. - -“If you are indeed willing that I should stay,” he said, at length, -“then I will stay. But your theory—the theory that makes you willing -still to trust me—is mistaken. I know that there is not a minute in this -day when my head has not been perfectly clear.” - -“My dear fellow, you must allow me to keep what theory I please. There -is no other explanation than this, and you would be wisest if you -accepted it yourself.” - -“That is impossible,” said Frithiof sadly. - -“It is equally impossible that I can doubt the evidence of my own -senses. The note was there, and you can’t possibly explain its presence. -How is it possible that Darnell could have crossed over to your till, -taken out the note and pinned it in your pocket? Besides, what motive -could he have for doing such a thing?” - -“I don’t know,” said Frithiof; “yet I shall swear to my dying day that I -never did it myself.” - -“Well, there is no use in arguing the point,” said Robert Boniface -wearily. “It is enough for me that I can account to myself for what must -otherwise be an extraordinary mystery. You had better go back to your -work now, and do not worry over the affair. Remember that I do not hold -you responsible for what has happened.” - -After this of course nothing more could be said. Frithiof left the room -feeling years older than when he had entered it, and with a heavy heart -took that first miserable plunge into the outer world—the world where he -must now expect to meet with suspicious looks and cold dislike. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - -As he walked down the sort of avenue of pianos and harmoniums in the -inner shop, there came to his mind, why, he could not have told, words -spoken to him long before by that customer who had left on his mind so -lasting an impression, “Courage! the worst will pass.” Though he could -not exactly believe the words, yet he clung to them with a sort of -desperation. Also he happened to notice the clock, and practically -adopted Sydney Smith’s wise maxim, “Take short views.” There were -exactly two hours and a quarter before closing time; he could at any -rate endure as long as that, and of the future he would not think. There -were no customers in the shop, but he could hear voices in eager -discussion, and he knew quite well what was the subject of their talk. -Of course the instant he came into sight a dead silence ensued, and the -little group, consisting of Foster, Darnell, one of the tuners, and the -boy who made himself generally useful, dispersed at once, while in the -ominous quiet Frithiof went to his usual place. The first few minutes -were terrible; he sat down at his desk, took up his pen, and opened the -order-book, making a feint of being actually employed, but conscious -only of the dreadful silence and of the eyes that glanced curiously at -him; again a burning flush passed over his face, just from the horror -and shame of even being suspected of dishonesty. It was a relief to him -when a customer entered, a man entirely ignorant of all that had passed, -and only bent on securing the best seats to be had for Mr. Boniface’s -concert on the following day. Carlo Donati, the celebrated baritone, was -to sing, and as he had only appeared once before that season, except in -opera, there was a great demand for tickets, which kept them pretty busy -until at length the longed-for closing came; the other men lingered a -little to discuss afresh the great event of the day, but Frithiof, who -had been watching the hands of the clock with longing eyes, felt as if -he could not have borne the atmosphere of the shop for another minute, -and snatching up his hat made for the door. None of them said good-night -to him; they were not intentionally unkind, but they were awkward, and -they felt that the strange affair of the afternoon had made a great gulf -between them and the culprit. However, Frithiof was past caring much for -trifles, for after the first moment of intense relief, as he felt the -cool evening air blowing on him, the sense of another trouble to be met -had overpowered all else. He had got somehow to tell Sigrid of his -disgrace, to bring the cloud which shadowed him into the peaceful home -that had become so dear to him. Very slowly he walked through the noisy -streets, very reluctantly crossed the great courtyard, and mounted -flight after flight of stairs. At the threshold he hesitated, wondering -whether it would be possible to shield them from the knowledge. He could -hear Sigrid singing in the kitchen as she prepared the supper, and -something told him that it would be impossible to conceal his trouble -from her. With a sigh he opened the door into the sitting-room; it -looked very bright and cheerful; Swanhild stood at the open window -watering the flowers in the window-box, red and white geraniums and -southernwood, grown from cuttings given by Cecil. She gave him her usual -merry greeting. - -“Come and look at my garden, Frithiof,” she said. “Doesn’t it look -lovely?” - -“Why, you are late,” said Sigrid, coming in with the cocoa, her face a -little flushed with the fire, which was trying on that summer-day. Then, -glancing at him, “How tired you look! Come, sit down and eat. I have got -a German sausage that even Herr Sivertsen would not grumble at. The heat -has tired you, and you will feel better after you have had something.” - -He ate obediently, though the food almost choked him; Swanhild, fancying -that he had one of his bad headaches, grew quiet, and afterwards was not -surprised to find that he did not as usual get out his writing -materials, but asked Sigrid to go out with him for a turn. - -“You are too tired to try the translating?” she asked. - -“Yes, I’ll try it later,” he said; “but let us have half an hour’s walk -together now.” - -She consented at once and went to put on her hat, well knowing that -Frithiof never shirked his work without good reason; then leaving strict -orders with Swanhild not to sit up after nine, they left her absorbed in -English history, and went down into the cool, clear twilight. Some -children were playing quietly in the courtyard; Sigrid stopped for a -minute to speak to one of them. - -“Is your father better this evening?” she asked. - -“Yes, miss, and he’s a-goin’ back to work to-morrow,” replied the child, -lifting a beaming face up to the friendly Norwegian lady, who had become -a general favorite among her neighbors. - -“That is one of the little Hallifields,” explained Sigrid, as they -passed on. “The father, you know, is a tram-car conductor, and the work -is just killing him by inches; some day you really must have a talk with -him and just hear what terrible hours he has to keep. It makes me sick -to think of it. How I wish you were in Parliament, Frithiof, and could -do something to put down all the grievances that we are forever coming -across!” - -“There was once a time when at home we used to dream that I might even -be a king’s minister,” said Frithiof. - -Something in his voice made her sorry for her last speech; she knew that -one of his fits of depression had seized him. - -“So we did, and perhaps after all you may be. It was always, you know, -through something very disagreeable that in the old stories the highest -wish was attained. Remember the ‘Wild Swans.’ And even ‘Cinderella’ has -that thought running through it. We are taught the same thing from our -nursery days upward. And, you know, though there are some drawbacks, I -think living like this, right among the people, is a splendid training. -One can understand their troubles so much better.” - -“I should have thought you had troubles enough of your own,” he said -moodily, “without bothering yourself with other people’s.” - -“But since our own troubles I have somehow cared more about them; I -don’t feel afraid as I used to do of sick people, and people who have -lost those belonging to them. I want always to get nearer to them.” - -“Sigrid,” he said desperately, “can you bear a fresh trouble for -yourself? I have bad news for you to-night.” - -Her heart seemed to stop beating. - -“Roy?” she asked breathlessly, her mind instinctively turning first to -fears for his safety. - -At any other time Frithiof would have guessed the truth through that -tremulous, unguarded question, which had escaped her involuntarily. But -he was too miserable to notice it then. - -“Oh, no, Roy is still at Paris. They heard to-day that he could not be -back in time for the concert. It is I who have brought this trouble on -you. Though how it came about God only knows. Listen, and I’ll tell you -exactly how everything happened.” - -By this time they had reached one of the parks, and they sat down on a -bench under the shade of a great elm-tree. Frithiof could not bear to -look at Sigrid, could not endure to watch the effect of his words; he -fixed his eyes on the smutty sheep that were feeding on the grass -opposite him. Then very quietly and minutely he told exactly what had -passed that afternoon. - -“I am glad,” she exclaimed when he paused, “that Mr. Boniface was so -kind. And yet, how can he think that of you?” - -“You do not think it, then?” he asked, looking her full in the face. - -“What! think that you took it in absence of mind? Think that it would be -possible for you deliberately to take it out of the till and pin it in -your own pocket! Why, of course not! In actual delirium, I suppose, a -man might do anything, but you are as strong and well as any one else. -Of course, you had nothing whatever to do with it, either consciously or -unconsciously.” - -“Yet the thing was somehow there, and the logical inference is, that I -must have put it there,” he said, scanning her face with keen attention. - -“I don’t care a fig for logical inference,” she cried, with a little -vehement motion of her foot. “All I know is that you had nothing -whatever to do with it. If I had to die for maintaining that, I would -say it with my last breath.” - -He caught her hand in his and held it fast. - -“If you still believe in me, the worst is over,” he said. “With the rest -of the world, of course, my character is gone, but there is no help for -that.” - -“But there must be help,” said Sigrid. “Some one else must be guilty. -The other man in the shop must certainly have put it there.” - -“For what purpose?” said Frithiof sadly. “Besides, how could he have -done it without my knowledge?” - -“I don’t know,” said Sigrid, beginning to perceive the difficulties of -the case. “What sort of a man is he?” - -“I used to dislike him at first, and he naturally disliked me because I -was a foreigner. But latterly we have got on well enough. He is a very -decent sort of fellow, and I don’t for a moment believe that he would -steal.” - -“One of you must have done it,” said Sigrid. “And as I certainly never -could believe that you did it, I am forced to think the other man -guilty.” - -Frithiof was silent. If he did not agree with her, was he not bound to -accept Mr. Boniface’s theory? The horrible mystery of the affair was -almost more than he could endure; his past had been miserable enough, -but he had never known anything equal to the misery of being innocent -yet absolutely unable to prove this innocence. Sigrid, glancing at him -anxiously, could see even in the dim twilight what a heavy look of -trouble clouded his face, and resolutely turning from the puzzling -question of how the mystery could be explained, she set herself to make -as light of the whole affair as was possible. - -“Look, Frithiof,” she said; “why should we waste time and strength in -worrying over this? After all, what difference does it make to us in -ourselves? Business hours must, of course, be disagreeable enough to -you, but at home you must forget the disagreeables; at home you are my -hero, unjustly accused and bearing the penalty of another’s crime.” - -He smiled a little, touched by her eagerness of tone, and cheered, in -spite of himself, by her perfect faith in him. Yet all through the night -he tossed to and fro in sleepless misery, trying to find some possible -explanation of the afternoon’s mystery, racking his brain to think of -all that he had done or said since that unlucky hour when Sardoni had -asked for change. - -The next morning, as a natural consequence, he began the day with a -dull, miserable headache; at breakfast he hardly spoke, and he set off -for business looking so ill that Sigrid wondered whether he could -possibly get through his work. It was certainly strange, she could not -help thinking, that fate seemed so utterly against him, and that when at -last his life was beginning to look brighter, he should again be the -victim of another’s fault. And then, with a sort of comfort, there -flashed into her mind an idea which almost reconciled her to his lot. -What if these obstacles so hard to be surmounted, these difficulties -that hemmed him in so persistently, were after all only the equivalent -to the physical dangers and difficulties of the life of the old Vikings? -Did it not, in truth, need greater courage and endurance for the -nineteenth-century Frithiof to curb all his natural desires and -instincts and toil at uncongenial work in order to pay off his father’s -debts, than for the Frithiof of olden times to face all the dangers of -the sea, and of foes spiritual and temporal who beset him when he went -to win back the lost tribute money? It was, after all, a keen pleasure -to the old Frithiof to fight with winds and waves; but it was a hard -struggle to the modern Frithiof to stand behind a counter day after day. -And then again, was it not less bitter for the Frithiof of the Saga to -be suspected of sacrilege, than for Frithiof Falck to be suspected of -the most petty and contemptible act of dishonesty? - -She was right. Anything, however painful and difficult, would have been -gladly encountered by poor Frithiof if it could have spared him that -miserable return to his old place in Mr. Boniface’s shop. And that day’s -prosaic work needed greater moral courage than any previous day of his -life. - -About half-past nine there arrived a telegram which did not mend -matters. Mr. Boniface was seriously unwell, would not be in town that -day, and could not be at St. James’s Hall that evening for the concert. -Mr. Horner would take his place. Frithiof’s heart sank at this news; and -when presently the fussy, bumptious, little man entered the shop the -climax of his misery was reached. Mr. Horner read the telegram with a -disturbed air. - -“Dear! dear! seriously ill, I’m afraid, or he would at least make an -effort to come to-night. But after all the annoyance of yesterday I am -not surprised—no, not at all. Such a thing has never happened in his -business before, ay, Mr. Foster?” - -“Oh, no, sir,” said the foreman in a low voice, sorry in his heart for -the young Norwegian, who could not avoid hearing every word. - -“It was quite enough to make him ill. Such a disgraceful affair in a -house of this class. For his own sake he does well to hush it up, though -I intend to see that all proper precautions are taken; upon that, at any -rate, I insist. If I had my own way there should have been none of this -misplaced leniency. Here, William!” and he beckoned to the boy, who was -irreverently flicking the bust of Mozart with a duster. - -“Yes, sir,” said William, who, being out of the trouble himself, -secretly rather enjoyed the commotion it had caused. - -“Go at once to Smith, the ironmonger, and order him to send some one -round to fix a spring bell on a till. Do you understand?” - -“Quite, sir,” replied William, unable to resist glancing across the -counter. - -Frithiof went on arranging some music that had just arrived, but he -flushed deeply, and Mr. Horner, glad to have found a vulnerable point of -attack, did not scruple to make the most of his opportunity. Never, -surely, did ironmonger do his work so slowly! Never, surely, did an -employer give so much of his valuable time to directing exactly what was -to be done, and superintending an affair about which he knew nothing. -But the fixing of that detestable bell gave Mr. Horner a capitol excuse -for being in the shop at Frithiof’s elbow, and every word and look -conveyed such insulting suspicion of the Norwegian that honest old -Foster began to feel angry. - -“Why should I mind this vulgar brute?” thought Frithiof, as he forced -himself to go on with his work with the air of quiet determination which -Mr. Horner detested. But all the same he did care, and it was the very -vulgarity of the attack that made him inwardly wince. His headache grew -worse and worse, while in maddening monotony came the sounds of piano -tuning from the inner shop, hammering and bell-ringing at the till close -by, and covert insults and innuendoes from the grating voice of James -Horner. How much an employer can do for those in his shop, how close and -cordial the relation may be, he had learnt from his intercourse with Mr. -Boniface. He now learnt the opposite truth, that no position affords -such constant opportunities for petty tyranny if the head of the firm -happens to be mean or prejudiced. The miserable hours dragged on -somehow, and at last, late in the afternoon, Foster came up to him with -a message. - -“Mr. Horner wishes to speak to you,” he said; “I will take your place -here.” Then, lowering his voice cautiously, “It’s my opinion, Mr. Falck, -that he is trying to goad you into resigning, or into an impertinent -answer which would be sufficient to cause your dismissal.” - -“Thank you for the warning,” said Frithiof gratefully, and a little -encouraged by the mere fact that the foreman cared enough for him to -speak in such a way, he went to the private room, determined to be on -his guard and not to let pride or anger get the better of his dignity. - -Mr. Horner replied to his knock, but did not glance round as he entered -the room. - -“You wished to speak to me, sir?” asked Frithiof. - -“Yes, when I have finished this letter. You can wait,” said Mr. Horner -ungraciously. - -He waited quietly, thinking to himself how different was the manner both -of Mr. Boniface and of his son, who were always as courteous to their -employees as to their customers, and would have thought themselves as -little justified in using such a tone to one of the men as of employing -the slave-whip. - -Mr. Horner, flattering himself that he was producing an impression and -emphasizing the difference between their respective positions, finished -his letter, signed his name with a flourish characteristic of his -opinion of himself, then swung round his chair and glanced at Frithiof. - -“Mr. Boniface left no instructions as to whether you were to attend as -usual at St. James’s Hall to-night,” he began. “But since no one else is -used to the work I suppose there is no help for it.” - -He paused, apparently expecting some rejoinder, but Frithiof merely -stood there politely attentive. - -“Since you know the work, and are used to it, you had better attend as -usual, for I should be vexed if any hitch should occur in the -arrangements. But understand, pray, that I strongly disapprove of your -remaining in our employ at all, and that it is only out of necessity -that I submit to it, for I consider you unfit to mix with respectable -people.” - -Whatever the Norwegian felt, he managed to preserve a perfectly unmoved -aspect. Mr. Horner, who wanted to stir him into indignant expostulation, -was sorely disappointed that his remarks fell so flat. - -“I see you intend to brazen it out,” he said crushingly. “But you don’t -deceive me. You may leave the room, and take good care that all the -arrangements to-night are properly carried out.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Frithiof, with the quietness of one who knows that he -remains master of the situation. But afterward, when he was once more in -the shop, the insults returned to his mind with full force, and lay -rankling there for many a day to come. Owing to the concert, his release -came a little sooner than usual, and it was not much after seven when -Sigrid heard him at the door. His face frightened her; it looked so worn -and harassed. - -“You will have time for some supper?” she asked pleadingly. - -“No,” he said, passing by her quickly, “I am not hungry, and must change -my clothes and be off again.” - -“He might fancy some coffee,” said Sigrid to herself. “Quick, Swanhild, -run and get it ready while I boil the water. There is nothing like -strong _café noir_ when one is tired out.” - -Perhaps it did him some good; and the glimpse of his home certainly -cheered him; yet, nevertheless, he was almost ready that night to give -up everything in despair. - -Physical exhaustion had dulled the glow of inner comfort that had come -to him on the previous day. In his miserable depression all his old -doubts assailed him once more. Was there any rule of justice after all? -Was there anything in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, but cruel -lust of power, and an absolute indifference to suffering? His old hatred -against those who succeeded once more filled his heart, and though at -one time he had felt curious to see Donati, and had heard all that Cecil -had to say in favor of the Italian’s courage and unselfishness, yet now, -in his bitterness of soul, he began to hate the man merely because of -his popularity. - -“I detest these conceited, set-up idols of the public,” he thought to -himself. “When all men speak well of a fellow it is time to suspect him. -His goodness and all the rest of it is probably all calculation—a sort -of advertisement!” - -The architects of most English music-halls have scant regard for the -comfort of the _artistes_. It often used to strike Frithiof as a strange -thing that in the Albert Hall, singers, whose health and strength were -of priceless value, had to wait about in draughty, sloping passages, on -uncomfortable chairs, while at St. James’s Hall they had only the option -of marching up and down a cold, stone staircase to the cloak-room -between every song, or of sitting in the dingy little den opening on to -the platform steps—a den which resembles a family pew in a meetinghouse. -Here, sitting face to face on hard benches, were ranged to-night many of -the first singers of the day. There was Sardoni, the good-natured -English tenor and composer. There was Mme. Sardoni-Borelli, with her -noble and striking face and manner; besides a host of other celebrities, -all the more dear to the audience because for years and years they had -been giving their very best to the nation. But Carlo Donati had not yet -arrived, and Mr. Horner kept glancing anxiously through the glass doors -on to the staircase in hopes of catching sight of the great baritone. -Frithiof lived through it all like a man in a dream, watched a young -English tenor who was to make his first appearance that night, saw him -walking to and fro in a tremendous state of nervousness, heard the poor -fellow sing badly enough, and watched him plunge down the steps again -amid the very faint applause of the audience. Next came the turn of Mme. -Sardoni-Borelli. Her husband handed her the song she was to sing, she -gave some directions to the accompanist as to the key in which she -wanted it played, and mounted the platform with a composed dignity that -contrasted curiously with the manner of the _débutant_ who had preceded -her. Mr. Horner turned to Frithiof at that moment. - -“Go and see whether Signor Donati has come,” he said. “His song is next -on the programme.” - -“Ah,” said Sardoni, with a smile, “he is such a tremendous fellow for -home, he never comes a moment too soon, and at the theater often runs it -even closer than this. He is the quickest dresser I ever knew, though, -and is never behind time.” - -Frithiof made his way to the cloak room, and, as he walked through the -narrow room leading to it, he could distinctly hear the words of some -one within. The voice seemed familiar to him. - -“Badly received? Well, you only failed because of nervousness. In your -second song you will be more used to things, and you will see, it will -go much better.” - -“But _you_ surely can never have had the same difficulty to struggle -with?” said the young tenor, who, with a very downcast face, stood -talking to the newly arrived baritone. - -“Never!” exclaimed the other, with a laugh which rang through the room, -“Ask Sardoni! He’ll tell you of my first appearance.” - -Then, as Frithiof gave his message, the speaker turned round and -revealed to the Norwegian that face which had fascinated him so -strangely just before his illness—a face not only beautiful in outline -and coloring, but full of an undefined charm, which made all theories as -to the conceit and objectionableness of successful men fall to the -ground. - -“Thank you,” he said, bowing in reply; “I will come down at once.” Then, -turning again to the _débutant_ with a smile, “You see, through failing -to get that _encore_ that you ought to have deserved, you have nearly -made me behind time. Never mind, you will get a very hearty one in the -second part to make up. Come down with me, wont you. It is far better -fun in that family pew below than up here. Clinton Cleve is here, isn’t -he? Have you been introduced to him?” - -The young man replied in the negative; Frithiof perceived that the idea -had cheered him up wonderfully, and knew that a word from the veteran -tenor might be of great use to a beginner. - -“I’ll introduce you,” said Donati as they went down the stairs. Frithiof -held open the swing-doors for them and watched with no small curiosity -the greeting between Donati and the other _artistes_. His manner was so -very simple that it was hard to realize that he was indeed the man about -whom all Europe was raving; but nevertheless he had somehow brought a -sort of new atmosphere into the place, and even Mr. Horner seemed -conscious of this, for he was less fidgety and fussy than usual, and -even seemed willing to keep in the background. There was a hearty -greeting to Madame Sardoni as she came down the steps and a brisk little -conversation in the interval; then, having wrapped her shawl about her -again, talking brightly all the while, Donati picked up his music and -stepped on to the platform. It was only then that Frithiof realized how -great was his popularity, for he was greeted rapturously, and certainly -he well merited the thunder of applause which broke forth again at the -close of a song which had been given with unrivaled delicacy of -expression and with all the charm of his wonderful voice. For the time -Frithiof forgot everything; he was carried far away from all -consciousness of disgrace and wretchedness, far away from all -recollection of Mr. Horner’s presence; he could only look in -astonishment and admiration at the singer, who stood laughing and -talking with Sardoni, periodically mounting the platform to bow his -acknowledgments to the audience, who still kept up their storm of -applause. When at length he had convinced them that he did not intend to -sing again, he began to talk to Clinton Cleve, and soon had won for the -young _débutant_ a few minutes’ kindly talk with the good-natured old -singer who, though he had been the idol of the British public for many -years, had not forgotten the severe ordeal of a first appearance. The -young tenor brightened visibly, and when he sang again acquitted himself -so well that he won the _encore_ which Donati had prophesied. - -All went smoothly until, early in the second part, the Italian baritone -was to sing a song with violin obligato. By some unlucky accident -Frithiof forgot to place the music-stand for the violinist; and -perceiving this as soon as they were on the platform, Donati himself -brought it forward and put it in position. It was but a trifling -occurrence, but quite sufficient to rouse Mr. Horner. When the singer -returned he apologized to him profusely, and turned upon Frithiof with a -rebuke, the tone of which made Donati’s eyes flash. - -“Pray do not make so much of it,” he said, with a touch of dignity in -his manner. Then returning again from one of his journeys to the -platform, and noticing the expression of Frithiof’s face, he paused to -speak to him for a moment before returning to give the _encore_ that was -emphatically demanded. It was not so much what he said as his manner of -saying it that caused Frithiof’s face to brighten, and brought a frown -to James Horner’s brow. - -“It is merely my duty to enlighten Signor Donati,” said the little man -to himself—“merely my duty!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Carlo Donati had considerable insight into character; not only had he -been born with this gift, but his wandering life had brought him into -contact with all sorts and conditions of men, and had been an excellent -education to one who had always known how to observe. He was, moreover, -of so sympathetic a temperament that he could generally tell in a moment -when trouble was in the air, and the ridiculously trivial affair about -the music-stand, which could not have dwelt in his mind for a minute on -its own account, opened his eyes to the relations existing between Mr. -Horner and the Norwegian. That something was wrong with the latter he -had perceived when Frithiof had first spoken to him in the cloak-room, -and now, having inadvertently been the cause of bringing upon him a -severe rebuke, he was determined to make what amends lay in his power. - -He cut short Mr. Horner’s flattering remarks and reiterated apologies as -to the slight _contretemps_. - -“It is of no consequence at all,” he said. “By the by, what is the -nationality of that young fellow? I like his face.” - -“He is Norwegian,” replied Mr. Horner, glancing at Frithiof, who was -arranging the platform for Madame Gauthier, the pianiste. - -“You think, no doubt, that I spoke too severely to him just now, but you -do not realize what a worthless fellow he is. My partner retains him -merely out of charity, but he has been proved to be unprincipled and -dishonest.” - -The last few words reached Frithiof distinctly as he came down the -steps; he turned ghastly pale, his very lips grew white; it was as -though some one had stabbed him as he re-entered the little room, and -the eyes that turned straight to the eyes of the Italian were full of a -dumb anguish which Donati never forgot. Indignant with the utter want of -kindness and tact which Mr. Horner had shown, he turned abruptly away -without making the slightest comment on the words; but often through the -evening, when Frithiof was engrossed in other things, Donati quietly -watched him, and the more he saw of him the less was he able to believe -in the truth of the accusation. Meantime he was waiting for his -opportunity, but he was unable to get a word with the Norwegian until -the end of the concert, when he met him on the stairs. - -“Are you at liberty?” he asked. “Is your work here over?” - -Frithiof replied in the affirmative, and offered to look for the great -baritone’s carriage, imagining that this must be the reason he had -addressed him. - -“Oh, as, to the carriage!” said Donati easily, “it will be waiting at -the corner of Sackville Street. But I wanted a few minutes’ talk with -you, and first of all to apologize for having been the unwilling hearer -of that accusation, which I am quite sure is false.” - -Frithiof’s clouded face instantly cleared; all the old brightness -returned for a moment to his frank blue eyes, and forgetful of the fact -that he was not in Norway, and that Donati was the idolized public -singer, he grasped the hand of the Italian with that fervent, -spontaneous gratitude which is so much more eloquent than words. - -“Thank you,” he said simply. - -“Well, now, is it possible for an outsider to help in unraveling the -mystery?” said Donati. “For when a man like you is accused in this way I -take it for granted there must be a mystery.” - -“No one can possibly explain it,” said Frithiof, the troubled look -returning to his face. “I can’t tell in the least how the thing -happened, but appearances were altogether against me. It is the most -extraordinary affair, but God knows I had no hand in it.” - -“I want to hear all about it,” said Donati with that eagerness of manner -and warmth of interest which made him so devotedly loved by thousands. -“I am leaving England to-morrow; can’t you come back and have supper -with me now, and let me hear this just as it all happened?” - -Even if he had wished to refuse, Frithiof could hardly have done so; -and, as it was, he was so miserable that he would have caught at much -less hearty sympathy. They walked along the crowded pavement toward -Sackville Street, and had almost reached the carriage when a -conversation immediately behind them became distinctly audible. - -“They make such a fuss over this Donati,” said the speaker. “But I -happen to know that he’s a most disreputable character. I was hearing -all about him the other day from some one who used to know him -intimately. They say, you know, that—” - -Here the conversation died away in the distance, and what that curse of -modern society—the almighty “They”—said as to Donati’s private affairs -remained unknown to him. - -Frithiof glanced at the singer’s face. Apparently he had not yet reached -those sublime heights where insults cease from troubling and slanders -fail to sting. He was still young, and naturally had the disadvantages -as well as the immense gains of a sensitive artistic temperament. A -gleam of fierce anger swept over his face, and was quickly succeeded by -a pained look that made Frithiof’s heart hot within him; in silence the -Italian opened the door of the carriage, signed to Frithiof to get in, -and they drove off together. - -“No matter,” said Donati in a minute, speaking reflectively, and as if -he were alone. “I do not sing for a gossiping public. I sing for -Christ.” - -“But that they should dare to say such a thing as that!” exclaimed -Frithiof, growing more and more indignant as his companion’s serenity -returned. - -“For one’s self,” said Donati, “it is—well—not much; but for the sake of -those belonging to one it certainly does carry a sting. But every one -who serves the public in a public capacity is in the same boat. -Statesmen, artists, authors, actors, all must endure this plague of -tongues. And, after all, it merely affects one’s reputation, not one’s -character. It doesn’t make one immoral to be considered immoral, and it -doesn’t make you a thief to be considered dishonest. But now I want to -hear about this accusation of Mr. Horner’s. When did it all happen?” - -In the dim light Frithiof told his story; it was a relief to tell it to -sympathetic ears; Donati’s faith in him seemed to fill him with new -life, and though the strange events of that miserable Monday did not -grow any clearer in the telling, yet somehow a rope began to dawn in his -heart. - -“It certainly is most unaccountable,” said Donati, as the carriage drew -up before a pretty little villa in Avenue Road. He paused to speak to -the coachman. “We shall want the carriage in time to go to the 9.40 -train at Charing Cross, Wilson; good-night.” - -“But if you start so early,” said Frithiof, “I had better not hinder you -any longer.” - -“You do not hinder me; I am very much interested. You must certainly -come in to supper, and afterward I want to hear more about this. How -unlucky it was that the five-pound note should have been changed that -day by Sardoni!” - -At this moment the door was opened; Frithiof caught a vision of a slim -figure in a pale rose-colored tea gown, and the loveliest face he had -ever seen was raised to kiss Donati as he entered. - -“How nice and early you are!” exclaimed a fresh, merry voice. Then, -catching sight of a stranger, and blushing a little, she added, “I -fancied it was Jack and Domenica you were bringing back with you.” - -“Let me introduce you to my wife, Herr Falck,” said Donati, and Frithiof -instantly understood that here lay the explanation of the Italian’s -faultless English, since, despite her foreign name, it was impossible -for a moment to mistake Francesca Donati’s nationality. - -The house was prettily, but very simply, furnished, and about it there -was that indefinable air of home that Frithiof had so often noticed in -Rowan Tree House. - -“You must forgive a very unceremonious supper, Herr Falck,” said -Francesca, herself making ready the extra place that was needed at -table. “But the fact is, I have sent all the servants to bed, for I knew -they would have to be up early to-morrow, and they feel the traveling a -good deal.” - -“Much more than you and I do,” said Donati. “We have grown quite -hardened to it.” - -“Then this is not your regular home?” asked Frithiof. - -“Yes, it is our English home. We generally have five months here and -five at Naples, with the rest of the time either at Paris, or Berlin, or -Vienna. After all, a wandering life makes very little difference when -you can carry about your home with you.” - -“And baby is the best traveler in the world,” said Donati, “and in every -way the most model baby. I think,” glancing at his wife, “that she is as -true a gipsy as Gigi himself.” - -“Poor Gigi! he can’t bear being left behind! By the by, had you time to -take him back to school before the concert, or did he go alone?” - -“I had just time to take him,” said Donati, waiting upon Frithiof as he -talked. “He was rather doleful, poor old man; but cheered up when I told -him that he was to spend the summer holidays at Merlebank, and to come -to Naples at Christmas. It is a nephew of mine of whom we speak,” he -explained to Frithiof; “and, of course, his education has to be thought -of, and cannot always fit in with my engagements. You go in very much -for education in Norway, I understand?” - -Frithiof found himself talking quite naturally and composedly about -Norwegian customs and his former life, and it was not until afterward -that it struck him as a strange thing that on the very day after his -disgrace, when, but for Mr. Boniface’s kindness he might actually have -been in prison, he should be quietly, and even for the time happily, -talking of the old days. Nor was it until afterward that he realized how -much his interview with the great baritone would have been coveted by -many in a very different position; for Donati would not go into London -society though it was longing to lionize him. His wife did not care for -it, and he himself said that with his art, his home, and his own -intimate friends, no time was left for the wearing gayeties of the -season. The world grumbled, but he remained resolute, for though always -ready to help any one who was in trouble, and without the least touch of -exclusiveness about him, he could not endure the emptiness and -wastefulness of the fashionable world. Moreover, while applause that was -genuinely called forth by his singing never failed to give him great -pleasure, the flatteries of celebrity-hunters were intolerable to him, -so that he lost nothing and gained much by the quiet life which he -elected to lead. It was said of the great actor Phelps that “His theater -and his home were alike sacred to him as the Temple of God.” And the -same might well have been said of Donati, while something of the calm of -the Temple seemed to lurk about the quiet little villa, where refinement -and comfort reigned supreme, but where no luxuries were admitted. -Francesca had truly said that the wandering life made very little -difference to them, for wherever they went they made for themselves that -ideal home which has been beautifully described as - - “A world of strife shut out, - A world of love shut in.” - -They did not linger long over the supper-table, for Frithiof was -suffering too much to eat, and Donati, like most of his countrymen, had -a very small appetite. Francesca with a kindly good-night to the -Norwegian went upstairs to her baby, and the two men drew their chairs -up to the open French window at the back of the room looking on to the -little garden to which the moonlight gave a certain mysterious charm. - -“I have thought over it,” said Donati, almost abruptly, and as if the -matter might naturally engross his thoughts as much as those of his -companion. “But I can’t find the very slightest clue. It is certainly a -mystery.” - -“And must always remain so,” said Frithiof despairingly. - -“I do not think that at all. Some day all will probably be explained. -And be sure to let me hear when it is, for I shall be anxious to know.” - -A momentary gleam of hope crossed Frithiof’s face, but the gloom quickly -returned. - -“It will never be explained,” he said. “I was born under an unlucky -star; at the very moment when all seems well something has always -interfered to spoil my life; and with my father it was exactly the -same—it was an undeserved disgrace that actually killed him.” - -And then, to his own astonishment, he found himself telling Donati, bit -by bit, the whole of his own story. The Italian said very little, but he -listened intently, and in truth possessed exactly the right -characteristics for a confidant—rare sympathy, tact, and absolute -faithfulness. To speak out freely to such a man was the best thing in -the world for Frithiof, and Donati, who had himself had to battle with a -sea of troubles, understood him as a man who had suffered less could not -possibly have done. - -“It is to this injustice,” said Frithiof, as he ended his tale, “to this -unrighteous success of the mercenary and scheming, and failure of the -honorable, that Christianity tells one to be resigned. It is that which -sets me against religion—which makes it all seem false and -illogical—actually immoral.” - -Probably Donati would not even have alluded to religion had not his -companion himself introduced the subject. It was not his way to say much -on such topics, but when he did speak his words came with most wonderful -directness and force. It was not so much that he said anything -noteworthy or novel, but that his manner had about it such an intensity -of conviction, such rare unconsciousness, and such absolute freedom from -all conventionality. “Pardon me, if I venture to show you a flaw in your -argument,” he said quietly. “You say we are told to be resigned. Very -well. But what is resignation? It was well defined once by a noble -Russian writer who said that it is ‘placing God between ourselves and -our trouble.’ There is nothing illogical in that. It is the merest -common-sense. When finite things worry and perplex you, turn to the -Infinite from which they may be safely and peacefully viewed.” - -Frithiof thought of those words which had involuntarily escaped his -companion after the remark of the passer-by in Piccadilly—“No matter!—I -do not sing for a gossiping world.” He began to understand Donati -better—he longed with an intensity of longing to be able to look at life -with such eyes as his. - -“These things are so real to you,” he said quickly. “But to me they are -only a hope—or, if for an hour or two real, they fade away again. It may -be all very well for you in your successful happy life, but it is -impossible for me with everything against me.” - -“Impossible!” exclaimed Donati, his eyes flashing, and with something in -his tone which conveyed volumes to the Norwegian. - -“If not impossible at any rate very difficult,” he replied. - -“Yes, yes,” said Donati, his eyes full of sympathy. “It is that to all -of us. Don’t think I make light of your difficulties. It is hard to seek -God in uncongenial surroundings, in a life harassed and misunderstood, -and in apparent failure. But—don’t let the hardness daunt you—just go -on.” - -The words were commonplace enough, but they were full of a wonderful -power because there lurked beneath them the assurance— - - “I have been through where ye must go; - I have seen past the agony.” - -“Do you know,” said Frithiof, smiling, “that is almost what you said to -me the first time I saw you. You have forgotten it, but a year ago you -said a few words to me which kept me from making an end of myself in a -fit of despair. Do you remember coming to the shop about a song of -Knight’s?” - -“Why yes,” said Donati. “Was that really you? It all comes back to me -now—I remember you found the song for me though I had only the merest -scrap of it, without the composer’s name.” - -“It was just before my illness,” said Frithiof. “I never forgot you, and -recognized you the moment I saw you to-night. Somehow you saved my life -then just by giving me a hope.” - -Perhaps no greater contrast could have been found than these two men -who, by what seemed a mere chance, had been thrown together so -strangely. But Donati almost always attracted to himself men of an -opposite type; as a rule it was not the religious public that understood -him or appreciated him best, it was the men of the world, and those with -whom he came in contact in his professional life. To them his character -appealed in a wonderful way, and many who would have been ashamed to -show any enthusiasm as a rule, made an exception in favor of this man, -who had somehow fascinated them and compelled them into a belief in -goodness little in accord with the cynical creed they professed. - -To Frithiof in his wretchedness, in his despairing rebellion against a -fate which seemed relentlessly to pursue him, the Italian’s faith came -with all the force of a new revelation. He saw that the success, for -which but a few hours ago he had cordially hated the great singer, came -from no caprice of fortune, but from the way in which Donati had used -his gifts; nor had the Italian all at once leapt into fame, he had gone -through a cruelly hard apprenticeship, and had suffered so much that not -even the severe test of extreme popularity, wealth, and personal -happiness could narrow his sympathies, for all his life he would carry -with him the marks of a past conflict—a conflict which had won for him -the name of the “Knight-errant.” - -The same single-hearted, generous nature which had fitted him for that -past work, fitted him now to be Frithiof’s friend. For men like Donati -are knights-errant all their life long, they do not need a picturesque -cause, or seek a paying subject, but just travel through the world, -succoring those with whom they come in contact. The troubles of the -Norwegian in his prosaic shop-life were as much to Donati as the -troubles of any other man would have been; position and occupation were, -to him, very insignificant details; he did not expend the whole of his -sympathies on the sorrows of East London, and shut his heart against the -griefs of the rich man at the West End; nor was he so engrossed with his -poor Neapolitans that he could not enter into the difficulties of a -London shopman. He saw that Frithiof was one of that great multitude -who, through the harshness and injustice of the world, find it almost -impossible to retain their faith in God, and, through the perfidy of one -woman, are robbed of the best safeguard that can be had in life. His -heart went out to the man, and the very contrast of his present life -with its intense happiness quickened his sympathies. But what he said -Frithiof never repeated to any one, he could not have done it even had -he cared to try. When at length he rose to go Donati had, as it were, -saved him from moral death, had drawn him out of the slough of despond, -and started him with renewed hope on his way. - -“Wait just one moment,” he said, as they stood by the door; “I will give -you one of my cards and write on it the Italian address. There! _Villa -Valentino, Napoli._ Don’t forget to write and tell me when this affair -is all cleared up.” - -Frithiof grasped his hand, and, again thanking him, passed out into the -quiet, moonlit street. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - -The events of Monday had cast a shadow over Rowan-Tree House. Cecil no -longer sang as she went to and fro, Mr. Boniface was paying the penalty -of a stormy interview late on Monday evening with his partner, and was -not well enough to leave his room, and Mrs. Boniface looked grave and -sad, for she foresaw the difficulties in which Frithiof’s disgrace would -involve others. - -“I wish Roy had been at home,” she said to her daughter as, on the -Wednesday afternoon, they sat together in the verandah. - -Cecil looked up for a moment from the little frock which she was making -for Gwen. - -“If he had been at home, I can’t help thinking that this never would -have happened,” she said. “And I have a sort of hope that he will find -out some explanation of it all.” - -“My dear, what explanation can there be but the one that satisfies your -father?” said Mrs. Boniface. “Frithiof must have taken it in a fit of -momentary aberration. But the whole affair shows that he is not so -strong yet as we fancied, and I fear is a sign that all his life he will -feel the effects of his illness. It is that which makes me so sorry for -them all.” - -“I do not believe that he took it,” said Cecil. “Nothing will ever make -me believe that.” - -She stitched away fast at the little frock, in a sudden panic, lest the -tears which burned in her eyes should attract her mother’s notice. Great -regret and sympathy she might allow herself to show, for Frithiof was a -friend and a favorite of every one in the house; but of the grief that -filled her heart she must allow no trace to be seen, for it would make -her mother miserable to guess at the extent of her unhappiness. - -“Did you see him last night at the concert?” asked Mrs. Boniface. - -“Yes,” said Cecil, choking back her tears; “just when he arranged the -platform. He was looking very ill and worn.” - -“That is what I am so afraid of. He will go worrying over this affair, -and it is the very worst thing in the world for him. I wish your father -were better, and I would go and have a talk with Sigrid; but I hardly -like to leave the house. How would it be, dearie, if you went up and saw -them?” - -“I should like to go,” said Cecil quickly. “But it is no use being there -before seven, for Madame Lechertier has her classes so much later in -this hot weather.” - -“Well, go up at seven, then, and have a good talk with her; make her -understand that we none of us think a bit the worse of him for it, and -that we are vexed with Cousin James for having been so disagreeable and -harsh. You might, if you like, go to meet Roy; he comes back at -half-past eight, and he will bring you home again.” - -Cecil cheered up a good deal at this idea; she took Lance round the -garden with her, that he might help her to gather flowers for Sigrid, -and even smiled a little when of his own accord the little fellow -brought her a beautiful passion-flower which he had gathered from the -house wall. - -“This one’s for my dear Herr Frithiof!” he exclaimed, panting a little -with the exertions he had made to reach it. “It’s all for his own self, -and I picked it for him, ’cause it’s his very favorite.” - -“You know, Cecil,” said her mother, as she returned to the seat under -the verandah and began to arrange the flowers in a basket, “I have -another theory as to this affair. It happened exactly a week after that -day at the seaside when we all had such a terrible fright about Roy and -Sigrid. Frithiof had a long run in the sun, which you remember was very -hot that day; then he had all the excitement of rowing out and rescuing -them, and though at the time it seemed no strain on him at all, yet I -think it is quite possible that the shock may have brought back a slight -touch of the old trouble.” - -“And yet it seemed to do him good at the time,” said Cecil. “He looked -so bright and fresh when he came back. Besides, to a man accustomed as -he once was to a very active life, the rescue was, after all, no such -great exertion.” - -Mrs. Boniface sighed. - -“It would grieve me to think that it was really caused by that, but if -it is so, there is all the more reason that they should clearly -understand that the affair makes no difference at all in our opinion of -him. It is just possible that it may be his meeting with Lady Romiaux -which is the cause. Sigrid told me they had accidentally come across her -again, and that it had tried him very much.” - -Cecil turned away to gather some ferns from the rockery; she could not -bear to discuss that last suggestion. Later on in the afternoon it was -with a very heavy heart that she reached the model lodgings and knocked -at the door that had now become so familiar to her. - -Swanhild flew to greet her with her usual warmth. It was easy to see -that the child knew nothing of the trouble hanging over the house. “What -lovely flowers! How good of you!” she cried. - -But Sigrid could not speak: she only kissed her, then turned to Swanhild -and the flowers once more. - -“They are beautiful,” she said. “Don’t you think we might spare some for -Mrs. Hallifield? Run and take her some, dear.” - -When the child ran off she drew Cecil into their bedroom. The two girls -sat down together on the bed, but Sigrid, usually the one to do most of -the talking, was silent and dejected. Cecil saw at once that she must -take the initiative. - -“I have been longing to come and see you,” she said. “But yesterday was -so filled up. Father and mother are so sorry for all this trouble, and -are very much vexed that Mr. Horner has behaved badly about it.” - -“They are very kind,” said Sigrid wearily. “Of course most employers -would have prosecuted Frithiof, or, at any rate, discharged him.” - -“But, Sigrid, what can be the explanation of it? Oh, surely we can -manage to find out somehow! Who can have put the note in his pocket?” - -“What!” cried Sigrid. “Do not you, too, hold Mr. Boniface’s opinion, and -think that he himself did it unintentionally?” - -“I!” cried Cecil passionately. “Never! never! I am quite sure he had -nothing whatever to do with it.” - -Sigrid flung her arms round her. - -“Oh, how I love you for saying that!” she exclaimed. - -It was the first real comfort that had come to her since their trouble, -and, although before Frithiof she was brave and cheerful, in his absence -she became terribly anxious and depressed. But with the comfort there -came a fresh care, for something at that moment revealed to her Cecil’s -secret. Perhaps it was the burning cheek, that was pressed to hers, or -perhaps a sort of thrill in her companion’s voice as she spoke those -vehement words, and declared her perfect faith in Frithiof. - -The thought filled her with hot indignation against Blanche. “Has she -not only spoilt Frithiof’s life, but Cecil’s too?” she said to herself. -And in despair she looked on into the future, and back into the sad -past. “If it had not been for Blanche he might have loved her—I think he -would have loved her And oh! how happy she would have made him! how -different his whole life would have been! But now, with disgrace, and -debt, and broken health, all that is impossible for him. Blanche has -robbed him, too, of the very power of loving; she has cheated him out of -his heart. Her hateful flirting has ruined the happiness of two people, -probably of many more, for Frithiof was not the only man whom she -deceived. Oh! why does God give women the power to bring such misery -into the world?” - -She was recalled from her angry thoughts by Cecil’s voice; it was sweet -and gentle again now, and no longer vehement. - -“Do you know, Sigrid,” she said, “I have great hopes in Roy. He will be -home to-night, and he will come to it all like an outsider, and I think, -perhaps, he will throw some light on the mystery. I shall meet him at -Charing Cross, and as we drive home, will tell him just what happened.” - -“Is it to-night he comes home?” said Sigrid, with a depth of relief in -her tone. “Oh, how glad I am! But there is Swanhild back again. You wont -say anything before her, for we have not mentioned it to her; there -seemed no reason why she should be made unhappy, and Frithiof likes to -feel that one person is unharmed by his trouble.” - -“Yes, one can understand that,” said Cecil. “And Swanhild is such a -child, one would like to shelter her from all unhappiness. Are you sure -that you don’t mind my staying. Would you not rather be alone to-night?” - -“Oh, no, no,” said Sigrid. “Do stay to supper. It will show Frithiof -that you do not think any the worse of him for this—it will please him -so much.” - -They went back to the sitting-room and began to prepare the evening -meal; and when, presently, Frithiof returned from his work, the first -thing he caught sight of on entering the room was Cecil’s sweet, -open-looking face. She was standing by the table arranging flowers, but -came forward quickly to greet him. Her color was a little deeper than -usual, her hand-clasp a little closer, but otherwise she behaved exactly -as if nothing unusual had happened. - -“I have most unceremoniously asked myself to supper,” she said, “for I -have to meet Roy at half-past eight.” - -“It is very good of you to come,” said Frithiof gratefully. - -His interview with Carlo Donati had done much for him, and had helped -him through a very trying day at the shop, but though he had made a good -start and had begun his new life bravely, and borne many disagreeables -patiently, yet he was now miserably tired and depressed, just in the -mood which craves most for human sympathy. - -“Lance sent you this,” she said, handing him the passion-flower and -making him smile by repeating the child’s words. - -He seemed touched and pleased; and the conversation at supper-time -turned a good deal on the children. He asked anxiously after Mr. -Boniface, and then they discussed the concert of the previous night, and -he spoke a little of Donati’s kindness to him. Then, while Sigrid and -Swanhild were busy in the kitchen, she told him what she knew of -Donati’s previous life, and how it was that he had gained this -extraordinary power of sympathy and insight. - -“I never met any one like him,” said Frithiof. “He is a hero and a -saint, if ever there was one, yet without one touch of the asceticism -which annoys one in most good people. That the idol of the operatic -stage should be such a man as that seems to me wonderful.” - -“You mean because the life is a trying one?” - -“Yes; because such very great popularity might be supposed to make a man -conceited, and such an out-of-the-way voice might make him selfish and -heedless of others, and to be so much run after might make him consider -himself above ordinary mortals, instead of being ready, as he evidently -is, to be the friend of any one who is in need.” - -“I am so glad you like him, and that you saw so much of him,” said -Cecil. “I wonder if you would just see me into a cab now, for I ought to -be going.” - -He was pleased that she had asked him to do this; and when she had said -good-by to Sigrid and Swanhild, and was once more alone with him, -walking through the big court-yard, he could not resist alluding to it. - -“It is good of you,” he said, “to treat me as though I were under no -cloud. You have cheered me wonderfully.” - -“Oh,” she said, “it is not good of me—you must not think that I believe -you under a cloud at all. Nothing would ever make me believe that you -had anything whatever to do with that five-pound note. It is a mystery -that will some day be cleared up.” - -“That is what Signor Donati said. He, too, believed in me in spite of -appearances being against me. And Sigrid says the same. With three -people on my side I can wait more patiently.” - -Cecil had spoken very quietly, and quite without the passionate -vehemence which had betrayed her secret to Sigrid, for now she was on -her guard; but her tone conveyed to Frithiof just the trust and -friendliness which she wished it to convey; and he went home again with -a fresh stock of hope and courage in his heart. - -Meanwhile Cecil paced gravely up and down the arrival platform at -Charing Cross. She, too, had been cheered by their interview, but, -nevertheless, the baffling mystery haunted her continually, and in vain -she racked her mind for any solution of the affair. Perhaps the anxiety -had already left its traces on her face, for Roy at once noticed a -change in her. - -“Why, Cecil, what has come over you? You are not looking well,” he said, -as they got into a hansom and set off on their long drive. - -“Father has not been well,” she said, in explanation. “And I think we -have all been rather upset by something that happened on Monday -afternoon in the shop.” - -Then she told him exactly what had passed, and waited hopefully for his -comments on the story. He knitted his brows in perplexity. - -“I wish I had been at home,” he said. “If only James Horner had not gone -ferreting into it all this would never have happened. Frithiof would -have discovered his mistake, and all would have been well.” - -“But you don’t imagine that Frithiof put the note in his pocket?” said -Cecil, her heart sinking down in deep disappointment. - -“Why, who else could have put it there? Of course he must have done it -in absence of mind. Probably the excitement and strain of that unlucky -afternoon at Britling Gap affected his brain in some way.” - -“I cannot think that,” she said, in a low voice. “And, even if it were -so, that is the last sort of thing he would do.” - -“But that is just the way when people’s brains are affected, they do the -most unnatural things; it is a known fact that young innocent girls will -often in delirium use the most horrible language such as in real life -they cannot possibly have heard. Your honest man is quite likely under -the circumstances to become a thief. Is not this the view that my father -takes?” - -“Yes,” said Cecil. “But somehow—I thought—I hoped—that you would have -trusted him.” - -“It doesn’t in the least affect my opinion of his character. He was -simply not himself when he did it. But one can’t doubt such evidence as -that. The thing was missed from the till and found pinned into his -pocket; how can any reasonable being doubt that he himself put it -there?” - -“It may be unreasonable to refuse to believe it—I cannot help that,” -said Cecil. - -“But how can it possibly be explained on any other supposition?” he -urged, a little impatiently. - -“I don’t know,” said Cecil; “at present it is a mystery. But I am as -sure that he did not put it there as that I did not put it there.” - -“Women believe what they wish to believe, and utterly disregard logic,” -said Roy. - -“It is not only women who believe in him. Carlo Donati has gone most -carefully into every detail, and he believes in him.” - -“Then I wish he would give me his recipe,” said Roy, with a sigh. “I am -but a matter-of-fact, prosaic man of business, and cannot make myself -believe that black is white, however much I wish it. Have you seen Miss -Falck? Is she very much troubled about it?” - -“Yes, she is so afraid that he will worry himself ill; but, of course, -she too believes in him. I think she suspects the other man in the shop, -Darnell—but I don’t see how he can have anything to do with it, I must -own.” - -There was a silence. Cecil looked sadly at the passers-by, lovers -strolling along happily in the cool of the evening, workers just set -free from the long day’s toil, children reveling in the fresh sweet air. -How very brief was the happiness and rest as compared to the hard, -wearing drudgery of most of those lives! Love perhaps brightened a few -minutes of each day, but in the outside world there was no love, no -justice, nothing but a hard, grinding competition, while Sorrow and Sin, -Sickness and Death hovered round, ever ready to pounce upon their -victims. It was unlike her to look so entirely on the dark side of -things, but Frithiof’s persistent ill-luck had depressed her, and she -was disappointed by Roy’s words. Perhaps it was unreasonable of her to -expect him to share her view of the affair, but somehow she had expected -it, and now there stole into her heart a dreary sense that everything -was against the man she loved. In her sheltered happy home, where a -bitter word was never heard, where the family love glowed so brightly -that all the outside world was seen through its cheering rays, sad -thoughts of the strength of evil seldom came, there was ever present so -strong a witness for the infinitely greater power of love. But driving -now along these rather melancholy roads, weighed down by Frithiof’s -trouble; a sort of hopelessness seized her, the thought of the miles and -miles of houses all round, each one representing several troubled, -struggling lives, made her miserable. Personal trouble helps us -afterward to face the sorrows of humanity, and shows us how we may all -in our infinitesimal way help to brighten other lives—take something -from the world’s great load of pain and evil. But at first there must be -times of deadly depression, and in these it is perhaps impossible not to -yield a little for the moment to the despairing thought that evil is -rampant and all-powerful. Poverty, and sin, and temptation are so easily -visible everywhere, and to be ever conscious of the great unseen world -encompassing us, and of Him who makes both seen and unseen to work -together for good, is not easy. - -Cecil Boniface, like every one else in this world, had, in spite of her -ideal home, in spite of all the comforts that love and money could give -her, to “dree her weird.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -If Roy had seemed unsympathetic as they drove home it was not because he -did not feel keenly. He was indeed afraid to show how keenly he felt, -and he would have given almost anything to have been able honestly to -say that he, too, believed in some unexplained mystery which should -entirely free his friend from reproach. But he could not honestly -believe in such a thing—it would have been as easy to him to believe in -the existence of fairies and hobgoblins. Since no such thing as magic -existed, and since Darnell had never been an assistant of Maskelyne and -Cooke, he could not believe that he had anything to do with the -five-pound note. Assuredly no one but Frithiof could have taken it out -of the till and carefully pinned it to the lining of his waistcoat -pocket. The more he thought over the details of the story, the more -irrational seemed his sister’s blind faith. And yet his longing to share -in her views chafed and irritated him as he realized the impossibility. - -His mind was far too much engrossed to notice Cecil much, and that, -perhaps, was a good thing, for just then in her great dejection any -ordinarily acute observer could not have failed to read her story. But -Roy, full of passionate love for Sigrid, and of hot indignation with -James Horner for having been the instrument of bringing about all this -trouble, was little likely to observe other people. - -Why had he ever gone to Paris? he wondered angrily, when his father or -James Horner could have seen to the business there quite as well. He had -gone partly because he liked the change, and partly because he was -thankful for anything that would fill up the wretched time while he -waited for Sigrid’s definite reply to his proposal. But now he blamed -himself for his restlessness, and was made miserable by the perception -that had he chosen differently all would have now been well. - -He slept little that night, and went up to business the next morning in -anything but a pleasant frame of mind, for he could hardly resist his -longing to go straight to Sigrid, and see how things were with her. When -he entered the shop Darnell was in his usual place at the left-hand -counter, but Frithiof was arranging some songs on a stand in the center, -and Roy was at once struck by a change that had come over him; he could -not define it, but he felt that it was not in this way that he had -expected to find the Norwegian after a trouble which must have been so -specially galling to his pride. “How are you?” he said, grasping his -hand; but it was impossible before others to say what was really in his -heart, and it was not till an hour or two later that they had any -opportunity of really speaking together. Then it chanced that Frithiof -came into his room with a message. - -“There is a Mr. Carruthers waiting to speak to you,” he said, handing -him a card; “he has two manuscript songs which he wishes to submit to -you.” - -“Tell him I am engaged,” said Roy. “And that as for songs, we have -enough to last us for the next two years.” - -“They are rather good; he has shown them to me. You might just glance -through them,” suggested Frithiof. - -“I shall write a book some day on the sorrows of a music-publisher!” -said Roy. “How many thousands of composers do you think there can be in -this overcrowded country? No, I’ll not see the man; I’m in too bad a -temper; but you can just bring in the songs, and I will look at them and -talk to you at the same time.” - -Frithiof returned in a minute, carrying the neat manuscripts which meant -so much to the composer and so little, alas! to the publisher. Roy -glanced through the first. - -“The usual style of thing,” he said. “Moon, man, and maid, rill and -hill, quarrel, kisses—all based on ‘So the Story Goes.’ I don’t think -this is worth sending to the reader. What’s the other? Words by -Swinburne: ‘If Love were what the Rose is.’ Yes, you are right; this one -is original; I rather like that refrain. We will send it to Martino and -see what he thinks of it. Tell Mr. Carruthers that he shall hear about -it in a month or two. And take him back this moonlight affair. Don’t go -yet; he can wait on tenter-hooks a little longer. Of course they have -told me at home about all this fuss on Monday, and I want you to promise -me one thing.” - -“What is that?” said Frithiof. - -“That you wont worry about this miserable five-pound note. That, if you -ever think of it again, you will remember that my father and I both -regard the accident as if it had never happened.” - -“Then you too take his view of the affair?” said Frithiof. - -“Yes, it seems to me the only reasonable one; but don’t let us talk of a -thing that is blotted out and done away. It makes no difference whatever -to me, and you must promise that you wont let it come between us.” - -“You are very good,” said Frithiof sadly; and, remembering the -hopelessness of arguing with one who took this view of his trouble, he -said no more, but went back to the poor composer, whose face lengthened -when he saw that his hands were not empty, but brightened into radiant -hope as Frithiof explained that one song would really have the rare -privilege of being actually looked at. Being behind the scenes, he -happened to know that the vast majority of songs sent to the firm -remained for a few weeks in the house, and were then wrapped up again -and returned without even being glanced at. His intervention had, at any -rate, saved Mr. Carruthers from that hard fate. - -“And yet, poor fellow,” he reflected, “even if he does get his song -published it is a hundred to one that it will fall flat and never do him -any good at all; where one succeeds a thousand fail; that seems the law -of the world, and I am one of the thousand. I wonder what is the use of -it all!” - -Some lines that Donati had quoted to him returned to his mind: - - “Glorious it is to wear the crown - Of a deserved and pure success; - He that knows how to fail has won - A crown whose luster is not less.” - -His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of two customers, -evidently a very recently married couple, who had come to choose a -piano. Once again he had to summon Roy, who stood patiently discoursing -on the various merits of different makers until at last the purchase had -been made. Then, unable any longer to resist the feverish impatience -which had been consuming him for so long, he snatched up his hat, left -word with Frithiof that he should be absent for an hour, and getting -into a hansom drove straight to the model lodgings. - -He felt a curious sense of incongruity as he walked across the -court-yard; this great business-like place was, as Sigrid had once said, -very much like a hive. An air of industry and orderliness pervaded it, -and Roy, in his eager impatience, felt as if he had no right there at -all. This feeling cast a sort of chill over his happiness as he knocked -at the familiar door. A voice within bade him enter, and, emerging from -behind the Japanese screen, he found Sigrid hard at work ironing. She -wore a large brown holland apron and bib over her black dress, her -sleeves were turned back, revealing her round, white arms up to the -elbow, and the table was strewn with collars and cuffs. - -“I thought it was Mrs. Hallifield come to scrub the kitchen,” she -exclaimed, “or I should not have cried ‘Come in!’ so unceremoniously. -Cecil told us you were expected last night.” - -“Will you forgive me for coming at this hour?” he began eagerly. “I knew -it was the only time I was sure to find you at home, and I couldn’t rest -till I had seen you.” - -“It was very good of you to come,” she said, coloring a little; “you -wont mind if I just finish my work while we talk?” - -The ironing might, in truth, have waited very well; but somehow it -relieved her embarrassment to sprinkle and arrange and iron the “fine -things” which, from motives of economy, she washed herself. - -“I have seen Frithiof,” he said, rather nervously. “He is looking better -than I had expected after such an annoyance.” - -“You have spoken to him about it?” - -“Only for a minute or two. After all, what is there to say but that the -whole affair must be forgotten, and never again mentioned by a soul. I -want so to make you understand that it is to us nothing at all, that it -is ridiculous to suppose that it can affect our thoughts of him. It was -the sort of thing that might happen to any one after such an illness.” - -Sigrid looked up at him. There was the same depth of disappointment in -her expression as there had been in Cecil’s. - -“You take that view of it,” she said slowly. “Somehow I had hoped you -would have been able to find the true explanation.” - -“If there were any other you surely know that I would seek for it with -all my might,” said Roy. “But I do not see how any other explanation can -possibly exist.” - -She sighed. - -“You are disappointed,” he said. “You thought I should have taken the -view that Carlo Donati takes. I only wish I could. But, you see, my -nature is more prosaic. I can’t make myself believe a thing when all the -evidences are against it.” - -“I am not blaming you,” said Sigrid. “It is quite natural, and of course -most employers would have taken a far harder view of the matter, and -turned Frithiof off at a moment’s notice. You and Mr. Boniface have been -very kind.” - -“Don’t speak like that,” he exclaimed. “How can you speak of kindness as -between us? You know that Frithiof is like a brother to me.” - -“No,” she said; “you are mistaken. I know that you are fond of him; but, -if he were like a brother to you, then you would understand him; you -would trust him through everything as I do.” - -Perhaps she was unreasonable. But then she was very unhappy and very -much agitated; and women are not always reasonable, or men either, for -that matter. - -“Sigrid,” he said passionately, “you are not going to let this come -between us? You know that I love you with all my heart, you know that I -would do anything in the world for you, but even for love of you I -cannot make myself believe that black is white.” - -“I am not reproaching you because you do not think as we think,” she -said quickly. “But in one way this must come between us.” - -“Hush!” he said imploringly; “wait a little longer. I will not to-day -ask you for your answer; I will wait as long as you please; but don’t -speak now while your mind is full of this trouble.” - -“If I do not speak now, when do you think I shall be more at leisure?” -she asked coldly. “Oh! it seems a light thing to you, and you are kind, -and pass it over, and hush it up, but you don’t realize how bitter it is -to a Norwegian to have such a shadow cast on his honesty. Do you think -that even if you forget it we can forget? Do you think that the other -men in the shop hold your view? Do you think that Mr. Horner agrees with -you?” - -“Perhaps not. What do I care for them?” said Roy. - -“No; that is just it. To you it is a matter of indifference, but to -Frithiof it is just a daily torture. And you would have me think of -happiness while he is miserable! You would have me go and leave him when -at any moment he may break down again!” - -“I would never ask you to leave him,” said Roy. “Our marriage would not -at all involve that. It would be a proof to him of how little this -wretched business affects my opinion of him; it would prove to all the -world that we don’t regard it as anything but the merest accident.” - -“Do you think the world would be convinced?” said Sigrid, very bitterly. -“I will tell you what it would say. It would say that I had so entangled -you that you could not free yourself, and that, in spite of Frithiof’s -disgrace, you were obliged to marry me. And that shall never be said.” - -“For heaven’s sake don’t let the miserable gossip, the worthless opinion -of outsiders, make our lives miserable. What do we care for the world? -It is nothing to us. Let them say what they will; so long as they only -say lies what difference does it make to us?” - -“You don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, and for the first -time the tears rushed to her eyes. “Your life has been all sheltered and -happy. But out there in Bergen I have had to bear coldness and contempt -and the knowledge that even death did not shield my father from the -poisonous tongues of the slanderers. Lies can’t make the things they say -true, but do you think that lies have no power to harm you? no power to -torture you? Oh! before you say that you should just try.” - -Her words pierced his heart; the more he realized the difficulties of -her life the more intolerable grew the longing to help her, to shield -her, to defy the opinion of outsiders for her sake. - -“But don’t you see,” he urged, “that it is only a form of pride which -you are giving way to? It is only that which is keeping us apart.” - -“And what if it is,” she replied, her eyes flashing. “A woman has a -right to be proud in such matters. Besides, it is not only pride. It is -that I can’t think of happiness while Frithiof is miserable. My first -duty is to him; and how could I flaunt my happiness in his face? how -could I now bring back to him the remembrance of all his past troubles?” - -“At least wait,” pleaded Roy, once more; “at least let me once more ask -your final answer a few months hence.” - -“I will wait until Frithiof’s name is cleared,” she said passionately. -“You may ask me again then, not before.” - -Then seeing the despair in his face her strength all at once gave way, -she turned aside trying to hide her tears. He stood up and came toward -her, her grief gave him fresh hope and courage. - -“Sigrid,” he said, “I will not urge you any more. It shall be as you -wish. Other men have had to wait. I suppose I, too, can bear it. I only -ask one thing, tell me this once that you love me.” - -He saw the lovely color flood her cheek, she turned toward him silently -but with all her soul in her eyes. For a minute he held her closely, and -just then it was impossible that he could realize the hopelessness of -the case. Strong with the rapture of the confession she had made, it was -not then, nor indeed for many hours after, that cold despair gripped his -heart once more. She loved him—he loved her with the whole strength of -his being. Was it likely that a miserable five-pound note could for ever -divide them? Poor Roy! as Sigrid had said, he had lived such a sheltered -life. He knew so little of the world. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - -It is of course a truism that we never fully appreciate what we have, -until some trouble or some other loss shows us all that has grown -familiar in a fresh light. Our life-long friends are only perhaps valued -at their true worth when some friendship of recent growth has proved -fleeting and full of disappointment. And though many may love their -homes, yet a home can only be properly appreciated by one who has had to -bear from the outside world contempt and misunderstanding and harsh -judgment. Fond as he had been of his home before, Frithiof had never -until now quite realized what it meant to him. But as each evening he -returned from work, and from the severe trial of an atmosphere of -suspicion and dislike, he felt much as the sailor feels when, after -tossing about all day in stormy seas he anchors at night in some harbor -of refuge. Sigrid knew that he felt this, and she was determined that he -should not even guess at her trouble. Luckily she had plenty to do, so -that it was impossible for her to sit and look her sorrow in the face, -or brood over it in idleness. It was with her certainly as she went -about her household work, with her as she and Swanhild walked through -the hot and crowded streets, and with her as she played at Madame -Lechertier’s Academy. But there was something in the work that prevented -the trouble from really preying on her mind, she was sad indeed yet not -in despair. - -Nevertheless Madame Lechertier’s quick eyes noted at once the change in -her favorite. - -“You are not well, _chérie_,” she said, “your face looks worn. Why, my -dear, I can actually see lines in your forehead. At your age that is -inexcusable.” - -Sigrid laughed. - -“I have a bad habit of wrinkling it up when I am worried about -anything,” she said. “To-day, perhaps, I am a little tired. It is so hot -and sultry, and besides I am anxious about Frithiof, it is a trying time -for him.” - -“Yes, this heat is trying to the strongest,” said Madame Lechertier, -fanning herself. “Swanhild, my angel, there are some new bonbons in that -box, help yourself.” - -This afternoon it happened to be a children’s class, and Madame -Lechertier invariably regaled them in the intervals of rest with the -most delicious French sweetmeats. It was a pretty sight to see the -groups of little ones, and Swanhild in her dainty Norwegian costume, -handing the bonbons to each in turn. Sigrid always liked to watch this -part of the performance, and perhaps the most comforting thought to her -just then was, that as far as Swanhild was concerned, the new life, in -spite of its restrictions and economies, seemed to answer so well. The -child was never happier than when hard at work at the academy; even on -this hot summer day she never complained; and in truth the afternoons -just brought the right amount of variety into what would otherwise have -been a very monotonous life. - -“Sigrid,” said the little girl, as they walked home together, “is it -true what you said to Madame Lechertier about Frithiof feeling the heat? -Is it really that which has made him so grave the last few days?” - -“It is partly that,” replied Sigrid. “But he has a good deal to trouble -him that you are too young to understand, things that will not bear -talking about. You must try to make it bright and cheerful at home.” - -Swanhild sighed. It was not so easy to be bright and cheerful all by -one’s self, and of late Frithiof and Sigrid had been—as she expressed it -in the quaint Norse idiom—silent as lighted candles. People talk a great -deal about the happy freedom from care which children can enjoy, but as -a matter of fact many a child feels the exact state of the home -atmosphere, and puzzles its head over the unknown troubles which are -grieving the elders, often magnifying trifles into most alarming and -menacing sources of danger. But Frithiof never guessed either little -Swanhild’s perplexities, or Sigrid’s trouble; when he returned all -seemed to him natural and homelike; and perhaps it was as much with the -desire to be still with them as from any recollection of Donati’s words, -that on the following Sunday he set off with them to the service held -during the summer evenings at Westminster Abbey. - -What impression the beautiful service made on him Sigrid could not tell, -but the sermon was unluckily the very last he ought to have heard. The -learned Oxford professor who preached to the great throng of people that -night could have understood very little how his words would affect many -of his hearers; he preached as a pessimist, he drew a miserable picture -of the iniquity and injustice of the world, all things were going wrong, -the times were out of joint, but he suggested no remedy, he did not even -indicate that there was another side to the picture. The congregation -dispersed. In profound depression, Frithiof walked down the nave, and -passed out into the cool evening air. Miserable as life had seemed to -him before, it now seemed doubly miserable, it was all a great wretched -problem to which there was no solution, a purposeless whirl of buying -and selling, a selfish struggle for existence. They walked past the -Aquarium, the dingy side streets looked unlovely enough on that summer -night, and the dreary words he had heard haunted him persistently, -harmonizing only too well with the _cui bono_ that at all times was apt -to suggest itself to his mind. A wretched, clouded life in a miserable -world, misfortunes which he had never deserved eternally dogging his -steps, his own case merely one of a million similar or worse cases. -Where was the use of it all? - -A voice close beside him made him start. They were passing a corner -where two streets crossed each other, and the words that fell upon his -ear, spoken with a strange fervor yet with deep reverence, were just -these: - -“Jesus, blessed Jesus!” - -He glanced sharply round and saw a little crowd of people gathered -together; the words had been read from a hymn-book by a man whose whole -heart had been thrown into what he read. They broke into Frithiof’s -revery very strangely. Then immediately the people began to sing the -well-known hymn, “The Great Physician now is near,” and the familiar -tune, which had long ago penetrated to Norway, brought to Frithiof’s -mind a host of old memories. Was it after all true that the problem had -been solved? Was it true that in spite of suffering and sin and misery -the pledge of ultimate victory had already been given? Was it true that -he whose uncongenial work seemed chiefly to consist of passive endurance -had yet a share in helping to bring about the final triumph of good? - -From the words read by the street preacher, his mind involuntarily -turned to the words spoken to him a few days before by a stage singer. -Donati had spoken of living the life of the crucified. He had said very -little, but what he said had the marvelous power of all essentially true -things. He had spoken not as a conventional utterer of platitudes, but -as one man who has fought and agonized and overcome, many speak to -another man who, bewildered by the confusion of the battle-field, begins -to doubt his own cause. And far more than anything actually said there -came to him the thought of Donati’s own life, what he had himself -observed of it, and what he had heard of his story from Cecil. A -wonderfully great admission was made lately by a celebrated agnostic -writer when he said that, “The true Christian saint, though a rare -phenomenon, is one of the most wonderful to be witnessed in the moral -world.” Nor was the admission much qualified by the closing remark,—“So -lofty, so pure, so attractive that he ravishes men’s souls into oblivion -of the patent and general fact that he is an exception among thousands -of millions of professing Christians.” - -Frithiof’s soul was not in the least ravished into oblivion of this -fact; he was as ready as before, perhaps more ready, to admit the -general selfishness of mankind, certainly he was more than ever -conscious of his own shortcomings, and daily found pride and selfishness -and ungraciousness in his own life and character. But his love for -Donati, his great admiration for him, had changed his whole view of the -possibilities of human life. The Italian had doubtless been specially -fortunate in his parentage, but his life had been one of unusual -temptation, his extremely rapid change from great misery to the height -of popularity and success had alone been a very severe trial, though -perhaps it was what Frithiof had heard of his three years in the -traveling opera company that appealed to him most. Donati was certainly -saint and hero in one; but it was not only men of natural nobility who -were called to live this life of the crucified. All men were called to -it. Deep down in his heart he knew that even for him it was no -impossibility. And something of Donati’s incredulous scorn as he flung -back the word “impossible” in his face, returned to him now and nerved -him to a fresh attack on the uncongenial life and the faulty character -with which he had to work. The week passed by pretty well, and the -following Sunday found him tired indeed, but less down-hearted, and -better able to keep at arm’s length his old foe depression. For that -foe, though chiefly due to physical causes, can, as all doctors will -bear witness, to be a great extent held in check by spiritual energy. - -The morning was so bright that Sigrid persuaded him to take a walk, and -fully intending to return in an hour’s time to his translating, he paced -along the embankment. But either the fine day, or the mere pleasure of -exercise, or some sort of curiosity to see a part of London of which he -had heard a great deal, lured him on. He crossed BlackFriars Bridge and -walked farther and farther, following the course of the river eastward -into a region, dreary indeed, yet at times picturesque, with the river -gleaming in the sunshine, and on the farther bank the Tower—solid and -grim, as befitted the guardian of so many secrets of the past. Even here -there was a quiet Sunday feeling, while something familiar in the sight -of the water and the shipping carried him back in imagination to Norway, -and there came over him an intense longing for his own country. It was a -feeling that often took possession of him, nor could he any more account -for its sudden seizures than the Swiss can account for that sick longing -for his native mountains to which he is often liable. - -“It’s no use,” he thought to himself. “It will take me the best part of -my life to pay off the debts, and till they are paid I can’t go.” - -He turned his eyes from the river, as though by doing so he could drag -his thoughts from Norway, when to his astonishment he all at once caught -sight of his own national flag—the well known blue and white cross on -the red ground. His breath came fast, he walked on quickly to get a -nearer view of the building from which the flag floated. Hurriedly -pushing open the door, he entered the place, and found himself in a -church, which presented the most curious contrast to churches in -general, for it was almost full of men, and the seven or eight women who -were there made little impression, their voices being drowned in the -hearty singing of the great bulk of the congregation. - -They began to sing just as he entered; the tune was one which he had -known all his life, and a host of memories came back to him as he heard -once more the slow and not too melodious singing, rendered striking, -however, because of the fervor of the honest Norsemen. Tears, which all -his troubles had not called forth, started now to his eyes as he -listened to the words which carried him right out of the foreign land -back to his childhood at Bergen. - -[Illustration: - - Sörg o kjare fader du, Jeg wil ik-ke - sör-ge, Ik-ke med be kym-ret hu, - Om min frem-tid spör-ge. Sörg du for mig - al min tid, Sörg for mig og mi-ne; Gud al-mæg-tig - naa-dig, blid, Sörg for al-le di-ne!] - -Translation. - - “Care, oh, dear Father, Thou, - I will not care; - Not with troubled mind - About my future ask. - Care thou for me all my life, - Care for me and mine; - God Almighty, gracious, good, - Care for all Thine!” - -An onlooker, even a foreigner not understanding the language, could not -fail to have been touched by the mere sight of this strange gathering in -the heart of London,—the unpretentious building, the antique look of the -clergyman in his gown and Elizabethan ruff, the ranks of men—numbering -nearly four hundred—with their grave, weather-beaten faces, the greater -number of them sailors, but with a sprinkling of business men living in -the neighborhood, and the young Norseman who had just entered, with his -pride broken down by memories of an old home, his love of Norway leading -him to the realization that he was also a citizen of another country, -and his stern face softened to that expression which is always so full -of pathos—the expression of intent listening. - -In the Norwegian church the subject of the sermon is arranged throughout -the year. On this second Sunday after Trinity it was on the Gospel for -the day, the parable of the Master of the House who made a great supper, -and of the guests who “all with one consent began to make excuse.” There -was nothing new in what Frithiof heard; he had heard it all in the old -times, and, entirely satisfied with the happiness of self-pleasing, had -been among the rich who had been sent empty away. Now he came poor and -in need, and found that after all it is the hungry who are “filled with -good things.” - -Very gradually, and helped by many flashes of light which had from time -to time come to him in his darkest hours, he had during the last two -years groped his way from the vague and somewhat flippant belief in a -good providence, which he had once announced to Blanche as his creed, -and had learnt to believe in the All-Father. His meeting with Donati had -exercised, and still continued to exercise, an extraordinary influence -over him; but it was not until this Sunday morning, in his own national -church, not until in his own language he once more heard the entreaty, -“Come, for all things are now ready!” that he fully realized how he had -neglected the life of Sonship. - -With an Infinite Love belonging to him by right, he had allowed himself -to be miserable, isolated, and bitter. To many distinct commands he had -turned a deaf ear. To One who needed him and asked his love he had -replied in the jargon of the nineteenth century, but in the spirit of -the old Bible story, that practical matters needed him and that he could -not come. - -When the preacher went on to speak of the Lord’s Supper, and the -distinct command that all should come to it, Frithiof began to perceive -for the first time that he had regarded this service merely as the -incomprehensible communication of a great gift—whereas this was in truth -only one side of it, and he, also, had to give himself up to One who -actually needed him. It was characteristic of his honest nature that -when he at last perceived this truth he no longer made excuse but -promptly obeyed, not waiting for full understanding, not troubling at -all about controversial points, but simply doing what he recognized as -his duty. - -And when in a rapid survey of the past there came recollections of -Blanche and the wrong she had done him, he was almost startled to find -how quietly he could think of her, how possible it had become to blot -out all the resentful memories, all the reproachful thoughts that for so -long had haunted him. For the first time he entirely forgave her, and in -the very act of forgiving he seemed to regain something of the -brightness which she had driven from his life, and to gain something -better and truer than had as yet been his. - -All the selfish element had died out of his love for her; there remained -only the sadness of thinking of her disgrace, and a longing that, even -yet, the good might prevail in her life. Was there no recovery from such -a fall? Was no allowance to be made for her youth and her great -temptations? If she really repented ought not her husband once more to -receive her; and give her the protection which he alone could give? - -Kneeling there in the quiet he faced that great problem, and with eyes -cleared by love, with his pride altogether laid low, and knowing what it -was both to forgive and to be forgiven, he saw beyond the conventional -view taken by the world. There was no escaping the great law of -forgiveness laid down by Christ, “If he repent, forgive him.” “Forgive -even as also ye are forgiven.” And if marriage was taken as a symbol of -the union between Christ and the Church, how was it possible to exclude -the idea of forgiveness for faithlessness truly repented of? Had he been -in Lord Romiaux’s place he knew that he must have forgiven her, that if -necessary he must have set the whole world at defiance, in order once -more to shelter her from the deadly peril to which, alone, she must -always be exposed. - -And so it happened that love turned to good even the early passion that -had apparently made such havoc of his life, and used it now to raise him -out of the thought of his own trouble and undeserved disgrace, used it -to lift him out of the selfishness and hardness that for so long had -been cramping an otherwise fine nature. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - -Perhaps it was almost a relief both to Frithiof and to Sigrid that, just -at this time, all intercourse with Rowan Tree House should become -impossible. Lance and Gwen had sickened with scarlatina, and, of course, -all communication was at end for some time to come; it would have been -impossible that things should have gone on as before after Frithiof’s -trouble: he was far too proud to permit such a thing, though the -Bonifaces would have done their best utterly to forget what had -happened. It would moreover have been difficult for Sigrid to fall back -in her former position of familiar friendship after her last interview -with Roy. So that, perhaps, the only person who sighed over the -separation was Cecil, and she was fortunately kept so busy by her little -patients that she had not time to think much of the future. Whenever the -thought did cross her mind—“How is all this going to end?”—such -miserable perplexity seized her that she was glad to turn back to the -present, which, however painful, was at any rate endurable. But the -strain of that secret anxiety, and the physical fatigue of nursing the -two children, began to tell on her, she felt worn and old, and the look -that always frightened Mrs. Boniface came back to her face—the look that -made the poor mother think of the two graves in Norwood Cemetery. - -By the middle of August, Lance and Gwen had recovered, and were taken -down to the seaside, while Rowan Tree House was delivered into the hands -of the painters and whitewashers to be thoroughly disinfected. But in -spite of lovely weather that summer’s holiday proved a very dreary one. -Roy was in the depths of depression, and it seemed to Cecil that a great -shadow had fallen upon everything. - -“Robin,” said Mrs. Boniface, “I want you to take that child to -Switzerland for a month; this place is doing her no good at all. She -wants change and mountain air.” - -So the father and mother plotted and planned, and in September Cecil, -much against her will, was packed off to Switzerland to see -snow-mountains, and waterfalls, when all the time she would far rather -been seeing the prosaic heights of the model lodging-houses, and the -dull London streets. Still, being a sensible girl, she did her best with -what was put before her, and, though her mind was a good deal with -Sigrid and Frithiof in their trouble and anxiety, yet physically she -gained great good from the tour, and came back with a color in her -cheeks which satisfied her mother. - -“By-the-by, dearie,” remarked Mrs. Boniface, the day after her return, -“your father thought you would like to hear the _Elijah_ to-night at the -Albert Hall, and he has left you two tickets.” - -“Why, Albani is singing, is she not?” cried Cecil. “Oh yes; I should -like to go of all things!” - -“Then I tell you what we will do; we will send a card and ask Mrs. -Horner to go with you, for it’s the Church meeting to-night, and father -and I do not want to miss it.” - -Cecil could make no objection to this, though her pleasure was rather -damped by the prospect of having Mrs. Horner as her companion. There was -little love lost between them, for the innate refinement of the one -jarred upon the innate vulgarity of the other, and _vice versâ_. - -It was a little after seven o’clock when Cecil drove to the Horners’ -house and was ushered into the very gorgeous drawing-room. It was empty, -and by a sort of instinct which she could never resist, she crossed over -to the fireplace and gazed up at the clock, which ever since her -childhood had by its ugliness attracted her much as a moth is attracted -to a candle. It was a huge clock with a little white face and a great -golden rock, upon which golden pigs browsed with a golden swineherd in -attendance. - -“My dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Horner, entering with a perturbed face, “did -not my letter reach you in time? I made sure it would. The fact is, I am -not feeling quite up to going out to-night. Could you find any one else, -do you think, who would go with you?” - -Cecil thought for a moment. - -“Sigrid would have liked it, but I know she is too busy just now,” she -remarked. - -“And, oh, my dear, far better go alone than take Miss Falck!” said Mrs. -Horner. “I shall never forget what I endured when I took her with me to -hear Corney Grain; she laughed aloud, my dear; laughed till she -positively cried, and even went so far as to clap her hands. It makes me -hot to think of it even.” - -Mrs. Horner belonged to that rather numerous section of English people -who think that it is a sign of good breeding to show no emotion. She had -at one time been rather taken by Sigrid’s charming manner, but the -Norwegian girl was far too simple and unaffected, far too spontaneous, -to remain long in Mrs. Horner’s good books; she had no idea of enjoying -things in a placid, conventional, semi-bored way, and her clear, ringing -laugh was in itself an offense. Mrs. Horner herself never gave more than -a polite smile, or at times, when her powers of restraint were too much -taxed, a sort of uncomfortable gurgle in her throat, with compressed -lips, which gallantly tried to strangle her unseemly mirth. - -“I always enjoy going anywhere with Sigrid,” said Cecil, who, gentle as -she was, would never consent to be over-ridden by Mrs. Horner. “It seems -to me that her wonderful faculty for enjoying everything is very much to -be envied. However, there is no chance of her going to-night; I will -call and see whether one of the Greenwoods is disengaged.” - -So with hasty farewells she went off, laughing to herself as the cab -rattled along to think of Mrs. Horner’s discomfort and Sigrid’s intense -appreciation of Corney Grain. Fate, however, seemed to be against her; -her friends, the Greenwoods, were out for the evening, and there was -nothing left for it but to drive home again, or else to go in alone and -trust to finding Roy afterward. To sacrifice her chance of hearing the -_Elijah_ with Albani as soprano merely to satisfy Mrs. Grundy was too -much for Cecil. She decided to go alone, and, writing a few words on a -card asking Roy to come to her at the end of the oratorio, she sent it -to the _artistes’_ room by one of the attendants, and settled herself -down to enjoy the music, secretly rather glad to have an empty chair -instead of Mrs. Horner beside her. - -All at once the color rushed to her cheeks, for, looking up, she saw -Frithiof crossing the platform; she watched him place the score on the -conductor’s desk, and turn to answer the question of some one in the -orchestra, then disappear again within the swing-doors leading to the -back regions. She wondered much what he was thinking of as he went -through his prosaic duties so rapidly, wondered if his mind was away in -Norway all the time—whether autumn had brought to him, as she knew it -generally did, the strong craving for his old life of adventure—the -longing to handle a gun once more; or whether, perhaps, his trouble had -overshadowed even that, and whether he was thinking instead of that -baffling mystery which had caused them all so much pain. And all through -the oratorio she seemed to be hearing everything with his ears; -wondering how the choruses would strike him, or hoping that he was in a -good place for hearing Albani’s exquisite rendering of “Hear ye, -Israel.” She wondered a little that Roy did not come to her, or, at any -rate, send her some message, and at the end of the last chorus began to -feel a little anxious and uncomfortable. At last, to her great relief, -she saw Frithiof coming toward her. - -“Your brother has never come,” he said, in reply to her greeting. “I -suppose this fog must have hindered him, for he told me he should be -here; and I have been expecting him every moment.” - -“Is the fog so bad as all that?” said Cecil, rather anxiously. - -“It was very bad when I came,” said Frithiof. “However, by good luck, I -managed to grope my way to Portland Road, and came down by the -Metropolitan. Will you let me see you home?” - -“Thank you, but it is so dreadfully out of your way. I should be very -glad if you would, only it is troubling you so much.” - -Something in her eager yet half-shy welcome, and in the sense that she -was one of the very few who really believed in him, filled Frithiof with -a happiness which he could scarcely have explained to himself. - -“You will be giving me a very great pleasure,” he said. “I expect there -will be a rush on the trains. Shall we try for a cab?” - -So they walked out together into the dense fog, Cecil with a blissful -sense of confidence in the man who piloted her so adroitly through the -crowd, and seemed so astonishingly cool and indifferent amid the -perilous confusion of wheels and hoofs, which always appeared in the -quarter where one least expected them. - -At last, after much difficulty, Frithiof secured a hansom, and put her -into it. She was secretly relieved that he got in too. - -“I will come back with you if you will allow me,” he said; “for I am not -quite sure whether this is not a more dangerous part of the adventure -than when we were on foot. I never saw such a fog! Why, we can’t even -see the horse, much less where he is going.” - -“How thankful I am that you were here! It would have been dreadful all -alone,” said Cecil; and she explained to him how Mrs. Horner had failed -her at the last moment. - -He made no comment, but in his heart he was glad that both Mrs. Horner -and Roy should have proved faithless, and that the duty of seeing Cecil -home had devolved upon him. - -“You have not met my mother since she came back from the sea,” said -Cecil. “Are you still afraid of infection? The house has been thoroughly -painted and fumigated.” - -“Oh, it is not that,” said Frithiof “but while this cloud is still over -me, I can’t come. You do not realize how it affects everything.” - -Perhaps she realized much more than he fancied, but she only said. - -“It does not affect your own home.” - -“No, that’s true,” said Frithiof. “It has made me value that more, and -it has made me value your friendship more. But, you see, you are the -only one at Rowan Tree House who still believes in me; and how you -manage to do it passes my comprehension—when there is nothing to prove -me innocent.” - -“None of the things which we believe in most can be absolutely proved,” -said Cecil. “I can’t logically justify my belief in you any more than in -our old talks I could justify my belief in the unseen world.” - -“Do you remember that first Sunday when I was staying with you, and you -asked me whether I had found a Norwegian church!” - -“Yes, very well. It vexed me so much to have said anything about it; but -you see, I had always lived with people who went to church or chapel as -regularly as they took their meals.” - -“Well, do you know I was wrong; there is a Norwegian church down near -the Commercial Docks at Rotherhithe.” - -And then lured on by her unspoken sympathy, and favored by the darkness, -he told her of the strong influence which the familiar old chorale had -had upon him, and how it had carried him back to the time of his -confirmation—that time which to all Norwegians is full of deep meaning -and intense reality, so that even in the indifferentism of later years -and the fogs of doubt which pain and trouble conjure up, its memory -still lingers, ready to be touched into life at the very first -opportunity. - -“It is too far for Sigrid and Swanhild to go very often, but to me it is -like a bit of Norway planted down in this great wilderness of houses,” -he said. “It was strange that I should have happened to come across it -so unexpectedly just at the time when I most needed it.” - -“But that surely is what always happens,” said Cecil. “When we really -need a thing we get it.” - -“You learned before I did to distinguish between needing and wanting,” -said Frithiof. “It comes to some people easily, I suppose. But I, you -see, had to lose everything before understanding—to lose even my -reputation for common honesty. Even now it seems to be hardly possible -that life should go on under such a cloud as that. Yet the days pass -somehow, and I believe that it was this trouble which drove me to what I -really needed.” - -“It is good of you to tell me this,” said Cecil. “It seems to put a -meaning into this mystery which is always puzzling me and seeming so -useless and unjust. By the by, Roy tells me that Darnell has left.” - -“Yes,” said Frithiof, “he left at Michaelmas. Things have been rather -smoother since then.” - -“I can’t help thinking that his leaving just now is in direct evidence -against him,” said Cecil. “Sigrid and I suspected him from the first. Do -you not suspect him?” - -“Yes,” he replied, “I do. But without any reason.” - -“Why did he go?” - -“His wife was ill, and was ordered to a warmer climate. He has taken a -situation at Plymouth. After all, there is no real evidence against him, -and a great deal of evidence against me. How is it that you suspect -him?” - -“It is because I know you had nothing to do with it,” said Cecil. - -He had guessed what her answer would be, yet loved to hear her say the -words. - -It seemed to him that the dense fog, and the long drive at foot pace, -and the anxiety to see the right way, and the manifold difficulties and -dangers of this night, resembled his own life. And then it struck him -how tedious the drive would have been to him but for Cecil’s presence, -and he saw how great a difference her trust and friendship made to him. -He had always liked her, but now gratitude and reverence woke a new -feeling in his heart. Blanche’s faithlessness had so crippled his life -that no thought of love in the ordinary sense of the word—of love -culminating in marriage—came to his mind. But yet his heart went out to -Cecil, and a new influence crept into his life—an influence that -softened his hardness, that quieted his feverish impatience, that -strengthened him to endure. - -“Sigrid and Swanhild have been away with Mme. Lechertier, have they -not?” asked Cecil, after a silence. - -“Yes, they went to Hastings for a fortnight. We shut up the rooms, and I -went down to Herr Sivertsen, who was staying near Warlingham, a charming -little place in the Surrey hills.” - -“Sigrid told me you were with him, but I fancied she meant in London.” - -“No; once a year he tears himself from his dingy den in Museum Street, -and goes down to this place. We were out of doors most of the day, and -in the evening worked for four or five hours at a translation of Darwin -which he is very anxious to get finished. Hullo! what is wrong?” - -He might well ask, for the horse was kicking and plunging violently. -Shouts and oaths echoed through the murky darkness. Then they could just -make out the outline of another horse at right angles with their own. He -was almost upon them, struggling frantically, and the shaft of the cab -belonging to him would have struck Cecil violently in the face had not -Frithiof seized it and wrenched it away with all his force. Then, -suddenly, the horse was dragged backward, their hansom shivered, reeled, -and finally fell on its side. - -Cecil’s heart beat fast, she turned deadly white, just felt in the -horrible moment of falling a sense of relief when Frithiof threw his arm -around her and held her fast; then for an interval realized nothing at -all, so stunning was the violence with which they came to the ground. -Apparently both the cabs had gone over and were lying in an -extraordinary entanglement, while both horses seemed to be still on -their feet, to judge by the sounds of kicking and plunging. The danger -was doubled by the blinding fog, which made it impossible to realize -where one might expect hoofs. - -“Are you hurt?” asked Frithiof anxiously. - -“No,” replied Cecil, gasping for breath. “Only shaken. How are we to get -out?” - -He lifted her away from him, and managed with some difficulty to -scramble up. Then, before she had time to think of the peril, he had -taken her in his arms, and, rashly perhaps, but very dexterously, -carried her out of danger. Had she not trusted him so entirely it would -have been a dreadful minute to her; and even as it was she turned sick -and giddy as she was lifted up, and heard hoofs in perilous proximity, -and felt Frithiof cautiously stepping out into that darkness that might -be felt, and swaying a little beneath her weight. - -“Wont you put me down?—I am too heavy for you,” she said. But, even as -she spoke, she felt him shake with laughter at the idea. - -“I could carry you for miles, now that we are safely out of the wreck,” -he said. “Here is a curbstone, and—yes, by good luck, the steps of a -house. Now, shall we ring up the people and ask them to shelter you -while I just lend a hand with the cab?” - -“No, no, it is so late, I will wait here. Take care you don’t get hurt.” - -He disappeared into the fog, and she understood him well enough to know -that he would keenly enjoy the difficulty of getting matters straight -again. - -“I think accidents agree with you,” she said laughingly, when by and by -he came back to her, seeming unusually cheerful. - -“I can’t help laughing now to think of the ridiculous way in which both -cabs went down and both horses stood up,” he said. “It is wonderful that -more damage was not done. We all seem to have escaped with bruises, and -nothing is broken except the shafts.” - -“Let us walk home now,” said Cecil “Does any one know whereabout we -are?” - -“The driver says it is Battersea Bridge Road, some way from Rowan Tree -House, you see, but, if you would not be too tired, it would certainly -be better not to stay for another cab.” - -So they set off, and, with much difficulty, at length groped their way -to Brixton, not getting home till long after midnight. At the door -Frithiof said good-by, and for the first time since the accident Cecil -remembered his trouble; in talking of many things she had lost sight of -it, but now it came back to her with a swift pang, all the harder to -bear because of the happiness of the last half-hour. - -“You must not go back without resting and having something to eat,” she -said pleadingly. - -“You are very kind,” he replied, “but I can not come in.” - -“But I shall be so unhappy about you, if you go all that long way back -without food; come in, if it is only to please me.” - -Something in her tone touched him, and at that moment the door was -opened by Mr. Boniface himself. - -“Why, Cecil,” he cried. “We have been quite anxious about you.” - -“Frithiof saw me home because of the fog,” she explained. “And our -hansom was overturned at Battersea, so we have had to walk from there. -Please ask Frithiof to come in, father, we are so dreadfully cold and -hungry, yet he will insist on going straight home.” - -“It’s not to be thought of,” said Mr. Boniface. “Come in, come in, I -never saw such a fog.” - -So once more Frithiof found himself in the familiar house which always -seemed so homelike to him, and for the first time since his disgrace he -shook hands with Mrs. Boniface; she was kindness itself, and yet somehow -the meeting was painful and Frithiof wished himself once more in the -foggy streets. Cecil seemed intuitively to know how he felt, for she -talked fast and gayly as though to fill up the sense of something -wanting which was oppressing him. - -“I am sure we are very grateful to you,” said Mrs. Boniface, when she -had heard all about the adventure, and his rescue of Cecil. “I can’t -think what Cecil would have done without you. As for Roy, finding it so -foggy and having a bad headache, he came home early and is now gone to -bed. But come in and get warm by the fire. I don’t know why we are all -standing in the hall.” - -She led the way into the drawing-room, and Cecil gave a cry of -astonishment, for, standing on the hearth-rug was a little figure in a -red dressing-gown, looking very much like a wooden Noah in a toy ark. - -“Why, Lance,” she cried, “you up at this time of night!” - -The little fellow flew to meet her and clung round her neck. - -“I really couldn’t exackly help crying,” he said, “for I couldn’t keep -the tears out of my eyes.” - -“He woke up a few minutes ago,” said Mrs. Boniface, “and finding your -bed empty thought that something dreadful had happened to you, and as -nurse was asleep I brought him down here, for he was so cold and -frightened.” - -By this time Lance had released Cecil and was clinging to Frithiof. - -“Gwen and me’s been ill,” he said proudly, “and I’ve grown a whole inch -since you were here last. My throat doesn’t hurten me now at all.” - -The happy unconsciousness of the little fellow seemed to thaw Frithiof -at once, the wretched five-pound note ceased to haunt him as he sat with -Lance on his knee, and he ate without much thought the supper that he -had fancied would choke him. For Lance, who was faithful to his old -friends, entirely refused to leave him, but serenely ate biscuits and -begged stray sips of his hot cocoa, his merry childish talk filling up -the gaps in a wonderful way and setting them all at their ease. - -“Had you not better stay here for the night?” said Mrs. Boniface -presently. “I can’t bear to think of your having that long walk through -the fog.” - -“You are very kind,” he said, “but Sigrid would be frightened if I -didn’t turn up,” and kissing Lance, he sat him down on the hearthrug, -and rose to go. Cecil’s thanks and warm hand-clasp lingered with him -pleasantly, and he set out on his walk home all the better for his visit -to Rowan Tree House. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - -Had it not been for the fog his long walk might have made him sleepy, -but the necessity of keeping every faculty on the alert and of sharply -watching every crossing and every landmark made that out of the -question. Moreover, now that he had quite recovered from his illness it -took a great deal to tire him, and, whenever he did succumb, it was to -mental worry, never to physical fatigue. So he tramped along pretty -cheerfully, rather enjoying the novelty of the thing, but making as much -haste as he could on account of Sigrid. He had just reached the outer -door of the model lodgings and was about to unlock it with the key which -was always furnished to those whose work detained them beyond the hour -of closing, when he was startled by something that sounded like a sob -close by him. He paused and listened; it came again. - -“Who is there?” he said, straining his eyes to pierce the thick curtain -of fog that hung before him. - -The figure of a woman approached him. - -“Oh, sir,” she said, checking her sobs, “have you the key, and can you -let me in?” - -“Yes, I have a key. Do you live here?” - -“No, sir, but I’m sister to Mrs. Hallifield. Perhaps you know -Hallifield, the tram conductor. I came to see him to-night because he -was taken so ill, but I got hindered setting out again, and didn’t allow -time to get back to Macdougal’s. I’m in his shop, and the rule at his -boarding-house is that the door is closed at eleven and mayn’t be opened -any more, and when I got there sir, being hindered with the fog, it was -five minutes past.” - -“And they wouldn’t let you in?” asked Frithiof. “What an abominable -thing—the man ought to be ashamed of himself for having such a rule! -Come in; why you must be half-frozen! I know your sister quite well!” - -“I can never thank you enough,” said the poor girl. “I thought I should -have had to stay out all night! There’s a light, I see, in the window; -my brother-in-law is worse, I expect.” - -“What is wrong with him?” asked Frithiof. - -“Oh, he’s been failing this long time,” said the girl; “it’s the long -hours of the trams he’s dying of. There’s never any rest for them you -see, sir; winter and summer, Sunday and week-day they have to drudge on. -He’s a kind husband and a good father too, and he will go on working for -the sake of keeping the home together, but it’s little of the home he -sees when he has to be away from it sixteen hours every day. They say -they’re going to give more holidays and shorter hours, but there’s a -long time spent in talking of things, it seems to me, and in the -meanwhile John’s dying.” - -Frithiof remembered how Sigrid had mentioned this very thing to him in -the summer when he had told her of his disgrace; he had been too full of -his own affairs to heed her much, but now his heart grew hot at the -thought of this pitiable waste of human life, this grinding out of a -larger dividend at the cost of such terrible suffering. It was a sign -that his new life had actually begun when, instead of merely railing at -the injustice of the world, he began to think what he himself could do -in this matter. - -“Perhaps they will want the doctor fetched. I will come with you to the -door and you shall just see,” he said. - -And the girl thanking him, knocked at her sister’s door, spoke to some -one inside, and returning, asked him to come in. To his surprise he -found Sigrid in the little kitchen; she was walking to and fro with the -baby, a sturdy little fellow of a year old. - -“You are back at last,” she said, “I was getting quite anxious about -you. Mr. Hallifield was taken so much worse to-day, and hearing the baby -crying I came in to help.” - -“How about the doctor? Do they want him fetched?” - -“No, he came here about ten o’clock, and he says there is nothing to be -done; it is only a question of hours now.” - -At this moment the poor wife came into the kitchen; she was still quite -young, and the dumb anguish in her face brought the tears to Sigrid’s -eyes. - -“What, Clara!” she exclaimed, perceiving her sister, “you back again!” - -“I was too late,” said the girl, “and they had locked me out. But it’s -no matter now that the gentleman has let me in here. Is John worse -again.” - -“He’ll not last long,” said the wife, “and he be that set on getting in -here to the fire, for he’s mortal cold. But I doubt if he’s strength to -walk so far.” - -“Frithiof, you could help him in,” said Sigrid. - -“Will you, sir? I’ll thank you kindly if you will,” said Mrs. -Hallifield, leading the way to the bedroom. - -Frithiof followed her, and glancing toward the bed could hardly control -the awed surprise which seized him as for the first time he saw a man -upon whom the shadow of death had already fallen. Once or twice he had -met Hallifield in the passage setting off to his work in the early -morning, and he contrasted his recollection of the brisk, -fair-complexioned, respectable-looking conductor, and this man propped -up with pillows, his face drawn with pain, and of that ghastly ashen hue -which is death’s herald. - -“The Norwegian gentleman is here, and will help you into the kitchen, -John,” said the wife, beginning to swathe him in blankets. - -“Thank you, sir,” said the man gratefully. “It’s just a fancy I’ve got -to die in there by the fire, though I doubt I’ll never get warm any -more.” - -Frithiof carried him in gently and set him down in a cushioned chair -drawn close to the fire; he seemed pleased by the change of scene, and -looked round the tidy little room with brightening eyes. - -“It’s a nice little place!” he said. “I wish I could think you would -keep it together, Bessie, but with the four children you’ll have a hard -struggle to live.” - -For the first time she broke down and hid her face in her apron. A look -of keen pain passed over the face of the dying man, he clinched and -unclinched his hands. But Sigrid, who was rocking the baby on the other -side of the hearth, bent forward and spoke to him soothingly. - -“Don’t you trouble about that part of it,” she said. “We will be her -friends. Though we are poor yet there are many ways in which we can help -her, and I know a lady who will never let her want.” - -He thanked her with a gratitude that was pathetic. - -“I’m in a burial club,” he said, after a pause, stretching out his -nerveless fingers toward the fire; “she’ll have no expenses that way; -they’ll bury me very handsome, which’ll be a satisfaction to her, poor -girl. I’ve often thought of it when I saw a well-to-do looking funeral -pass alongside the tram, but I never thought it would come as soon as -this. I’m only going in thirty-five, which isn’t no great age for a -man.” - -“The work was too much for you,” said Frithiof. - -“Yes, sir, it’s the truth you speak, and there’s many another in the -same boat along with me. It’s a cruel hard life. But then, you see, I -was making my four-and-six a day, and if I gave up I knew it meant -starvation for the wife and the children; there is thousands out of -work, and that makes a man think twice before giving in—spite of the -long hours.” - -“And he did get six shillings a day at one time,” said the wife looking -up, “but the company’s cruel hard, sir, and just because he had a -twopence in his money and no ticket to account for its being there they -lowered him down to four-and-six again.” - -“Yes, that did seem to me hard; I’ll not deny, I swore a bit that day,” -said Hallifield. “But the company never treats us like men, it treats us -like slaves. They might have known me to be honest and careful, but it -seems as if they downright liked to catch a fellow tripping, and while -that’s so there’s many that’ll do their best to cheat.” - -“But is nothing being done to shorten the hours, to make people -understand how frightful they are?” asked Sigrid. - -“Oh, yes, miss, there’s Mrs. Reaney working with all her might for us,” -said Hallifield. “But you see folks are hard to move, and if we had only -the dozen hours a day that we ought to have and every other Sunday at -home, why, miss, they’d perhaps not get nine per cent. on their money as -they do now.” - -“They are no better than murderers!” said Frithiof hotly. - -“Well,” said Hallifield, “so it has seemed to me sometimes. But I never -set up to know much; I’ve had no time for book-learning, nor for -religion either, barely time for eating and sleeping. I don’t think God -Almighty will be hard on a fellow that has done his best to keep his -wife and children in comfort, and I’ll not complain if only He’ll just -let me sit still and do nothing for a bit, for I’m mortal tired.” - -He had been talking eagerly, and for the time his strength had returned -to him, but now his head dropped forward, and his hands clutched -convulsively at the blankets. - -With a great cry the poor wife started forward and flung her arms round -him. - -“He’s going!” she sobbed. “He’s going! John—oh, John!” - -“Nine per cent. on their money!” thought Frithiof. “My God! if they -could but see this!” - - * * * * * - -By-and-by, when he had done all that he could to help, he went back to -his own room, leaving Sigrid still with the poor widow. The scene had -made a deep impression on him; he had never before seen any one die, and -the thought of poor Hallifield’s pathetic confession that he had had no -time for anything, but the toil of living, returned to him again and -again. - -“That is a death-bed that ought not to have been,” he reflected. “It -came for the hateful struggle for wealth. Yet the shareholders are no -worse than the rest of the world, it is only that they don’t think, or, -if they do think for a time, allow themselves to be persuaded that the -complaints are exaggerated. How easily men let themselves be hoodwinked -by vague statements and comfortable assurances when they want to be -persuaded, when it is to their own interest to let things go on as -before.” - -And then, quite unable to sleep, he lay thinking of the great problems -which had so often haunted him, the sharp contrasts between too great -wealth and too great poverty, the unequal chances in life, the grinding -competition, the ineffable sadness of the world. But his thoughts were -no longer tainted by bitterness and despair, because, though he could -not see a purpose in all the great mysteries of life, yet he trusted One -who had a purpose, One who in the end must overcome all evil, and he -knew that he himself was bound to live and could live a life which -should help toward that great end. - -Three days later poor Hallifield’s “handsome funeral” set out from the -door of the model lodgings, and Frithiof, who had given up his -half-holiday to go down to the cemetery, listened to the words of the -beautiful service, thinking to himself how improbable it was that the -tram-conductor had ever had the chance of hearing St. Paul’s teaching on -the resurrection. - -Was there not something wrong in a system which should so tire out a man -that the summit of his wishes on his dying day should be but an echo of -the overworked woman whose epitaph ended with— - - “I’m going to do nothing for ever and ever”? - -How could this great evil of the overwork of the many, and the too great -leisure of the few, be set right? A socialism which should compulsorily -reduce all to one level would be worse than useless. Love of freedom was -too thoroughly ingrained in his Norse nature to tolerate that idea for a -moment. He desired certain radical reforms with his whole heart, but he -saw that they alone would not suffice—nothing but individual love, -nothing but the consciousness of individual responsibility, could really -put an end to the misery and injustice of the present system. In a word, -the only true remedy was the life of Sonship. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - -One December day another conclave was held in Mr. Boniface’s private -room. Mr. Boniface himself sat with his arm chair turned round toward -the fire, and on his pleasant, genial face there was a slight cloud, for -he much disliked the prospect of the discussion before him. Mr. Horner -stood with his back to the mantel-piece, looking even more pompous and -conceited than usual, and Roy sat at the writing-table, listening -attentively to what passed, and relieving his feelings by savagely -digging his pen into the blotting-pad to the great detriment of its -point. - -“It is high time we came to an understanding on this matter,” Mr. Horner -was saying. “Do you fully understand that when I have once said a thing -I keep to it? Either that Norwegian must go, or when the day comes for -renewing our partnership I leave this place never to re-enter it.” - -“I do not wish to have any quarrel with you about the matter,” said Mr. -Boniface. “But I shall certainly not part with Falck. To send him away -now would be most cruel and unjustifiable.” - -“It would be nothing of the sort,” retorted Mr. Horner hotly. “It would -be merely following the dictates of common-sense and fairness.” - -“This is precisely the point on which you and I do not agree,” said Mr. -Boniface with dignity. - -“It is not only his dishonesty that has set me against him,” continued -Mr. Horner. “It is his impertinent indifference, his insufferable manner -when I order him to do anything.” - -“I have never myself found him anything but a perfect gentleman,” said -Mr. Boniface. - -“Gentleman! Oh! I’ve no patience with all that tomfoolery! I want none -of your gentlemen; I want a shopman who knows his place and can answer -with proper deference.” - -“You do not understand the Norse nature,” said Roy. “Now here in the -newspaper, this very day, is a good sample of it.” He unfolded the -morning paper eagerly and read them the following lines, taking a wicked -delight in the thought of how it would strike home: - -“Their noble simplicity and freedom of manners bear witness that they -have never submitted to the yoke of a conqueror, or to the rod of a -petty feudal lord; a peasantry at once so kind-hearted, so truly humble -and religious, and yet so nobly proud, where pride is a virtue, who -resent any wanton affront to their honor or dignity. As an instance of -this, it may be mentioned that a naturalist, on finding that his hired -peasant companions had not done their work of dredging to his -satisfaction, scolded them in violent and abusive language. The men did -not seem to take the slightest notice of his scolding. ‘How can you -stand there so stupidly and apathetically, as though the matter did not -concern you?’ said he, still more irritated. ‘It is because we think, -sir, that such language is only a sign of bad breeding,’ replied an -unawed son of the mountains, whom even poverty could not strip of the -consciousness of his dignity.” - -“You insult me by reading such trash,” said Mr Horner, all the more -irritated because he knew that Roy had truth on his side, and that he -had often spoken to Frithiof abusively. “But if you like to keep this -thief in your employ—” - -“Excuse me, but I can not let that expression pass,” said Mr. Boniface. -“No one having the slightest knowledge of Frithiof Falck could believe -him guilty of dishonesty.” - -“Well, then, this lunatic with a mania for taking money that belongs to -other people—this son of a bankrupt, this designing foreigner—if you -insist on keeping him I withdraw my capital and retire. I am aware that -it is a particularly inconvenient time to withdraw money from the -business, but that is your affair. ‘As you have brewed so you must -drink.’” - -“It may put me to some slight inconvenience,” said Mr. Boniface. “But as -far as I am concerned I shall gladly submit to that rather than go -against my conscience with regard to Falck. What do you say, Roy?” - -“I am quite at one with you, father,” replied Roy, with a keen sense of -enjoyment in the thought of so quietly baffling James Horner’s malicious -schemes. - -“This designing fellow has made you both his dupes,” said Mr. Horner -furiously. “Someday you’ll repent of this and see that I was right.” - -No one replied, and, with an exclamation of impatient disgust, James -Horner took up his hat and left the room, effectually checkmated. -Frithiof, happening to glance up from his desk as the angry man strode -through the shop, received so furious a glance that he at once realized -what must have passed in the private room. It was not, however, until -closing time that he could speak alone with Roy, but the moment they -were out in the street he turned to him with an eager question. - -“What happened to Mr. Horner to-day?” - -“He heard a discourse on the Norwegian character which happened to be in -the _Daily News_, by good luck,” said Roy, smiling. “By-the-by, it will -amuse you, take it home.” - -And, drawing the folded paper from his coat-pocket, he handed it to -Frithiof. - -“He gave me such a furious glance as he passed by, that I was sure -something had annoyed him,” said Frithiof. - -“Never mind, it is the last you will have from him,” said Roy, rubbing -his hands with satisfaction. “He has vowed that he will never darken our -doors again. Think what a reign of peace will set in.” - -“He has really retired, then?” said Frithiof. “I was afraid it must be -so. I can’t stand it, Roy; I can’t let you make such a sacrifice for -me.” - -“Sacrifice! stuff and nonsense!” said Roy cheerfully. “I have not felt -so free and comfortable for an age. We shall be well rid of the old -bore.” - -“But his capital?” - -“Goes away with him,” said Roy; “it will only be a slight inconvenience; -probably he will hurt himself far more than he hurts us, and serve him -right, too. If there’s a man on earth I detest it is my worthy cousin -James Horner.” - -Frithiof naturally shared this sentiment, yet still he felt very sorry -that Mr. Horner had kept his word and left the firm, for all through the -autumn he had been hoping that he might relent and that his bark would -prove worse than his bite. The sense of being under such a deep -obligation to the Bonifaces was far from pleasant to him; however, there -seemed no help for it and he could only balance it against the great -relief of being free from James Horner’s continual provocations. - -Later in the evening, when supper was over, he went round to see Herr -Sivertsen about some fresh work, and on returning to the model lodgings -found Swanhild alone. - -“Where is Sigrid?” he asked. - -“She has gone in to see the Hallifields,” replied the little girl, -glancing up from the newspaper which she was reading. - -“You look like the picture of Mother Hubbard’s dog, that Lance is so -fond of,” he said, smiling. “Your English must be getting on, or you -wouldn’t care for the _Daily News_. Are you reading the praises of the -Norse character?” - -As he spoke he leaned over her shoulder to look at the letter which Roy -had mentioned; but Swanhild had turned to the inner sheet and was deep -in what seemed to her strangely interesting questions and answers -continued down three columns. A hurried glance at the beginning showed -Frithiof in large type the words, “The Romiaux Divorce Case.” - -He tore the paper away from her, crushed it in his hands, and threw it -straight into the fire. Swanhild looked up in sudden panic, terrified -beyond measure by his white face and flashing eyes, terrified still more -by the unnatural tone in his voice when he spoke. - -“You are never to read such things,” he said vehemently. “Do you -understand? I am your guardian and I forbid you.” - -“It was only that I wanted to know about Blanche,” said Swanhild, -conscious that, in some way she could not explain, he was unjust to her. - -But, unluckily, the mention of Blanche’s name was just the one thing -that Frithiof could not bear; he lost his self-control. “Don’t begin to -argue,” he said fiercely. “You ought to have known better than to read -that poisonous stuff! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” - -This was more than Swanhild could endure; with a sense of intolerable -injury she left the parlor, locked herself into her bedroom, and cried -as if her heart would break, taking good care, however, to stifle her -sobs in the pillow, since she, too, had her full share of the national -pride. - -“It is ungenerous of him to hate poor Blanche so,” she thought to -herself. “Whatever she has done I shall always love her—always. And he -had no right to speak so to me, it was unfair—unfair! I didn’t know it -was wrong to read the paper. Father would never have scolded me for it.” - -And in this she was quite right; only a very inexperienced “guardian” -could have made so great a mistake as to reproach her and hold her to -blame for quite innocently touching pitch. Perhaps even Frithiof might -have been wiser had not the sudden shock and the personal pain of the -discovery thrown him off his balance. - -When Sigrid returned in a few minutes she found him pacing the room as -restlessly as any wild beast at the Zoo. - -“Frithiof,” she said, “what is the matter with you? Have you and Herr -Sivertsen had a quarrel?” - -“The matter is this” he said hoarsely, checking his restlessness with an -effort and leaning against the mantel-piece as he talked to her. “I came -back just now and found Swanhild reading the newspaper—reading the -Romiaux Divorce Case, thoroughly fascinated by it too.” - -“I had no idea it had begun,” said Sigrid. “We so seldom see an English -paper; how did this one happen to be lying about?” - -“Roy gave it to me to look at an account of Norway; I didn’t know this -was in it too. However, I gave Swanhild a scolding that she’ll not soon -forget.” - -Sigrid looked up anxiously, asking what he had said and listening with -great dissatisfaction to his reply. - -“You did very wrong indeed,” she said warmly. “You forget that Swanhild -is perfectly innocent and ignorant; you have wronged her very cruelly, -and she will feel that, though she wont understand it.” - -Now Frithiof, although he was proud and hasty, was neither ungenerous -nor conceited; as soon as he had cooled down and looked at the question -from this point of view, he saw at once that he had been wrong. - -“I will go to her and beg her pardon,” he said at length. - -“No, no, not just yet,” said Sigrid, with the feeling that men were too -clumsy for this sort of work. “Leave her to me.” - -She rapped softly at the bedroom door and after a minute’s pause heard -the key turned in the lock. When she entered the room was quite dark, -and Swanhild, with her face turned away, was vigorously washing her -hands. Sigrid began to hunt for some imaginary need in her box, waiting -till the hands were dry before she touched on the sore subject. But -presently she plunged boldly into the heart of the matter. - -“Swanhild,” she said, “you are crying.” - -“No,” said the child, driving back the tears that started again to her -eyes at this direct assertion, and struggling hard to make her voice -cheerful. - -But Sigrid put her arm round her waist and drew her close. - -“Frithiof told me all about it, and I think he made a great mistake in -scolding you. Don’t think any more about it.” - -But this was more than human nature could possibly promise; all that she -had read assumed now a tenfold importance to the child. She clung to -Sigrid, sobbing piteously. - -“He said I ought to be ashamed of myself, but I didn’t know—I really -didn’t know.” - -“That was his great mistake,” said Sigrid quietly. “Now, if he had found -me reading that report he might justly have reproached me, for I am old -enough to know better. You see, poor Blanche has done what is very -wrong, she has broken her promise to her husband and brought misery and -disgrace on all who belong to her. But to pry into all the details of -such sad stories does outsiders a great deal of harm; and now you have -been told that, I am sure you will never want to read them again.” - -This speech restored poor little Swanhild’s self-respect, but -nevertheless Sigrid noticed in her face all through the evening a look -of perplexity which made her quite wretched. And though Frithiof was all -anxiety to make up for his hasty scolding, the look still remained, nor -did it pass the next day; even the excitement of dancing the shawl dance -with all the pupils looking on did not drive it away, and Sigrid began -to fear that the affair had done the child serious harm. Her practical, -unimaginative nature could not altogether understand Swanhild’s dreamy, -pensive tendencies. She herself loved one or two people heartily, but -she had no ideals, nor was she given to hero-worship. Swanhild’s -extravagant love for Blanche, a love so ardent and devoted that it had -lasted more than two years in spite of every discouragement, was to her -utterly incomprehensible; she was vexed that the child should spend so -much on so worthless an object; it seemed to her wrong and unnatural -that the love of that pure, innocent little heart should be lavished on -such a woman as Lady Romiaux. It was impossible for her to see how even -this childish fancy was helping to mold Swanhild’s character and fit her -for her work in the world; still more impossible that she should guess -how the child’s love should influence Blanche herself and change the -whole current of many lives. - -But so it was; and while the daily life went on in its usual -grooves—Frithiof at the shop, Sigrid busy with the household work, -playing at the academy, and driving away thoughts of Roy with the cares -of other people—little Swanhild in desperation took the step which meant -so much more than she understood. - -It was Sunday afternoon. Frithiof had gone for a walk with Roy, and -Sigrid had been carried off by Madame Lechertier for a drive. Swanhild -was alone, and likely to be alone for some time to come. “It is now or -never,” she thought to herself; and opening her desk, she drew from it a -letter which she had written the day before, and read it through very -carefully. It ran as follows: - - -“DEAR SIR.—It says in your prayer-book that if any can not quiet their -conscience, but require comfort and counsel, they may come to any -discreet and learned minister and open their grief, thus avoiding all -scruple and doubtfulness. I am a Norwegian; not a member of your church, -but I have often heard you preach; and will you please let me speak to -you, for I am in a great trouble? - - “I am, sir, yours very truly, - - “SWANHILD FALCK.” - - -Feeling tolerably satisfied with this production, she inclosed it in an -envelope, directed it to “The Rev. Charles Osmond, Guilford Square,” put -on her little black fur hat and her thick jacket and fur cape, and -hurried downstairs, leaving the key with the door-keeper, and making all -speed in the direction of Bloomsbury. - -Swanhild, though in some ways childish, as is usually the case with the -youngest of the family, was in other respects a very capable little -woman. She had been treated with respect and consideration, after the -Norwegian custom; she had been consulted in the affairs of the little -home commonwealth; and of course had been obliged to go to and from -school alone every day, so she did not feel uncomfortable as she -hastened along the quiet Sunday streets; indeed, her mind was so taken -up with the thought of the coming interview that she scarcely noticed -the passers-by, and only paused once, when a little doubtful whether she -was taking the nearest way, to ask the advice of a policeman. - -At length she reached Guilford Square, and her heart began to beat fast -and her color to rise. All was very quiet here; not a soul was stirring; -a moldy-looking statue stood beneath the trees in the garden; hospitals -and institutions seemed to abound; and Mr. Osmond’s house was one of the -few private houses still left in what, eighty years ago, had been a -fashionable quarter. - -Swanhild mounted the steps, and then, overcome with shyness, very nearly -turned back and gave up her project; however, though shy she was plucky, -and making a valiant effort, she rang the bell, and waited trembling, -half with fear, half with excitement. - -The maid-servant who opened the door had such a pleasant face that she -felt a little reassured. - -“Is Mr. Osmond at home?” she asked, in her very best English accent. - -“Yes, miss,” said the servant. - -“Then will you please give him this,” said Swanhild, handing in the -neatly written letter. “And I will wait for an answer.” - -She was shown into a dining-room, and after a few minutes the servant -reappeared. - -“Mr. Osmond will see you in the study, miss,” she said. - -And Swanhild, summoning up all her courage, followed her guide, her blue -eyes very wide open, her cheeks very rosy, her whole expression so -deprecating, so pathetic, that the veriest ogre could not have found it -in his heart to be severe with her. She glanced up quickly, caught a -glimpse of a comfortable room, a blazing fire, and a tall, white-haired, -white-bearded man who stood on the hearth rug. A look of astonishment -and amusement just flitted over his face, then he came forward to meet -her, and took her hand in his so kindly that Swanhild forgot all her -fears, and at once felt at home with him. - -“I am so glad to see you,” he said, making her sit down in a big chair -by the fire. “I have read your note, and shall be very glad if I can -help you in any way. But wait a minute. Had you not better take off that -fur cape, or you will catch cold when you go out again?” - -Swanhild obediently took it off. - -“I didn’t know,” she said, “whether you heard confessions or not, but I -want to make one if you do.” - -He smiled a little, but quite kindly. - -“Well, in the ordinary sense I do not hear confessions,” he said. “That -is to say, I think the habit of coming regularly to confession is a bad -habit, weakening to the conscience and character of the one who -confesses, and liable to abuse on the part of the one who hears the -confession. But the words you quoted in your letter are words with which -I quite agree, and if you have anything weighing on your mind and think -that I can help you, I am quite ready to listen.” - -Swanhild seemed a little puzzled by the very home-like and ordinary -appearance of the study. She looked round uneasily. - -“Well?” said Charles Osmond, seeing her bewildered look. - -“I was wondering if people kneel down when they come to confession,” -said Swanhild, with a simple directness which charmed him. - -“Kneel down to talk to me!” he said, with a smile in his eyes. “Why, no, -my child; why should you do that? Sit there by the fire and get warm, -and try to make me understand clearly what is your difficulty.” - -“It is just this,” said Swanhild, now entirely at her ease. “I want to -know if it is ever right to break a promise.” - -“Certainly it is sometimes right,” said Charles Osmond. “For instance, -if you were to promise me faithfully to pick some one’s pocket on your -way home, you would be quite right to break a promise which you never -had any right to make. Or if I were to say to you, ‘On no account tell -any one at your home that you have been here talking to me,’ and you -agreed, yet such a promise would rightly be broken, because no outsider -has any right to come between you and your parents.” - -“My father and mother are dead,” said Swanhild. “I live with my brother -and sister, who are much older than I am—I mean really very old, you -know—twenty-three. They are my guardians; and what troubles me is that -last summer I did something and promised some one that I would never -tell them, and now I am afraid I ought not to have done it.” - -“What makes you think that?” - -“Well, ever since then there has seemed to be a difference at home, and, -though I thought what I did would help Frithiof and Sigrid, and make -every one happier, yet it seems to have somehow brought a cloud over the -house. They have not spoken to me about it, but ever since then Frithiof -has had such a sad look in his eyes.” - -“Was it anything wrong that you promised to do—anything that in itself -was wrong, I mean?” - -“Oh, no,” said Swanhild; “the only thing that could have made it wrong -was my doing it for this particular person.” - -“I am afraid I can not follow you unless you tell me a little more -definitely. To whom did you make this promise? To any one known to your -brother and sister?” - -“Yes, they both know her; we knew her in Norway, and she was to have -married Frithiof; but when he came over to England he found her just -going to be married to some one else. I think it was that which changed -him so very much; but perhaps it was partly because at the same time we -lost all our money.” - -“Do your brother and sister still meet this lady?” - -“Oh, no; they never see her now, and never speak of her; Sigrid is so -very angry with her because she did not treat Frithiof well. But I can’t -help loving her still, she is so very beautiful; and I think, perhaps, -she is very sorry that she was so unkind to Frithiof.” - -“How did you come across her again?” asked Charles Osmond. - -“Quite accidentally in the street, as I came home from school,” said -Swanhild. “She asked me so many questions and seemed so sorry to know -that we were so very poor, and when she asked me to do this thing for -her I only thought how kind she was, and I did it, and promised that I -would never tell.” - -“She had no right to make you promise that, for probably your brother -would not care for you still to know her, and certainly would not wish -to be under any obligation to her.” - -“No; that was the reason why it was all to be a secret,” said Swanhild. -“And I never quite understood that it was wrong till the other day, when -I was reading the newspaper about her, and Frithiof found me and was so -very angry, and threw the paper in the fire.” - -“How did the lady’s name happen to be in the paper?” - -“Sigrid said it was because she had broken her promise to her husband; -it was written in very big letters—‘The Romiaux Divorce Case,’” said -Swanhild. - -Charles Osmond started. For some minutes he was quite silent. Then, his -eyes falling once more on the wistful little face that was trying so -hard to read his thoughts, he smiled very kindly. - -“Do you know where Lady Romiaux is living?” he asked. But Swanhild had -no idea. “Well, never mind; I think I can easily find out, for I happen -to know one of the barristers who was defending her. You had better, I -think, sit down at my desk and write her just a few lines, asking her to -release you from your promise; I will take it to her at once, and if you -like you can wait here till I bring back the answer.” - -“But that will be giving you so much trouble,” said Swanhild, “and on -Sunday, too, when you have so much to do.” - -He took out his watch. - -“I shall have plenty of time,” he said, “and if I am fortunate enough to -find Lady Romiaux, you shall soon get rid of your trouble.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -Having established Swanhild at the writing-table, Charles Osmond left -her for a few minutes and went up to the drawing-room; it was one of -those comfortable, old-fashioned rooms which one seldom sees now, and -resting on the sofa was one of those old-world ladies whose sweet -graciousness has such a charm to the more restless end of the nineteenth -century. No less than four generations were represented in the room, for -by the fire sat Charles Osmond’s daughter-in-law, and on her knee was -her baby son—the delight of the whole house. - -“Erica,” he said, coming toward the hearth, “strangely enough the very -opportunity I wanted has come. I have been asked to see Lady Romiaux on -a matter connected with some one who once knew her, so you see it is -possible that after all your wish may come true, and I may be of some -use to her.” - -Erica looked up eagerly, her face which in repose was sad, brightened -wonderfully. - -“How glad I am, father! You know Donovan always said there was so much -that was really good in her, if only some one could draw it out.” - -“How did the case end?” asked Mrs. Osmond. - -“It ended in a disagreement of the jury,” replied her son, “Why, I can’t -understand, for the evidence was utterly against her, according to -Ferguson. I am just going round to see him now, and find out her address -from him, and in the mean time there’s a dear little Norwegian girl in -my study, who will wait till I bring back an answer. Would you like her -to come up here?” - -“Yes, yes,” said Erica, “by all means let us have her if she can talk -English. Rae is waking up, you see, and we will come down and fetch -her.” - -Swanhild had just finished her letter when the door of the study opened, -and looking up she saw Charles Osmond once more, and beside him a lady -who seemed to her more lovely than Blanche; she was a good deal older -than Lady Romiaux and less strikingly beautiful, but there was something -in her creamy-white coloring and short auburn hair, something in the -mingled sadness and sweetness of her face that took Swanhild’s heart by -storm. - -“This is my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Brian Osmond, and this is my -grandson,” said Charles Osmond, allowing Rae’s tiny fingers to play with -his long white beard. - -“Will you come upstairs and stay with us till Mr. Osmond comes back?” -said Erica, shaking hands with her, and wondering not a little what -connection there could be between this fair-haired, innocent little -Norse girl and Lady Romiaux. And then seeing that Swanhild was shy she -kept her hand in hers and led her up to the drawing-room, where, with -the baby to play with, she was soon perfectly happy, and chattering away -fast enough to the great amusement of old Mrs. Osmond, who heard the -whole story of the model lodgings, of the dancing classes, and of the -old home in Norway. - -In the mean while Charles Osmond had reached his friend’s chambers, and -to his great satisfaction found him in. - -“As far as I know,” replied Mr. Ferguson, “Lady Romiaux is still in -lodgings in George Street.” He drew a card from his pocket-book and -handed it to the clergyman. “That’s the number; and to my certain -knowledge she was there yesterday. Her father wont have anything to do -with her.” - -“Poor child!” said Charles Osmond, half to himself, “I wonder what will -become of her?” - -Mr. Ferguson shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, she’s brought it all on herself,” he said. “There is no doubt -whatever that she is guilty, and how the jury disagreed I’m sure I don’t -know.” - -Charles Osmond did not stay to discuss the matter, but made the best of -his way to George Street, and sent in his card with a request that Lady -Romiaux would, if possible, see him on a matter of business. - -In a minute or two he was ushered into a drawing-room, which had the -comfortless air of most lodging-house rooms; standing on the hearthrug -was a young, delicate-looking girl; for a moment he did not recognize -her as the Lady Romiaux whose portraits were so well known, for trouble -had sadly spoiled her beauty, and her eyelids were red and swollen, -either with want of sleep or with many tears. - -She bowed, then meeting his kindly eyes, the first eyes she had seen for -so long which did not stare at her in hateful curiosity, or glance at -her with shrinking disapproval, she came quickly forward and put her -hand in his. - -“For what reason can you have come?” she exclaimed; “you of all men.” - -He was struck with the wild look in her great dark eyes, and intuitively -knew that other work than the delivery of little Swanhild’s letter -awaited him here. - -“Why do you say, ‘Of all men’ in that tone?” he asked. - -“Because you are one of the very few men who ever made me wish to do -right,” she said quickly. “Because I used sometimes to come to your -church—till—till I did not dare to come, because what you said made me -so miserable!” - -“My poor child,” he said; “there are worse things than to be miserable; -you are miserable now, but your very misery may lead you to peace.” - -“No, no,” she sobbed, sinking down on the sofa and hiding her face in -her hands. “My life is over—there is nothing left for me. And yet,” she -cried, lifting her head and turning her wild eyes toward him, “yet I -have not the courage to die, even though my life is a misery to me and a -snare to every one I come across.” - -“Are you alone here?” he asked. - -“Yes; my father and mother will have nothing to say to me—and there is -no one else—I mean no one else that I would have.” - -He breathed more freely. - -“You must not say your life is over,” he replied. “Your life in society -is over, it is true, but there is something much better than that which -you may now begin. Be sure that if you wish to do right it is still -possible for you.” - -“Ah, but I can’t trust myself.” she sobbed. “It will be so very -difficult all alone.” - -“Leave that for God to arrange,” he said. “Your part is to trust to Him -and try your best to do right. Tell me, do you not know my friend -Donovan Farrant, the member for Greyshot?” - -She brushed the tears from her eyes and looked up more quietly. - -“I met him once at a country house in Mountshire,” she said, “He and his -wife were there just for two days, and they were so good to me. I think -he guessed that I was in danger then, for one day he walked with me in -the grounds, and he spoke to me as no one had ever spoken before. He saw -that my husband and I had quarreled, and he saw that I was flirting out -of spite with—with—well, no matter! But he spoke straight out, so that -if it hadn’t been for his wonderful tact and goodness I should have been -furious with him. And he told me how the thing that had saved him all -through his life was the influence of good women; and just for a few -days I did want to be good, and to use my power rightly. But the -Farrants went away, and I vexed my husband again and we had another -quarrel, and when he was gone down to speak at Colonel Adair’s election, -I went to stay, against his wish, at Belcroft Park; and when I had done -that, it seemed as if I were running right down a steep hill and really -couldn’t stop myself.” - -“But now,” said Charles Osmond, “you must begin to climb the hill once -more. You must be wondering through all this time what was the errand -that brought me here. I brought you this letter from a little Norwegian -girl—Swanhild Falck. In the midst of your great trouble I dare say her -trouble will seem very trifling, still I hope you will be able to -release her from her promise, for it is evidently weighing on her mind.” - -“That’s another instance of the harm I do wherever I go,” said poor -Blanche, reading the letter, “and in this case I was really trying to -undo the past, very foolishly as I see now. Tell Swanhild that she is -quite free from her promise, and that if it has done harm I am sorry. -But I always do harm! Do you remember that story of Nathaniel -Hawthorne’s about the daughter of the botanist, who was brought up on -the juices of a beautiful poison-plant, and who poisoned with her breath -every one that came near her? I think I am like that.” - -“I remember it,” he replied. “A weird, unwholesome story. But if I -remember right, the heroine died herself rather than poison others.” - -“Yes, and that is what I wish to do,” she said, with once more that look -in her eyes which had startled him. “But I am a coward; I haven’t the -courage.” - -“Wait,” he said gravely: “there is a real truth in your idea, but do not -set about it in a wrong way. To seek physical death would only be to -take another wrong step. It is not you, but your selfishness that must -die.” - -“But if I were not what you would call selfish, if I did not love to -attract men and make them do just what I please, if I did not enjoy the -feeling that they are in love with me, I should no longer be myself,” -she said. - -“You would no longer be your false self,” he replied. “You would be your -true self. Do you think God made you beautiful that you might be a snare -in the world? He made you to be a joy and a blessing, and you have -abused one of his best gifts.” - -She began to cry again, to sob piteously, almost like a child. - -Charles Osmond spoke once more, and there was a great tenderness in his -voice. - -“You have found now that self-pleasing brings misery to yourself and -every one else. I know you wish to do right, but you must do more than -that; you must resolutely give your body, soul, and spirit to God, -desiring only to do his will.” - -She looked up once more, speaking with the vehemence of despair. - -“Oh,” she said, “it seems all real now while I talk to you, but I know -it will fade away, and the temptations will be much more strong. You -don’t know what the world is—you are good, and you have no time to see -with your own eyes how, underneath all that is so respectable, it is -hollow and wicked.” - -“It will be your own fault if you are not stronger than the temptations -with which God allows you to be assailed,” he said. “You loathe and fear -evil, and that is a step in the right direction, but now you must turn -right away from it, and learn to look at purity, and goodness, and love. -Don’t believe that vice is to conquer—that is the devil’s lie. The -strength of the Infinite the love of the All-Father will conquer—and -that love and that strength are for you.” - -“What!” sobbed Blanche, “for a woman who has dishonored her name—a woman -cast out of society?” - -Charles Osmond took her hand in his strong, firm clasp. - -“Yes, my child,” he said, “they are for you.” - -There was a long silence. - -“And now,” he said, at length, “unless you have any other friends to -whom you would rather go, I am going to ask you to come home with me. I -can promise you at least rest and shelter, and a welcome from my dear -old mother, who, being very near to the other world, does not judge -people after the custom of this one.” - -“But,” she said, with a look of mingled relief and perplexity, “how can -I let you do so much for a mere stranger? Oh, I should like to -come—but—but—” - -“You are no longer a stranger,” he replied, “And you must not refuse me -this. You shall see no one at all if you prefer it. Ours is a busy -house, but in some ways it is the quietest house in London. My son and -his wife live with us. They, too, will be so glad if we can be of any -use to you. Come, I can not leave you here in this loneliness.” - -“Do you mean that I am to come now?” she said, starting up. - -“Yes, if you will,” he replied. “But I will go and call a hansom; and -since I am in rather a hurry, perhaps you will let your maid follow with -your things later on in the evening.” - -So in a few minutes they were driving together to Guilford Square, and -Blanche was transplanted from her miserable loneliness into the heart of -one of the happiest homes in the country. Leaving her in the study, -Charles Osmond went in search of Swanhild. - -“It is all right,” he said, handing her a little note in Blanche’s -writing; and while the child eagerly read it he turned to his -daughter-in-law. - -“Will you tell them to get the spare room ready, Erica, dear?” he said. -“I have persuaded Lady Romiaux to stay with us for a little while.” - -Swanhild caught the words, and longed to ask to see Blanche, but she -remembered that Sigrid would not like it; and then, with a sudden -recollection that the afternoon was almost over, and that she must go -home, she thanked Charles Osmond, reluctantly parted with the baby, -kissed old Mrs. Osmond and Erica, who made her promise to come and see -them again, and hurried back to the model lodgings. - -Her happiness and relief, and the pleasurable excitement of having -learned to know a new and delightful family, were slightly clouded by -the uncomfortable thought of the confession that lay before her. What -would Frithiof and Sigrid say to her? And how should she put into words -the story of what she more and more felt to have been a wrong and -foolish, and very childish scheme of help? - -“Oh, how I wish it were over!” she thought, to herself, as she marched -on to her disagreeable work like a little Trojan. Big Ben was striking -five as she crossed the court-yard. She had been away from home more -than two hours. She hurried on to the porter’s office, and asked -breathlessly for the key. - -“Mr. Falck took it ten minutes ago,” said the man. - -And Swanhild turned away with a sigh and a little shiver, and began very -slowly to mount the stone stairs. - -“Oh! what will he say to me?” she thought, as she clasped Blanche’s note -fast in her little cold hands. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -Although she had climbed the stairs so slowly, poor Swanhild was still -out of breath when she reached the door leading into the little parlor; -she paused a moment to recover herself, and, hearing voices within, -became a degree more miserable, for she had counted upon finding -Frithiof alone. Clearly Sigrid must also have returned, and, indeed, -things were even worse than that, for as she opened the door and emerged -round the Japanese screen she saw Roy standing by the fire; for this she -had been utterly unprepared, and, indeed, it was very seldom that he -came now to the model lodgings. - -“At last!” exclaimed Frithiof, “why, Swanhild, where on earth have you -been to? We were just thinking of having you cried.” - -“We were preparing an advertisement to appear in all the papers -to-morrow morning,” said Roy, laughing, “and were just trying to agree -as to the description; you’ll hardly believe me, but your guardian -hadn’t the least notion what color your eyes are.” - -Frithiof drew her toward him, smiling. - -“Let me see now in case she is ever lost again,” he said, but noticing a -suspicious moisture in the blue eyes he no longer teased her, but made -her sit down on his knee and drew off her gloves. - -“What is the matter, dear?” he said, “you look cold and tired; where -have you been to?” - -“I have been to see Mr. Osmond,” said Swanhild, “you know we often go to -his church, Sigrid and I, and there was something I wanted to ask him -about. Last summer I made a promise which I think was wrong, and I -wanted to know whether I might break it.” - -“What did he say?” asked Frithiof, while Sigrid and Roy listened in -silent astonishment. - -“He said that a wrong promise ought to be broken, and he managed to get -me leave to speak from the person to whom I made the promise. And now I -am going to tell you about it.” - -Frithiof could feel how the poor little thing was trembling. - -“Don’t be frightened, darling,” he said, “just tell us everything and no -one shall interrupt you.” - -She gave his hand a grateful little squeeze and went on. - -“It happened just after we had come back from the sea last June. I was -coming home from school on Saturday morning when, just outside the -court-yard, I met Lady Romiaux. Just for a moment I did not know her, -but she knew me directly, and stopped me and said how she had met you -and Sigrid at a party and had ever since been so miserable to think that -we were so poor, and somehow she had found out our address, and wanted -to know all about us, only when she actually got to the door she did not -like to come in. And she said she was so glad to see me, and asked all -sorts of questions, and when she heard that you meant to pay off the -debts she looked so sad, and she said that the bankruptcy was all her -fault, and she asked how much I thought you had got toward it, and -seemed quite horrified to think what a little it was, and what years the -work would take. And then she said to me that she wanted to help, too, -just a little, only that you must never know, and she thought I could -easily pay in a five-pound note to your account at the bank, she said, -without your knowing anything about it. She made me promise to do it -secretly, and never to tell that it was from her. You can’t think how -kindly she said it all, and how dreadfully sad she looked—I don’t think -I could possibly have said ‘no’ to her. But afterward I began to see -that I couldn’t very well pay the note into your account at the -post-office, for I hadn’t got your little book that you always take, and -besides I didn’t know which office you went to. So I worried about it -all the next day, which was Sunday, and in the evening at church it -suddenly came into my head that I would put it with your other money -inside your waistcoat pocket.” Roy made an involuntary movement, Sigrid -drew a little nearer, but Frithiof never stirred. Swanhild continued: - -“So the next morning, when I went into your bedroom to wake you up, I -slipped the note into your pocket, and then I thought, just supposing -you were to lose it, it seemed so light and so thin, and I pinned it to -the lining to make it quite safe. You were sleeping very soundly, and -were quite hard to wake up. At first I felt pretty happy about it, and I -thought if you asked me if I had put it there when you found it out I -should be able to say ‘yes’ and yet to keep Blanche’s secret. But you -never said a word about it, and I was sure something had troubled you -very much, and I was afraid it must be that, yet dared not speak about -it and I tried to find out from Sigrid, but she only said that you had -many troubles which I was too young to understand. It often made me very -unhappy, but I never quite understood that I had done wrong till the -night you found me reading the paper, and then I thought that I ought -not to have made the promise to Lady Romiaux. This is the note which Mr. -Osmond brought me from her.” - -Frithiof took the little crumpled sheet and read it. - - -“DEAR SWANHILD: You are quite free to speak about that five-pound note, -I never ought to have made you promise secrecy, and indeed, gave the -money just by a sudden impulse. It was a foolish thing to do, as I see -now, but I meant it well. I hope you will all forgive me. Yours -affectionately, - - “BLANCHE.” - - -Then Roy and Sigrid read the note together, and Roy grasped Frithiof’s -hand. - -“Will you ever forgive me?” he said. “Cecil was right, and I ought to -have known that this miserable affair would one day be explained.” - -Frithiof still looked half-stunned, he could not realize that the cloud -had at last dispersed, he was so taken up with the thought of the -extraordinary explanation of the mystery—of the childish, silly, little -plan that had brought about such strange results. - -“Oh, Swanhild!” cried Sigrid, “if only you had spoken sooner how much -pain might have been saved.” - -“Don’t say that,” said Frithiof, rousing himself, “she has chosen the -right time, depend upon it. I can hardly believe it at all yet. But, oh! -to think of having one’s honor once more unstained—and this death in -life over!” - -“What do you mean? What do you mean?” sobbed poor little Swanhild, -utterly perplexed by the way in which her confession had been received. - -“Tell her,” said Sigrid, glancing at Roy. - -So he told her exactly what had happened in the shop on that Monday in -June. - -“We kept it from you,” said Frithiof, “because I liked to feel that -there was at any rate one person unharmed by my disgrace, and because -you seemed so young to be troubled with such things.” - -“But how can it have happened?” said Swanhild; “who took the note really -from the till?” - -“It must have been Darnell,” said Roy. “He was present when Sardoni got -the change, he saw James Horner put away the note, he must have managed -during the time that you two were alone in the shop to take it out, and -no doubt if he had been searched first the other five-pound note would -have been found on him. What a blackguard the man must be to have let -you suffer for him! I’ll have the truth out of him before I’m a day -older.” - -“Oh! Frithiof, Frithiof! I’m so dreadfully sorry,” sobbed poor Swanhild. -“I thought it would have helped you, and it has done nothing but harm.” - -But Frithiof stooped down and silenced her with a kiss “You see the harm -it has done,” he said, “but you don’t see the good. Come, stop crying, -and let us have tea, for your news has given me an appetite, and I’m -sure you are tired and hungry after all this.” - -“But could it ever have entered any one’s head that such an improbable -thing should actually happen?” said Roy, as he mused over the story. “To -think that Sardoni should get change for his note, and Darnell steal it -on the very day that Swanhild had given you that unlucky contribution to -the debt-fund!” - -“It is just one of those extraordinary coincidences which do happen in -life,” said Sigrid. “I believe if every one could be induced to tell all -the strange things of the kind that had happened we should see that they -are after all pretty common things.” - -“I wonder if there is a train to Plymouth to-night?” said Roy. “I shall -not rest till I have seen Darnell. For nothing less than his confession -signed and sealed will satisfy James Horner. Do you happen to have a -Bradshaw?” - -“No, but we have something better,” said Sigrid, smiling; “on the next -landing there is Owen, one of the Great Western guards. I know he is at -home, for I passed him just now on the stairs, and he will tell you -about the trains.” - -“What a thing it is to live in model lodgings!” said Roy, smiling. “You -seem to me to keep all the professions on the premises. Come, Frithiof, -do go and interview this guard and ask him how soon I can get down to -Plymouth and back again.” - -Frithiof went out, there was still a strange look of abstraction in his -face. “I scarcely realized before how much he had felt this,” said Roy. -“What a fool I was to be so positive that my own view of the case was -right! Looking at it from my own point of view I couldn’t realize how -humiliating it must all have been to him—how exasperating to know that -you were in the right yet not to be able to convince any one.” - -“It has been like a great weight on him all through the autumn,” said -Sigrid, “and yet I know what he meant when he told Swanhild, that it had -done him good as well as harm. Don’t you remember how at one time he -cared for nothing but clearing off the debts? Well, now, though he works -hard at that, yet he cares for other people’s troubles too—that is no -longer his one idea.” - -And then because she knew that Roy was thinking of the hope that this -change had brought into their lives, and because her cheeks grew -provokingly hot, she talked fast and continuously, afraid to face her -own thoughts, yet all the time conscious of such happiness as she had -not known for many months. - -Before long Frithiof returned. - -“I don’t think you can do it,” he said. “Owen tells me there is a train -from Paddington at 9.50 this evening, but it isn’t a direct one and you -wont get to Plymouth till 9.28 to-morrow morning. A most unconscionable -time, you see.” - -“Why not write to Darnell?” suggested Sigrid. - -“No, no, he would get out of it in some mean way. I intend to pounce on -him unexpectedly, and in that way to get at the truth,” replied Roy. -“This train will do very well. I shall sleep on the way, but I must just -go to Regent Street and get the fellow’s address.” - -This, however, Frithiof was able to tell him, and they lingered long -over the tea-table, till at length Roy remembered that it might be as -well to see his father and let him know what had happened before -starting for Devonshire. Very reluctantly he left the little parlor, but -he took away with him the grateful pressure of Sigrid’s hand, the sweet, -bright glance of her blue eyes, and the echo of her last words, spoken -softly and sweetly in her native language. - -“_Farvel! Tak skal De have._” (Farewell! Thanks you shall have.) Why had -she spoken to him in Norse? Was it perhaps because she wished him to -feel that he was no foreigner, but one of themselves? Whatever her -reason, it touched him and pleased him that she had spoken just in that -way, and it was with a very light heart that he made his way to Rowan -Tree House. - -The lamp was not lighted in the drawing-room, but there was a blazing -fire, and on the hearth-rug sat Cecil with Lance nestled close to her, -listening with all his ears to one of the hero stories which she always -told him on Sunday evenings. - -“Has father gone to chapel?” asked Roy. - -“Yes, some time ago,” replied Cecil. “Is anything the matter?” - -Something told her that Roy’s unexpected appearance was connected with -Frithiof, and, accustomed always to fear for him, her heart almost stood -still. - -“Don’t look so frightened,” said Roy, as the firelight showed him her -dilated eyes. “Nothing is the matter—I have brought home some very good -news. Frithiof is cleared, and that wretched business of the five-pound -note fully explained.” - -“At last!” she exclaimed. “What a relief! But how? Do tell me all.” - -He repeated Swanhild’s story, and then, hoping to catch his father in -the vestry before the service began, he hurried off, leaving Cecil to -the only companionship she could have borne in her great happiness—that -of little Lance. - -But Roy found himself too late to catch his father, there was nothing -for it but to wait, and, anxious to speak to him at the earliest -opportunity, he made his way into the chapel that he might get hold of -him when the service was over, for otherwise there was no saying how -long he might not linger talking with the other deacons, who invariably -wanted to ask his advice about a hundred and one things. - -He was at this moment giving out the hymn, and Roy liked to hear him do -this once more; it carried him back to his boyhood—to the times when -there had been no difference of opinion between them. He sighed just a -little, for there is a sadness in all division because it reminds us -that we are still in the days of school-time, that life is as yet -imperfect, and that by different ways, not as we should wish all in the -same way, we are being trained and fitted for a perfect unity elsewhere. - -Mr. Boniface was one of those men who are everywhere the same; he -carried his own atmosphere about with him, and sitting now in the -deacon’s seat beneath the pulpit he looked precisely as he did in his -home or in his shop. It was the same quiet dignity, that was noticeable -in him, the same kindly spirit, the same delightful freedom from all -self-importance. One could hardly look at him without remembering the -fine old saying, “A Christian is God Almighty’s gentleman.” - -When, by and by, he listened to Roy’s story, told graphically enough as -they walked home together, his regret for having misjudged Frithiof was -unbounded. He was almost as impatient to get hold of Darnell as his son -was. - -“Still,” he observed, “you will not gain much by going to-night, why not -start to-morrow by the first train?” - -“If I go now,” said Roy, “I shall be home quite early to-morrow evening, -and Tuesday is Christmas eve—a wretched day for traveling. Besides, I -can’t wait.” - -Both father and mother knew well enough that it was the thought of -Sigrid that had lent him wings, and Mr. Boniface said no more, only -stipulating that he should be just and generous to the offender. - -“Don’t visit your own annoyance on him, and don’t speak too hotly,” he -said. “Promise him that he shall not be prosecuted or robbed of his -character if only he will make full confession, and see what it was that -led him to do such a thing, I can’t at all understand it. He always -seemed to me a most steady, respectable man.” - -Roy being young and having suffered severely himself through Darnell’s -wrong-doing, felt anything but judicial as he traveled westward on that -cold December night; he vowed that horsewhipping would be too good for -such a scoundrel, and rehearsed interviews in which his attack was -brilliant and Darnell’s defense most feeble. Then he dozed a little, -dreamed of Sigrid, woke cold and depressed to find that he must change -carriages at Bristol, and finally after many vicissitudes was landed at -Plymouth at half-past nine on a damp and cheerless winter morning. - -Now that he was actually there he began to dislike the thought of the -work before him, and to doubt whether after all his attack would be as -brilliant in reality as in imagination. Rather dismally he made a hasty -breakfast and then set off through the wet, dingy streets to the shop -where Darnell was at present employed. To his relief he found that it -was not a very large one, and, on entering, discovered the man he -sought, behind the counter and quite alone. As he approached him he -watched his face keenly; Darnell was a rather good-looking man, dark, -pale, eminently respectable; he looked up civilly at the supposed -customer,—then, catching sight of Roy, he turned a shade paler and gave -an involuntary start of surprise. - -“Mr. Robert!” he stammered. - -“Yes, Darnell; I see you know what I have come for,” said Roy quietly. -“It was certainly a very strange, a most extraordinary coincidence that -Mr. Falck should, unknown to himself, have had another five-pound note -in his pocket that day last June, but it has been fully explained. Now I -want your explanation.” - -“Sir!” gasped Darnell; “I don’t understand you; I—I am at a loss—” - -“Come, don’t tell any more lies about it,” said Roy impatiently. “We -knew now that you must have taken it, for no one else was present. Only -confess the truth and you shall not be prosecuted; you shall not lose -your situation here. What induced you to do it?” - -“Don’t be hard on me, sir,” stammered the man. “I assure you I’ve -bitterly regretted it many a time.” - -“Then why did you not make a clean breast of it to my father?” said Roy. -“You might have known that he would never be hard on you.” - -“I wish I had,” said Darnell, in great distress; “I wish to God I had, -sir, for it’s been a miserable business from first to last. But I was in -debt, and there was nothing but ruin before me, and I thought of my wife -who was ill, and I knew that the disgrace would kill her.” - -“So you went and disgraced yourself still more,” said Roy hotly. “You -tried to ruin another man instead of yourself.” - -“But he wasn’t turned off,” said Darnell. “And they put it all on his -illness, and it seemed as if, after all, it would not hurt him so much. -It was a great temptation, and when I had once given way to it there -seemed no turning back.” - -“Tell me just how you took it,” said Roy, getting rather more calm and -judicial in his manner. - -“I saw Mr. Horner give Signor Sardoni the change, sir, and I saw him put -the note in the till; and I was just desperate with being in debt and -not knowing how to get straight again.” - -“But wait a minute—how had you got into such difficulties?” interrupted -Roy. “And how could a five-pound note help you out again?” - -“Well, sir, I had been unlucky in a betting transaction, but I thought I -could right myself if only I could get something to try again with; but -there wasn’t a soul I could borrow from. I thought I should get straight -again at once if only I had five pounds in hand, and so I did, sir; I -was on my feet again the very next day.” - -“I might have known it was betting that had ruined you,” said Roy. “Now -go back and tell me when you took the note.” - -“I kept on thinking and planning through the afternoon, sir, and then, -presently, all was quiet, and only Mr. Falck with me in the shop, and I -was just wondering how to get rid of him, when Mr. Horner opened the -door of Mr. Boniface’s room and called to me. Then I said, ‘Do go, Mr. -Falck, for I have an order to write to catch the post.’ And he went for -me, and I hurried across to his counter while he was gone, and took the -note out of his till and put it inside my boot; and when he came back he -found me writing at my desk just as he had left me. He came up looking a -little put out, as if Mr. Horner had rubbed him the wrong way, and he -says to me, ‘It’s no use; you must go yourself, after all.’ So I went to -Mr. Horner, leaving Mr. Falck alone in the shop.” - -“Were you not afraid lest he should open the till and find out that the -note was gone?” - -“Yes, I was very much afraid. But all went well, and I intended to go -out quickly at tea-time—it was close upon it then—and do what I could to -get it straight again. I thought I could invent an excuse for not -returning to the shop that night; say I’d been taken suddenly ill or -something of that sort. It was Mr. Falck’s turn to go first; and while -he was out, as ill-luck would have it, Mr. Horner came to take change -from the till, and then all the row began. I made sure I was ruined, and -no one was more surprised than myself at the turn that affairs took.” - -“But,” exclaimed Roy, “when you were once more out of debt, how was it -that you did not confess, and do what you could to make up for your -shameful conduct?” - -“Well, sir, I hadn’t the courage. Sometimes I thought I would; and then, -again, I couldn’t make up my mind to; and I got to hate Mr. Falck, and I -hated him more because he behaved well about it; and I got into the way -of spiting him and making the place disagreeable to him; and I hoped -that he would leave. But he stuck to his post through it all; and I -began to think that it would be safer that I should leave, for I felt -afraid of him somehow. So at Michaelmas I took this situation. And oh! -sir, for my wife’s sake don’t ruin me; don’t expose all this to my -employer!” - -“I promised you just now that you should not be exposed; but you must -write a few words of confession to my father; and be quick about it, for -I want to catch the express to London.” - -Darnell, who was still pale and agitated, seized pen and paper, and -wrote a few words of apology and a clear confession. To write was hard, -but he was in such terror lest his employers should return and discover -his miserable secret that he dared not hesitate—dared not beat about the -bush. - -Roy watched him with some curiosity, wondering now that he had not -suspected the man sooner. But, as a matter of fact, Darnell had been -perfectly self-possessed until his guilt was discovered; it was the -exposure that filled him with shame and confusion, not the actual -dishonesty. - -“I don’t know how to thank you enough, sir, for your leniency,” he said, -when he had written, in as few words as possible, the statement of the -facts. - -“Well, just let the affair be a lesson to you,” said Roy. “There’s a -great deal said about drunkenness being the national sin, but I believe -it is betting that is at the root of half the evils of the day. -Fortunately, things are now set straight as far as may be, yet remember -that you have wronged and perhaps irrevocably injured a perfectly -innocent man.” - -“I bitterly regret it, sir; I do, indeed,” said Darnell. - -“I hope you do,” said Roy; “I am sure you ought to.” - -And while Darnell still reiterated thanks, and apologies, and abject -regrets, Roy stalked out of the shop and made his way back to the -station. - -“To think that I believed in that cur, and doubted Falck!” he said to -himself with disgust. “And yet, could any one have seemed more -respectable than Darnell? more thoroughly trustworthy? And how could I -disbelieve the evidence that was so dead against Frithiof? Sigrid and -Cecil trusted him, and I ought to have done so too, I suppose; but women -seem to me to have a faculty for that sort of thing which we are quite -without.” - -Then, after a time, he remembered that the last barrier that parted him -from Sigrid was broken down; and it was just as well that he had the -railway carriage to himself, for he began to sing so jubilantly that the -people in the next compartment took him for a school-boy returning for -his Christmas holidays. - -It had been arranged that if he could catch the express from Plymouth he -should meet his father at the shop, and arriving at Paddington at -half-past six he sprang into a hansom and drove as quickly as possible -to Regent Street. - -Frithiof just glanced at him inquiringly as he passed through the shop, -then, reassured by the expression of his face, turned once more to the -fidgety and impatient singing-master who, for the last quarter of an -hour, had been keeping him hard at work in hunting up every conceivable -song that was difficult to find, and which, when found, was sure to -prove unsatisfactory. - -He wondered much what had passed at Plymouth, and when at last he had -got rid of his customer, Roy returned to the shop with such evident -excitement and triumph in his manner that old Foster thought he must be -taking leave of his senses. - -“My father wants to speak to you, Frithiof,” he said. - -And Frithiof followed him into the little inner room which had been the -scene of such disagreeable interviews in the past. A strange, dreamlike -feeling came over him as he recalled the wretched summer day when the -detective had searched him, and in horrible, bewildered misery he had -seen the five-pound note, lying on that same leather-covered table, an -inexplicable mystery and a damning evidence against him. - -But visions of the past faded as Mr. Boniface grasped his hand. “How can -I ever apologize enough to you, Frithiof!” he said. “Roy has brought -back a full confession from Darnell, and the mystery is entirely cleared -up. You must forgive me for the explanation of the affair that I was -content with last summer—I can’t tell you how I regret all that you have -had to suffer.” - -“Here is Darnell’s letter,” said Roy, handing it to him. - -And Frithiof read it eagerly, and asked the details of his friend’s -visit to Plymouth. - -“Will this satisfy Mr. Horner, do you think?” he said, when Roy had told -him all about his interview with Darnell. - -“It cannot fail to convince every one,” said Mr. Boniface. “It is proof -positive that you are free from all blame and that we owe you every -possible apology and reparation.” - -“You think that Mr. Horner will be content, and will really sign the -fresh deed of partnership?” said Frithiof. - -“He will be forced to see that your honor is entirely vindicated,” said -Mr. Boniface. “But I shall not renew the offer of partnership to him. He -has behaved very ill to you, he has been insolent to me, and I am glad -that, as far as business goes, our connection is at an end. All that is -quite settled. And now we have a proposal to make to you. We want you, -if nothing better has turned up, to accept a junior partnership in our -firm.” - -Frithiof was so staggered by the unexpectedness of this offer that for a -moment or two he could not say a word. - -“You are very good,” he said at length. “Far, far too good and kind to -me. But how can I let you do so much for me—how can I let you take as -partner a man who has no capital to bring into the business?” - -“My dear boy, money is not the only thing wanted in business,” said Mr. -Boniface, laying his hand on Frithiof’s shoulder. “If you bring no -capital with you bring good abilities, a great capacity for hard work, -and a high sense of honor; and you will bring too, what I value very -much—a keen sympathy with those employed by you, and a real knowledge of -their position and its difficulties.” - -“I dare not refuse your offer,” said Frithiof. “I can’t do anything but -gratefully accept it, but I have done nothing to deserve such kindness -from you.” - -“It will be a comfort to me,” said Mr. Boniface, “to feel that Roy has -some one with whom he can work comfortably. I am growing old, and shall -not be sorry to do a little less, and to put some of my burden on to -younger shoulders.” - -And then, after entering a little more into detail as to the proposed -plan, the three parted, and Frithiof hurried home eager to tell Sigrid -and Swanhild of the great change that had some over their affairs. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - -Cheerfulness reigned once more in the model lodgings. As Frithiof opened -the door of the parlor he heard such talking and laughter as there had -not been for some time past, despite Sigrid’s laudable endeavors. -Swanhild came dancing to meet him. - -“Look! look!” she cried, “we have got the very dearest little Christmas -tree that ever was seen. And Madame Lechertier has promised to come to -tea to-morrow afternoon, and we are going out presently to buy the -candles for it.” - -“Unheard-of extravagance,” he said, looking at the little fir tree upon -which Sigrid was fastening the candle-holders. - -“Only a shilling,” she said apologetically. “And this year we really -couldn’t do without one. But you have brought some good news—I can see -it in your face. Oh, tell me, Frithiof—tell me quickly just what -happened.” - -“Well, Darnell has made a full confession for one thing,” he replied. -“So the last vestige of the cloud has disappeared. You can’t think how -nice the other men were when they heard about it. Old Foster gave me -such a hand-shake that my arm aches still.” - -“And Mr. Boniface?” - -“You can fancy just what he would be as far as kindness and all that -goes. But you will never guess what he has done. How would you like to -count our savings toward the debt-fund by hundreds instead of by units?” - -“What do you mean?” she cried. - -“I mean that he has offered me the junior partnership,” said Frithiof, -watching her face with keen delight, and rewarded for all he had been -through by her rapture of happiness and her glad surprise. - -As for Swanhild, in the reaction after the long strain of secret anxiety -which had tried her so much all the autumn, she was like a wild thing; -she laughed and sang, danced and chattered, and would certainly never -have eaten any supper had she not set her heart on going out to buy -Christmas presents at a certain shop in Buckingham Palace Road, which -she was sure would still be open. - -“For it is just the sort of shop for people like us,” she explained, -“people who are busy all day and can only do their shopping in the -evening.” - -So presently they locked up the rooms and all three went out together on -the merriest shopping expedition that ever was known. There was a -feeling of Yule-tide in the very air, and the contentment and relief in -their own hearts seemed to be reflected on every one with whom they came -in contact. The shops seemed more enticing than usual, the presents more -fascinating, the servers more obliging and ready to enter into the -spirit of the thing. Swanhild, with five shillings of her own earning to -lay out on Christmas gifts, was in the seventh heaven of happiness; -Sigrid, with her own secret now once more a joy and not a care, moved -like one in a happy dream; while Frithiof, free from the miserable cloud -of suspicion, freed, moreover, by all that he had lived through from the -hopelessness of the struggle, was the most perfectly happy of all. -Sometimes he forced himself to remember that it was through these very -streets that he had wandered in utter misery when he first came to -London; and recollecting from what depths Sigrid had saved him, he -thought of her with a new and strange reverence—there was nothing he -would not have done for her. - -His reflections were interrupted by Swanhild’s voice. - -“We will have every one from Rowan Tree House, wont we?” she said. - -“And Herr Sivertsen,” added Sigrid. “He must certainly come, because he -is all alone.” - -“And whatever happens, we must have old Miss Charlotte,” said Frithiof; -“but it strikes me we shall have to ask people to bring their own mugs, -like children at a school-treat.” - -But Sigrid scouted this suggestion, and declared that the blue and white -china would just go round, while, as to chairs, they could borrow two or -three from the neighbors. - -Then came the return home, and the dressing of the tree, amid much fun -and laughter, and the writing of the invitations, which must be posted -that night. In all London there could not have been found a merrier -household. All the past cares were forgotten; even the sorrows which -could not be healed had lost their sting, and the Christmas promised to -be indeed full of peace and goodwill. - -How ten people—to say nothing of Lance and Gwen—managed to stow -themselves away in the little parlor was a mystery to Frithiof. But -Sigrid was a person of resources, and while he was out the next day she -made all sorts of cunning arrangements, decorated the room with ivy and -holly, and so disposed the furniture that there was a place for every -one. - -At half-past four the guests began to arrive. First Mrs. Boniface and -Cecil with the children, who helped to light the tree; then Madame -Lechertier, laden with boxes of the most delicious _bonbons_ for every -one of the party, and soon after there came an abrupt knock, which they -felt sure could only have been given by Herr Sivertsen. Swanhild ran to -open the door and to take his hat and coat from him. Her eager welcome -seemed to please the old man, for his great massive forehead was -unusually free from wrinkles as he entered and shook hands with Sigrid, -and he bowed and smiled quite graciously as she introduced him to the -other guests. Then he walked round the Christmas tree with an air of -satisfaction, and even stooped forward and smelled it. - -“So,” he said contentedly, “you keep up the old customs, I see! I’m glad -of it—I’m glad of it. It’s years since I saw a properly dressed tree. -And the smell of it! Great heavens! it makes me feel like a boy again! -I’m glad you don’t follow with the multitude, but keep to the good old -Yule ceremonies.” - -In the mean time Cecil was pouring out tea and coffee in the kitchen, -where, for greater convenience, the table had been placed. - -“Sigrid has allowed me to be lady-help and not visitor,” she said -laughingly to Frithiof. “I told her she must be in the other room to -talk to every one after the English fashion, for you and Swanhild will -be too busy fetching and carrying.” - -“I am glad to have a chance of saying one word alone to you,” said -Frithiof. “Are you sure that Mrs. Boniface does not object to this new -plan as to the partnership?” - -“Why, she is delighted about it,” said Cecil. “And she will tell you so -when she has you to herself. I am so glad—so very glad that your trouble -is over at last, and everything cleared up.” - -“I can hardly believe it yet,” said Frithiof. “I’m afraid of waking and -finding that all this is a dream. Yet it feels real while I talk to you, -for you were the only outsider who believed in me and cheered me up last -summer. I shall never forget your trust in me.” - -Her eyes sank beneath his frank look of gratitude. She was horribly -afraid lest she should betray herself, and to hide the burning color -which surged up into her face, she turned away and busied herself with -the teapot, which did not at all want refilling. - -“You have forgotten Signor Donati,” she said, recovering her -self-possession. - -“Ah! I must write to him,” said Frithiof. “I more and more wonder how he -could possibly have had such insight into the truth. Here come Mr. -Boniface and Roy.” - -He returned to the parlor, while Cecil from the background watched the -greetings with some curiosity. In honor of Herr Sivertsen, and to please -Frithiof, both Sigrid and Swanhild wore their Hardanger peasant dress, -and Cecil thought she had never seen Sigrid look prettier than now, as -she shook hands with Roy, welcoming him with all the charm of manner, -with all the vivacity which was characteristic of her. - -“Tea for Mr. Boniface, and coffee for Roy,” announced Swanhild, dancing -in. “Lance, you can hand the crumpets, and mind you don’t drop them -all.” - -She pioneered him safely through the little crowd, and Frithiof returned -to Cecil. They had a comfortable little _tête-à-tête_ over the -tea-table. - -“I dare to think now,” he said, “of the actual amount of the debts, for -at last there is a certainty that in time I can pay them.” - -“How glad I am!” said Cecil. “It will be a great relief to you.” - -“Yes, it will be like getting rid of a haunting demon,” said Frithiof. -“And to see a real prospect of being free once more is enough to make -this the happiest Christmas I have ever known—to say nothing of getting -rid of the other cloud. I sometimes wonder what would have become of me -if I had never met you and your brother.” - -“If you had never sheltered us from the rain in your house,” she said, -smiling. - -“It is in some ways dreadful to see how much depends on quite a small -thing,” said Frithiof thoughtfully. - -And perhaps, could he have seen into Cecil’s heart, he would have been -more than ever impressed with this idea. - -Before long they rejoined the rest of the party, and then, all standing -round the tree, they sang _Glädelig Jul_, and an English carol, after -which the presents were distributed, amid much laughter and quite a -babel of talk. The whole entertainment had been given for a few -shillings, but it was probably one of the most successful parties of the -season, for all seemed full of real enjoyment, and all were ready to -echo Lance’s outspoken verdict, that Christmas trees in model lodgings -were much nicer than anywhere else. - -“But it isn’t fair that the model lodgings should have both Christmas -Eve and Christmas Day,” said Mrs. Boniface, “so you will come down to -Rowan Tree House this evening, and stay with us for a few days, will you -not?” - -There was no resisting the general entreaty, and indeed, now that all -was cleared up, Frithiof looked forward very much to staying once more -in the household which had grown so home-like to him. It was arranged -that they should go down to Brixton later in the evening; and when their -guests had left, Sigrid began, a little sadly, to make the necessary -preparations. She was eager to go, and yet something told her that never -again under the same circumstances, would the little household be under -her care. - -“I will take in the tree to the Hallifields,” she said; “the children -will be pleased with it. And, Frithiof, don’t you think that before we -leave you had better just call and thank Mr. Osmond for his help, and -for having been so kind to Swanhild? He will like to know that all is -cleared up.” - -Frithiof agreed and set off for Guilford Square. The night was frosty, -and the stars shone out bright and clear. He walked briskly through the -streets, not exactly liking the prospect of his interview with the -clergyman, yet anxious to get it over, and really grateful for what had -been done by him. - -Charles Osmond received him so kindly that his prejudices vanished at -once, and he told him just how the five-pound note had affected his -life, and how all had been satisfactorily explained. - -“Such coincidences are very strange,” said Charles Osmond, “but it is -not the first time that I have come across something of the sort. -Indeed, I know of a case very similar to yours.” - -“If Lady Romiaux is still with you,” said Frithiof, flushing a little, -“perhaps you will tell her that all is set straight, and thank her for -having released Swanhild from her promise.” - -“She is still here,” said Charles Osmond, “and I will certainly tell -her. I think when she gave the money to your sister she yielded to a -kind impulse, not at all realizing how foolish and useless such a plan -was. After all, though she has lived through so much, she is still in -some ways a mere child.” - -He looked at the Norwegian, wondering what lay beneath that handsome -face, with its Grecian outline and northern coloring. - -As if in answer to the thought, Frithiof raised his frank blue eyes, and -met the searching gaze of his companion. - -“Will not Lord Romiaux remember her youth?” he said. “Do you not think -there is at least a hope that he will forgive her?” - -Then Charles Osmond felt a strange gladness at his heart, and over his -face there came a look of indescribable content, for the words revealed -to him the noble nature of the man before him; he knew that not one in a -thousand would have so spoken under the circumstances. The interest he -had felt in this man, whose story had accidentally become known to him, -changed to actual love. - -“I am not without a strong hope that those two may be atoned,” he -replied. “But as yet I do not know enough of Lord Romiaux to feel sure. -It would probably involve the sacrifice of his public life. I do not -know whether his love is equal to such a sacrifice, or whether he has -strength and courage enough to offend the world, or whether he in the -least understands the law of forgiveness.” - -“If you could only get to know him,” said Frithiof. - -“I quite hope to do so, and that before long,” said Charles Osmond. “I -think I can get at him through a mutual friend—the member for -Greyshot—but we must not be in too great a hurry. Depend upon it, the -right time will come if we are only ready and waiting. Do you know the -old Scotch proverb, ‘Where twa are seeking they’re sure to find?’ There -is a deep truth beneath those words, a whole parable, it seems to me.” - -“I must not keep you,” said Frithiof, rising. “But I couldn’t rest till -I had thanked you for your help, and let you know what had happened.” - -“The affair has made us something more than mere acquaintances,” said -Charles Osmond. “I hope we may learn to know each other well in the -future. A happy Christmas to you.” - -He had opened the study door, they were in the passage outside, and he -grasped the Norwegian’s hand. At that moment it happened that Blanche -passed from the dining-room to the staircase; she just glanced round to -see who Charles Osmond was addressing so heartily, and, perceiving -Frithiof, colored painfully and caught at the banisters for support. - -Having realized what was the Norseman’s character, Charles Osmond did -not regret the meeting; he stood by in silence, glancing first at his -companion’s startled face, then at Blanche’s attitude of downcast -confusion. - -As for Frithiof, in that moment he realized that his early passion was -indeed dead. Its fierce fire had utterly burned out; the weary pain was -over, the terrible battle which he had fought so long was at an end, all -that was now left was a chivalrous regard for the woman who had made him -suffer so fearfully, a selfless desire for her future safety. - -He strode toward her with outstretched hand. It was the first time he -had actually touched her since they had parted long ago on the steamer -at Balholm, but he did not think of that; the past which had lingered -with him so long and with such cruel clearness seemed now to have -withered like the raiment of a Viking whose buried ship is suddenly -exposed to the air. - -“I have just been telling Mr. Osmond,” he said, “that, thanks to your -note to Swanhild, a curious mystery has been explained; he will tell you -the details.” - -“And you forgive me?” faltered Blanche. - -“Yes, with all my heart,” he said. - -For a moment her sorrowful eyes looked into his; she knew then that he -had entirely freed himself from his old devotion to her, for they met -her gaze frankly, fearlessly, and in their blue depths there was nothing -but kindly forgiveness. - -“Thank you,” she said, once more taking his hand. “Good-by.” - -“Good-by,” he replied. - -She turned away and went upstairs without another word. And thus, on -this Christmas eve, the two whose lives had been so strangely woven -together parted, never to meet again till the clearer light of some -other world had revealed to them the full meaning of their early love. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - -For a time Frithiof was rather silent and quiet, but Sigrid and Swanhild -were in high spirits as they went down to Rowan Tree House, arriving -just in time for supper. The atmosphere of happiness, however, is always -infectious, and he soon threw off his taciturnity, and dragging himself -away from his own engrossing thoughts, forgot the shadows of life in the -pure brightness of this home which had been so much to him ever since he -first set foot in it. - -With Swanhild for an excuse they played all sorts of games; but when at -last she had been sent off to bed, the fun and laughter quieted down, -Mr. and Mrs. Boniface played their nightly game of backgammon; Roy and -Sigrid had a long _tête-à-tête_ in the little inner drawing-room; Cecil -sat down at the piano and began to play Mendelssohn’s Christmas pieces; -and Frithiof threw himself back in the great arm-chair close by her, -listening half dreamily and with a restful sense of pause in his life -that he had never before known. He desired nothing, he reveled in the -sense of freedom from the love which for so long had been a misery to -him; the very calm was bliss. - -“That is beautiful,” he said, when the music ceased. “After all there is -no one like Mendelssohn, he is so human.” - -“You look like one of the lotos-eaters,” said Cecil, glancing at him. - -“It is precisely what I feel like,” he said, with a smile. “Perhaps it -is because you have been giving me - - ‘Music that gentlier on the spirit lies - Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.’ - -I remember so well how you read that to me after I had been ill.” - -She took a thin little red volume from the bookshelves beside her and -turned over the leaves. He bent forward to look over her, and together -they read the first part of the poem. - -“It is Norway,” he said. “What could better describe it?” - - “A land of streams! Some like a downward smoke, - Slow dripping veils of thinnest lawn did go; - And some through wavering lights and shadows broke, - Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. - - ... Far off, three mountain-tops, - Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, - Stood sunset-flushed; and, dewed with showery drops, - Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.” - -“You will not be a true lotos-eater till you are there once more,” said -Cecil, glancing at him. For his dreamy content was gone, and a -wistfulness which she quite understood had taken its place. “Don’t you -think now that all is so different, you might perhaps go there next -summer?” she added. - -“No,” he replied, “you must not tempt me. I will not go back till I am a -free man and can look every one in the face. The prospect of being free -so much sooner than I had expected ought to be enough to satisfy me. -Suppose we build castles in the air; that is surely the right thing to -do on Christmas eve. When at last these debts are cleared, let us all go -to Norway together. I know Mr. Boniface would be enchanted with it, and -you, you did not see nearly all that you should have seen. You must see -the Romsdal and the Geiranger, and we must show you Oldören, where we so -often spent the summer holiday.” - -“How delightful it would be!” said Cecil. - -“Don’t say ‘would,’ say ‘will,’” he replied. “I shall not thoroughly -enjoy it unless we all go together, a huge party.” - -“I think we should be rather in the way,” she said. “You would have so -many old friends out there, and would want to get rid of us. Don’t you -remember the old lady who was so outspoken at Balholm when we tried to -be friendly and not to let her feel lonely and out of it?” - -Frithiof laughed at the recollection. - -“Yes,” he said; “she liked to be alone, and preferred to walk on quickly -and keep ‘out of the ruck,’ as she expressed it. We were ‘the ruck,’ And -how we laughed at her opinion of us.” - -“Well, of course you wouldn’t exactly put it in that way, but all the -same, I think you would want to be alone when you go back.” - -He shook his head. - -“No; you are quite mistaken. Now, promise that if Mr. Boniface agrees, -you will all come too.” - -“Very well,” she said, smiling, “I promise.” - -“Where are they going to?” he exclaimed, glancing into the inner room -where Roy was wrapping a thick sofa blanket about Sigrid’s shoulders. - -“Out into the garden to hear the bells, I dare say,” she replied. “We -generally go out if it is fine.” - -“Let us come too,” he said; and they left the bright room and went out -into the dusky veranda, pacing silently to and fro, absorbed in their -own thoughts while the Christmas bells rang - - “Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace, - Peace and goodwill to all mankind.” - -But the other two, down in a sheltered path at the end of the garden, -were not silent, nor did they listen very much to the bells. - -“Sigrid,” said Roy, “have you forgotten that you made me a promise last -June?” - -“No,” she said, her voice trembling a little, “I have not forgotten.” - -“You promised that when Frithiof was cleared I might ask you for your -answer.” - -She raised her face to his in the dim starlight. - -“Yes, I did promise.” - -“And the answer is—?” - -“I love you.” - -The soft Norse words were spoken hardly above her breath, yet Roy knew -that they would ring in his heart all his life long. - -“My darling!” he said, taking her in his arms. “Oh, if you knew what the -waiting has been to me! But it was my own fault—all my own fault. I -ought to have trusted your instinct before my own reason.” - -“No, no,” she said, clinging to him; “I think I was hard and bitter that -day; you must forgive me, for I was so very unhappy. Don’t let us speak -of it any more. I hate to think of it even.” - -“And nothing can ever come between us again,” he said, still keeping his -arm round her as they walked on. - -“No; never again,” she repeated; “never again. I know I am too proud and -independent, and I suppose it is to crush down my pride that I have to -come to you like this, robbed of position and money, and—” - -“How can you speak of such things,” he said reproachfully. “You know -they are nothing to me—you know that I can never feel worthy of you.” - -“Such things do seem very little when one really loves,” she said -gently. “I have thought it over, and it seems to me like this—the proof -of your love to me is that you take me poor, an exile more or less -burdened with the past; the proof of my love to you is that I kill my -pride—and yield. It would have seemed impossible to me once; but now—Oh, -Roy! how I love you—how I love you!” - - * * * * * - -“And about Frithiof?” said Roy presently. “You will explain all to him, -and make him understand that I would not for the world break up his -home.” - -“Yes,” she replied, “I will tell him; but I think not to-night. Just -till to-morrow let it be only for ourselves. Hark! the clocks are -striking twelve! Let us go in and wish the others a happy Christmas.” - -But Roy kept the first of the good wishes for himself; then, at length -releasing her, walked beside her toward the house, happy beyond all -power of expression. - -And now once more outer things began to appeal to him he became -conscious of the Christmas bells ringing gayly in the stillness of the -night, of the stars shining down gloriously through the clear, frosty -air, of the cheerful glimpse of home to be seen through the uncurtained -window of the drawing-room. - -Cecil and Frithiof had left the veranda and returned to the piano; they -were singing a carol, the German air of which was well known in Norway. -Sigrid did not know the English words; but she listened to them now -intently, and they helped to reconcile her to the one thorn in her -perfect happiness—the thought that these other two were shut out from -the bliss which she enjoyed. - -Quietly she stole into the room and stood watching them as they sang the -quaint old hymn: - - “Good Christian men rejoice, - In heart and soul and voice; - Now ye hear of endless bliss; - Joy! joy! - Jesus Christ was born for this! - He hath oped the heavenly door. - And man is blessed evermore. - Christ was born for this.” - -Cecil, glancing up at her when the carol was ended, read her secret in -her happy, glowing face. She rose from the piano. - -“A happy Christmas to you,” she said, kissing her on both cheeks. - -“We have been out in the garden, right down in the lower path, and you -can’t think how lovely the bells sound,” said Sigrid. - -Then, with a fresh stab of pain at her heart, she thought of Frithiof’s -spoiled life; she looked wistfully across at him, conscious that her -love for Roy had only deepened her love for those belonging to her. - -Was he never to know anything more satisfying than the peace of being -freed from the heavy load of suspicion? Was he only to know the pain of -love? All her first desire to keep her secret to herself died away as -she looked at him, and in another minute her hand was on his arm. - -“Dear old boy,” she said to him in Norse, “wont you come out into the -garden with me for a few minutes?” - -So they went out together into the starlight, and wandered down to the -sheltered path where she and Roy had paced to and fro so long. - -“What a happy Christmas it has been for us all!” she said thoughtfully. - -“Very; and how little we expected it,” said Frithiof. - -“Do you think,” she began falteringly, “do you think, Frithiof, it would -make you less happy if I told you of a new happiness that has come to -me?” - -Her tone as much as the actual words suddenly enlightened him. - -“Whatever makes for your happiness makes for mine,” he said, trying to -read her face. - -“Are you sure of that?” she said, the tears rushing to her eyes. “Oh, if -I could quite believe you, Frithiof, how happy I should be!” - -“Why should you doubt me?” he asked. “Come, I have guessed your secret, -you are going to tell me that—” - -“That Roy will some day be your brother as well as your friend,” she -said, finishing his sentence for him. - -He caught her hand in his and held it fast. - -“I wish you joy, Sigrid, with all my heart. This puts the finishing -touch to our Christmas happiness.” - -“And Roy has been making such plans,” said Sigrid, brushing away her -tears; “he says that just over the wall there is a charming little house -back to back, you know, with this one, and it will just hold us all, for -of course he will never allow us to be separated. He told me that long -ago, when he first asked me.” - -“Long ago?” said Frithiof; “why, what do you mean, Sigrid? I thought it -was only to-night.” - -“It was only to-night that gave him his answer,” said Sigrid. “It was -when we were at the sea last June that he first spoke to me, and -then—afterward—perhaps I was wrong, but I would not hear anything more -about it till your cloud had passed away. I knew some day that your name -must be cleared, and I was angry with Roy for not believing in you. I -dare say I was wrong to expect it, but somehow I did expect it, and it -disappointed me so dreadfully. He says himself now that he ought to have -trusted—” - -“It was a wonder that you didn’t make him hate me forever,” said -Frithiof. “Why did you not tell me about it before?” - -“How could I?” she said. “It would only have made you more unhappy. It -was far better to wait.” - -“But what a terrible autumn for you!” exclaimed Frithiof. “And to think -that all this should have sprung from that wretched five-pound note! Our -stories have been curiously woven together, Sigrid.” - -As she thought of the contrast between the two stories her tears broke -forth afresh; she walked on silently hoping that he would not notice -them, but a drop fell right on to his wrist; he stopped suddenly, took -her face between his hands and looked full into her eyes. - -“You dear little goose,” he said, “what makes you cry! Was it because I -said our stories had been woven together?” - -“It’s because I wish they could have been alike,” she sobbed. - -“But it wasn’t to be,” he said quietly. “It is an odd thing to say to -you to-night, when your new life is beginning, but to-night I also am -happy, because now at last my struggle is over—now at last the fire is -burned out. I don’t want anything but just the peace of being free to -the end of my life. Believe me, I am content.” - -Her throat seemed to have closed up, she could not say a word just -because she felt for him so intensely. She gave him a little mute -caress, and once more they paced along the garden path. But her whole -soul revolted against this notion of content. She understood it as -little as the soldier marching to his first battle understands the calm -indifference of the comrade who lies in hospital. Surely Frithiof was to -have something better in his life than this miserable parody of love? -This passion, which had been almost all pain, could surely not be the -only glimpse vouchsafed him of the bliss which had transfigured the -whole world for her? There came back to her the thought of the old study -at Bergen, and she seemed to hear her father’s voice saying— - -“I should like an early marriage for Frithiof, but I will not say too -much about you, Sigrid, for I don’t know how I should ever spare you.” - -And she sighed as she remembered how his plans had been crossed and his -business ruined, and his heart broken—how both for him and for Frithiof -failure had been decreed. - -Yet the Christmas bells rang on in this world of strangely mingled joy -and sorrow, and they brought her much the same message that had been -brought to her by the silence on Hjerkinshö— - -“There is a better plan which can’t go wrong,” she said, to herself. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - -“I have some news for you,” said Mr. Horner to his wife a few days after -this, as one evening he entered the drawing-room. The huge gold clock -with the little white face pointed to the hour of eight, the golden pigs -still climbed the golden hill, the golden swineherd still leaned -meditatively on his golden staff. Mrs. Horner, arrayed in peacock-blue -satin, glanced from her husband to the clock and back again to her -husband. - -“News?” she said in a distinctly discouraging tone “Is it that which -makes you so late? However, it’s of no consequence to me if the dinner -is spoiled, quite the contrary, I am not particular. But I beg you wont -grumble if the meat is done to a cinder.” - -“Never mind the dinner,” replied Mr. Horner captiously. “I have other -things to think of than overdone joints. That fool Boniface has taken me -at my word, and actually doesn’t intend to renew the partnership.” - -“What!” cried his wife, “not now that all this affair is cleared up, and -you have apologized so handsomely to young Falck?” - -“No; it’s perfectly disgraceful,” said James Horner, looking like an -angry turkey-cock as he paced to and fro. “I shook hands with Falck and -told him I was sorry to have misjudged him, and even owned to Boniface -that I had spoken hastily, but would you believe it, he wont reconsider -the matter. He not only gives me the sack but he takes in my place that -scheming Norwegian.” - -“But the fellow has no capital,” cried Mrs. Horner, in great agitation. -“He is as poor as a rook! He hasn’t a single penny to put into the -concern.” - -“Precisely. But Boniface is such a fool that he overlooks that and does -nothing but talk of his great business capacities, his industry, his -good address, and a lot of other rubbish of that sort. Why without money -a fellow is worth nothing—absolutely nothing.” - -“From the first I detested him,” said Mrs. Horner. “I knew that the -Bonifaces were deceived in him. It’s my belief that although his -character is cleared as to this five-pound note business, yet he is -really a mere adventurer. Depend upon it he’ll manage to get everything -into his own hands, and will be ousting Roy one of these days.” - -“Well, he’s hardly likely to do that, for it seems the sister has been -keeping her eyes open, and that idiot of a Roy is going to marry her.” - -“To marry Sigrid Falck?” exclaimed Mrs. Horner, starting to her feet. -“Actually to bring into the family a girl who plays at dancing-classes -and parties—a girl who sweeps her own house and cooks her own dinner!” - -“I don’t know that she is any the worse for doing that,” said James -Horner. “It’s not the girl herself that I object to, for she’s pretty -and pleasant enough, but the connection, the being related by marriage -to that odious Falck, who has treated me so insufferably, who looks down -on me and is as stand-offish as if he were an emperor.” - -“If there is one thing I do detest,” said Mrs. Horner, “it is pushing -people—a sure sign of vulgarity. But it’s partly Loveday’s fault. If I -had had to deal with the Falcks they would have been taught their proper -place, and all this would not have happened.” - -At this moment dinner was announced. The overdone meat did not improve -Mr. Horner’s temper, and when the servants had left the room he broke -out into fresh invectives against the Bonifaces. - -“When is the wedding to be?” asked his wife. - -“Some time in February, I believe. They are house-furnishing already.” - -Mrs. Horner gave an ejaculation of annoyance. - -“Well, the sooner we leave London the better,” she said. “I’m not going -to be mixed up with all this; we’ll avoid any open breach with the -family of course, but for goodness’ sake do let the house and let us -settle down elsewhere. There’s that house at Croydon I was very partial -to, and you could go up and down easy enough from there.” - -“We’ll think of it,” said Mr. Horner reflectively. “And, by the by, -must, I suppose, get them some sort of wedding present.” - -“By good luck,” said Mrs. Horner, “I won a sofa-cushion last week in a -raffle at the bazaar for the chapel organ fund. It’s quite good enough -for them, I’m sure. I did half think of sending it to the youngest Miss -Smith, who is to be married on New Year’s Day, but they’re such rich -people that I suppose I must send them something a little more showy and -expensive. This will do very well for Sigrid Falck.” - -Luckily the opinion of outsiders did not at all mar the happiness of the -two lovers. They were charmed to hear that the Horners were leaving -London, and when in due time the sofa-cushion arrived, surmounted by -Mrs. Horner’s card, Sigrid, who had been in the blessed condition of -expecting nothing, was able to write a charming little note of thanks, -which by its straightforward simplicity, made the donor blush with an -uncomfortable sense of guilt. - -“And after all,” remarked Sigrid to Cecil, “we really owe a great deal -to Mrs. Horner, for if she had not asked me to that children’s fancy -ball I should never have met Madame Lechertier, and how could we ever -have lived all together if it had not been for that?” - -“In those days I think Mrs. Horner rather liked you, but somehow you -have offended her.” - -“Why of course it was by earning my living and setting up in model -lodgings; I utterly shocked all her ideas of propriety, and, when once -you do that, good-by to all hopes of remaining in Mrs. Horner’s good -books. It would have grieved me to displease any of your relations if -you yourselves cared for them, but the Horners—well, I can not pretend -to care the least about them.” - -The two girls were in the little sitting-room of the model lodgings, -putting the finishing touches to the white cashmere wedding-dress which -Sigrid had cut out and made for herself during the quiet days they had -spent at Rowan Tree House. Every one entered most heartily into all the -busy preparations, and Sigrid could not help thinking to herself that -the best proof that trouble had not spoiled or soured the lives either -of Cecil or Frithiof lay in their keen enjoyment of other people’s -happiness. - -The wedding was to be extremely quiet. Early in the morning, when Cecil -went to see if she could be of any use, she found the bride-elect in her -usual black dress and her housekeeping apron of brown holland, busily -packing Frithiof’s portmanteau. - -“Oh, let me do it for you,” she said. “The idea of your toiling away -to-day just as if you were not going to be married!” - -Sigrid laughed merrily. - -“Must brides sit and do nothing until the ceremony?” she asked. “If so, -I am sorry for them; I couldn’t sit still if I were to try. How glad I -am to think Frithiof and Swanhild will be at Rowan Tree House while we -are away! I should never have had a moment’s peace if I had left them -here, for Swanhild is, after all, only a child. It is so good of Mrs. -Boniface to have asked them.” - -“Since you are taking Roy away from us, I think it is the least you -could do,” said Cecil, laughing. “It will be such a help to have them -this evening, for otherwise we should all be feeling very flat, I know.” - -“And we shall be on our way to the Riviera,” said Sigrid, pausing for a -few minutes in her busy preparations; a dreamy look came into her clear, -practical eyes, and she let her head rest against the side of the bed. - -“Sometimes, do you know,” she exclaimed, “I can’t believe this is all -real, I think I am just imagining it all, and that I shall wake up -presently and find myself playing the Myosotis waltz at the academy—it -was always such a good tune to dream to.” - -“Wait,” said Cecil; “does this make it feel more real,” and hastily -going into the outer room she returned bearing the lovely wedding -bouquet which Roy had sent. - -“Lilies of the valley!” exclaimed Sigrid. “Oh, how exquisite! And myrtle -and eucharist lilies—it is the most beautiful bouquet I ever saw.” - -“Don’t you think it is time you were dressing,” said Cecil. “Come, sit -down and let me do your hair for you while you enjoy your flowers.” - -“But Swanhild’s packing—I don’t think it is quite finished.” - -“Never mind, I will come back this afternoon with her and finish -everything; you must let us help you a little just for once.” - -And then, as she brushed out the long, golden hair, she thought how few -brides showed Sigrid’s wonderful unselfishness and care for others, and -somehow wished that Roy could have seen her just as she was, in her -working-day apron, too full of household arrangements to spend much time -over her own toilet. - -Swanhild, already dressed in her white cashmere and pretty white beaver -hat, danced in and out of the room fetching and carrying, and before -long the bride, too, was dressed, and with her long tulle veil over the -dainty little wreath of real orange blossom from Madame Lechertier’s -greenhouse, and the homemade dress which fitted admirably, she walked -into the little sitting-room to show herself to Frithiof. - -“I shall hold up your train, Sigrid, in case the floor is at all dusty,” -said Swanhild, much enjoying the excitement of the first wedding in the -family, and determined not to think of the parting till it actually -came. - -Frithiof made an involuntary exclamation as she entered the room. - -“You look like Ingeborg,” he said, “when she came into the new temple of -Balder.” - - “Followed by many a fair attendant maiden, - As shines the moon amid surrounding stars,” - -quoted Swanhild in Norse from the old saga, looking roguishly up at her -tall brother. - -Sigrid laughed and turned to Cecil. - -“She says that I am the moon and shine with a borrowed light, and that -you are the stars with light of your own. By-the-by, where is my other -little bridesmaid?” - -“Gwen is to meet us at the church,” explained Cecil. “Do you know I -think the carriage must be waiting, for I see the eldest little -Hallifield tearing across the court-yard.” - -“Then I must say good-by to every one,” said Sigrid; and with one last -look round the little home which had grown so dear to them, she took -Frithiof’s arm and went out into the long stone passage, where a group -of the neighbors stood waiting to see the last of her, and to give her -their hearty good wishes. She had a word and a smile for every one, and -they all followed her down the stairs and across the court-yard and -stood waving their hands as the carriage drove off. - -That chapter of her life was ended, and the busy hive of workers would -no longer count her as queen-bee of the establishment. The cares and -troubles and wearing economies were things of the past, but she would -take with her and keep forever many happy memories; and many friendships -would still last and give her an excuse for visiting afterward the scene -of her first home in London. - -She was quite silent as they drove through the busy streets, her eyes -had again that sweet, dreamy look in them that Cecil had noticed earlier -in the morning; she did not seem to see outward things, until after a -while her eyes met Frithiof’s, and then her face, which had been rather -grave, broke into sudden brightness, and she said a few words to him in -Norse, which he replied to with a look so full of loving pride and -contentment that it carried the sunshine straight into Cecil’s heart. - -“This marriage is a capital thing for him,” she thought to herself. “He -will be happy in her happiness.” - -By this time they had reached the church; Lance, in the dress he had -worn at Mrs. Horner’s fancy ball, stood ready to hold the bride’s train, -and Gwen came running up to take her place in the little procession. - -A few spectators had dropped in, but the church was very quiet, and up -in the chancel there were only Roy and his best man, Madame Lechertier, -old Herr Sivertsen, and the father and mother of the bridegroom. Charles -Osmond read the service, and his pretty daughter-in-law had begged leave -to play the organ, for she had taken a fancy not only to little -Swanhild, but to the whole family, when at her father-in-law’s request -she had called upon them. After the wedding was over and the procession -had once more passed down the aisle, she still went on playing, having a -love of finishing in her nature. Charles Osmond came out of the vestry -and stood beside her. - -“I am glad you played for them,” he said when the last chord had been -struck. “It was not at all the sort of wedding to be without music.” - -“It was one of the nicest weddings I was ever at,” she said: “and as to -your Norseman—he is all you said, and more. Do you know, there is a -strong look about him which somehow made me think of my father. Oh! I do -hope he will be able to pay off the debts.” - -“There is only one thing which could hinder him,” said Charles Osmond. - -“What is that?” asked Erica, looking up quickly. - -“Death,” he replied quietly. - -She made no answer, but the word did not jar upon her, for she was one -of those who have learned that death is indeed the Gate of Life. - -Silently she pushed in the stops and locked the organ. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - -One spring evening, rather more than two years after the wedding, Sigrid -was working away in the little back garden, to which, now that her -household duties were light, she devoted a good deal of her time. It -joined the garden of Rowan Tree House, and, for greater convenience, an -opening had been made in the hedge, and a little green gate put up. Upon -this gate leaned Cecil chatting comfortably, her tennis racquet under -her arm, and with a pleasant consciousness that the work of the day was -over, and that Roy and Frithiof might soon be expected for the nightly -game which, during the season, they seldom cared to miss. - -“They are late this evening,” said Sigrid. “I wonder whether Herr -Sivertsen has caught Frithiof. I hope not, for the tennis does him so -much good.” - -“Is he working very hard?” asked Cecil. - -“He always works furiously; and just now I think he has got what some -one called ‘the lust of finishing’ upon him; we see very little of him, -for when he is not at business he is hard at work over Herr Sivertsen’s -manuscript. But it really seems to agree with him; they say, you know, -that work without worry harms no one.” - -“A very moral precept,” said a voice behind her, and glancing up she saw -Frithiof himself crossing the little lawn. - -The two years had not greatly altered him, but he seemed more full of -life and vigor than before, and success and hope had entirely banished -the look of conflict which for so long had been plainly visible in his -face. Sigrid felt proud of him as she glanced round; there was something -in his mere physical strength which always appealed to her. - -“We were just talking about you,” she said, “and wondering when you -would be ready to play.” - -“After that remark of yours which I overheard I almost think I shall -have to eschew tennis,” he said, laughing. “Why should I give a whole -hour to it when Herr Sivertsen is impatiently waiting for the next -installment?” - -“Herr Sivertsen is insatiable,” said Sigrid, taking off her -gardening-gloves. “And I’m not going to allow you to return to your old -bad ways; as long as you live with me you will have to be something more -than a working drudge.” - -“Since Sigrid has begun baby’s education,” said Frithiof, turning -laughingly to Cecil, “we notice that she has become very dictatorial to -the rest of us.” - -“You shouldn’t make stage asides in such a loud voice,” said Sigrid, -pretending to box his ears. “I am going to meet Roy and to fetch the -racquets, and you take him into the garden, Cecil, and make him behave -properly.” - -“Are you really so specially busy just now?” asked Cecil, as he opened -the little gate and joined her; “or was it only your fun?” - -“No, it was grim earnest,” he replied. “For since Herr Sivertsen has -been so infirm I have had most of his work to do. But it is well-paid -work, and a very great help toward the debt fund. In ten years’ time I -may be free.” - -“You will really have paid off everything?” - -“I quite hope to be able to do so.” - -“It will be a great work done,” she said thoughtfully. “But when it is -all finished, I wonder whether you will not feel a little like the men -who work all their lives to make a certain amount and then retire, and -can’t think what to do with themselves?” - -“I hope not,” said Frithiof; “but I own that there is a chance of it. -You see, the actual work in itself is hateful to me. Never, I should -think, was there any one who so loathed indoor work of all kinds, -specially desk work. Yet I have learned to take real interest in the -business, and that will remain and still be my duty when the debts are -cleared off. It is a shocking confession, but I own that when Herr -Sivertsen’s work is no longer a necessity it will be an immense relief -to me, and I doubt if I shall ever open that sort of book again.” - -“It must be terrible drudgery,” said Cecil, “since you can’t really like -it.” - -“Herr Sivertsen has given me up as a hopeless case; he has long ago -ceased to talk about Culture with a capital C to it; he no longer -expects me to take any interest in the question whether earth-worms do -or do not show any sensitiveness to sound when placed on a grand piano. -I told him that the bare idea is enough to make any one in the trade -shudder.” - -Cecil laughed merrily. It was by no means the first time that he had -told her of his hopeless lack of all literary and scientific tastes, and -she admired him all the more for it, because he kept so perseveringly to -the work, and disregarded his personal tastes so manfully. They had, -moreover, many points in common, for there was a vein of poetry in his -nature as well as in hers; like most Norwegians, he was musical, and his -love of sport and of outdoor life had not robbed him of the gentler -tastes—love of scenery and love of home. - -“See!” she exclaimed, “there is the first narcissus. How early it is! I -must take it to mother, for she is so fond of them.” - -He stooped to gather the flower for her, and as she took it from him, he -just glanced at her for a moment; she was looking very pretty that -evening, her gray eyes were unusually bright, there was a soft glow of -color in her fair face, an air of glad contentment seemed to hover about -her. He little guessed that it was happiness in his success which was -the cause of all this. - -Even as he watched her, however, her color faded, her lips began to -quiver, she seemed to be on the point of fainting. - -“Is anything the matter?” he asked, alarmed by the sudden change in her -face. “Are you ill, Cecil?” - -She did not reply, but let him help her to the nearest garden seat. - -“It is the scent of the narcissus; it is too strong for you,” he -suggested. - -“No,” she gasped. “But a most awful feeling came over me. Something is -going to happen, I am sure of it.” - -He looked perplexed. She dropped the narcissus from her hand, and he -picked it up and put it on the farther side of the bench, still clinging -to his own theory that it was the cause of her faintness. Her face, -which a moment before had been so bright, was now white as the flower -itself, and the look of suffering in it touched him. - -His heart began to beat a little uneasily when he saw a servant -approaching them from the house. - -“She is right,” he thought to himself. “What on earth can it be?” - -“Master asked me to give you this, Miss Cecil,” said the maid, handing -her a little penciled note. - -She sat up hastily, making a desperate effort to look as if nothing were -wrong with her. The servant went back to the house, and Frithiof waited -anxiously to hear what the note was about. She read it through and then -handed it to him. - -It ran as follows: - -“Mr. Grantley has come, and wishes to see the children. He will not take -them away for a few days, but you had better bring them down to see -him.” - -“He is out of prison!” exclaimed Frithiof. “But surely his time is not -up yet. I thought he had five years?” - -“The five years would be over next October. I knew it would come some -day, but I never thought of it so soon, and to take them away in a few -days!” - -“I remember now,” said Frithiof; “there is a rule that by good behavior -in prison they can slightly shorten their time. I am so sorry for you; -it will be a fearful wrench to you to part with Lance and Gwen.” - -She locked her hands together, making no attempt at an answer. - -“How exactly like the world,” thought Frithiof to himself. “Here is a -girl passionately devoted to these children, while the mother, who never -deserved them at all, has utterly deserted them. To have had them for -five years and then suddenly to lose them altogether, that is a fearful -blow for her; they ought to have thought of it before adopting the -children.” - -“Is there nothing I can do to help you?” he said, turning toward her. -“Shall I go and fetch Lance and Gwen?” - -With an effort she stood up. - -“No, no,” she said, trying hard to speak cheerfully. “Don’t let this -spoil your game. I am better, I will go and find them.” - -But by a sudden impulse he sprang up, made her take his arm and walked -to the house with her. - -“You are still rather shaky, I think,” he said. “Let me come with you, I -can at any rate save you the stairs. How strange it was that you should -have known beforehand that this was coming! Did you ever have a -presentiment of that kind over anything else?” - -“Never,” she said. “It was such an awful feeling. I wonder what it is -that brings it.” - -He left her in the hall and ran upstairs to the nursery, where he was -always a welcome visitor. Both children rushed to meet him with cries of -delight. - -“Cecil has sent me up with a message to you,” he said. - -“To say we may come down,” shouted Lance. “Is it that, Herr Frithiof?” - -“No,” cried Gwen, dancing round him, “it’s to say a holiday for -to-morrow, I guess.” - -“No, not that exactly,” he said; “but your father has come, and Cecil -wants you to come down and see him.” - -The children’s faces fell. It seemed almost as if they instinctively -knew of the cloud that hung over their father. They had always known -that he would some day come to them; but his name had been little -mentioned. It was difficult to mention it without running the risk of -the terrible questions which as children they were so likely to ask. All -the gladness and spirit seemed to have left them. They were both shy, -and the meeting with this unknown parent was a terror to them. They -clung to Frithiof as he took them downstairs, and, catching sight of -Cecil leaning back in one of the hall chairs, they made a rush for her, -and poured out all their childish fears as she clung to them and kissed -them with all the tenderness of a real mother. - -“We don’t want to go and see father,” said Lance stoutly. “We had much -rather not.” - -“But you must think that he wants to see you very much,” said Cecil. “He -remembers you quite well, though you have forgotten him; and now that he -has come back to you, you must both make him very happy, and love him.” - -“I don’t like him at all,” said Gwen perversely. - -“It is silly and wrong to say that,” said Cecil. “You will love him when -you see him.” - -“I love you,” said Gwen, with a vehement hug. - -“Have you only room for one person in your heart?” - -“I rather love Herr Frithiof,” said Gwen, glancing up at him through her -eyelashes. - -They both smiled, and Cecil, seeing that little would be gained by -discussing the matter, got up and led them toward the drawing-room, her -pale, brave face contrasting curiously with Gwen’s rosy cheeks and -rebellious little air. - -Mr. Boniface sat talking to the new-comer kindly enough. They both rose -as Cecil and the children entered. - -“This is my daughter,” said Mr. Boniface. - -And Cecil shook hands with the ex-prisoner, and looked a little -anxiously into his face. - -He was rather a pleasant-looking man of five-and-thirty, and so much -like Lance that she could not help feeling kindly toward him. She hoped -that the children would behave well, and glanced at Gwen nervously. - -But Gwen, who was a born flirt, speedily forgot her dislike, and was -quite willing to meet the stranger’s advances half-way. In two minutes’ -time she was contentedly sitting on his knee, while Lance stood shyly -by, studying his father with a gravity which was, however, inclined to -be friendly and not critical. When he had quite satisfied himself he -went softly away, returning before long with a toy pistol and a boat, -which he put into his father’s hands. - -“What is this?” said Mr. Grantley. - -“It’s my favorite toys,” said Lance. “I wanted to show them you. Quick, -Gwen, run and find your doll for father.” - -He seemed touched and pleased; and indeed they were such well-trained -children that any parent must have been proud of them. To this -ex-convict, who for years had been cut off from all child-life, the mere -sight of them was refreshing. He seemed quite inclined to sit there and -play with them for the rest of the evening. And Cecil sat by in a sort -of dream, hearing of the new home that was to be made for the children -in British Columbia—where land was to be had for a penny an acre, and -where one could live on grapes and peaches, and all the most delicious -fruits. Then, presently, with many expressions of gratitude for all that -had been done for the children, Mr. Grantley took leave, and she led the -little ones up to bed, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Boniface to go out into the -garden and tell Roy and Sigrid what had passed. - -“How does Cecil take it?” asked Sigrid anxiously. - -“Very quietly,” was the reply; “but I am afraid she feels losing them so -soon.” - -Frithiof, with an uncomfortable recollection of what had passed in the -garden, doubted if Mrs. Boniface fully understood the depth of Cecil’s -feelings. He left them talking over the drawbacks and advantages of -colonial life, and went in to his translating; but though he forgot the -actual cause, he was conscious all the time of a disturbing influence, -and even while absorbed in his work, had an irritating sense that -something had gone wrong, and that trouble was in the air. - -He went to bed and dreamed all night of Cecil. She haunted him -persistently; sometimes he saw her leaning back on the garden seat, with -the narcissus just falling from her hand, sometimes he saw her with the -children clinging to her as they had done in the hall. - -From that time forward a great change came over his attitude toward her. -Hitherto his friendship with her had, it must be owned, been chiefly -selfish. He had always heartily liked her, had enjoyed being at Rowan -Tree House, had fallen into the habit of discussing many things with her -and valuing her opinion, but it was always of himself he had thought—of -what she could do for him, of what he could learn from her, of how much -enjoyment he could get from her music and her frank friendliness, and -her easy way of talking. It was not that he was more selfish than most -men, but that they had learned really to know each other at a time when -his heart was so paralyzed by Blanche’s faithlessness, so crushed by the -long series of misfortunes, that giving had been out of the question for -him; he could merely take and make the most of whatever she could give -him. - -But now all this was altered. The old wounds, though to the end of his -life they must leave a scar, were really healed. He had lived through a -great deal, and had lived in a way that had developed the best points in -his character. He had now a growingly keen appreciation for all that was -really beautiful—for purity, and strength, and tenderness, and for that -quality which it is the fashion to call Altruism, but which he, with his -hatred of affectation in words, called goodness. - -As he thought of Cecil during those days he began to see more and more -clearly the full force of her character. Hitherto he had quietly taken -her for granted; there was nothing very striking about her, nothing in -the least obtrusive. Perhaps if it had not been for that strange little -scene in the garden he would never have taken the trouble to think of -her actual character. - -Through the week that followed he watched her with keen interest and -sympathy. That she should be in trouble—at any rate, in trouble that was -patent to all the world—was something entirely new. Their positions -seemed to be reversed; and he found himself spontaneously doing -everything he could think of to please and help her. Her trouble seemed -to draw them together; and to his mind there was something very -beautiful in her passionate devotion to the children—for it was a -devotion that never in the least bordered on sentimentality. She went -through everything very naturally, having a good cry now and then, but -taking care not to make the children unhappy at the prospect of the -parting, and arranging everything that they could possibly want, not -only on the voyage, but for some time to come in their new home. - -“She is so plucky!” thought Frithiof to himself, with a thrill of -admiration. For he was not at all the sort of man to admire -helplessness, or languor, or cowardice; they seemed to him as unlovely -in a woman as in a man. - -At last the actual parting came. Cecil would have liked to go down to -the steamer and see the children start, but on thinking it over she -decided that it would be better not. - -“They will feel saying good-by,” she said, “and it had better be here. -Then they will have the long drive with you to the docks, and by that -time they will be all right again, and will be able to enjoy the steamer -and all the novelty.” - -Mr. Boniface was obliged to own that there was sound common-sense in -this plan; so in their own nursery, where for nearly five years she had -taken such care of them, Cecil dressed the two little ones for the last -time, brushed out Gwen’s bright curls, coaxed Lance into his reefer, and -then, no longer able to keep back her tears, clung to them in the last -terrible parting. - -“Oh, Cecil, dear, darling Cecil,” sobbed Lance, “I don’t want to go -away; I don’t care for the steamer one bit.” - -She was on the hearthrug, with both children nestled close to her, the -thought of the unknown world that they were going out into, and the -difficult future awaiting them, came sweeping over her; just as they -were then, innocent, and unconscious, and happy, she could never see -them again. - -“Be good, Lance,” she said, through her tears. “Promise me always to try -to be good.” - -“I promise,” said the little fellow, hugging her with all his might. -“And we shall come back as soon as ever we’re grown up—we shall both -come back.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Cecil, “you must come back.” - -But in her heart she knew that however pleasant the meeting in future -years might be, it could not be like the present; as children, and as -her own special charge, she was parting with them forever. - -The carriage drove up to the door; there came sounds of hurrying feet -and fetching and carrying of luggage; Cecil took them downstairs, and -then, with a last long embrace from Lance, and kisses interspersed with -sobs from Gwen, she gave them up to her father, and turned to take leave -of their nurse. - -“I will take great care of them, miss,” said the maid, herself crying, -“and you shall hear from me regularly.” - -In another minute the carriage had driven away, and Cecil was left to -make the best she might of what she could not but feel, at first, a -desolate life. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - -Hardly had the bustle of departure quieted down at Rowan Tree House when -a fresh anxiety arose. Herr Sivertsen, who had for some time been out of -health, was seized with a fatal illness, and for three days and nights -Frithiof was unable to leave him; on the third night the old Norseman -passed quietly away, conscious to the last minute, and with his latest -breath inveighing against the degeneracy of the age. - -“Frithiof is a rare exception,” he said, turning his dim eyes toward -Sigrid, who stood by the bedside. “And to him I leave all that I have. -As for the general run of young men nowadays—I wash my hands of them—a -worthless set—a degenerate—” - -His voice died away, he sighed deeply, caught Frithiof’s hand in his, -and fell back on the pillow lifeless. - -When the will was read it affirmed that Herr Sivertsen, who had no -relations living, had indeed left his property to Frithiof. The will was -terse and eccentric in the extreme, and seemed like one of the old man’s -own speeches, ending with the familiar words, “for he is one of the few -honest and hard-working men in a despicable generation.” - -Naturally there was only one way to which Frithiof could think of -putting his legacy. Every penny of it went straight to his debt-fund. -Mr. Horner heard of it and groaned. “What!” he exclaimed, “pay away the -principal; hand over thousands of pounds in payment of debts that are -not even his own—debts that don’t affect his name! He ought to put the -money into this business, Boniface; it would only be a fitting way of -showing you his gratitude.” - -“He put into the business what I value far more,” said Mr. Boniface. “He -put into it his honest Norwegian heart, and this legacy will save him -many years of hard, weary work and anxiety.” - -When summer came it was arranged that they should go to Norway, and -Frithiof went about his work with such an air of relief and contentment, -that had it not been for one hidden anxiety Sigrid’s happiness would -have been complete. - -Her marriage had been so extremely happy that she was less than ever -satisfied with the prospect that seemed to lie before Cecil. The secret -which she had found out at the time of Frithiof’s disgrace weighed upon -her now a good deal; she almost wished that Roy would guess it; but no -one else seemed to have any suspicion of it at all, and Sigrid of course -could not speak, partly because she was Frithiof’s sister, partly -because she had a strong feeling that to allude to that matter would be -to betray Cecil unfairly. Had she been a matchmaker she might have done -endless harm; had she been a reckless talker she would probably have -defeated her own ends; but happily she was neither, and though at times -she longed to give Frithiof a good shaking, when she saw him entirely -absorbed in his work and blind to all else, she managed to keep her own -counsel, and to await, though somewhat impatiently, whatever time should -bring. One evening it chanced that the brother and sister were alone for -a few minutes during the intervals of an amateur concert, which Cecil -had been asked to get up at Whitechapel. - -“How do you think it has gone off?” said Sigrid, as he sat down beside -her in the little inner room. - -“Capitally; Cecil ought to be congratulated,” he replied. “I am glad she -has had it on hand, for it must have taken her thoughts off the -children.” - -“Yes,” said Sigrid; “anything that does that is worth something.” - -“Yet she seems to me to have plenty of interests,” said Frithiof. “She -is never idle; she is a great reader.” - -“Do you think books would ever satisfy a woman like Cecil?” exclaimed -Sigrid, with a touch of scorn in her voice. - -He looked at her quickly, struck by something unusual in her tone, and -not at all understanding the little flush of hot color that had risen in -her face. - -“Oh,” he said teasingly, “you think that every one has your ideal of -happiness, and cannot manage to exist without the equivalent of Roy and -baby, to say nothing of the house and garden.” - -“I don’t think anything of the sort,” she protested, relieved by his -failure to appropriate to himself her rather unguarded speech. - -“Norway will be the best thing in the world for her,” he said. “It is -the true panacea for all evils. Can you believe that in less than a week -we shall actually be at Bergen once more!” - -And Sigrid, looking at his eager, blue eyes, and remembering his brave -struggles and long exile, could not find it in her heart to be angry -with him any more. Besides, he had been very thoughtful for Cecil just -lately, and seemed to have set his heart on making the projected tour in -Norway as nearly perfect as might be. To Sigrid there was a serious -drawback—she was obliged to leave her baby behind in England; however, -after the first wrench of parting, she managed to enjoy herself very -well, and Mrs. Boniface, who was to spend the six weeks of their absence -in Devonshire with some of her cousins, promised to take every possible -care of her little grandson, to telegraph now and then, and to write at -every opportunity. It had been impossible for Mr. Boniface to leave -London, but the two younger members of the firm, with Sigrid, Cecil, and -little Swanhild, made a very merry party, and Frithiof, at length free -from the load of his father’s debts, seemed suddenly to grow ten years -younger. Indeed, Sigrid, who for so long had seen her hopes for Cecil -defeated by the cares and toils brought by these same debts, began to -fear that now his extreme happiness in his freedom would quite suffice -to him, and that he would desire nothing further. - -Certainly, for many years he had known nothing like the happiness of -that voyage, with its bright expectation, its sense of relief. To look -back on the feverish excitement of his voyage to England five years -before was like looking back into some other life; and if the world was -a graver and sadder place to him now than it had been long ago, he had -at any rate learned that life was not limited to three-score years and -ten, and had gained a far deeper happiness of which no one could rob -him. On the Wednesday night he slept little, and very early in the -morning was up on the wet and shining deck eagerly looking at the first -glimpse of his own country. His heart bounded within him when the red -roofs and gables of Stavanger came into sight, and he was the very first -to leap off the steamer, far too impatient to touch Norwegian soil once -more to dream of waiting for the more leisurely members of the party. -The quiet little town seemed still fast asleep; he scarcely met a soul -in the primitive streets with their neat wooden houses and their -delightful look of home. In a rapture of happiness he walked on drinking -down deep breaths of the fresh morning air, until coming at length to -the cathedral he caught sight of an old woman standing at the door, key -in hand. - -He stopped and had a long conversation with her for the mere pleasure of -hearing his native tongue once more; he made her happy with a _kroner_ -and enjoyed her grateful shake of the hand, then, partly to please her, -entered the cathedral. In the morning light, the severe beauty of the -old Norman nave was very impressive; he knelt for a minute or two, glad -to have the uninterrupted quiet of the great place before it had been -reached by any of the tourists. It came into his mind how, long ago, his -father’s last words to him had been “A happy return to Gammle Norge,” -how for so long those words had seemed to him the bitterest mockery—an -utter impossibility—and how, at last in a very strange and different -way, they had come true. He had come back, and, spite of all that had -intervened, he was happy. - -Later in the day, when they slowly steamed into Bergen harbor and saw -once more the place that he had so often longed for, with its dear -familiar houses and spires, its lovely surrounding mountains, his -happiness was not without a strong touch of pain. For after all, though -the place remained, his home had gone forever, and though Herr Grönvold -stood waiting for them on the landing quay with the heartiest of -welcomes, yet he could not but feel a terrible blank. - -Cecil read his face in a moment, and understood just what he was -feeling. - -“Come and let us look for the luggage,” she said to Roy, wishing to -leave the three Norwegians to themselves for a few minutes. - -“Rather different to our last arrival here,” said Roy brightly. He was -so very happy that it was hardly likely he should think just then of -other people. But as Cecil gave the assent which seemed so -matter-of-fact her eyes filled with tears, for she could not help -thinking of all the brightness of that first visit, of Frithiof with his -boyish gayety and light-heartedness, of the kindness and hospitality of -his father, of the pretty villa in Kalvedalen, of poor Blanche in her -innocent girlhood. - -They were all to stay for a few days with the Grönvolds, and there was -now plenty of room for them, since Karen and the eldest son were married -and settled in homes of their own. Fru Grönvold and Sigrid met with the -utmost affection, and all the petty quarrels and vexations of the past -were forgotten; indeed, the very first evening they had a hearty laugh -over the recollection of their difference of opinion about Torvald -Lundgren. - -“And, my dear” said Fru Grönvold, who was as usual knitting an -interminable stocking. “You need not feel at all anxious about him, he -is very happily married, and I think, yes, certainly can not help -owning, that he manages his household with a firmer hand than would -perhaps have suited you. He has a very pretty little wife who worships -the ground he treads on.” - -“Which you see I could never have done,” said Sigrid merrily. “Poor -Torvald! I am very glad he is happily settled. Frithiof must go and see -him. How do you think Swanhild is looking, Auntie?” - -“Very well and very pretty,” said Fru Grönvold. “One would naturally -suppose that, at her rather awkward age, she would have lost her good -looks, but she is as graceful as ever.” - -“She is a very brave, hard-working little woman,” said Sigrid. “I told -you that she had begged so hard to stay on with Madame Lechertier that -we had consented. It would indeed have been hardly fair to take her away -all at once, when Madame had been so kind and helpful to us; and -Swanhild is very independent, you know, and declares that she must have -some sort of profession, and that to be a teacher of dancing is clearly -her vocation.” - -“By and by, when she is grown up, she is going to keep my house,” said -Frithiof. - -“No, no,” said Sigrid; “I shall never spare her, unless it is to get -married; you two would never get on by yourselves. By the by, I am sure -Cecil is keeping away from us on purpose; she went off on the plea of -reading for her half-hour society, but she has been gone quite a long -time. Go and find her, Frithiof, and tell her we very much want her.” - -He went out and found Cecil comfortably installed in the dining-room -with her book. - -“Have you not read enough?” he said. “We are very dull without you in -there.” - -“I thought you would have so much to talk over together,” she said, -putting down her book and lifting her soft gray eyes to his. - -“Not a bit,” he replied; “we are pining for music and want you to sing, -if you are not too tired. What learned book were you reading, after such -a journey? Plato?” - -“A translation of the ‘Phaedo,’” she said. “There is such a strange -little bit here about pleasure being mixed with pain always.” - -“Oh, they had found that out in those days, had they?” said Frithiof. -“Read the bit to me; for, to tell you the truth, it would fit in rather -well with this return to Bergen.” - -Cecil turned over the pages and read the following speech of Socrates: - -“‘How singular is the thing called pleasure, and how curiously related -to pain, which might be thought to be the opposite of it; for they never -come to man together, and yet he who pursues either of them is generally -compelled to take the other. They are two, and yet they grow together -out of one head or stem; and I cannot help thinking that if Æsop had -noticed them he would have made a fable about God trying to reconcile -their strife, and when he could not, he fastened their heads together; -and this is the reason why, when one comes the other follows.’” - -“It’s odd to think that all these hundreds of years people have been -racking their brains to find some explanation of the great problem,” -said Frithiof, “that generation after generation of unsatisfied people -have lived and died.” - -“A poor woman from East London once answered the problem to me quite -unconsciously,” said Cecil. “She was down in the country for change of -air, and she said to me, ‘It’s just like Paradise here, miss, and if it -could always go on it would be heaven.’” - -He sighed. - -“Come and sing me ‘Princessen,’” he said, “if you are really not too -tired. I am very much in the mood of that restless lady in the poem.” - -And, in truth, often during those days at Bergen he was haunted by the -weird ending of the song— - - “‘What _do_ I then want, my God?’ she cried - Then the sun went down.” - -He had a good deal of business to see to, and the clearing off of the -debts was, of course, not without a considerable pleasure; he greatly -enjoyed, too, the hearty welcome of his old friends; but there was -always something wanting. For every street, every view, every inch of -the place was associated with his father, and, dearly as he loved -Bergen, he felt that he could not have borne to live in it again. He -seemed to find his chief happiness in lionizing Cecil, and sometimes, -when with her, the pain of the return was forgotten, and he so enjoyed -her admiration of his native city that he no longer felt the terrible -craving for his father’s presence. They went to Nestun, and wandered -about in the woods; they took Cecil to see the quaint old wooden church -from Fortun; they had a merry picnic at Fjessanger, and an early -expedition to the Bergen fish market, determined that Cecil should enjoy -that picturesque scene with the weather-beaten fishermen, the bargaining -housewives with their tin pails, the boats laden with their shining -wealth of fishes. Again and again, too, they walked up the beautiful -_fjeldveien_ to gain that wonderful bird’s-eye view over the town and -the harbor and the lakes. But perhaps no one was sorry when the visit -came to an end, and they were once more on their travels, going by sea -to Molde and thence to Naes. - -It was quite late one evening that they steamed down the darkening -Romsdalsfjord. The great Romsdalshorn reared its dark head solemnly into -the calm sky, and everywhere peace seemed to reign. The steamer was -almost empty; Frithiof and Cecil stood alone at the forecastle end, -silently reveling in the exquisite view before them. - -A thousand thoughts were seething in Frithiof’s mind; that first glimpse -of the Romsdalshorn had taken him back to the great crisis of his life; -in strange contrast to that peaceful scene he had a vision of a crowded -London street; in yet stranger contrast to his present happiness and -relief he once more looked into the past, and thought of his hopeless -misery, of his deadly peril, of the struggle he had gone through, of the -chance which had made him pause before the picture shop, and of his -recognition of the painting of his native mountains. Then he thought of -his first approach to Rowan Tree House on that dusky November afternoon, -and he thought of his strange dream of the beasts, and the precipice, -and the steep mountain-side, and the opening door with the Madonna and -Child framed in dazzling light. Just at that moment from behind the dark -purple mountains rose the great, golden-red moon. It was a sight never -to be forgotten, and the glow and glamour cast by it over the whole -scene was indescribable. Veblungsnaes with its busy wooden pier and its -dusky houses with here and there a light twinkling from a window; the -Romsdalshorn with its lofty peak, and the beautiful valley beyond bathed -in that sort of dim brightness and misty radiance which can be given by -nothing but the rising moon. - -Frithiof turned and looked at Cecil. - -She had taken off her hat that she might better enjoy the soft evening -breeze which was ruffling up her fair hair; her blue dress was one of -those shades which are called “new,” but which are not unlike the old -blue in which artists have always loved to paint the Madonna; her face -was very quiet and happy; the soft evening light seemed to etherealize -her. - -“You will never know how much I owe to you,” he said impetuously. “Had -it not been for all that you did for me in the past I could not possibly -have been here to-night.” - -She had been looking toward Veblungsnaes, but now she turned to him with -a glance so beautiful, so rapturously happy, that it seemed to waken new -life within him. He was so amazed at the strength of the passion which -suddenly took possession of him that for a time he could hardly believe -he was in real waking existence; this magical evening light, this -exquisite fjord with its well-known mountains, might well be the scenery -of some dream; and Cecil did not speak to him, she merely gave him that -one glance and smile, and then stood beside him silently, as though -there were no need of speech between them. - -He was glad she was silent, for he dreaded lest anything should rouse -him and take him back to the dull, cold past—the past in which for so -long he had lived with his heart half dead, upheld only by the intention -of redeeming his father’s honor. To go back to that state would be -terrible; moreover, the aim no longer existed. The debts were paid—his -work was over, and yet his life lay before him. - -Was it to be merely a business life—a long round of duty work? or was it -possible that love might glorify the every-day round—that even for him -this intense happiness, which as yet he could hardly believe to be real, -might actually dawn? - -And the steamer glided on over the calm moonlit waters, and drew nearer -to Veblungsnaes, where an eager-faced crowd waited for the great event -of the day. A sudden terror seized Frithiof that some one would come to -their end of the steamer and break the spell that bound him, and then -the very fear itself made him realize that this was no dream, but a -great reality. Cecil was beside him, and he loved her—a new era had -begun in his life. He loved her, and grudged whatever could interfere -with that strange sense of nearness to her and of bliss in the -consciousness which had suddenly changed his whole world. - -But no one came near them. Still they stood there—side by side, and the -steamer moved on peacefully once more, the silvery track still marking -the calm fjord till they reached the little boat that was to land them -at Naes. He wished that they could have gone on for hours, for as yet -the mere consciousness of his own love satisfied him—he wanted nothing -but the rapture of life after death—of brightness after gloom. When it -was no longer possible to prolong that strange, weird calm, he went, -like a man half awake, to see after the luggage, and presently, with an -odd, dazzled feeling found himself on the shore, where Herr Lossius, the -landlord, stood to welcome them. - -“Which is the hotel?” asked Roy. - -And Herr Lossius replied in his quaint, careful English, “It is yonder, -sir—that house just under the moon.” - -“Did you ever hear such a poetical direction?” said Cecil, smiling as -they walked up the road together. - -“It suits the evening very well,” said Frithiof. “I am glad he did not -say, ‘First turning to your right, second to your left, and keep -straight on,’ like a Londoner.” - -But the “house under the moon,” though comfortable enough, did not prove -a good sleeping-place. All the night long Frithiof lay broad awake in -his quaint room, and at length, weary of staring at the picture of the -stag painted on the window-blind, he drew it up and lay looking out at -the dark Romsdalshorn, for the bed was placed across the window, and -commanded a beautiful view. - -He could think of nothing but Cecil, of the strange, new insight that -had come to him so suddenly, of the marvel that, having known her so -long and so intimately, he had only just realized the beauty of her -character, with its tender, womanly grace, its quiet strength, its -steadfastness, and repose. Then came a wave of anxious doubt that drove -sleep farther than ever from him. It was no longer enough to be -conscious of his love for her. He began to wonder whether it was in the -least probable that she could ever care for him. Knowing the whole of -his past life, knowing his faults so well, was it likely that she would -ever dream of accepting his love? - -He fell into great despondency; but the recollection of that sweet, -bright glance which she had given him in reply to his impetuous burst of -gratitude, reassured him; and when, later on, he met her at breakfast -his doubts were held at bay, and his hopes raised, not by anything that -she did or said, but by her mere presence. - -Whether Sigrid at all guessed at the state of affairs and arranged -accordingly, or whether it was a mere chance, it so happened that for -the greater part of that day as they traveled through the beautiful -Romsdal, Frithiof and Cecil were together. - -“What will you do?” said Cecil to herself, “when all this is over? How -will you go back to ordinary life when the tour is ended!” - -But though she tried in this way to take the edge off her pleasure, she -could not do it. Afterward might take care of itself. There was no -possibility of realizing it now, she would enjoy to the full just the -present that was hers, the long talks with Frithiof, the delightful -sense of fellowship with him, the mutual enjoyment of that exquisite -valley. - -And so they drove on, past Aak, with its lovely trees and its rippling -river, past the lovely Romsdalshorn, past the Troltinderne, with their -weird outline looming up against the blue sky like the battlements and -pinnacles of some magic city. About the middle of the day they reached -Horgheim, where it had been arranged that they should spend the night. -Frithiof was in a mood to find everything beautiful; he even admired the -rather bare-looking posting-station, just a long, brown, wooden house -with a high flight of steps to the door and seats on either side. On the -doorstep lay a fine white and tabby cat, which he declared he could -remember years before when they had visited the Romsdal. - -“And that is very possible,” said the landlady, with a pleased look. -“For we have had him these fourteen years.” - -Every one crowded round to look at this antiquated cat. - -“What is his name?” asked Cecil, speaking in Norse. - -“His name is Mons,” said the landlady, “Mons Horgheim.” - -They all laughed at the thought of a cat with a surname, and then came a -general dispersion in quest of rooms. Cecil and Swanhild chose one which -looked out across a grassy slope to the river; the Rauma just at this -part is very still, and of a deep green color; beyond were jagged, gray -mountains and the moraine of a glacier covered here and there with birch -and juniper. Half-a-dozen little houses with grass-grown roofs nestled -at the foot, and near them were sweet-smelling hayfields and patches of -golden corn. - -They dined merrily on salmon, wild strawberries, and cream, and then a -walk was proposed. Cecil, however, excused herself, saying that she had -letters to write home, and so it chanced that Frithiof and Sigrid had -what did not often fall to their lot in those days, the chance of a -quiet talk. - -“What is wrong with you, dear old boy?” she said; for since they had -left Horgheim she could not but notice that he had grown grave and -absorbed. - -“Nothing,” he said, with rather a forced laugh. But, though he tried to -resume his usual manner and talked with her and teased her playfully, -she knew that he had something on his mind, and half-hopefully, -half-fearfully, made one more attempt to win his confidence. - -“Let us rest here in the shade,” she said, settling herself comfortably -under a silver birch. “Roy and Swanhild walk at such a pace that I think -we will let them have the first view of the Mongefos.” - -He threw himself down on the grass beside her, and for a time there was -silence. - -“You did not sleep last night,” she said presently. - -“How do you know that?” he said, his color rising a little. - -“Oh, I know it by your forehead. You were worrying over something. Come, -confess.” - -He sat up and began to speak abruptly. - -“I want to ask you a question,” he said, looking up the valley beyond -her and avoiding her eyes. “Do you think a man has any business to offer -to a woman a love which is not his first passion?” - -“At one time I thought not,” said Sigrid. “But as I grew older and -understood things more it seemed to me different. I think there would be -few marriages in the world if we made a rule of that sort. And a woman -who really loved would lose sight of all selfishness and littleness and -jealousy just because of the strength of her love.” - -He turned and looked straight into her eyes. - -“And if I were to tell Cecil that I loved her, do you think she would at -any rate listen to me?” - -“I am not going to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to that question,” said Sigrid, -suddenly bending forward and giving him a kiss—a salute almost unknown -between a Norwegian brother and sister. “But I will say instead ‘Go and -try.’” - -“You think then—” - -She sprang to her feet. - -“I don’t think at all,” she said laughingly. “Good-by. I am going to -meet the others at the Mongefos, and you—you are going back to Horgheim. -Adjö.” - -She waved her hand to him and walked resolutely away. He watched her out -of sight, then fell back again to his former position on the grass, and -thought. She had told him nothing and yet somehow had brought to him a -most wonderful sense of rest and peace. - -Presently he got up, and began to retrace his steps along the valley. - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - - -The afternoon was not so clear as the morning had been, yet it had a -beauty of its own which appealed to Frithiof very strongly. The blue sky -had changed to a soft pearly gray, all round him rose grave, majestic -mountains, their summits clear against the pale background, but wreaths -of white mist clinging about their sides in fantastic twists and curves -which bridged over huge yawning chasms and seemed to join the valley -into a great amphitheater. The stern gray and purple rocks looked hardly -real, so softened were they by the luminous summer haze. Here and there -the white snow gleamed coldly in long deep crevices, or in broad clefts -where from year’s end to year’s end it remained unmelted by sun or rain. -On each side of the road there was a wilderness of birch and fir and -juniper bushes, while in the far distance could be heard the Mongefos -with its ceaseless sound of many waters, repeated on either hand by the -smaller waterfalls. Other sound there was none save the faint tinkle of -cowbells or the rare song of the little black and white wagtails, which -seemed the only birds in the valley. - -Suddenly he perceived a little further along the road a slim figure -leaning against the fence, the folds of a blue dress, the gleam of -light-brown hair under a sealskin traveling cap. His heart began to beat -fast, he strode on more quickly, and Cecil, hearing footsteps, looked -up. - -“I had finished my letter and thought I would come out to explore a -little,” she said, as he joined her. “You have come back?” - -“Yes,” he said, “I have come back to you.” - -She glanced at him questioningly, startled by his tone, but before his -eager look her eyelids dropped, and a soft glow of color suffused her -face. - -“Cecil,” he said, “do you remember what you said years ago about men who -worked hard to make their fortune and then retired and were miserable -because they had nothing to do?” - -“Oh yes,” she said, “I remember it very well, and have often seen -instances of it.” - -“I am like that now,” he continued. “My work seems over, and I stand at -the threshold of a new life. It was you who saved me from ruin in my old -life—will you be my helper now?” - -“Do you think I really could help?” she said wistfully. - -He looked at her gentle eyes, at her pure, womanly face, and he knew -that his life was in her hands. - -“I do not know,” he said gravely. “It depends on whether you could love -me—whether you will let me speak of my love for you.” - -Then, as he paused, partly because his English words would not come very -readily, partly in hope of some sign of encouragement from her, she -turned to him with a face which shone with heavenly light. - -“There must never be any secrets between us,” she said, speaking quite -simply and directly. “I have loved you ever since you first came to -us—years ago.” - -It was nothing to Frithiof that they were standing at the side of the -king’s highway—he had lost all sense of time and place—the world only -contained for him the woman who loved him—the woman who let him clasp -her in his strong arm—let him press her sweet face to his. - -And still from the distance came the sound of many waters, and the faint -tinkle of the cowbells, and the song of the little black and white -birds. The grave gray mountains seemed like strong and kindly friends -who sheltered them and shut them in from all intrusion of the outer -world, but they were so entirely absorbed in each other that they had -not a thought of anything else. - -“With you I shall have courage to begin life afresh,” he said, after a -time. “To have the right to love you—to be always with you—that will be -everything to me.” - -And then as he thought of her true-hearted confession, he tried to -understand a little better the unseen ordering of his life, and he loved -to think that those weary years had been wasted neither on him nor on -Cecil herself. He could not for one moment doubt that her pure, -unselfish love had again and again shielded him from evil, that all -through his English life, with its hard struggles and bitter sufferings, -her love had in some unknown way been his safeguard, and that his life, -crippled by the faithlessness of a woman, had by a woman also been -redeemed. All his old morbid craving for death had gone; he eagerly -desired a long life, that he might live with her, work for her, shield -her from care, fill up, to the best of his power, what was incomplete in -her life. - -“I shall have a postscript to add to my letter,” said Cecil presently, -looking up at him with the radiant smile which he so loved to see on her -lips. “What a very feminine one it will be! We say, you know, in -England, that a woman’s postscript is the most important part of her -letter.” - -“Will your father and mother ever spare you to me?” said Frithiof. - -“They will certainly welcome you as their son,” she replied. - -“And Mr. and Mrs. Horner?” suggested Frithiof mischievously. - -But at the thought of the consternation of her worthy cousins Cecil -could do nothing but laugh. - -“Never mind,” she said, “they have always disapproved of me as much as -they have of you; they will perhaps say that it is, after all, a highly -suitable arrangement!” - -“I wonder whether Swanhild will say the same?” said Frithiof with a -smile; “here she comes, hurrying home alone. Will you wait by the river -and let me just tell her my good news?” - -He walked along the road to meet his sister, who, spite of added years -and inches, still retained much of her childlikeness. - -“Why are you all alone?” he said. - -“Oh, there is no fun,” said Swanhild. “When Roy and Sigrid are out on a -holiday they are just like lovers, so I came back to you.” - -“What will you say when I tell you that I am betrothed,” he said -teasingly. - -She looked up in his face with some alarm. - -“You are only making fun of me,” she protested. - -“On the contrary, I am stating the most serious of facts. Come, I want -your congratulations.” - -“But who are you betrothed to?” asked Swanhild, bewildered. “Can it be -to Madale? And, oh dear, what a horrid time to choose for it—you will be -just no good at all. I really do think you might have waited till the -end of the tour.” - -“It might possibly have been managed if you had spoken sooner,” said -Frithiof, with mock gravity, “but you come too late—the deed is done.” - -“Well, I shall have Cecil to talk to, so after all it doesn’t much -matter,” said Swanhild graciously. - -“But, unfortunately, she also has become betrothed,” said Frithiof, -watching the bewildered little face with keen pleasure, and seeing the -light of perception suddenly dawn on it. - -Swanhild caught his hand in hers. - -“You don’t mean—” she began. - -“Oh yes,” cried Frithiof, “but I do mean it very much indeed. Come,” and -he hurried her down the grassy slope to the river. “I shall tell Cecil -every word you have been saying.” Then, as she rose to meet them, he -said with a laugh, “This selfish child thinks we might have put it off -till the end of the tour for her special benefit.” - -“No, no,” cried Swanhild, flying toward Cecil with outstretched arms. “I -never knew it was to you he was betrothed—and you could never be that -horrid, moony kind who are always sitting alone together in corners.” - -At which ingenuous congratulations they all laughed so immoderately that -Mons Horgheim the cat was roused from his afternoon nap on the steps of -the station, and after a preliminary stretch strolled down toward the -river to see what was the matter, and to bring the sobriety and -accumulated wisdom of his fourteen years to bear upon the situation. - -“Ah, well,” said Swanhild, with a comical gesture, “there is clearly -nothing for me but, as they say in Italy, to stay at home and nurse the -cat.” - -And catching up the astonished Mons, she danced away, eager to be the -first to tell the good news to Roy and Sigrid. - -“It will be really very convenient,” she remarked, to the infinite -amusement of her elders. “We shall not lose Frithiof at all; he will -only have to move across to Rowan Tree House.” - -And ultimately that was how matters arranged themselves, so that the -house which had sheltered Frithiof in his time of trouble became his -home in this time of his prosperity. - -He had not rushed all at once into full light and complete manhood and -lasting happiness. Very slowly, very gradually, the life that had been -plunged in darkness had emerged into faint twilight as he had struggled -to redeem his father’s name; then, by degrees, the brightness of dawn -had increased, and, sometimes helped, sometimes hindered by the lives -which had come into contact with his own, he had at length emerged into -clearer light, till, after long waiting, the sun had indeed risen. - -As Swanhild had prophesied, they were by no means selfish lovers, and, -far from spoiling the tour, their happiness did much to add to its -success. - -Cecil hardly knew which part of it was most delightful to her, the -return of Molde and the pilgrimage to the quaint little jeweler’s shop -where they chose two plain gold betrothal rings such as are always used -in Norway; or the merry journey to the Geiranger; or the quiet days at -Oldören, in that lovely valley with the river curving and bending its -way between wooded banks, and the rampart of grand, craggy mountains -with snowy peaks, her own special mountain, as Frithiof called -Cecilienkrone, dominating all. - -It was at Oldören that she saw for the first time one of the prettiest -sights in Norway—a country wedding. The charming bride, Pernilla, in her -silver-gilt crown and bridal ornaments, had her heartiest sympathy, and -Frithiof, happening to catch sight of the fiddler standing idly by the -churchyard gate when the ceremony was over, brought him into the hotel -and set every one dancing. Anna Rasmusen, the clever and charming -manager of the inn, volunteered to try the _spring dans_ with Halfstan, -the guide. The hamlet was searched for dancers of the _halling_, and the -women showed them the pretty _jelster_ and the _tretur_. - -By degrees all the population of the place crowded in as spectators, and -soon Johannes and Pernilla, the bride and bridegroom, made their way -through the throng, and, each carrying a decanter, approached the -visitors, shook hands with them, and begged that they would drink their -health. There was something strangely simple and charming about the -whole thing. Such a scene could have been found in no other country save -in grand, free old Norway, where false standards of worth are abolished, -and where mutual respect and equal rights bind each to each in true -brotherhood. - -The day after the wedding they spent at the Brixdals glacier, rowing all -together up the lake, but afterward separating, Frithiof and Cecil -walking in advance of the others up the beautiful valley. - -“There will soon be a high-road to this glacier,” said Frithiof, “but I -am glad they are only beginning it now, and that we have this rough -path.” - -And Cecil was glad too. She liked the scramble and the little bit of -climbing needed here and there; she loved to feel the strength and -protection of Frithiof’s hand as he led her over the rocks and bowlders. -At last, after a long walk, they reached a smooth, grassy oasis, shaded -by silver birches and bordered by a river, beyond, the Brixdalsbrae -gleamed white through the trees, with here and there exquisite shades of -blue visible in the ice even at that distance. - -“This is just like the Land of Beulah,” said Cecil, smiling, “and the -glacier is the celestial city. How wonderful those broken pinnacles of -ice are!” - -“Look at these two little streams running side by side for so long and -at last joining,” said Frithiof. “They are like our two lives. For so -many years you have been to me as we should say _fortrölig_.” - -“What does that mean?” she asked. - -“It is untranslatable,” he said. “It is that in which one puts one’s -trust and confidence, but more besides. It means exactly what you have -always been to me.” - -Cecil looked down at the little bunch of forget-me-nots and lilies of -the valley—the Norwegian national flowers with which Frithiof loved to -keep her supplied—and the remembrance of all that she had borne during -these five years came back to her, and by contrast made the happy -present yet sweeter. - -“I think,” she said, “I should like Signor Donati to know of our -happiness; he was the first who quite understood you.” - -“Yes, I must write to him,” said Frithiof. “There is no man to whom I -owe more.” - -And thinking of the Italian’s life and character and of his own past, he -grew silent. - -“Do you know,” he said at length, “there is one thing I want you to do -for me. I want you to give me back my regard for the Sogne once more. I -want, on our way home, just to pass Balholm again.” - -And so one day it happened that they found themselves on the -well-remembered fjord, and coming up on deck when dinner was over, saw -that already the familiar scenes of the Frithiof saga were coming into -view. - -“Look! look!” said Frithiof. “There, far in front of us is the -Kvinnafos, looking like a thread of white on the dark rock; and over to -the right is Framnaes!” - -Cecil stood beside him on the upper deck, and gradually the scene -unfolded. They saw the little wooded peninsula, the lovely mountains -round the Fjaerlands fjord, Munkeggen itself, with much more snow than -during their last visit, and then, once again, King Bele’s grave, and -the scattered cottages, with their red-tiled roofs, and the familiar -hotel, somewhat enlarged, yet recalling a hundred memories. - -Gravely and thoughtfully Frithiof looked on the little hamlet and on -Munkeggen. It was a picture that had been traced on his mind by pleasure -and engraved by pain. Cecil drew a little nearer to him, and though no -word passed between them, yet intuitively their thoughts turned to one -who must ever be associated with those bright days spent in the house of -Ole Kvikne long ago. There was no indignation in their thoughts of her, -but there was pain, and pity, and hope, and the love which is at once -the source and the outcome of forgiveness. They wondered much how -matters stood with her out in the far-off southern seas, where she -struggled on in a new life, which must always, to the very end, be -shadowed by the old. And then Frithiof thought of his father, of his own -youth, of the wonderful glamor and gladness that had been doomed so soon -to pass into total eclipse, and feeling like some returned ghost, he -glided close by the flagstaff, and the gray rocks, and the trees which -had sheltered his farewell to Blanche. A strange and altogether -indescribable feeling stole over him, but it was speedily dispelled. -There was a link which happily bound his past to his present—a memory -which nothing could spoil—on the quay he instantly perceived the -well-remembered faces of the kindly landlord, Ole Kvikne, and his -brother Knut. - -“See!” she exclaimed with a smile, “there are the Kviknes looking not a -day older! We must see if they remember us.” - -Did they not remember? Of course they did! And what bowing and -hand-shaking went on in the brief waiting time. They had heard of -Frithiof, moreover, and knew how nobly he had redeemed his father’s -name. They were enchanted at meeting him once more. - -“Let me have the pleasure, Kvikne, to introduce to you my betrothed, who -was also your guest long ago,” said Frithiof, taking Cecil’s hand and -placing it in that of the landlord. - -And the warm congratulations and hearty good wishes of Ole and Knut -Kvikne were only cut short by the bell, which warned the travelers that -they must hasten up the gangway. - -“We shall come back,” said Frithiof. “Another summer we shall stay with -you.” - -“Yes,” said Cecil. “After all there is nothing equal to Balholm. I had -forgotten how lovely it was.” - -As they glided on they left the little place bathed in sunshine, and in -silence they watched it, till at last a bend in the fjord hid it from -view. - -Frithiof fell into deep thought. - -What part had that passionate first love of his played in his -life-story? Well, it had been to him a curse; it had dragged him down -into depths of despair and to the verge of vice; it had steeped him in -bitterness and filled his heart with anguish. Yet a more perfect love -had awaited him—a passion less fierce but more tender, less vehement but -more lasting; and all those years Cecil’s heart had really been his, -though he had so little dreamed of it. - -As if in a picture, he saw the stages through which he had passed—the -rapture of mere physical existence; the intolerable pain and humiliation -of Blanche’s betrayal; the anguish of bereavement; the shame of -bankruptcy; the long effort to pay the debts; the slow return to belief -in human beings; the toilsome steps that had each brought him a clearer -knowledge of the Unseen, for which he had once felt no need; and, -finally, this wonderful love springing up like a fountain in his life, -ready to gladden his somewhat prosaic round of daily work. - -It was evening when they left the steamer at Sogndal, but they were none -of them in a mood for settling down, and indeed the weather was so hot -that they often preferred traveling after supper. So it was arranged -that they should go on to a very primitive little place called -Hillestad, sleep there for a few hours, and then proceed to the Lyster -fjord. Cecil, who was a much better walker than either Sigrid or -Swanhild, was to go on foot with Frithiof; the others secured a -stolkjaerre and a carriole, and went on in advance with the luggage. - -The two lovers walked briskly along the side of the fjord, but slackened -their pace when they reached the long, sandy hill, with its sharp -zigzags; the evening was still and cloudless; above them towered huge, -rocky cliffs, partly veiled by undergrowth, and all the air was sweet -with the scent of the pine trees. They were close to St. Olaf’s well, -where, from time immemorial, the country people have come to drink and -pray for recovery from illness. - -“Don’t you think we ought to drink to my future health,” said Frithiof. - -He smiled, yet in his eyes she saw all the time the look of sadness that -had come to him as they approached Balholm. - -The one sting in his perfect happiness was the thought that he could not -bring to Cecil the unbroken health that had once been his. He knew that -the strain of his passed trouble had left upon him marks which he must -carry to his grave, and that the consequences of Blanche’s faithlessness -had brought with them a secret anxiety which must to some extent shadow -Cecil’s life. The knowledge was hard: it humiliated him. - -Cecil knew him so well that she read his thoughts in an instant. - -“Look at all these little crosses set up in the moss on this rock!” she -exclaimed when they had scrambled up the steep ascent. “I wonder how -many hundreds of years this has been the custom? I wonder how many -troubled people have come here to drink?” - -“And have gained nothing by their superstition?” said Frithiof. - -“It was superstition,” she said thoughtfully. “And yet, perhaps, the -sight of the cross and the drinking of the water at least helped them to -new thoughts of suffering and of life. Who knows, perhaps some of them -went away able to glory in their infirmities?” - -He did not speak for some minutes, but stood lost in the train of -thought suggested to him by her words. The sadness gradually died out of -his face, and she quite understood that it was with no trace of -superstition, but merely as a sign of gratitude for a thought which had -helped him, that he took two little straight twigs, stooped to drink -from St. Olafskilde, and then set up his cross among the others in the -mossy wall. After that they clambered down over the bowlders into the -sandy road once more, and climbed the steep hill leisurely, planning -many things for the future—the rooms in Rowan Tree House, the little -wooden cottage that they meant to build at Gödesund, three hours by -water from Bergen, on a tiny island, which might be bought at a trifling -cost; the bright holiday weeks that they would spend there; the work -they might share; the efforts they might make together in their London -life. - -But the sharp contrast between this pictured future and the actual past -could hardly fail to strike one of Frithiof’s temperament; it was the -thought of this which prompted him to speak as they paused to rest on -the wooded heights above Hillestad. - -“I almost wonder,” he said, “that you have courage to marry such an -ill-starred fellow as I have always proved to be. You are very brave to -take the risk.” - -She answered him only with her eyes. - -“So,” he said with a smile, “you think, perhaps, after all the troubles -there must be a good time coming?” - -“That may very well be,” she replied, “but now that we belong to each -other outer things matter little.” - -“Do you remember the lines about Norway in the Princess?” he said. “Your -love has made them true for me.” - -“Say them now,” she said; “I have forgotten,” - -And, looking out over the ruddy sky where, in this night hour, the glow -of sunset mingled with the glow of dawn, he quoted the words: - - “I was one - To whom the touch of all mischance but came - As night to him that sitting on a hill - Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun - Set into sunrise.” - -She followed the direction of his gaze and looked, through the fir-trees -on the hill upon which they were resting, down to the lovely lake which -lay below them like a sheet of mother-of-pearl in the tranquil light. -She looked beyond to the grand cliff-like mountains with their snowy -tops touched here and there into the most exquisite rose-color by the -rising sun; and then she turned back to the strong Norse face with its -clearly cut features, its look of strength, and independence, and noble -courage, and her heart throbbed with joy as she thought how foreign to -it was that hard, bitter expression of the past. As he repeated the -words “Set into sunrise” his eyes met hers fully; all the tenderness and -strength of his nature and an infinite promise of future possibilities -seemed to strike down into her very soul in that glance. He drew her -toward him, and over both of them there stole the strange calm which is -sometimes the outcome of strong feeling. - -All nature seemed full of perfect peace; and with the sight of those -snowy mountains and the familiar scent of the pines to tell him that he -was indeed in his own country, with Cecil’s loving presence to assure -him of his new possession, and with a peace in his heart which had first -come to him in bitter humiliation and trouble, Frithiof, too, was at -rest. - -After all, what were the possible trials that lay before them? What was -all earthly pain? Looked at in a true light, suffering seemed, indeed, -but as this brief northern night, and death but as the herald of eternal -day. - - * * * * * - -“Cecil,” said Frithiof, looking again into her sweet, grave eyes, “who -would have thought that the _Linnæa_ gathered all those years ago should -prove the first link in the chain that was to bind us together forever?” - -“It was strange,” she replied, with a smile, as she gathered one of the -long trails growing close by and looked at the lovely little white bells -with their pink veins. - -He took it from her, and began to twine it in her hair. - -“I didn’t expect to find it here,” he said, “and brought a fine plant of -it from Nord fjord. We must take it home with us that you may have some -for your bridal wreath.” - -She made a little exclamation of doubt. - -“Why, Frithiof? How long do you think it will go on flowering?” - -“For another month,” he said, taking her glowing face between his hands -and stooping to kiss her. - -“Only a month!” she faltered. - -“Surely that will be long enough to read the banns?” he said, with a -smile. “And you really ought not to keep the _Linnæa_ waiting a day -longer.” - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - 1. Added table of CONTENTS. - - 2. Changed “keep him from taking” to “keep him from talking” on p. 173. - - 3. Changed “be better of” to “be better off” on p. 194. - - 4. The publisher often used “ö” instead of “ø”. - - 5. “Björnsen”, “Bjornsen”, and “Bjornson” are all likely references to - the author “Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson”. - - 6. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. - - 7. Retained poetry as printed. - - 8. 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