The words coursed impetuously from his lips; his face burned with indignation. He had broken away from his daughter’s hold, while she, pale and very still, stood leaning one hand upon the table. His white hair was tossed back from his brow; his eyes flashed; his attitude though vengeful and threatening, was at the same time so bold and commanding that Lorimer caught himself lazily admiring the contour of his figure, and wondering how he would look in marble as an infuriated Viking.
One excellent thing in the dispositions of both Errington and Lorimer was that they never lost temper. Either they were too lazy or too well-bred. Undoubtedly they both considered it “bad form.” This indifference stood them in good stead now. They showed no sign whatever of offense, though the old farmer’s outbreak of wrath was so sudden and unlooked for, that they remained for a moment silent out of sheer surprise. Then rising with unruffled serenity, they took up their caps preparatory to departure. Errington’s gentle, refined voice broke the silence.
“You are in error, Mr. Güldmar,” he said in chilly but perfectly polite tones. “I regret you should be so hasty in your judgment of us. If you accepted us as ‘men’ when you first met us, I cannot imagine why you should now take us for spies. The two terms are by no means synonymous. I know nothing of Mr. Dyceworthy beyond that he called upon me, and that I, as in duty bound, returned his call. I am ignorant of his character and disposition. I may add that I have no desire to be enlightened respecting them. I do not often take a dislike to anybody, but it so happens that I have done so in the case of Mr. Dyceworthy. I know Lorimer doesn’t care for him, and I don’t think my other two friends are particularly attached to him. I have nothing more to say, except that I fear we have outstayed our welcome. Permit us now to wish you good evening. And you,” — he hesitated, and turned with a low bow to Thelma, who had listened to his words with a gradually dawning brightness on her face— “you will, I trust, exonerate us from any intentional offense towards your father or yourself? Our visit has proved unlucky, but—”
Thelma interrupted him by laying her fair little hand on his arm with a wistful, detaining gesture, which, though seemingly familiar, was yet perfectly sweet and natural. The light touch thrilled his blood, and sent it coursing through his veins at more than customary speed.
“Ah, then, you also will be foolish!” she said, with a naïve protecting air of superior dignity. “Do you not see my father is sorry? Have we all kissed the cup for nothing, or was the wine wasted? Not a drop was spilt; how then, if we are friends should we part in coldness? Father, it is you to be ashamed, — not these gentleman, who are strangers to the Altenfjord, and know nothing of Mr. Dyceworthy, or an other person dwelling here. And when their vessel sails away again over the wide seas to their own shores, how will you have them think of you? As one whose heart was all kindness, and who helped to make their days pass pleasantly? or as one who, in unreasonable anger, forgot the duties of sworn hospitality?”
The bonde listened to her full, sweet, reproachful voice as a tough old lion might listen to the voice of its tamer, uncertain whether to yield or spring. He wiped his heated brow and stared around him shamefacedly. Finally, as though swallowing his pride with a gulp, he drew a long breath, took a couple of determined strides forward, and held out his hands, one to Errington and the other to Lorimer, by whom they were warmly grasped.
“There, my lads,” he said rapidly. “I’m sorry I spoke! Forgive and forget! That is the worst of me — my blood is up in a minute, and old though I am, I’m not old enough yet to be patient. And when I hear the name of that sneak Dyceworthy — by the gates of Valhalla, I feel as if my own house would not hold me! No, no; don’t go yet! Nearly ten? Well, no matter, the night is like the day here, you see — it doesn’t matter when one goes to bed. Come and sit in the porch awhile; I shall get cool out there. Ah, Thelma, child! I see thee laughing at thy old father’s temper! Never mind, never mind; is it not for thy sake after all?”
And, holding Errington by the arm, he led the way into the fine old porch, Lorimer following with rather a flushed face, for he, as he passed out of the room, had managed to pick up and secrete the neglected little bunch of daisies, before noticed as having fallen on the floor. He put them quickly in his breast pocket with a curious sense of satisfaction, though he had no intention of keeping them, and leaned idly against the clambering roses, watching Thelma, as she drew a low stool to her father’s feet and sat there. A balmy wind blew in from the Fjord, and rustled mysteriously among the pines; the sky was flecked here and there with fleecy clouds, and a number of birds were singing in full chorus. Old Güldmar heaved a sigh of relief, as though his recent outburst of passion had done him good.
“I will tell you, Sir Philip,” he said, ruffling his daughter’s curls as he spoke,— “I will tell you why I detest the villain Dyceworthy. It is but fair you should know it. Now, Thelma! — why that push to my knee? You fear I may offend our friends again? Nay, I will take good care. And so, first of all, I ask you, what is your religion? Though I know you cannot be Lutherans.”
Errington was somewhat taken aback by the question. He smiled.
“My dear sir,” he replied at last; “to be frank with you, I really do not think I have any religion. If I had, I suppose I should call myself a Christian, though, judging from the behavior of Christians in general, I cannot be one of them after all, — for I belong to no sect, I go to no church, and I have never read a tract in my life. I have a profound reverence and admiration for the character and doctrine of Christ, and I believe if I had had the privilege of knowing and conversing with Him, I should not have deserted Him in extremity as his timorous disciples did. I believe in an all-wise Creator; so you see I am not an atheist. My mother was an Austrian and a Catholic, and I have a notion that, as a small child, I was brought up in that creed; but I’m afraid I don’t know much about it now.”
The bonde nodded gravely. “Thelma, here,” he said, “is a Catholic, as her mother was—” he stopped abruptly, and a deep shadow of pain darkened his features. Thelma looked up, — her large blue eyes filled with sudden tears, and she pressed her father’s hand between her own, as though in sympathy with some undeclared grief; then she looked at Errington with a sort of wistful appeal. Philip’s heart leaped as he met that soft beseeching glance, which seemed to entreat his patience with the old man for her sake — he felt himself drawn into a bond of union with her thoughts, and in his innermost soul he swore as knightly a vow of chivalry and reverence for the fair maiden, who thus took him into her silent confidence, as though he were some gallant Crusader of old time, pledged to defend his lady’s honor unto death. Olaf Güldmar, after a long and apparently sorrowful pause, resumed his conversation.
“Yes,” he said, “Thelma is a Catholic, though here she has scarcely any opportunity for performing the duties of her religion. It is a pretty and a graceful creed, — well fitted for women. As for me, I am made of sterner stuff, and the maxims of that gentle creature, Christ, find no echo in my soul. But you, young sir,” he added, turning suddenly on Lorimer, who was engaged in meditatively smoothing out on his palm one of the fallen rose-petals— “you have not spoken. What faith do you profess? It is no curiosity that prompts me to ask, — I only seek not to offend.”
Lorimer laughed languidly. “Upon my life, Mr. Güldmar, you really ask too much of me. I haven’t any faith at all; not a shred! It’s been all knocked out of me. I tried to hold on to a last remaining bit of Christian rope in the universal ship-wreck, but that was torn out of my hands by a scientific professor, who ought to know what he is about, and — and — now I drift along anyhow!”
Güldmar smiled dubiously; but Thelma looked at the speaker with astonished, regretful eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said simply. “You must be often unhappy.”
Lorimer was not disconcerted, though her evident pity caused an unwanted flush on his face.
“Oh no,” he said in answer to her, “I am not a miserable sort of fellow by any means
. For instance, I’m not afraid of death, — lots of very religious people are horribly afraid of it, though they all the time declare it’s the only path to heaven. They’re not consistent at all. You see I believe in nothing, — I came from nothing, — I am nothing, — I shall be nothing. That being plain, I am all right.”
Güldmar laughed. “You are an odd lad,” he said good-humoredly. “You are in the morning of life; there are always mists in the morning as there are in the evening. In the light of your full manhood you will see these things differently. Your creed of Nothing provides no moral law, — no hold on the conscience, no restraint on the passions, — don’t you see that?”
Lorimer smiled with a very winning and boyish candor. “You are exceedingly good, sir, to credit me with a conscience! I don’t think I have one, — I’m sure I have no passions. I have always been too lazy to encourage them, and as for moral law, — I adhere to morality with the greatest strictness, because if a fellow is immoral, he ceases to be a gentleman. Now, as there are very few gentlemen nowadays, I fancy I’d like to be one as long as I can.”
Errington here interposed. “You mustn’t take him seriously. Mr. Güldmar,” he said; “he’s never serious himself, I’ll give you his character in a few words. He belongs to no religious party, it’s true, — but he’s a first-rate fellow, — the best fellow I know!”
Lorimer glanced at him quietly with a gratified expression on his face. But he said nothing, for Thelma was regarding him with a most bewitching smile.
“Ah!” she said, shaking a reproachful finger at him, “you do love all nonsense, that I can see! You would make every person laugh, if you could, — is it not so?”
“Well, yes,” admitted George, “I think I would! But it’s a herculean task sometimes. If you had ever been to London, Miss Güldmar, you would understand how difficult it is to make people even smile, — and when they do, the smile is not a very natural one.”
“Why?” she exclaimed. “Are they all so miserable?”
“They pretend to be, if they’re not,” said Lorimer; “it is the fashion there to find fault with everything and everybody.”
“That is so,” said Güldmar thoughtfully. “I visited London once and thought I was in hell. Nothing but rows of hard, hideously built houses, long streets, and dirty alleys, and the people had weary faces all, as though Nature had refused to bless them. A pitiful city, — doubly pitiful to the eyes of a man like myself, whose life has been passed among fjords and mountains such as these. Well, now, as neither of you are Lutherans, — in fact, as neither of you seem to know what you are,” and he laughed, “I can be frank, and speak out as to my own belief. I am proud to say I have never deserted the faith of my fathers, the faith that makes a man’s soul strong and fearless, and defiant of evil, — the faith that is supposed to be crushed out among us, but that is still alive and rooted in the hearts of many who can trace back their lineage to the ancient Vikings as I can, — yes! — rooted firm and fast, — and however much some of the more timorous feign to conceal it, in the tacit acceptance of another creed, there are those who can never shake it off, and who never desire to forsake it. I am one of these few. Shame must fall on the man who willfully deserts the faith of his warrior-ancestry! Sacred to me for ever be the names of Odin and Thor!”
He raised his hand aloft with a proud gesture, and his eyes flashed. Errington was interested, but not surprised: the old bonde’s declaration of his creed seemed eminently fitted to his character. Lorimer’s face brightened, — here was a novelty — a man, who in all the conflicting storms of modern opinion, sturdily clung to the traditions of his forefathers.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed eagerly, “I think the worship of Odin would suit me perfectly! It’s a rousing, fighting sort of religion, — I’m positive it would make a man of me. Will you initiate me into the mysteries, Mr. Güldmar? There’s a fellow in London who writes poetry on Indian subjects, and who, it is said, thinks Buddhism might satisfy his pious yearnings, — but I think Odin would be a personage to command more respect than Buddha, — at any rate, I should like to try him. Will you give me a chance?”
Olaf Güldmar smiled gravely, and rising from his seat, pointed to the western sky.
“See yonder threads of filmy white,” he said, “that stretch across the wide expanse of blue! They are the lingering, fading marks of light clouds, — and even while we watch them, they shall pass and be no more. Such is the emblem of your life, young man — you that would, for an idle jest or pastime, presume to search into the mysteries of Odin! For you they are not, — your spirit is not of the stern mould that waits for death as gladly as the bridegroom waits for the bride! The Christian heaven is an abode for girls and babes, — Valhalla is the place for men! I tell you, my creed is as divine in its origin as any that ever existed on the earth! The Rainbow Bridge is a fairer pathway from death to life than the doleful Cross, — and better far the dark summoning eyes of a beauteous Valkyrie, than the grinning skull and cross-bones, the Christian emblem of mortality. Thelma thinks, — and her mother before her thought also, — that different as my way of belief is to the accepted new creeds of to-day, it will be all right with me in the next world — that I shall have as good a place in heaven as any Christian. It may be so, — I care not! But see you, — the key-note of all the civilization of to-day is discontent, while I, — thanks to the gods of my fathers, am happy, and desire nothing that I have not.”
He paused and seemed absorbed. The young men watched his fine inspired features with lively interest. Thelma’s head was turned away from them so that her face was hidden. By-and-by he resumed in quieter tones —
“Now, my lads, you know what we are — both of us accursed in the opinion of the Lutheran community. My child belongs to the so-called idolatrous Church of Rome. I am one of the very last of the ‘heathen barbarians,’” — and the old fellow smiled sarcastically, “though, truth to tell, for a barbarian, I am not such a fool as some folks would have you think. If the snuffling Dyceworthy and I competed at a spelling examination, I’m pretty sure ’tis I would have the prize! But, as I said, — you know us, — and if our ways are likely to offend you, then let us part good friends before the swords are fairly drawn.”
“No sword will be drawn on my side, I assure you, sir,” said Errington, advancing and laying one hand on the bonde’s shoulder. “I hope you will believe me when I say I shall esteem it an honor and a privilege to know more of you.”
“And though you won’t accept me as a servant of Odin,” added Lorimer, “you really cannot prevent me from trying to make myself agreeable to you. I warn you, Mr. Güldmar, I shall visit you pretty frequently! Such men as you are not often met with.”
Olaf Güldmar looked surprised. “You really mean it?” he said. “Nothing that I have told you affects you? You still seek our friendship?”
They both earnestly assured him that they did, and as they spoke Thelma rose from her low seat and faced them with a bright smile.
“Do you know,” she said, “that you are the first people who, on visiting us once, have ever cared to come again? Ah, you look surprised, but it is so, is it not, father?”
Güldmar nodded a grave assent.
“Yes,” she continued demurely, counting on her little white fingers, “we are three things — first, we are accursed; secondly, we have the evil eye; thirdly, we are not respectable!”
And she broke into a peal of laughter, ringing and sweet as a chime of bells. The young men joined her in it; and, still with an amused expression on her lovely face, leaning her head back against a cluster of pale roses, she went on —
“My father dislikes Mr. Dyceworthy so much, because he wants to — to — oh, what is it they do to savages, father? Yes, I know, — to convert us, — to make us Lutherans. And when he finds it all no use, he is angry; and, though he is so religious, if he hears any one telling some untruth about us in Bosekop, he will add another thing equally untrue, and so it grows and grows, and — why! what i
s the matter with you?” she exclaimed in surprise as Errington scowled and clenched his fist in a peculiarly threatening manner.
“I should like to knock him down!” he said briefly under his breath.
Old Güldmar laughed and looked at the young baronet approvingly.
“Who knows, who knows!” he said cheerfully. “You may do it some day! It will be a good deed! I will do it myself if he troubles me much more. And now let us make some arrangement with you. When will you come and see, us again?”
“You must visit me first,” said Sir Philip quickly. “If you and your daughter will honor me with your company to-morrow, I shall be proud and pleased. Consider the yacht at your service.”
Thelma, resting among the roses, looked across at him with serious, questioning eyes — eyes that seemed to be asking his intentions towards both her and her father.
Güldmar accepted the invitation at once, and, the hour for their visit next day being fixed and agreed upon, the young men began to take their leave. As Errington clasped Thelma’s hand in farewell, he made a bold venture. He touched a rose that hung just above her head almost dropping on her hair.
“May I have it?” he asked in a low tone.
Their eyes met. The girl flushed deeply, and then grew pale. She broke off the flower and gave it to him, — then turned to Lorimer to say good-bye. They left her then, standing under the porch, shading her brow with one hand from the glittering sunlight, as she watched them descending the winding path to the shore, accompanied by her lather, who hospitably insisted on seeing them into their boat. They looked back once or twice, always to see the slender, tall white figure standing there like an angel resting in a bower of roses, with the sunshine flashing on a golden crown of hair. At the last in the pathway Philip raised his hat and waved it, but whether she condescended to wave her hand in answer he could not see.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 81
