Part 9 (1/2)
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 pa.s.sed 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 Guldmar heaved a sigh of relief, as though his recent outburst of pa.s.sion 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 Guldmar, 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. Guldmar, 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 s.h.i.+p-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!”
Guldmar 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.”
Guldmar 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 pa.s.sions,--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 pa.s.sions. 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.
Guldmar,” 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 Guldmar, 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 fas.h.i.+on there to find fault with everything and everybody.”
”That is so,” said Guldmar thoughtfully. ”I visited London once and thought I was in h.e.l.l. 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 pa.s.sed 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.