Part 11 (1/2)

”I can,” said Duprez glibly. ”It struck me as quaint and pretty--Thelma Guldmar.”

Errington started so violently, and flushed so deeply, that Lorimer was afraid of some rash outbreak of wrath on his part. But he restrained himself by a strong effort. He merely took his cigar from his mouth and puffed a light cloud of smoke into the air before replying, then he said coldly--

”I should say Mr. Dyceworthy, besides being a drunkard, is a most consummate liar. It so happens that the Guldmars are the very people I have just visited,--highly superior in every way to anybody we have yet met in Norway. In fact, Mr. and Miss Guldmar will come on board to-morrow. I have invited them to dine with us; you will then be able to judge for yourselves whether the young lady is at all of the description Mr. Dyceworthy gives of her.”

Duprez and Macfarlane exchanged astonished looks.

”Are ye quite sure,” the latter ventured to remark cautiously, ”that ye're prudent in what ye have done? Remember ye have asked no pairson at a' to dine with ye as yet,--it's a vera sudden an' exceptional freak o'

hospitality.”

Errington smoked on peacefully and made no answer. Duprez hummed a verse of a French _chansonnette_ under his breath and smiled. Lorimer glanced at him with a lazy amus.e.m.e.nt.

”Unburden yourself, Pierre, for heaven's sake!” he said. ”Your mind is as uncomfortable as a loaded camel. Let it lie down, while you take off its packages, one by one, and reveal their contents. In short, what's up?”

Duprez made a rapid, expressive gesture with his hands.

”_Mon cher_, I fear to displease Phil-eep! He has invited these people; they are coming,--_bien_! there is no more to say.”

”I disagree with ye,” interposed Macfarlane ”I think Errington should hear what _we_ ha' heard; it's fair an' just to a mon that he should understand what sort o' folk are gaun to pairtake wi' him at his table.

Ye see, Errington, ye should ha' thought a wee, before inviting pairsons o' unsettled an' dootful chairacter--”

”Who says they are?” demanded Errington half-angrily. ”The drunken Dyceworthy?”

”He was no sae drunk at the time he tauld us.” persisted Macfarlane in his most obstinate, most dictatorial manner. ”Ye see, it's just this way--”

”Ah, _pardon_!” interrupted Duprez briskly. ”Our dear Sandy is an excellent talker, but he is a little slow. Thus it is, _mon cher_ Errington. This gentleman named Guldmar had a most lovely wife--a mysterious lady, with an evident secret. The beautiful one was never seen in the church or in any town or village; she was met sometimes on hills, by rivers, in valleys, carrying her child in her arms. The people grew afraid of her; but, now, see what happens! Suddenly, she appears no more; some one ventures to ask this Monsieur Guldmar, 'What has become of Madame?' His answer is brief. 'She is dead!' Satisfactory so far, yet not quite; for, Madame being dead, then what has become of the corpse of Madame? It was never seen,--no coffin was ever ordered,--and apparently it was never buried! _Bien!_ What follows? The good people of Bosekop draw the only conclusion possible--Monsieur Guldmar, who is said to have a terrific temper, killed Madame and made away with her body. _Voila_!”

And Duprez waved his hand with an air of entire satisfaction.

Errington's brow grew sombre. ”This is the story, is it?” he asked at last.

”It is enough, is it not?” laughed Duprez. ”But, after all, what matter?

It will be novel to dine with a mur--”

”Stop!” said Philip fiercely, with so much authority that the sparkling Pierre was startled. ”Call no man by such a name till you know he deserves it. If Guldmar was suspected, as you say, why didn't somebody arrest him on the charge?”

”Because, ye see,” replied Macfarlane, ”there was not sufficient proof to warrant such a proceeding. Moreover, the actual meenister of the parish declared it was a' richt, an' said this Guldmar was a mon o' vera queer notions, an' maybe, had buried his wife wi' certain ceremonies peculiar to himself--What's wrong wi' ye now?”

For a light had flashed on Errington's mind, and with the quick comprehension it gave him, his countenance cleared. He laughed.

”That's very likely,” he said; ”Mr. Guldmar is a character. He follows the faith of Odin, and not even Dyceworthy can convert him to Christianity.”

Macfarlane stared with a sort of stupefied solemnity.

”Mon!” he exclaimed, ”ye never mean to say there's an actual puir human creature that in this blessed, enlightened nineteenth century of ours, is so far misguidit as to wors.h.i.+p the fearfu' G.o.ds o' the Scandinavian meethology?”

”Ah!” yawned Lorimer, ”you may wonder away, Sandy, but it's true enough!

Old Guldmar is an Odinite. In this blessed, enlightened nineteenth century of ours, when Christians amuse themselves by despising and condemning each other, and thus upsetting all the precepts of the Master they profess to follow, there is actually a man who sticks to the traditions of his ancestors. Odd, isn't it? In this delightful, intellectual age, when more than half of us are discontented with life and yet don't want to die, there is a fine old gentleman, living beyond the Arctic circle, who is perfectly satisfied with his existence--not only that, he thinks death the greatest glory that can befall him.

Comfortable state of things altogether! I'm half inclined to be an Odinite too.”