Part 14 (1/2)
The Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy was impatient and disgusted.
”It is a pity,” he said with an air of solemn patience, ”that this hapless creature, accursed of G.o.d and man, is not placed in some proper abode suitable to the treatment of his affliction. You, Britta, as the favored servant of a--a--well, let us say, of a peculiar mistress, should persuade her to send this--this--person away, lest his vagaries become harmful.”
Britta glanced very kindly at Sigurd, who still held her ap.r.o.n with the air of a trustful child.
”He's no more harmful than you are,” she said promptly, in answer to the minister's remark. ”He's a good fellow and if he talks strangely he can make himself useful,--which is more than can be said of certain people.
He can saw and chop the wood, make hay, feed the cattle, pull a strong oar, and sweep and keep the garden,--can't you, Sigurd?” She laid her hand on Sigurd's shoulder, and he nodded his head emphatically, as she enumerated his different talents. ”And as for climbing,--he can guide you anywhere over the hills, or up the streams to the big waterfalls--no one better. And if you mean by peculiar,--that my mistress is different to other people, why, I know she is, and am glad of it,--at any rate, she's a great deal too kind-hearted to shut this poor boy up in a house for madmen! He'd die if he couldn't have the fresh air.” She paused, out of breath with her rapid utterance, and Mr. Dyceworthy held up his hands in dignified astonishment.
”You talk too glibly, young woman,” he said. ”It is necessary that I should instruct you without loss of time, as to how you should be sparing of your words in the presence of your superiors and betters--”
Bang! The door was closed with a decision that sent a sharp echo through the silent, heated air, and Mr. Dyceworthy was left to contemplate it at his leisure. Full of wrath, he was about to knock peremptorily and insist that it should be re-opened; but on second thoughts he decided that it was beneath his dignity to argue with a servant, much less with a declared lunatic like Sigurd,--so he made the best of his way back to his boat, thinking gloomily of the hard labor awaiting him in the long pull back to Bosekop.
Other thoughts, too, tortured and harra.s.sed his brain, and as he again took the oars and plied them wearily through the water, he was in an exceedingly unchristian humor. Though a specious hypocrite, he was no fool. He knew the ways of men and women, and he thoroughly realized the present position of affairs. He was quite aware of Thelma Guldmar's exceptional beauty,--and he felt pretty certain that no man could look upon her without admiration. But up to this time, she had been, as it were, secluded from all eyes,--a few haymakers and fishermen were the only persons of the male s.e.x who had ever been within the precincts of Olaf Guldmar's dwelling, with the exception of himself, Dyceworthy,--who, being armed with a letter of introduction from the actual minister of Bosekop, whose place, he, for the present, filled, had intruded his company frequently and persistently on the _bonde_ and his daughter, though he knew himself to be entirely unwelcome. He had gathered together as much as he could, all the sc.r.a.ps of information concerning them; how Olaf Guldmar was credited with having made away with his wife by foul means; how n.o.body even knew where his wife had come from; how Thelma had been mysteriously educated, and had learned strange things concerning foreign lands, which no one else in the place understood anything about; how she was reputed to be a witch, and was believed to have cast her spells on the unhappy Sigurd, to the destruction of his reason,--and how n.o.body could tell where Sigurd himself had come from.
All this Mr. Dyceworthy had heard with much interest, and as the sensual part of his nature was always more or less predominant, he had resolved in his own mind that here was a field of action suitable to his abilities. To tame and break the evil spirit in the reputed witch; to convert her to the holy and edifying Lutheran faith; to save her soul for the Lord, and take her beautiful body for himself; these were Mr.
Dyceworthy's laudable ambitions. There was no rival to oppose him, and he had plenty of time to mature his plans. So he had thought. He had not bargained for the appearance of Sir Philip Bruce Errington on the scene,--a man, young, handsome, and well-bred, with vast wealth to back up his pretensions, should he make any.
”How did he find her out?” thought the Reverend Charles, as he dolefully pulled his craft along. ”And that brutal pagan Guldmar, too, who pretends he cannot endure strangers!”
And as he meditated, a flush of righteous indignation crimsoned his flabby features.
”Let her take care,” he half muttered, with a smile that was not pleasant; ”let her take care! There are more ways than one to bring down her pride! Sir Philip Errington must be too rich and popular in his own country to think of wis.h.i.+ng to marry a girl who is only a farmer's daughter after all. He may trifle with her; yes! . . . and he will help me by so doing. The more mud on her name, the better for me; the more disgrace, the more need of rescue, and the more grateful she will have to be. Just a word to Ulrika,--and the scandal will spread. Patience, patience!”
And somewhat cheered by his own reflections, though still wearing an air of offended dignity, he rowed on, glancing up every now and then to see if the _Eulalie_ had returned, but her place was still empty.
Meanwhile, as he thought and planned, other thoughts and plans were being discussed at a meeting which was held in a little ruined stone hut, situated behind some trees on a dreary hill just outside Bosekop.
It was a miserable place, barren of foliage,--the ground was dry and yellow, and the hut itself looked as if it had been struck by lightning.
The friends, whose taste had led them to select this dilapidated dwelling as a place of conference, were two in number, both women,--one of them no other than the minister's servant, the drear-faced Ulrika.
She was crouched on the earth-floor in an att.i.tude of utter abas.e.m.e.nt, at the feet of her companion,--an aged dame of tall and imposing appearance, who, standing erect, looked down upon her with an air of mingled contempt and malevolence. The hut was rather dark, for the roof was not sufficiently destroyed to have the advantage of being open to the sky. The sunlight fell through holes of different shapes and sizes,--one specially bright patch of radiance illumining the stately form, and strongly marked, though withered features of the elder woman, whose eyes, deeply sunken in her head, glittered with a hawk-like and evil l.u.s.tre, as they rested on the prostrate figure before her. When she spoke, her accents were harsh and commanding.
”How long?” she said, ”how long must I wait? How long must I watch the work of Satan in the land? The fields are barren and will not bring forth; the curse of bitter poverty is upon us all: and only he, the pagan Guldmar, prospers and gathers in harvest, while all around him starve! Do I not know the devil's work when I see it,--I, the chosen servant of the Lord?” And she struck a tall staff she held violently into the ground to emphasize her words. ”Am I not left deserted in my age? The child Britta,--sole daughter of my sole daughter,--is she not stolen, and kept from me? Has not her heart been utterly turned away from mine? All through that vile witch,--accursed of G.o.d and man! She it is who casts the blight on our land; she it is who makes the hands and hearts of our men heavy and careless, so that even luck has left the fis.h.i.+ng; and yet you hesitate,--you delay, you will not fulfill your promise! I tell you, there are those in Bosekop who, at my bidding, would cast her naked into the Fjord, leave her there, to sink or swim according to her nature!”
”I know,” murmured Ulrika humbly, raising herself slightly from her kneeling posture; ”I know it well! . . . . but, good Lovisa, be patient!
I work for the best! Mr. Dyceworthy will do more for us than we can do for ourselves; he is wise and cautious--”
Lovisa interrupted her with a fierce gesture. ”Fool!” she cried. ”What need of caution? A witch is a witch, burn her, drown her! There is no other remedy! But two days since, the child of my neighbor Engla pa.s.sed her on the Fjord; and now the boy has sickened of some strange disease, and 'tis said he will die. Again, the drove of cattle owned by Hildmar Bjorn were herded home when she pa.s.sed by. Now they are seized by the murrain plague! Tell your good saint Dyceworthy these things; if he can find no cure, _I_ can,--and _will_!”
Ulrika shuddered slightly as she rose from the ground and stood erect, drawing her shawl closely about her.
”You hate her so much, Lovisa?” she asked, almost timidly.
Lovisa's face darkened, and her yellow, claw-like hand closed round her strong staff in a cruel and threatening manner.
”Hate her!” she muttered, ”I have hated her ever since she was born! I hated her mother before her! A nest of devils, every one of them; and the curse will always be upon us while they dwell here.”
She paused and looked at Ulrika steadily.
”Remember!” she said, with an evil leer on her lips, ”I hold a secret of yours that is worth the keeping! I give you two weeks more; within that time you must act! Destroy the witch,--bring back to me my grandchild Britta, or else--it will be _my_ turn!”