Part 29 (1/2)

”And do you know, _cher_ Lorimer, when our Phil-eep will marry?”

”I haven't the slightest idea,” returned Lorimer. ”I know he's engaged, that's all.”

Suddenly Macfarlane broke into a chuckling laugh.

”I say, Lorimer,” he said, with his deep-set, small grey eyes sparkling with mischief. ”'Twould be grand fun to see auld Dyceworthy's face when he hears o't. By the Lord! He'll fall to cursin' an' swearin' like ma pious aunt in Glasgie, or that auld witch that cursed Miss Thelma yestreen!”

”An eminently unpleasant old woman _she_ was!” said Lorimer musingly. ”I wonder what she meant by it!”

”She meant, _mon cher_,” said Duprez airily, ”that she knew herself to be ugly and venerable, while Mademoiselle was youthful and ravis.h.i.+ng,--it is a sufficient reason to excite profanity in the mind of a lady!”

”Here comes Errington!” said Macfarlane, pointing to the approaching boat that was coming swiftly back from the Guldmars' pier. ”Lorimer, are we to congratulate him?”

”If you like!” returned Lorimer. ”I dare say he won't object.”

So that as soon as Sir Philip set foot on the yacht, his hands were cordially grasped, and his friends out-vied each other in good wishes for his happiness. He thanked them simply and with a manly straightforwardness, entirely free from the usual affected embarra.s.sment that some modern young men think it seemly to adopt under similar circ.u.mstances.

”The fact is,” he said frankly, ”I congratulate myself,--I'm more lucky than I deserve, I know!”

”What a sensation she will make in London, Phil!” said Lorimer suddenly.

”I've just thought of it! Good Heavens! Lady Winsleigh will cry for sheer spite and vexation!”

Philip laughed. ”I hope not,” he said. ”I should think it would need immense force to draw a tear from her ladys.h.i.+p's cold bright eyes.”

”She used to like you awfully, Phil!” said Lorimer. ”You were a great favorite of hers.”

”All men are her favorites with the exception of one--her husband!”

observed Errington gaily. ”Come along, let's have some champagne to celebrate the day! We'll propose toasts and drink healths--we've got a fair excuse for jollity this evening.”

They all descended into the saloon, and had a merry time of it, singing songs and telling good stories, Lorimer being the gayest of the party, and it was long past midnight when they retired to their cabins, without even looking at the wonders of, perhaps, the most gorgeous sky that had yet shone on their travels--a sky of complete rose-color, varying from the deepest shade up to the palest, in which the sun glowed with a subdued radiance like an enormous burning ruby.

Thelma saw it, standing under her house-porch, where her father had joined her,--Sigurd saw it,--he had come out from some thicket where he had been hiding, and he now sat, in a humble, crouching posture at Thelma's feet. All three were silent, reverently watching the spreading splendor of the heavens. Once Guldmar addressed his daughter in a soft tone.

”Thou are happy, my bird?”

She smiled--the expression of her face was almost divine in its rapture.

”Perfectly happy, my father!”

At the sound of her dulcet voice, Sigurd looked up. His large blue eyes were full of tears, he took her hand and held it in his meagre and wasted one.

”Mistress!” he said suddenly, ”do you think I shall soon die?”

She turned her pitying eyes down upon him, startled by the vibrating melancholy of his tone.

”Thou wilt die, Sigurd,” answered Guldmar gently, ”when the G.o.ds please,--not one second sooner or later. Art thou eager to see Valhalla?”

Sigurd nodded dreamily. ”They will understand me there!” he murmured.

”And I shall grow straight and strong and brave! Mistress, if you meet me in Valhalla, you will love me!”