Part 20 (1/2)

”That boy must have been a Dvaerg,” said Hardy.

”Quite as probable as the story,” said the Pastor. ”There is, however, another impossible story of a Herr Manderup Holck of Jutland. He was taken prisoner by the Turks, and his wife contrived his escape by sending him a dress of feathers, so that he could fly out of his Turkish prison and home to Jutland. She, with very great prudence, collected all the bed-clothes in the parish, that he should fall soft when he alighted in Jutland.”

”The story is so improbable that it must be very old indeed,” said Hardy.

”I think the tradition about the Rosenkrands' arms is older,” said Pastor Lindal. ”The date attached to it is given as A.D. 663. The son of the then King of Denmark went to England to help an English king, whose name is given as Ekuin, in his wars. He secretly married the daughter of the crown prince, and by her had a son. She placed the child in a box of gold, and placed a consecrated candle and salt in the box, because the child was not baptized. One day, her father, Prince Reduval, rode by and saw the child, and as it was in a gold box he concluded that it came from a n.o.ble source. He brought it up under the name of Karl. King Ekuin died, and Prince Reduval succeeded, and he was the first Christian king in England. He desired to marry Karl to his daughter, who was his own mother; but when the marriage should take place, she confessed that the bridegroom was her own son. The king therefore wanted to burn her at the stake, but Karl arranged matters so that his father should be married to his mother, who for nineteen years had been separated from her. Karl had painted on his arms a white cross, to show he was a Christian, then white and blue, to show he was both an English and a Danish prince. In one quartering he had a lion painted white with a crown, to signify Denmark, and in another quartering a lion, to signify England, and then a design like a chessboard, to betoken the long separation of his father and mother.”

”I think the story rather clashes with history,” said Hardy; ”but Rosenkrands means a wreath of roses.”

”Yes, it does,” said the Pastor. ”One of them went to Rome, and the pope gave him a wreath of roses; hence the name.”

”You will miss Herr Hardy, little father,” said Helga. ”In two days he leaves us. Cannot he stay longer?”

”No, I cannot,” said Hardy. ”My mother wishes me to return. She is anxious to see me, and I am anxious to tell her my experiences in Denmark; but whatever my own wishes are, I must obey hers.”

”What sort of person is your mother?” asked Helga.

”The best and kindest,” replied Hardy, as he took a photograph out of his pocket-book and handed her, which Helga looked at with evident interest.

”I feel what you say of her is true,” said Helga. ”Little father, it is a n.o.ble face.”

”It is like you, Hardy,” said the Pastor. ”She must have been handsome.”

”Yes, but she is,” said Hardy. ”Here is a photograph of her picture at twenty-two;” and he handed the Pastor another photograph.

Helga looked over her father's shoulder. ”It is lovely!” she said, with warmth. ”It is more like you, Herr Hardy, than the other.”

”As you like the photographs, Frken,” said Hardy, ”keep them; it is seldom a compliment is so well uttered.”

CHAPTER XVII.

”_Viator._--That will not be above a day longer; but if I live till May come twelvemonth, you are sure of me again, either with my Master Walton or without him.”

--_The Complete Angler._

The next morning, John Hardy was up early, studying the excellent map of Jutland by Oberst Mansa. It gives the roads and by-ways with much care and correctness. The idea had occurred to him to drive the hundred and odd English miles from the parsonage to Esbjerg. The horses must be sent there to meet the steamer; the weather was settled, and as it was early in August, the early mornings and evenings were pleasant He accordingly sketched out the route, with the distances from one little Jutland town to another, and it was clear a good deal could be seen and the drive would be enjoyable.

Hardy came down to the little reception-room, where breakfast was usually served, and opened out Mansa's map on the table. Frken Helga was there, and her two brothers, Karl and Axel.

”I want to speak to your sister, boys,” said Hardy; ”you will hear all about it by-and-by, if you will go out for a while.”

The boys left. Helga looked a little startled. Hardy said, ”I have an extraordinary proposition to make; but you must not look so frightened.” Helga had turned pale, her knitting dropped. ”I only want your attention to this map of Jutland,” added Hardy. He saw her face was now full of colour; but what about the map of Jutland? Hardy, an inconsistent man for the moment, was thinking of who else in the world but Kapellan Holm, and his being at Vandstrup Praestegaard all the winter, and that was not the map of Jutland. Suddenly it flashed across his mind that Pastor Lindal had told him about Kapellan Holm, and that Karl had repeated what Mathilde Jensen had said about his buying Rosandal. As he sat thinking, he looked all the time at Helga.

At length he said, ”I am going home to my mother, Frken, but I hope to be here in May; earlier I cannot come, because it would be cold for my mother to travel.”

”We shall be glad to see you, Herr Hardy; and I long to see your mother,” said Helga.

Then Hardy knew that Kapellan Holm was nowhere, and his face grew bright, and he was ready for the map of Jutland.