Thelma Part 2

Philip surveyed him coolly and without alarm, though so weird an object might well have aroused a pardonable distrust, and even timidity. He saw a misshapen dwarf, not quite four feet high, with large, ungainly limbs out of all proportion to his head, which was small and compact. His features were of almost feminine fineness, and from under his s.h.a.ggy brows gleamed a restless pair of large, full, wild blue eyes. His thick, rough flaxen hair was long and curly, and hung in disordered profusion over his deformed shoulders. His dress was of reindeer skin, very fancifully cut, and ornamented with beads of different colors,--and twisted about him as though in an effort to be artistic, was a long strip of bright scarlet woollen material, which showed up the extreme pallor and ill-health of the meagre countenance, and the brilliancy of the eyes that now sparkled with rage as they met those of Errington. He, from his superior height, glanced down with pity on the unfortunate creature, whom he at once took to be the actual owner of the cave he had explored. Uncertain what to do, whether to speak or remain silent, he moved slightly as though to pa.s.s on; but the shock-headed dwarf leaped lightly in his way, and, planting himself firmly before him, shrieked some unintelligible threat, of which Errington could only make out the last words, "Nifleheim" and "Nastrond."

"I believe he is commending me to the old Norwegian inferno," thought the young baronet with a smile, amused at the little man's evident excitement. "Very polite of him, I'm sure! But, after all, I had no business here. I'd better apologize." And forthwith he began to speak in the simplest English words he could choose, taking care to p.r.o.nounce them very slowly and distinctly.

"I cannot understand you, my good sir; but I see you are angry. I came here by accident. I am going away now at once."

His explanation had a strange effect. The dwarf drew nearer, twirled himself rapidly round three times as though waltzing; then, holding his torch a little to one side, turned up his thin, pale countenance, and, fixing his gaze on Sir Philip, studied every feature of his face with absorbing interest. Then he burst into a violent fit of laughter.

"At last--at last?" he cried in fluent English. "Going now? Going, you say? Never! never! You will never go away any more. No, not without something stolen! The dead have summoned you here! Their white bony fingers have dragged you across the deep! Did you not hear their voices, cold and hollow as the winter wind, calling, calling you, and saying, 'Come, come, proud robber, from over the far seas; come and gather the beautiful rose of the northern forest'? Yes, Yes! You have obeyed the dead--the dead who feign sleep, but are ever wakeful;--you have come as a thief in the golden midnight, and the thing you seek is the life of Sigurd! Yes--yes! it is true. The spirit cannot lie. You must kill, you must steal! See how the blood drips, drop by drop, from the heart of Sigurd! And the jewel you steal--ah, what a jewel!--you shall not find such another in Norway!"

His excited voice sank by degrees to a plaintive and forlorn whisper, and dropping his torch with a gesture of despair on the ground, he looked at it burning, with an air of mournful and utter desolation.

Profoundly touched, as he immediately understood the condition of his companion's wandering wits, Errington spoke to him soothingly.

"You mistake me," he said in gentle accents; "I would not steal anything from you, nor have I come to kill you. See," and he held out his hand, "I wouldn't harm you for the world. I didn't know this cave belonged to you. Forgive me for having entered it. I am going to rejoin my friends.

Good-bye!"

The strange, half-crazy creature touched his outstretched hand timidly, and with a sort of appeal.

"Good-bye, good-bye!" he muttered. "That is what they all say,--even the dead,--good-bye; but they never go--never, never! You cannot be different to the rest. And you do not wish to hurt poor Sigurd?"

"Certainly not, if _you_ are Sigurd," said Philip, half laughing; "I should be very sorry to hurt you."

"You are _sure_?" he persisted, with a sort of obstinate eagerness. "You have eyes which tell truths; but there are other things which are truer than eyes--things in the air, in the gra.s.s, in the waves, and they talk very strangely of you. I know you, of course! I knew you ages ago--long before I saw you dead on the field of battle, and the black-haired Valkyrie galloped with you to Valhalla! Yes; I knew you long before that, and you knew me; for I was your King, and you were my va.s.sal, wild and rebellious--not the proud, rich Englishman you are to-day."

Errington startled. How could this Sigurd, as he called himself, be aware of either his wealth or nationality?

The dwarf observed his movement of surprise with a cunning smile.

"Sigurd is wise,--Sigurd is brave! Who shall deceive him? He knows you well; he will always know you. The old G.o.ds teach Sigurd all his wisdom--the G.o.ds of the sea and the wind--the sleepy G.o.ds that lie in the hearts of the flowers--the small spirits that sit in sh.e.l.ls and sing all day and all night." He paused, and his eyes filled with a wistful look of attention. He drew closer.

"Come," he said earnestly, "come, you must listen to my music; perhaps you can tell me what it means."

He picked up his smouldering torch and held it aloft again; then, beckoning Errington to follow him, he led the way to a small grotto, cut deeply into the wall of the cavern. Here there were no sh.e.l.l patterns.

Little green ferns grew thickly out of the stone crevices, and a minute runlet of water trickled slowly down from above, freshening the delicate frondage as it fell. With quick, agile fingers he removed a loose stone from this aperture, and as he did so, a low shuddering wail resounded through the arches--a melancholy moan that rose and sank, and rose again in weird, sorrowful minor echoes.

"Hear her," murmured Sigurd plaintively. "She is always complaining; it is a pity she cannot rest! She is a spirit, you know. I have often asked her what troubles her, but she will not tell me; she only weeps!"

His companion looked at him compa.s.sionately. The sound that so affected his disordered imagination was nothing but the wind blowing through the narrow hole formed by the removal of the stone; but it was useless to explain this simple fact to one in his condition.

"Tell me," and Sir Philip spoke very gently, "is this your home?"

The dwarf surveyed him almost scornfully. "_My_ home!" he echoed. "My home is everywhere--on the mountains, in the forests, on the black rocks and barren sh.o.r.es! My soul lives between the sun and the sea; my heart is with Thelma!"

Thelma! Here was perhaps a clue to the mystery.

"Who is Thelma?" asked Errington somewhat hurriedly.

Sigurd broke into violent and derisive laughter. "Do you think I will tell _you_?" he cried loudly. "_You_,--one of that strong, cruel race who must conquer all they see; who covet everything fair under heaven, and will buy it, even at the cost of blood and tears! Do you think I will unlock the door of my treasure to _you_? No, no; besides," and his voice sank lower, "what should you do with Thelma? She is dead!"

And, as if possessed by a sudden access of frenzy, he brandished his pine-torch wildly above his head till it showered a rain of bright sparks above him, and exclaimed furiously--"Away, away, and trouble me not! The days are not yet fulfilled,--the time is not yet ripe. Why seek to hasten my end? Away, away, I tell you! Leave me in peace! I will die when Thelma bids me; but not till then!"

And he rushed down the long gallery and disappeared in the furthest chamber, where he gave vent to a sort of long, sobbing cry, which rang dolefully through the cavern and then subsided into utter silence.

Feeling as if he were in a chaotic dream, Errington pursued his interrupted course through the winding pa.s.sages with a bewildered and wondering mind. What strange place had he inadvertently lighted on? and who were the still stranger beings in connection with it? First the beautiful girl herself; next the mysterious coffin, hidden in its fanciful sh.e.l.l temple; and now this deformed madman, with the pale face and fine eyes; whose utterances, though incoherent, savored somewhat of poesy and prophecy. And what spell was attached to that name of Thelma?

The more he thought of his morning's adventure, the more puzzled he became. As a rule, he believed more in the commonplace than in the romantic--most people do. But truth to tell, romance is far more common than the commonplace. There are few who have not, at one time or other of their lives, had some strange or tragic episode woven into the tissue of their every-day existence; and it would be difficult to find one person even among humdrum individuals, who, from birth to death, has experienced nothing out of the common.

Errington generally dismissed all tales of adventure as mere exaggerations of heated fancy; and, had he read in some book, of a respectable nineteenth-century yachtsman having such an interview with a madman in a sea-cavern, he would have laughed at the affair as an utter improbability, though he could not have explained why he considered it improbable. But now it had occurred to himself, he was both surprised and amused at the whole circ.u.mstance; moreover, he was sufficiently interested and carious to be desirous of sifting the matter to its foundation.

It was, however, somewhat of a relief to him when he again readied the outer cavern. He replaced the lamp on the shelf where he had found it, and stepped once more into the brilliant light of the very early dawn, which then had all the splendor of full morning. There was a deliciously balmy wind, the blue sky was musical with a chorus of larks, and every breath of air that waved aside the long gra.s.s sent forth a thousand odors from hidden beds of wild thyme and bog-myrtle.

He perceived the _Eulalie_ at anchor in her old place on the Fjord; she had returned while he was absent on his explorations. Gathering together his rug and painting materials, he blew a whistle sharply three times; he was answered from the yacht, and presently a boat, manned by a couple of sailors, came skimming over the water towards him. It soon reached the sh.o.r.e, and, entering it, he was speedily rowed away from the scene of his morning's experience back to his floating palace, where, as yet, none of his friends were stirring.

"How about Jedke?" he inquired of one of his men. "Did they climb it?"

A slow grin overspread the sailor's brown face.

"Lord bless you, no, sir! Mr. Lorimer, he just looked at it and sat down in the shade; the other gentleman played pitch-and-toss with pebbles.

They was main hungry too, and ate a mighty sight of 'am and pickles.

Then they came on board and all turned in at once."

Errington laughed. He was amused at the utter failure of Lorimer's recent sudden energy, but not surprised. His thoughts were, however, busied with something else, and he next asked--"Where's our pilot?"

"Valdemar Svensen, sir? He went down to his bunk as soon as we anch.o.r.ed, for a snooze, he said."

"All right. If he comes on deck before I do, just tell him not to go ash.o.r.e for anything till I see him. I want to speak to him after breakfast."

"Ay, ay, sir."

Whereupon Sir Philip descended to his private cabin. He drew the blind at the port-hole to shut out the dazzling sunlight, for it was nearly three o'clock in the morning, and quickly undressing, he flung himself into his berth with a slight, not altogether unpleasant, feeling of exhaustion. To the last, as his eyes closed drowsily, he seemed to hear the slow drip, drip of the water behind the rocky cavern, and the desolate cry of the incomprehensible Sigurd, while through these sounds that mingled with the gurgle of little waves lapping against the sides of the _Eulalie_, the name of "Thelma" murmured itself in his ears till slumber drowned his senses in oblivion.

CHAPTER III.

"Hast any mortal name, Fit appellation for this dazzling frame, Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth?"

KEATS.

"This is positively absurd," murmured Lorimer, in mildly injured tones, seven hours later, as he sat on the edge of his berth, surveying Errington, who, fully dressed, and in the highest spirits, had burst in to upbraid him for his laziness while he was yet but scantily attired.

"I tell you, my good fellow, there are some things which the utmost stretch of friends.h.i.+p will _not_ stand. Here am I in s.h.i.+rt and trousers with only one sock on, and you dare to say you have had an adventure!

Why, if you had cut a piece out of the sun, you ought to wait till a man is shaved before mentioning it."

"Don't be snappish, old boy!" laughed Errington gaily. "Put on that other sock and listen. I don't want to tell those other fellows just yet, they might go making inquiries about her--"

"Oh, there is a 'her' in the case, is there?" said Lorimer, opening his eyes rather widely. "Well, Phil! I thought you had had enough, and something too much, of women."

"This is not a woman!" declared Philip with heat and eagerness, "at least not the sort of woman _I_ have ever known! This is a forest-empress, sea-G.o.ddess, or sun-angel! I don't know _what_ she is, upon my life!"

Lorimer regarded him with an air of reproachful offense.