Thelma | Page 7

and with a deep sigh she turned
her eyes towards earth again. In so doing she met the fixed and too
visibly admiring gaze of her companion. She started, and a wave of
vivid color flushed her cheeks. Quickly recovering her serenity,
however, she saluted him slightly, and, moving her oars in unison, was
on the point of departure.
Stirred by an impulse he could not resist, he laid one hand detainingly
on the rim of her boat.
"Are you going now?" he asked.
She raised her eyebrows in some little surprise and smiled.
"Going?" she repeated. "Why, yes. I shall be late in getting home as it
is."
"Stop a moment," he said eagerly, feeling that he could not let this
beautiful creature leave him as utterly as a midsummer night's dream
without some clue as to her origin and destination. "Will you not tell
me your name?"
She drew herself erect with a look of indignation.
"Sir, I do not know you. The maidens of Norway do not give their
names to strangers."
"Pardon me," he replied, somewhat abashed. "I mean no offense. We
have watched the midnight sun together, and--and--I thought--"
He paused, feeling very foolish, and unable to conclude his sentence.
She looked at him demurely from under her long, curling lashes.
"You will often find a peasant girl on the shores of the Altenfjord
watching the midnight sun at the same time as yourself," she said, and

there was a suspicion of laughter in her voice. "It is not unusual. It is
not even necessary that you should remember so little a thing."
"Necessary or not, I shall never forget it," he said with sudden
impetuosity. "You are no peasant! Come; if I give you my name will
you still deny me yours?"
Her delicate brows drew together in a frown of haughty and decided
refusal. "No names please my ears save those that are familiar," she
said, with intense coldness. "We shall not meet again. Farewell!"
And without further word or look, she leaned gracefully to the oars, and
pulling with a long, steady, resolute stroke, the little boat darted away
as lightly and swiftly as a skimming swallow out on the shimmering
water, he stood gazing after it till it became a distant speck sparkling
like a diamond in the light of sky and wave, and when he could no
more watch it with unassisted eyes, he took up his field glass and
followed its course attentively. He saw it cutting along as straightly as
an arrow, then suddenly it dipped round to the westward, apparently
making straight for some shelving rocks, that projected far into the
Fjord. It reached them; it grew less and less--it disappeared. At the
same time the lustre of the heavens gave way to a pale pearl-like
uniform grey tint, that stretched far and wide, folding up as in a mantle
all the regal luxury of the Sun- king's palace. The subtle odor and
delicate chill of the coming dawn stole freshly across the water. A light
haze rose and obscured the opposite islands. Something of the tender
melancholy of autumn, though it was late June, toned down the aspect
of the before brilliant landscape. A lark rose swiftly from its nest in an
adjacent meadow, and, soaring higher and higher, poured from its tiny
throat a cascade of delicious melody. The midnight sun no longer shone
at midnight; his face smiled with a sobered serenity through the faint
early mists of approaching morning.
CHAPTER II.
"Viens donc--je te chanterai des chansons que les esprits des cimetieres
m'ont apprises!"

MATURIN
"Baffled!" he exclaimed, with a slight vexed laugh, as the boat
vanished from his sight. "By a woman, too! Who would have thought
it?"
Who would have thought it, indeed! Sir Philip Bruce-Errington,
Baronet, the wealthy and desirable parti for whom many match-making
mothers had stood knee-deep in the chilly though sparkling waters of
society, ardently plying rod and line with patient persistence, vainly
hoping to secure him as a husband for one of their highly proper and
passionless daughters,--he, the admired, long-sought- after "eligible,"
was suddenly rebuffed, flouted--by whom? A stray princess, or a
peasant. He vaguely wondered, as he lit a cigar and strolled up and
down on the shore, meditating, with a puzzled, almost annoyed
expression on his handsome features. He was not accustomed to slights
of any kind, however trifling; his position being commanding and
enviable enough to attract flattery and friendship from most people. He
was the only son of a baronet as renowned for eccentricity as for wealth.
He had been the spoilt darling of his mother; and now, both his parents
being dead, he was alone in the world, heir to his father's revenues, and
entire master of his own actions. And as