"Your story has interested me deeply, sir," said Errington; "but I assure you I never had any suspicions of you at all. I always disregard gossip--it is generally scandalous, and seldom true. Besides, I took your face on trust, as you took mine."
"Then," declared Güldmar, with a smile, "I have nothing more to say,--except"--and he stretched out both hands--"may the great gods prosper your wooing! You offer a fairer fate to Thelma than I had dreamed of for her--but I know not what the child herself may say--"
Philip interrupted him. His eyes flashed, and he smiled.
"She loves me!" he said simply. Güldmar looked at him, laughed a little, and sighed.
"She loves thee?" he said, relapsing into the thee and thou he was wont to use with his daughter. "Thou hast lost no time, my lad? When didst thou find that out?"
"To-day!" returned Philip, with that same triumphant smile playing about his lips. "She told me so--yet even now I cannot believe it!"
"Ah, well, thou mayest believe it truly," said Güldmar, "for Thelma says nothing that she does not mean! The child has never stooped to even the smallest falsehood."
Errington seemed lost in a happy dream. Suddenly he roused himself and took Güldmar by the arm.
"Come," he said, "let us go to her! She will wonder why we are so long absent. See! the storm has cleared--the sun is shining. It is understood? You will give her to me?"
"Foolish lad!" said Güldmar gently. "What have I to do with it? She has given herself to thee! Love has overwhelmed both of your hearts, and before the strong sweep of such an ocean what can an old man's life avail? Nothing--less than nothing! Besides, I should be happy--if I have regrets,--if I feel the tooth of sorrow biting at my heart--'tis naught but selfishness. 'Tis my own dread of parting with her"--his voice trembled, and his fine face quivered with suppressed emotion.
Errington pressed his arm. "Our house shall be yours, sir!" he said eagerly. "Why not leave this place and come with us?"
Güldmar shook his head. "Leave Norway!" he said--"leave the land of my fathers--turn my back on these mountains and fjords and glaziers? Never! No, no, my lad, you're kind-hearted and generous as becomes you, and I thank you from my heart. But 'twould be impossible! I should be like a caged eagle, breaking my wings against the bars of English conventionalities. Besides, young birds must make their nest without interference from the old ones."