"Ah! cruel and traitorous!" he exclaimed fiercely. "You will not go; you are resolved to tear my heart out for your sport! I have pleaded with you as one pleads with a king and all in vain--all in vain! You will not go? Listen, see what you will do," and he held up the bunch of purple pansies, while his voice sank to an almost feeble faintness. "Look!" and he fingered the flowers, "look! . . . they are dark and soft as a purple sky,--cool and dewy and fresh;--they are the thoughts of Thelma; such thoughts! So wise and earnest, so pure and full of tender shadows!--no hand has grasped them rudely, no rough touch has spoiled their smoothness! They open full-faced to the sky, they never droop or languish; they have no secrets, save the marvel of their beauty. Now you have come, you will have no pity,--one by one you will gather and play with her thoughts as though they were these blossoms,--your burning hand will mar their color,--they will wither and furl up and die, all of them,--and you,--what will you care? Nothing! no man ever cares for a flower that is withered,--not even though his own hand slew it."
The intense melancholy that vibrated through Sigurd's voice touched his listener profoundly. Dimly he guessed that the stricken soul before him had formed the erroneous idea that he, Errington, had come to do some great wrong to Thelma or her belongings, and he pitied the poor creature for his foolish self-torture.
"Listen to me, Sigurd," he said, with a certain imperativeness; "I cannot promise you to go away, but I can promise that I will do no harm to you or to--to--Thelma. Will that content you?"
Sigurd smiled vacantly and shook his head. He looked at the pansies wistfully and laid them down very gently on one of the deck benches.
"I must go," he said in a faint voice:--"She is calling me."
"Who is calling you?" demanded Errington astonished.
"She is," persisted Sigurd, walking steadily to the gangway. "I can hear her! There are the roses to water, and the doves to feed, and many other things." He looked steadily at Sir Philip, who, seeing he was bent on departure, assisted him to descend the companion ladder into his little boat. "You are sure you will not sail away?"
Errington balanced himself lightly on the ladder and smiled.
"I am sure, Sigurd! I have no wish to sail away. Are you all right there?"