Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  Without another second’s hesitation Errington rushed back to the hut and awoke, with clamorous alarm, the rest of the party. His brief explanation sufficed — they all hurried forth in startled excitement. Sigurd still occupied his hazardous position, and as they looked at him he seemed to dance wildly nearer the extreme edge of the rocky platform. Old Güldmar turned pale. “The gods preserve him!” he muttered in his beard — then turning he began resolutely to make the ascent of the rocks with long, rapid strides — the young men followed him eager and almost breathless, each and all bent upon saving Sigurd from the danger in which he stood, and trying by different ways to get more quickly near the unfortunate lad and call, or draw him back by force from his point of imminent deadly peril. They were more than half-way up, when a piercing cry rang clearly above the thunderous din of the fall — a cry that made them pause for a moment.

  Sigurd had caught sight of the figures advancing to his rescue, and was waving them back with eloquent gesture of anger and defiance. His small misshapen body was alive with wrath, — it seemed as though he were some dwarf king ruling over the glittering crimson torrent, and grimly forbidding strangers to enter on the boundaries of his magic territory. They, however, pressed on with renewed haste, — and they had nearly reached the summit when another shrill cry echoed over the sunset-colored foam.

  Once more they paused — they were in full view of the distraught Sigurd, and he turned his head towards them, shaking back his long fair hair with his old favorite gesture and laughing in apparent glee. Then he suddenly raised his arms, and, clasping his hands together, poised himself as though he were some winged thing about to fly.

  “Sigurd! Sigurd!” shouted Güldmar, his strong voice tremulous with anguish. “Come back! come back to Thelma!”

  At the sound of that beloved name, the unhappy creature seemed to hesitate, and, profiting by that instant of irresolution, Errington and Lorimer rushed forward — Too late! Sigurd saw them coming, and glided with stealthy caution to the very brink of the torrent, where there was scarcely any foothold — there he looked back at his would-be rescuers with an air of mystery and cunning, and broke into a loud derisive laugh.

  Then — still with clasped hands and smiling face — unheeding the shout of horror that broke from those who beheld him — he leaped, and fell! Down, down into the roaring abyss! For one half-second — one lightning flash — his twisted figure, like a slight black speck was seen against the wide roseate glory of the tumbling cascade — then it disappeared, engulfed and lost for ever! Gone, — with all his wild poet fancies and wandering dreams — gone, with his unspoken love and unguessed sorrows — gone where dark things shall be made light, — and where the broken or tangled chain of the soul’s intelligence shall be mended and made perfect by the tender hands of the All-Wise and the All-Loving One, whose ways are too gloriously vast for our finite comprehension.

  “Gone, mistress!” as he would have said to the innocent cause of his heart’s anguish. “Gone where I shall grow straight and strong and brave! Mistress, if you meet me in Valhalla, you will love me!”

  CHAPTER XVII.

  “Do not, I pray you, think evilly of so holy a man! He has a sore combat against the flesh and the devil!” — The Maid of Honor.

  The horror-stricken spectators of the catastrophe stood for a minute inert and speechless, — stupefied by its suddenness and awful rapidity. Then with one accord they hurried down to the level shore of the torrent, moved by the unanimous idea that they might possibly succeed in rescuing Sigurd’s frail corpse from the sharp teeth of the jagged rocks, that, piercing upwards through the foam of the roaring rapids, were certain to bruise, tear, and disfigure it beyond all recognition. But even this small satisfaction was denied them. There was no sign of a floating or struggling body anywhere visible. And while they kept an eager look-out, the light in the heavens slowly changed. From burning crimson it softened to a tender amethyst hue, as smooth and delicate as the glossy pale tint of the purple clematis, — and with it the rosy foam of the Fall graduated to varying tints of pink, from pink to tender green, and lastly, it became as a shower of amber wine. Güldmar spoke first in a voice broken by deep emotion.

  “’Tis all over with him, poor lad!” he said, and tears glittered thickly in his keen old eyes. “And — though the gods, of a surety, know best — this is an end I looked not for! A mournful home-returning shall we have — for how to break the news to Thelma is more than I can tell!”

  And he shook his head sorrowfully while returning the warm and sympathizing pressure of Errington’s hand.

  “You see,” he went on, with a wistful look at the grave and compassionate face of his accepted son-in-law— “the boy was no boy of mine, ’tis true — and the winds had more than their share of his wits — yet — we knew him from a baby — and my wife loved him for his sad estate, which he was not to blame for. Thelma, too — he was her first playmate—”

  The bonde could trust himself to say no more, but turned abruptly away, brushing one hand across his eyes, and was silent for many minutes. The young men, too, were silent, — Sigurd’s determined suicide had chilled and sickened them. Slowly they returned to the hut to pass the remaining hours of the night — though sleep was, of course, after what they had witnessed, impossible. They remained awake, therefore, talking in low tones of the fatal event, and listening to the solemn sough of the wind through the pines, that sounded to Errington’s ears like a monotonous forest dirge. He thought of the first time he had ever seen the unhappy creature whose wandering days had just ended, — of that scene in the mysterious shell cavern, — of the wild words he had then uttered — how strangely they came back to Philip’s memory now!

  “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!” Was not the hidden meaning of these incoherent phrases rendered somewhat clear now? though how the poor lad’s disordered imagination had been able thus promptly to conjure up with such correctness, an idea of Errington’s future relations with Thelma, was a riddle impossible of explanation. He thought, too, with a sort of generous remorse, of that occasion when Sigurd had visited him on board the yacht to implore him to leave the Altenfjord. He realized everything, — the inchoate desires of the desolate being, who, though intensely capable of loving, felt himself in a dim, sad way, unworthy of love, — the struggling passions in him that clamored for utterance — the instinctive dread and jealousy of a rival, while knowing that he was both physically and mentally unfitted to compete with one, — all these things passed through Philip’s mind, and filled him with a most profound pity for the hidden sufferings, the tortures and inexplicable emotions which had racked Sigurd’s darkened soul. And, still busy with these reflections, he turned on his arm as he lay, and whispered softly to his friend who was close by him— “I say, Lorimer, — I feel as if I had been to blame somehow in this affair! If I had never come on the scene, Sigurd would still have been happy in his own way.”

  Lorimer was silent. After a pause, Errington went on still in the same low tone.

  “Poor little fellow! Do you know, I can’t imagine anything more utterly distracting than having to see such a woman as Thelma day after day, — loving her all the time, and knowing such love to be absolutely hopeless! Why, it was enough to make him crazier than ever!”

  Lorimer moved restlessly. “Yes, it must have been hard on him!” he answered at last, in a gentle, somewhat sad tone. “Perhaps it’s as well he’s out of it all. Life is infinitely perplexing to many of us. By this time he’s no doubt wiser than you or I, Phil, — he could tell us the reason why love is such a blessing to some men, and such a curse to others!”

  Errington made no answer, and they relapsed into silence — silence which was almost unbroken save by an
occasional deep sigh from Olaf Güldmar and a smothered exclamation such as, “Poor lad, poor lad! Who would have thought it?”

  With the early dawn they were all up and ready for the homeward journey, — though with very different feelings to those with which they had started on their expedition. The morning was dazzlingly bright and clear, — and the cataract of Njedegorze rolled down in glittering folds of creamy white and green, uttering its ceaseless psalm of praise to the Creator in a jubilant roar of musical thunder. They paused and looked at it for the last time before leaving, — it had assumed for them a new and solemn aspect — it was Sigurd’s grave. The bonde raised his cap from his rough white hair, — instinctively the others followed his example.

  “May the gods grant him good rest!” said the old man reverently. “In the wildest waters they say there is a calm underflow, — maybe the lad has found it and is glad to sleep.” He paused and stretched his hands forth with an eloquent and touching gesture. “Peace be with him!”

  Then, without more words, and as though disdaining his own emotion, he turned abruptly away, and began to descend the stony and precipitous hill, up which Sigurd had so skillfully guided them the day before. Macfarlane and Duprèz followed him close, — Macfarlane casting more than once a keen look over the rapids.

  “’Tis a pity we couldna find his body,” he said in a low tone.

  Duprèz shrugged his shoulders. Sigurd’s death had shocked him considerably by its suddenness, but he was too much of a volatile Frenchman to be morbidly anxious about securing the corpse.

  “I think not so at all,” he said. “Of what use would it be? To grieve mademoiselle? to make her cry? That would be cruel, — I would not assist in it! A dead body is not a sight for ladies, — believe me, things are best as they are.”

  They went on, while Errington and Lorimer lingered yet a moment longer.

  “A magnificent sepulchre!” said Lorimer, dreamily eyeing for the last time the sweeping flow of the glittering torrent. “Better than all the monuments ever erected! Upon my life, I would not mind having such a grave myself! Say what you like, Phil, there was something grand in Sigurd’s choice of a death. We all of us have to get out of life somehow one day — that’s certain — but few of us have the chance of making such a triumphant exit!”

  Errington looked at him with a grave smile. “How you talk, George!” he said half-reproachfully. “One would think you envied the end of that unfortunate, half-witted fellow! You’ve no reason to be tired of your life, I’m sure, — all your bright days are before you.”

  “Are they?” And Lorimer’s blue eyes looked slightly melancholy. “Well, I dare say they are! Let’s hope so at all events. There need be something before me, — there isn’t much behind except wasted opportunities. Come on, Phil!”

  They resumed their walk, and soon rejoined the others. The journey back to the Altenfjord was continued all day with but one or two interruptions for rest and refreshment. It was decided that on reaching home, old Güldmar should proceed a little in advance, in order to see his daughter alone first, and break to her the news of the tragic event that had occurred, — so that when, after a long and toilsome journey, they caught sight, at about eight in the evening, of the familiar farmhouse through the branches of the trees that surrounded and sheltered it, they all came to a halt.

  The young men seated themselves on a pleasant knoll under some tall pines, there to wait a quarter of an hour or so, while the bonde went forward to prepare Thelma. On second thoughts, the old man asked Errington to accompany him, — a request to which he very readily acceded, and these two, leaving the others to follow at their leisure, went on their way rapidly. They arrived at, and entered the garden, — their footsteps made a crunching noise on the pebbly path, — but no welcoming face looked forth from any of the windows of the house. The entrance door stood wide open, — there was not a living soul to be seen but the kitten asleep in a corner of the porch, and the doves drowsing on the roof in the sunshine. The deserted air of the place was unmistakable, and Güldmar and Errington exchanged looks of wonder not unmixed with alarm.

  “Thelma! Thelma!” called the bonde anxiously. There was no response. He entered the house and threw open the kitchen door. There was no fire, — and not the slightest sign of any of the usual preparations for supper.

  “Britta!” shouted Güldmar. Still no answer. “By the gods!” he exclaimed, turning to the astonished Philip, “this is a strange thing! Where can the girls be? I have never known both of them to be absent from the house at the same time. Go down to the shore, my lad, and see if Thelma’s boat is missing, while I search the garden.”

  Errington obeyed — hurrying off on his errand with a heart beating fast from sudden fear and anxiety. For he knew Thelma was not likely to have gone out of her own accord, at the very time she would have naturally expected her father and his friends back, and the absence of Britta too, was, to say the least of it, extraordinary. He reached the pier very speedily, and saw at a glance that the boat was gone. He hastened back to report this to Güldmar, who was making the whole place resound with his shouts of “Thelma!” and “Britta!” though he shouted altogether in vain.

  “Maybe,” he said dubiously, on hearing of the missing boat— “Maybe the child has gone on the Fjord— ’tis often her custom, — but, then, where is Britta? Besides, they must have expected us — they would have prepared supper — they would have been watching for our return. No, no! there is something wrong about this— ’tis altogether unusual.”

  And he looked about him in a bewildered way, while Sir Philip, noting his uneasiness, grew more and more uneasy himself.

  “Let me go and search for them, sir,” he said, eagerly. “They may be in the woods, or up towards the orchard.”

  Güldmar shook his head and drew his fuzzy white brows together in puzzled meditation — suddenly he started and struck his staff forcibly on the ground.

  “I have it!” he exclaimed. “That old hag Lovisa is at the bottom of this!”

  “By Jove!” cried Errington. “I believe you’re right! What shall we do?”

  At that moment, Lorimer, Duprèz, and Macfarlane came on the scene, thinking they had kept aloft long enough, — and the strange disappearance of the two girls was rapidly explained to them. They listened astonished and almost incredulous, but agreed with the bonde as to Lovisa’s probable share in the matter.

  “Look here!” said Lorimer excitedly. “I’m not in the least tired, — show me the way to Talvig, where that old screech-owl lives, and I’ll go there straight as a gun! Shouldn’t wonder if she has not forced away her grandchild, in which case Miss Thelma may have gone after her.”

  “I’ll come with you!” said Errington. “Let’s lose no time about it.”

  But Güldmar shook his head. “’Tis a long way, my lads, — and you do not know the road. No— ‘twill be better we should take the boat and pull over to Bosekop; there we can get a carriole to take two of us at least to Talvig—”

  He stopped, interrupted by Macfarlane, who looked particularly shrewd.

  “I should certainly advise ye to try Bosekop first,” he remarked cautiously. “Mr. Dyceworthy might be able to provide ye with valuable information.”

  “Dyceworthy!” roared the bonde, becoming inflammable at once. “He knows little of me or mine, thank the gods! and I would not by choice step within a mile of his dwelling. What makes you think of him, sir?”

  Lorimer laid a hand soothingly on his arm.

  “Now, my dear Mr. Güldmar, don’t get excited! Mac is right. I dare say Dyceworthy knows as much in his way as the ancient Lovisa. At any rate, it isn’t his fault if he does not. Because you see—” Lorimer hesitated and turned to Errington. “You tell him, Phil! you know all about it.”

  “The fact is,” said Errington, while Güldmar gazed from one to the other in speechless amazement, “Thelma hasn’t told you because she knew how angry you’d be — but Dyceworthy asked her to marry him. Of course she refus
ed him, and I doubt if he’s taken his rejection very resignedly.”

  The face of the old farmer as he heard these words was a study. Wonder, contempt, pride, and indignation struggled for the mastery on his rugged features.

  “Asked — her — to — marry — him!” he repeated slowly. “By the sword of Odin! Had I known it I would have throttled him!” His eyes blazed and he clenched his hand. “Throttled him, lads! I would! Give me the chance and I’ll do it now! I tell you, the mere look of such a man as that is a desecration to my child, — liar and hypocrite as he is! may the gods confound him!” He paused — then suddenly bracing himself up, added. “I’ll away to Bosekop at once — they’ve been afraid of me there for no reason — I’ll teach them to be afraid of me in earnest! Who’ll come with me?”

  All eagerly expressed their desire to accompany him with the exception of one, — Pierre Duprèz, — he had disappeared.

  “Why, where has he gone?” demanded Lorimer in some surprise.

  “I canna tell,” replied Macfarlane. “He just slipped awa’ while ye were haverin’ about Dyceworthy — he’ll maybe join us at the shore.”

  To the shore they at once betook themselves, and were soon busied in unmooring Güldmar’s own rowing-boat, which, as it had not been used for some time, was rather a tedious business, — moreover they noted with concern that the tide was dead against them.

  Duprèz did not appear, — the truth is, that he had taken into his head to start off for Talvig on foot without waiting for the others. He was fond of an adventure and here was one that suited him precisely — to rescue distressed damsels from the grasp of persecutors. He was tired, but he managed to find the road, — and he trudged on determinedly, humming a song of Beranger’s as he walked to keep him cheerful. But he had not gone much more than a mile when he discerned in the distance a carriole approaching him, — and approaching so swiftly that it appeared to swing from side to side of the road at imminent risk of upsetting altogether. There seemed to be one person in it — an excited person too, who lashed the stout little pony and urged it on to fresh exertions with gesticulations and cries. That plump buxom figure — that tumbled brown hair streaming wildly on, the breeze, — that round rosy face — why! it was Britta! Britta, driving all alone, with the reckless daring of a Norwegian peasant girl accustomed to the swaying, jolting movement of the carriole as well as the rough roads and sharp turnings. Nearer she came and nearer — and Duprèz hailed her with a shout of welcome. She saw him, answered his call, and drove still faster, — soon she came up beside him, and without answering his amazed questions, she cried breathlessly —