ington and
Lorimer arrived at the Midland Station. Britta was already there with
the luggage,--she was excited and pleased--her spirits had risen at the
prospect of seeing her mistress soon again,--possibly, she thought
gladly, they might find her at Hull,--they might not have to go to
Norway at all. The train came up to the platform--the tickets were
taken,--and Sir Philip, with Britta, entered--a first-class compartment,
while Lorimer stood outside leaning with folded arms on the
carriage-window, talking cheerfully.

"You'll find her all right, Phil, I'm positive!" he said. "I think it's
very probable she has been compelled to remain at Hull,--and even at the
worst, Britta can guide you all over Norway, if necessary. Nothing will
daunt _her_!"

And he nodded kindly to the little maid who had regained her rosy color
and the sparkle of her eyes in the eagerness she felt to rejoin her
beloved "Froeken." The engine-whistle gave a warning shriek--Philip
leaned out and pressed his friend's hand warmly.

"Good-bye, old fellow! I'll write to you in Italy."

"All right--mind you do! And I say--give my love to Thelma!"

Philip smiled and promised. The train began to move,--slowly at first,
then more quickly, till with clattering uproar and puffing clouds of
white steam, it rushed forth from the station, winding through the
arches like a black snake, till it had twisted itself rapidly out of
sight. Lorimer, left alone, looked after it wistfully, with a heavy
weight of unuttered love and sorrow at his heart, and as he at last
turned away, those haunting words that he had heard under the pines at
the Altenfjord recurred again and again to his memory--the words uttered
by the distraught Sigurd--and how true they were, he thought! how
desperately, cruelly true!

"Good things may come for others--but for _you_, the heavens are empty!"

CHAPTER XXX.

"Honor is an old-world thing, but it smells sweet to those in
whose hand it is strong."--OUIDA.

Disappointment upon disappointment awaited Errington at Hull.
Unfortunately, neither he nor Britta knew of the existence of the good
Norwegian innkeeper, Friedhof, who had assisted Thelma in her
flight--and all their persistent and anxious inquiries elicited no news
of her. Moreover, there was no boat of any kind leaving immediately for
Norway--not even a whaler or fishing-smack. In a week's time,--possibly
later,--there would be a steamer starting for Christiansund,