be dreaming! Sailed away! How could he--if he was
dead?"

Valdemar grew suddenly excited. "I tell you, he sailed away!" he
repeated in a low, hoarse whisper. "Where is his ship, the _Valkyrie_?
Try if you can find it anywhere--on sea or land! It has gone, and he has
gone with it--like a king and warrior--to glory, joy, and victory!
Glory--joy--victory!--those were his last words!"

Britta retreated, and caught Ulrika by the arm. "Is he mad?" she asked
fearfully.

Valdemar heard her, and rose from his chair, a pained smile on his face.

"I am not mad, Britta," he said gently. "Do not be afraid! If grief for
my master could have turned my brain, I had been mad ere this,--but I
have all my wits about me, and I have told you the truth." He
paused--then added, in a more ordinary tone, "You will need fresh logs
of pine--I will go and bring them in."

And he went out. Britta gazed after him in speechless wonder.

"What does he mean?" she asked.

"What he says," returned Ulrika composedly. "You, like others, must have
known that Olaf Gueldmar's creed was a strange one--his burial has been
strange--that is all!"

And she skillfully turned the conversation, and began to talk of Thelma,
her sorrows and sufferings. Britta was most impatient to see her beloved
"Froeken," and quite grudged Sir Philip the long time he remained alone
with his wife.

"He _might_ call me, if only for a moment," Britta thought plaintively.
"I do so want to look at her dear face again! But men are all alike--as
long as they've got what _they_ want, they never think of anybody else.
Dear me! I wonder how long I shall have to wait!" So she fumed and
fretted, and sat by the kitchen-fire, drinking hot tea and talking to
Ulrika--all the while straining her ears for the least sound or movement
from the adjoining room. But none came--there was the most perfect
silence. At last she could endure it no longer--and, regardless of
Ulrika's remonstrances, she stole on tip-toe to the closed door that
barred her from the sight of her heart's idol, and turning the handle
softly, opened it and looked in. Sir Philip saw her, and made a little
warning sign, though he smiled.

He was sitting by the bedside, and in his arms, nestled against his
shoulder, Thelma rested. She was fast asleep. The lines of pain had
disappeared from her sweet face--a smile was on her lips--her breath
came and went with peaceful regularity,--and the delicate hue of a pale
rose flushed h