in French of Alphonse de Liguori, the "Imitation," also
in French,--and a number of books with titles in Norwegian,--altogether
an heterogenous collection of literature, yet not without interest as
displaying taste and culture on the part of those to whom it belonged.
Errington, himself learned in books, was surprised to see so many
standard works in the library of one who professed to be nothing but a
Norwegian farmer, and his respect for the sturdy old _bonde_ increased.
There were no pictures in the room,--the wide lattice window on one
hand, looking out on the roses and pine-wood, and the other smaller one,
close to the entrance door, from which the Fjord was distinctly visible,
were sufficient pictures in themselves, to need no others. The furniture
was roughly made of pine, and seemed to have been carved by hand,--some
of the chairs were very quaint and pretty and would have sold in a
bric-a-brac shop for more than a sovereign apiece. On the wide
mantle-shelf was a quantity of curious old china that seemed to have
been picked up from all parts of the world,--most of it was undoubtedly
valuable. In one dark corner stood an ancient harp; then there was the
spinning-wheel,--itself a curiosity fit for a museum,--testifying dumbly
of the mistress of all these surroundings, and on the floor there was
something else,--something that both the young men were strongly
inclined to take possession of. It was only a bunch of tiny meadow
daisies, fastened together with a bit of blue silk. It had fallen,--they
guessed by whom it had been worn,--but neither made any remark, and
both, by some strange instinct, avoided looking at it, as though the
innocent little blossoms carried within them some terrible temptation.
They were conscious of a certain embarrassment, and making an effort to
break through it, Lorimer remarked softly--

"By Jove, Phil, if this old Gueldmar really knew what you are up to, I
believe he would bundle you out of this place like a tramp! Didn't you
feel a sneak when he said we had told the truth like men?"

Philip smiled dreamily. He was seated in one of the quaintly carved
chairs, half absorbed in what was evidently a pleasing reverie.

"No; not exactly," he replied. "Because we _did_ tell him the truth; we
did want to know him, and he's worth knowing too! He is a
magnificent-looking fellow; don't you think so?"

"Rather!" assented Lorimer, with emphasis. "I wish there were any hope
of my becoming such a