ours, when Christians amuse themselves by despising and
condemning each other, and thus upsetting all the precepts of the Master
they profess to follow, there is actually a man who sticks to the
traditions of his ancestors. Odd, isn't it? In this delightful,
intellectual age, when more than half of us are discontented with life
and yet don't want to die, there is a fine old gentleman, living beyond
the Arctic circle, who is perfectly satisfied with his existence--not
only that, he thinks death the greatest glory that can befall him.
Comfortable state of things altogether! I'm half inclined to be an
Odinite too."

Sandy still remained lost in astonishment. "Then ye don't believe that
he made awa' wi' his wife?" he inquired slowly.

"Not in the least!" returned Lorimer decidedly; "neither will you,
to-morrow, when you see him. He's a great deal better up in literature
than you are, my boy, I'd swear, judging from the books he has. And when
he mentioned his wife, as he did once, you could see in his face he had
never done _her_ any harm. Besides, his daughter--"

"Ah! but I forgot," interposed Duprez again. "The daughter, Thelma, was
the child the mysteriously vanished lady carried in her arms, wandering
with it all about the woods and hills. After her disappearance, another
thing extraordinary happens. The child also disappears, and Monsieur
Gueldmar lives alone, avoided carefully by every respectable person.
Suddenly the child returns, grown to be nearly a woman--and they say,
lovely to an almost impossible extreme. She lives with her father. She,
like her strange mother, never enters a church, town, or
village--nowhere, in fact, where persons are in any numbers. Three years
ago, it appears, she vanished again, but came back at the end of ten
months, lovelier than ever. Since then she has remained
quiet--composed--but always apart,--she may disappear at any moment.
Droll, is it not, Errington? and the reputation she has is natural!"

"Pray state it," said Philip, with freezing coldness. "The reputation of
a woman is nothing nowadays. Fair game--go on!"

But his face was pale, and his eyes blazed dangerously. Almost
unconsciously his hand toyed with the rose Thelma had given him, that
still ornamented his button-hole.

"Mon Dieu!" cried Duprez in amazement. "But look not at me like that! It
seems to displease you, to put you _en fureur_, what I say! It is not my
story,--it is not I,--I know not Mademoiselle Gueldma