solution in the Englishman's clear,
deep grey eyes,--and with the startling quickness common to many whose
brains, like musical instruments, are jarred, yet not quite unstrung, he
grasped the meaning of that expression instantly.

"Ah! cruel and traitorous!" he exclaimed fiercely. "You will not go; you
are resolved to tear my heart out for your sport! I have pleaded with
you as one pleads with a king and all in vain--all in vain! You will not
go? Listen, see what you will do," and he held up the bunch of purple
pansies, while his voice sank to an almost feeble faintness. "Look!" and
he fingered the flowers, "look! . . . they are dark and soft as a purple
sky,--cool and dewy and fresh;--they are the thoughts of Thelma; such
thoughts! So wise and earnest, so pure and full of tender shadows!--no
hand has grasped them rudely, no rough touch has spoiled their
smoothness! They open full-faced to the sky, they never droop or
languish; they have no secrets, save the marvel of their beauty. Now you
have come, you will have no pity,--one by one you will gather and play
with her thoughts as though they were these blossoms,--your burning hand
will mar their color,--they will wither and furl up and die, all of
them,--and you,--what will you care? Nothing! no man ever cares for a
flower that is withered,--not even though his own hand slew it."

The intense melancholy that vibrated through Sigurd's voice touched his
listener profoundly. Dimly he guessed that the stricken soul before him
had formed the erroneous idea that he, Errington, had come to do some
great wrong to Thelma or her belongings, and he pitied the poor creature
for his foolish self-torture.

"Listen to me, Sigurd," he said, with a certain imperativeness; "I
cannot promise you to go away, but I can promise that I will do no harm
to you or to--to--Thelma. Will that content you?"

Sigurd smiled vacantly and shook his head. He looked at the pansies
wistfully and laid them down very gently on one of the deck benches.

"I must go," he said in a faint voice:--"She is calling me."

"Who is calling you?" demanded Errington astonished.

"She is," persisted Sigurd, walking steadily to the gangway. "I can hear
her! There are the roses to water, and the doves to feed, and many other
things." He looked steadily at Sir Philip, who, seeing he was bent on
departure, assisted him to descend the companion ladder into his little
boat. "You are sure you will not sail away?"

Erring