arrived at
the Alton Fjord, then at its loveliest in the full glory of the
continuous sunshine, developed a new turn of mind, and began to show
sudden and abnormal interest in the scenery. In this humor he expressed
his desire to "take a sight" of the midnight sun from the island of
Seiland, and also declared his resolve to try the nearly impossible
ascent of the great Jedke glacier.

Errington laughed at the idea. "Don't tell me," he said, "that you are
going in for climbing. And do you suppose I believe that you are
interested--_you_ of all people--in the heavenly bodies?"

"Why not?" asked Lorimer, with a candid smile. "I'm not in the least
interested in earthly bodies, except my own. The sun's a jolly fellow. I
sympathize with him in his present condition. He's in his cups--that's
what's the matter--and he can't be persuaded to go to bed. I know his
feelings perfectly; and I want to survey his gloriously inebriated face
from another point of view. Don't laugh, Phil; I'm in earnest! And I
really have quite a curiosity to try my skill in amateur mountaineering.
Jedke's the very place for a first effort. It offers difficulties,
and"--this with a slight yawn--"I like to surmount difficulties; it's
rather amusing."

His mind was so evidently set upon the excursion, that Sir Philip made
no attempt to dissuade him from it, but excused himself from
accompanying the party on the plea that he wanted to finish a sketch he
had recently begun. So that when the _Eulalie_ got up her steam, weighed
anchor, and swept gracefully away towards the coast of the adjacent
islands, her owner was left, at his desire, to the seclusion of a quiet
nook on the shore of the Altenfjord, where he succeeded in making a bold
and vivid picture of the scene before him. The colors of the sky had,
however, defied his palette, and after one or two futile attempts to
transfer to his canvas a few of the gorgeous tints that illumed the
landscape, he gave up the task in despair, and resigned himself to the
_dolce far niente_ of absolute enjoyment. From his half pleasing, half
melancholy reverie the voice of the unknown maiden had startled him, and
now,--now she had left him to resume it if he chose,--left him, in chill
displeasure, with a cold yet brilliant flash of something like scorn in
her wonderful eyes.

Since her departure the scenery, in some unaccountable way, seemed less
attractive to him, the songs of the birds, who were all awake, fell on
in