hat some modern young men think it seemly to adopt under similar
circumstances.

"The fact is," he said frankly, "I congratulate myself,--I'm more lucky
than I deserve, I know!"

"What a sensation she will make in London, Phil!" said Lorimer suddenly.
"I've just thought of it! Good Heavens! Lady Winsleigh will cry for
sheer spite and vexation!"

Philip laughed. "I hope not," he said. "I should think it would need
immense force to draw a tear from her ladyship's cold bright eyes."

"She used to like you awfully, Phil!" said Lorimer. "You were a great
favorite of hers."

"All men are her favorites with the exception of one--her husband!"
observed Errington gaily. "Come along, let's have some champagne to
celebrate the day! We'll propose toasts and drink healths--we've got a
fair excuse for jollity this evening."

They all descended into the saloon, and had a merry time of it, singing
songs and telling good stories, Lorimer being the gayest of the party,
and it was long past midnight when they retired to their cabins, without
even looking at the wonders of, perhaps, the most gorgeous sky that had
yet shone on their travels--a sky of complete rose-color, varying from
the deepest shade up to the palest, in which the sun glowed with a
subdued radiance like an enormous burning ruby.

Thelma saw it, standing under her house-porch, where her father had
joined her,--Sigurd saw it,--he had come out from some thicket where he
had been hiding, and he now sat, in a humble, crouching posture at
Thelma's feet. All three were silent, reverently watching the spreading
splendor of the heavens. Once Gueldmar addressed his daughter in a soft
tone.

"Thou are happy, my bird?"

She smiled--the expression of her face was almost divine in its rapture.

"Perfectly happy, my father!"

At the sound of her dulcet voice, Sigurd looked up. His large blue eyes
were full of tears, he took her hand and held it in his meagre and
wasted one.

"Mistress!" he said suddenly, "do you think I shall soon die?"

She turned her pitying eyes down upon him, startled by the vibrating
melancholy of his tone.

"Thou wilt die, Sigurd," answered Gueldmar gently, "when the gods
please,--not one second sooner or later. Art thou eager to see
Valhalla?"

Sigurd nodded dreamily. "They will understand me there!" he murmured.
"And I shall grow straight and strong and brave! Mistress, if you meet
me in Valhalla, you will love me!"

She stroked his wild fai