t, light pressure controlled and restrained her,
. . . very gradually the mists of her mind cleared,--the rattling,
thunderous dash of the train grew less dreadful, less monotonous, less
painful to her sense of hearing,--her bosom heaved convulsively, and all
suddenly her eyes filled with tears--merciful tears, which at first
welled up slowly, and were hot as fire, but which soon began to fall
faster and faster in large, bright drops down her pale cheeks. Seeing
that its mother still slept, she took the baby gently into her own fair
arms,--and rocked it to and fro with many a sobbing murmur of
tenderness;--the little thing smiled drowsily and soon fell asleep
again, all unconscious that its timely look and innocent touch had saved
poor Thelma's life and reason.

She, meanwhile, wept on softly, till her tired brain and heart were
somewhat relieved of their heavy burden,--the entanglement of her
thoughts became unravelled,--and, though keenly aware of the blank
desolation of her life, she was able to raise herself in spirit to the
Giver of all Love and Consolation, and to pray humbly for that patience
and resignation which now alone could serve her needs. And she communed
with herself and God in silence, as the train rushed on northwards. Her
fellow-traveller woke up as they were nearing their destination, and,
seeing her holding the baby, was profuse in her thanks for this
kindness. And when they at last reached Hull, about half an hour after
midnight, the good woman was exceedingly anxious to know if she could be
of any service,--but Thelma gently, yet firmly, refused all her offers
of assistance.

They parted in the most friendly manner,--Thelma kissing the child,
through whose unconscious means, as she now owned to herself, she had
escaped a terrible death,--and then she went directly to a quiet hotel
she knew of, which was kept by a native of Christiania, a man who had
formerly been acquainted with her father. At first, when this worthy
individual saw a lady arrive, alone, young, richly dressed, and without
luggage, he was inclined to be suspicious,--but as soon as she addressed
him in Norwegian, and told him who she was, he greeted her with the
utmost deference and humility.

"The daughter of Jarl Gueldmar," he said, continuing to speak in his own
tongue, "honors my house by entering it!"

Thelma smiled a little. "The days of the great Jarls are past,
Friedhof," she replied somewhat sadly, "and my father is cont