Britta retreated, and caught Ulrika by the arm. "Is he mad?" she asked fearfully.
Valdemar heard her, and rose from his chair, a pained smile on his face.
"I am not mad, Britta," he said gently. "Do not be afraid! If grief for my master could have turned my brain, I had been mad ere this,—but I have all my wits about me, and I have told you the truth." He paused—then added, in a more ordinary tone, "You will need fresh logs of pine—I will go and bring them in."
And he went out. Britta gazed after him in speechless wonder.
"What does he mean?" she asked.
"What he says," returned Ulrika composedly. "You, like others, must have known that Olaf Güldmar's creed was a strange one—his burial has been strange—that is all!"
And she skillfully turned the conversation, and began to talk of Thelma, her sorrows and sufferings. Britta was most impatient to see her beloved "Fröken," and quite grudged Sir Philip the long time he remained alone with his wife.
"He might call me, if only for a moment," Britta thought plaintively. "I do so want to look at her dear face again! But men are all alike—as long as they've got what they want, they never think of anybody else. Dear me! I wonder how long I shall have to wait!" So she fumed and fretted, and sat by the kitchen-fire, drinking hot tea and talking to Ulrika—all the while straining her ears for the least sound or movement from the adjoining room. But none came—there was the most perfect silence. At last she could endure it no longer—and, regardless of Ulrika's remonstrances, she stole on tip-toe to the closed door that barred her from the sight of her heart's idol, and turning the handle softly, opened it and looked in. Sir Philip saw her, and made a little warning sign, though he smiled.
He was sitting by the bedside, and in his arms, nestled against his shoulder, Thelma rested. She was fast asleep. The lines of pain had disappeared from her sweet face—a smile was on her lips—her breath came and went with peaceful regularity,—and the delicate hue of a pale rose flushed her cheeks. Britta stood gazing on this fair sight till her affectionate little heart overflowed, and the ready tears dropped like diamonds from her curly lashes.
"Oh, my dear—my dear!" she whispered in a sort of rapture when there was a gentle movement,—and two star-like eyes opened like blue flowers outspreading to the sun.