“I never was more so in my life,” replied Erling; “would that Hilda regarded me with but half the favour that Ada shows to thee!”
“There thou judgest wrongly,” said Glumm, from whose brow the frown of anger was passing away like a thundercloud before the summer sun. “I don’t pretend to understand a girl’s thoughts, but I have wit enough to see what is very plainly revealed. When I walked with Hilda to-day I noticed that her eye followed thee unceasingly, and although she talked to me glibly enough, her thoughts were wandering, so that she uttered absolute nonsense at times—insomuch that I would have laughed had I not been jealous of what I deemed the mutual love of Ada and thee. No, Erling, thy suit will prosper, depend on’t. It is I who have reason to despond, for Ada loves me not.”
Erling, who heard all this with a certain degree of satisfaction, smiled, shook his head, and said:
“Nay, then, Glumm, thou too art mistaken. The dark-eyed Ada laughs at everyone, and besides, I have good reason to know that her interest in thee is so great that she consulted me to-day about—about—a—”
The promise of secrecy that he had made caused Erling to stammer and stop.
“About what?” asked Glumm.
“I may not tell thee, friend. She bound me over to secrecy, and I must hold by my promise; but this I may say, that thou hast fully greater cause for hope than I have.”
“Then it is my opinion,” said Glumm, “that we have nothing to do but shake hands and proceed on our journey.”
Erling laughed heartily, sheathed his sword, and grasped his friend’s hand, after which they remounted and rode forward; but they did not now ride in silence. Their tongues were effectually loosened, and for some time they discussed their respective prospects with all the warmth and enthusiasm of youthful confidants.
“But Ada perplexes me,” suddenly exclaimed Glumm, in the midst of a brief pause; “I know not how to treat her.”