“This is abominable,” she mumbled, as if she had been exposed to some clumsiness on the part of a vulgar partner. But she did not whimper.
They swept in over the breakers and rocks of the wild and deserted skerries of Kökars. The gondola was already trailing in the water, and the balloon began to swing and jerk to and fro. Stellan also climbed up into the rigging. He took the anchor with him. With violent jerks they trailed over a stony rocky island on the skerries. Then again they were carried over an empty roaring bay. But now the wind had really turned into the south and there was some wooded country ahead of them. Stellan cut away the gondola, as it made the balloon dip. Then it rose for the last time. They sat as in a swing over the surging water. Phew! now they were rushing in towards the land. A jetty and a few red-painted outhouses were visible in the grey twilight. Stellan dropped anchor in a damp marshy meadow so that the balloon might trail a little and reduce speed. It caught in an alder with a terrible jerk. Quick as lightning he tore open one of the gores—and the balloon partly fell and was partly flung down into a copse of young birches.
Stellan freed himself at once. He hastened to drag out his fellow passenger from below the torn, flapping and billowing balloon cloth. She had fainted....
Some people came running up and he made them carry her in. They had had the luck to land just beside a country house. Then he rushed to the telephone and arranged for telegrams....
Miss Lähnfeldt lay ill for a few days, till Stellan one day stepped in to her with a bundle of Swedish newspapers full of highly coloured descriptions of the unique and adventurous balloon flight of the well-known tennis player and rider, Miss Lähnfeldt.
For the first time she looked at Stellan with gratitude and approval.
Stellan was invited to the autumn shoot at Trefvinge. He gave a low whistle when he saw the name of Miss Lähnfeldt and not her father on the invitation card. He understood that the invitation was from her and not from her father.
But he also whistled, though in another key, when he heard from the coachman that Captain von Strelert had already arrived. For it was equally evident that Manne, Baron Manne von Strelert was the guest of the Count.