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She had never travelled entirely alone before and she began to be frightened at the pandemonium of sights and noises that surged around her. Yet she never once thought of returning, she never dreamed of going to any of her London friends, lest on hearing of her trouble they might reproach Philip and this Thelma would not have endured. For the same reason, she had said nothing to Britta.
He hastened back to report this to Gueldmar, who was making the whole place resound with his shouts of "Thelma!" and "Britta!" though he shouted altogether in vain. "Maybe," he said dubiously, on hearing of the missing boat "Maybe the child has gone on the Fjord 'tis often her custom, but, then, where is Britta?
"I have asked Sir Philip to let me go with you when you leave Norway." "Britta!" Thelma's astonishment was too great for more than this exclamation. "Oh, my dear! don't be angry with me!" implored Britta, with sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks, and excited tongue all pleading eloquently together, "I should die here without you!
"You may take your oath of that, Miss Britta," he said with placid conviction. "Jealous! Jealous isn't the word for it! Why," and he surveyed Britta's youthful countenance with fatherly interest, "you're only a child as it were, and you don't know the world much. Now, I've been five and twenty years in this family, and I knew Sir Philip's mother, the Lady Eulalie he named his yacht after her.
The deserted air of the place was unmistakable, and Gueldmar and Errington exchanged looks of wonder not unmixed with alarm. "Thelma! Thelma!" called the bonde anxiously. There was no response. He entered the house and threw open the kitchen door. There was no fire, and not the slightest sign of any of the usual preparations for supper. "Britta!" shouted Gueldmar. Still no answer.
How cosy and comfortable a home-nest it looked! a small fire glowed warmly in the grate, and Britta, whose duty it was to keep this particular room in order, had lit the lamp, a rosy globe supported by a laughing cupid, and had drawn the velvet curtains close at the window to keep out the fog and chilly air there were fragrant flowers on the table, Thelma's own favorite lounge was drawn up to the fender in readiness for her, opposite to it stood the deep, old-fashioned easy chair in which Philip always sat.
I am in astonishment I understand not at all! How comes it that you are run away from home, and Mademoiselle also?" Britta only waited till he was safely seated, and then lashed the pony with redoubled force. Away they clattered at a break-neck pace, the Frenchman having much ado to prevent himself from being jolted out again on the road.
After this parenthesis, she resumed the conversation, Valdemar Svensen sitting silently apart, and related all that had happened since Thelma's arrival at the Altenfjord. She also gave an account of Lovisa Elsland's death, though Britta was not much affected by the loss of her grandmother. "Dreadful old thing!" she said with a shudder. "I'm glad I wasn't with her!
Unfortunately, neither he nor Britta knew of the existence of the good Norwegian innkeeper, Friedhof, who had assisted Thelma in her flight and all their persistent and anxious inquiries elicited no news of her. Moreover, there was no boat of any kind leaving immediately for Norway not even a whaler or fishing-smack.
The tears were in Thelma's eyes too, and she hastened to put her arm round Britta's waist, and tried to soothe her by every loving word she could think of. "Hush, Britta dear! you must not cry," she said tenderly. "What did Philip say?" "He said," jerked out Britta convulsively, "that I was a g-good little g-girl, and that he was g-glad I wanted to g-go!"
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