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Updated: August 31, 2025
Britta gazed at him still, with sympathy written on every line of her face, but a great load had been lifted from her mind by his words she began to understand everything. "I'm so sorry for you, Mr. Neville!" she said. "But why didn't you tell all this to the Froeken?" "I couldn't!" murmured Neville desperately.
"Has he gone?" demanded Thelma eagerly. Britta's wonder increased. "Yes, Froeken!" Thelma caught her arm. "Tell Morris never, never to let him inside the house again never!" and her blue eyes flashed wrathfully. "He is a wicked man, Britta! You do not know how wicked he is!" "Oh yes, I do!" and Britta regarded her mistress very steadfastly. "I know quite well! But, then, I must not speak!
It was Britta whose merry eyes sparkled with pride and admiration when she saw her "Froeken" arrayed in gleaming silk or sweeping velvets, with the shine of rare jewels in her rippling hair, it was Britta who took care of all the dainty trifles that gradually accumulated on Thelma's dressing table, in fact, Britta had become a very important personage in her own opinion.
The aurora borealis flashed its brilliant shafts of color against the sable breast of heaven, the tall pines, stripped bare, every branch thick with snow and dropping icicles, stood, pale ghosts of the forest, shedding frozen tears the moon, more like steel than silver, shone frostily cold, her light seeming to deepen rather than soften the dreariness of the land and on on on they went, Britta enveloped to the chin in furs, steadily driving the strange elfin-looking steeds with their horned heads casting long distorted shadows on the white ground, and Philip beside her, urging her on with feverish impatience, while he listened to the smooth trot of the reindeer, the tinkle of the bells on their harness, and the hiss of the sledge across the sparkling snow.
"Froeken! has anything vexed or grieved you today?" Thelma started nervously. "Vexed me grieved me?" she repeated. "No, Britta why do you ask?" "You look very tired, dear Froeken," continued Britta gently. "You are not as bright as you were when we first came to London." Thelma's lips quivered.
As soon as they had disappeared, Thelma turned into the house and seated herself at her spinning-wheel. Britta soon entered the room, carrying the same graceful implement of industry, and the two maidens sat together for some time in a silence unbroken, save by the low melodious whirring of the two wheels, and the mellow complaints of the strutting doves on the window-sill.
That plump buxom figure that tumbled brown hair streaming wildly on, the breeze, that round rosy face why! it was Britta! Britta, driving all alone, with the reckless daring of a Norwegian peasant girl accustomed to the swaying, jolting movement of the carriole as well as the rough roads and sharp turnings. Nearer she came and nearer and Duprez hailed her with a shout of welcome.
What was the good of horrifying the girl by telling her that her deceased relative was to all intents and purposes a murderess? She resolved to let the secret of old Lovisa's life remain buried with her. Therefore she simply answered "Her mind wandered greatly, it was difficult to hear her last words. But it should satisfy you, Britta, to know that she passed away in the fear of the Lord."
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.
"It is not easy to explain," he said. "To run down my own employers wouldn't be in my line. But I've an idea that Clara by which name I allude to my Lord Winsleigh's lady, is up to mischief. She 'ates your lady, Miss Britta 'ates 'er like poison!" "Hates her!" cried Britta in astonishment. "Oh, you must be mistaken, Mr. Briggs! She is as fond of her as she can be almost like a sister to her!"
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