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Updated: June 22, 2025
Meanwhile, Olaf Gueldmar, with Errington and the others, had just landed at Bosekop after a heavy pull across the Fjord, and they made straight for Mr. Dyceworthy's house, the bonde working himself up as he walked into a positive volcano of wrath.
Thelma rose, surprised as his gesticulations, and came towards him; to her utter astonishment she found herself confronted by old Lovisa Elsland, and the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy's servant, Ulrika. On both women's faces there was a curious expression of mingled fear, triumph, and malevolence. Lovisa was the first to break silence.
He'll be like that Indian in 'Vathek' who rolled himself into a ball; no one could resist kicking as long as the ball bounded before them, we, similarly, shall not be able to resist, if Dyceworthy's fat person is once left at our mercy." "That was a grand bit he told us, Errington," resumed Macfarlane.
Dyceworthy's movements. For he was undoubtedly popular, no one could deny that. In the small Yorkshire town where he usually had his abode, he came little short of being adored by the women of his own particular sect, who crowded to listen to his fervent discourses, and came away from them on the verge of hysteria, so profoundly moved were their sensitive souls by his damnatory doctrines.
"I say, Lorimer," he said, with his deep-set, small grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "'Twould be grand fun to see auld Dyceworthy's face when he hears o't. By the Lord! He'll fall to cursin' an' swearin' like ma pious aunt in Glasgie, or that auld witch that cursed Miss Thelma yestreen!" "An eminently unpleasant old woman she was!" said Lorimer musingly. "I wonder what she meant by it!"
Dyceworthy's voice deepened in solemnity, "there is a way which the Lord hath whispered in mine ears, a way that pointeth to the white robe and the crown of glory, a way by which you shall possess the inner peace of the heart with bliss on earth as the forerunner of bliss in heaven!" She looked at him steadfastly. "And that way is what?" she inquired. Mr.
It was like Dyceworthy's impudence, of course, but there's no doubt he proposed to her, and it's equally certain that she rejected him. I thought I'd tell you you had a rival, not in me, as you seemed to think yesterday, but in our holy fat friend." "Rival! pshaw!" returned Errington, with an angry laugh. "He is not worth kicking!" "Possibly not!
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