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Updated: May 3, 2025
His son Sigismund was born here in the year 1566, and the room and bed in which he was born are still shewn as curiosities. Eric's fate was much more unfortunate, for he was kept in narrow and dark confinement. A small rudely-furnished apartment, with narrow, iron-barred windows, in one of the little turrets was his prison.
That, as it seemed to me, was the best thing that I could do, and I headed my horse at once for the hill, going slowly, for it was no great distance, and it was heavy going in the places where the snow had gathered in drifts. I thought that maybe I should cross the track of the horses and hounds, or hear Eric's horn before I had gone far, but I reached the foot of the hill without doing either.
"No, I think I should faint if I had to go upstairs," I answered. "Yet I can't stay here. What shall I do?" "What about Uncle Eric's study?" Di asked. She always calls Lord Mountstuart 'Uncle Eric, though he isn't her uncle. Her mother and his wife were sisters, that's all: and then there was the other sister who married the British Secretary for Foreign Affairs, a cousin of Lord Mountstuart's.
When she had thanked him, he asked with trepidation whether she had heard from Jack. An hour seemed to pass while she rang for her letters and looked at the postmarks. "There's nothing from Switzerland," she announced at length. Eric's heart leapt with relief. Agnes had written; surely Jack could have written, too, had he wished?
I'll warrant you were adept enough at it once. And you'd better be very nice indeed, for if there are many such young Valkyries as Eric's sister among them, they would simply tie you up in a knot if they suspected you were guying them." Wyllis groaned and sank back into the hammock to consider his fate, while his sister went on. "And the guests, Mr. Lockhart, did they accept?"
Can you imagine how it would feel if to-day you were to hear the first story of your life? "All ready?" asked Helma. The silence in the room said plainer than words that all was ready for the World Story. This time it was a story about a man named Saint Francis, and a story after Eric's own heart. Almost as fast as the story went the work of Helma's fingers.
Ivra begged. Wild Star looked doubtful. "Perhaps she wouldn't want to come." Ivra laughed merrily at that. "Then take us to her," she said, "and you will see how she wants to come when we ask her." "Give us your hands, then!" They held out their hands. Ivra's was grasped by Wild Star's and Eric's by another Wind Creature. With their free hands they clasped each other's.
They hardly understood the look on Eric's countenance; he had been taking far more than was good for him; his eyes sparkled fiercely, and though as yet he said nothing, he seemed to be resenting the intrusion in furious silence. "How much longer is this interesting lecture to last?" asked Bull, with his usual insufferable drawl; "for I want to finish my brandy."
They passed the last island, covered with a copse of willows as high as a tall man's head, and came into an open stretch of water bordered by rolling pasture lands, filled with daisies and mild-eyed cattle. Sigurd clutched the English boy's arm excitedly. "Yonder are Eric's ship-sheds! And there over that hill, where the smoke is rising there is Brattahlid!" "There?" exclaimed Alwin.
It was from Larry West, and after the first few lines Eric's face lost the absent look it had worn and assumed an expression of interest. "I am writing to ask a favour of you, Marshall," wrote West. "The fact is, I've fallen into the hands of the Philistines that is to say, the doctors. I've not been feeling very fit all winter but I've held on, hoping to finish out the year.
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