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Updated: May 7, 2025
Erik had no need of being told that the horse which had attacked Lady Clare was Valders-Roan; and though he would scarcely have been able to prove it, he felt positive that John Garvestad had arranged and probably watched the fight. Having a wholesome dread of jail, he had not dared to steal Lady Clare; but he had chosen this contemptible method to satisfy his senseless jealousy.
Erik walked along slowly, his eyes looking back longingly toward the dancing, and finally Gerda looked back, too. "See, Erik," she said, "the boys have finished, and now the girls are going to dance alone. You would not like to dance with the girls;" and then he followed her willingly to the other side of the island.
"Why did you cry out, Christine?" "Because I am in pain, Erik." "I thought I had frightened you." "Erik, unloose my bonds ... Am I not your prisoner?" "You will try to kill yourself again." "You have given me till eleven o'clock to-morrow evening, Erik." The footsteps dragged along the floor again.
Erik spoke to them so severely of their disloyalty that they fell on their knees in prayer and petition, and when he told them that the best way to gain pardon for their act was to seek and deliver their fugitive leader, they gladly undertook the task. The scared leader of rebels meanwhile was wandering in anguish and alarm through the wide wood, not knowing what to do.
"You are right, little boy," he said; "Mr. Malarius, if he chose, could be the superior of all the doctors in the town, and besides he does not make use of his scientific knowledge to ruin poor people." "Has Doctor Schwaryencrona ruined any one?" asked Erik with curiosity. "Well if he has not done so, it has not been his fault.
The Irishman gave Erik an irresolute look in which gratitude seemed to mingle with fear a look of fearful indecision. "That depends on the kind of confidence that you ask for?" he said, evasively. "Oh, you know very well," answered Erik, making an effort to smile, and taking in his hands those of the wounded man.
Among the Danish stations on the coast of Greenland, he found Godhaven, which is only a poor village, and is used as a depot by dealers in oil and the furs of the country. At this time of the year the cold is not more severe than at Stockholm or Noroe. But Erik and his friends beheld with surprise the great difference between the two countries, both situated at the same distance from the pole.
They were too kindly, too solicitous. Their little pats and caressings presumed too much. One grew sad under their ministrations and murmured to oneself, "Poor child, poor child." Better a half-hour under the cold, amused eyes of his son, Erik. There was something between Erik and him, something like an unspoken argument.
At the west, as well as the north and east, the banks of ice remained firm. It was the 20th of June, and they were still far from the Siberian Sea. Must he confess himself vanquished? Erik could not make up his mind to do this.
Oh, the calamity which robbed him eternally of rest, the sense of it pierces my heart!" Veritable alarm seizes Erik at the earnestness she exhibits, an alarm to something more vital even than his alert jealousy, a terrible fear for her as apart from himself. "Woe's me!" he exclaims, "I am reminded of my ill-boding dream! God have you in his care, Satan has cast his toils about you!"
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