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Updated: May 17, 2025
He had no remembrance of what had occurred, after he had emptied young Macfarlane's flask of Glenlivet; he had no idea that he had been almost carried from his garden into his parlor, and there flung on the sofa and left to sleep off the effects of his strong tipple; least of all did he dream that he had betrayed any of his intentions towards Thelma Gueldmar, or given his religious opinions with such free and undisguised candor.
Olaf Gueldmar, after a long and apparently sorrowful pause, resumed his conversation. "Yes," he said, "Thelma is a Catholic, though here she has scarcely any opportunity for performing the duties of her religion. It is a pretty and a graceful creed, well fitted for women. As for me, I am made of sterner stuff, and the maxims of that gentle creature, Christ, find no echo in my soul.
This cortege was evidently an object of curiosity, the on-lookers eyed it askance, and with a sort of fear. For did it not belong to the terrible bonde, Olaf Gueldmar? and would not the Laplander, a useful boy, well known in Talvig, come to some fatal harm by watching, even for a few minutes, the property of an acknowledged pagan? Who could tell?
Though the young men were ignorant of the meaning of the words still old Gueldmar translated them for their benefit, they could feel the intensity of the passion vibrating through her ringing tones, and Errington sighed involuntarily. She heard the sigh, and turned round on the music-stool laughing. "Are you so tired, or sad, or what is it?" she asked merrily. "It is too melancholy a tune?
"Ah!" yawned Lorimer, "you may wonder away, Sandy, but it's true enough! Old Gueldmar is an Odinite. In this blessed, enlightened nineteenth century of ours, when Christians amuse themselves by despising and condemning each other, and thus upsetting all the precepts of the Master they profess to follow, there is actually a man who sticks to the traditions of his ancestors. Odd, isn't it?
Not only were they enchanted with her, but they were thoroughly delighted with her father, Olaf Gueldmar.
I freely pardon your trespass; take your leave, and go in peace." The two friends exchanged disconsolate looks. There really seemed nothing for it, but to obey this unpleasing command. Errington made one more venture. "May I hope, Mr. Gueldmar," he said with persuasive courtesy, "that you will break through your apparent rule of seclusion for once and visit me on board my yacht?
Their antlered heads cast fantastic patterns on the snow in the varying rose and azure radiance that rippled from the waving ribbons of the aurora, and close to them, his slowly trickling life-blood staining the white ground, his hair and beard glittering in the light like frosted silver, his eyes fast closed as though he slept, lay Olaf Gueldmar unconscious dying.
Moreover, the actual meenister of the parish declared it was a' richt, an' said this Gueldmar was a mon o' vera queer notions, an' maybe, had buried his wife wi' certain ceremonies peculiar to himself What's wrong wi' ye now?" For a light had flashed on Errington's mind, and with the quick comprehension it gave him, his countenance cleared. He laughed. "That's very likely," he said; "Mr.
If Gueldmar was suspected, as you say, why didn't somebody arrest him on the charge?" "Because, ye see," replied Macfarlane, "there was not sufficient proof to warrant such a proceeding.
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