said briefly under his breath.

Old Gueldmar laughed and looked at the young baronet approvingly.

"Who knows, who knows!" he said cheerfully. "You may do it some day! It
will be a good deed! I will do it myself if he troubles me much more.
And now let us make some arrangement with you. When will you come and
see, us again?"

"You must visit me first," said Sir Philip quickly. "If you and your
daughter will honor me with your company to-morrow, I shall be proud and
pleased. Consider the yacht at your service."

Thelma, resting among the roses, looked across at him with serious,
questioning eyes--eyes that seemed to be asking his intentions towards
both her and her father.

Gueldmar accepted the invitation at once, and, the hour for their visit
next day being fixed and agreed upon, the young men began to take their
leave. As Errington clasped Thelma's hand in farewell, he made a bold
venture. He touched a rose that hung just above her head almost dropping
on her hair.

"May I have it?" he asked in a low tone.

Their eyes met. The girl flushed deeply, and then grew pale. She broke
off the flower and gave it to him,--then turned to Lorimer to say
good-bye. They left her then, standing under the porch, shading her brow
with one hand from the glittering sunlight, as she watched them
descending the winding path to the shore, accompanied by her lather, who
hospitably insisted on seeing them into their boat. They looked back
once or twice, always to see the slender, tall white figure standing
there like an angel resting in a bower of roses, with the sunshine
flashing on a golden crown of hair. At the last in the pathway Philip
raised his hat and waved it, but whether she condescended to wave her
hand in answer he could not see.

Left alone, she sighed, and went slowly into the house to resume her
spinning. Hearing the whirr of the wheel, the servant Britta entered.

"You are not going in the boat, Froeken?" she asked in a tone of mingled
deference and affection.

Thelma looked up, smiled faintly, and shook her head in the negative.

"It is late, Britta, and I am tired."

And the deep blue eyes had an intense dreamy light within them as they
wandered from the wheel to the wide-open window, and rested on the
majestic darkness of the overshadowing, solemn pines.

CHAPTER VII.

"In mezzo del mio core c' e una spina;
Non c' e barbier che la possa levare,--
Solo il mio amore colla sua manina"