n piety," he said. "She minds me o'
a glowerin' auld warlock of an aunt o' mine in Glasgie, wha sits in her
chair a' day wi' ae finger on the Bible. She says she's gaun straight to
heaven by special invitation o' the Lord, leavin' a' her blood relations
howlin' vainly after her from their roastin' fires down below. Ma
certes! she'll give ye a good rousin' curse if ye like! She's cursed me
ever since I can remember her,--cursed me in and out from sunrise to
sunset,--but I'm no the worse for't as yet,--an' it's dootful whether
she's any the better."

"And yet Lovisa Elsland used to be as merry and lissom a lass as ever
stepped," said Gueldmar musingly. "I remember her well when both she and
I were young. I was always on the sea at that time,--never happy unless
the waves tossed me and my vessel from one shore to another. I suppose
the restless spirit of my fathers was in me. I was never contented
unless I saw some new coast every six months or so. Well! . . . Lovisa
was always foremost among the girls of the village who watched me leave
the Fjord,--and however long or short a time I might be absent, she was
certain to be on the shore when my ship came sailing home again. Many a
joke I have cracked with her and her companions--and she was a bonnie
enough creature to look at then, I tell you,--though now she is like a
battered figure-head on a wreck. Her marriage, spoiled her temper,--her
husband was as dark and sour a man as could be met with in all Norway,
and when he and his fishing-boat sank in a squall off the Lofoden
Islands, I doubt if she shed many tears for his loss. Her only
daughter's husband went down in the same storm,--and he but three months
wedded,--and the girl,--Britta's mother,--pined and pined, and even when
her child was born took no sort of comfort in it. She died four years
after Britta's birth--her death was hastened, so I have heard, through
old Lovisa's harsh treatment,--anyhow the little lass she left behind
her had no very easy time of it all alone with her grandmother,--eh
Britta?"

Britta looked up and shook her head emphatically.

"Then," went on Gueldmar, "when my girl came back the last time from
France, Britta chanced to see her, and, strangely enough,"--here he
winked shrewdly--"took a fancy to her face,--odd, wasn't it? However,
nothing would suit her but that she must be Thelma's handmaiden, and
here she is. Now you know her history,--she would be happy enough if her
grandmother would