en eyes. "To battle with the
tempest,--to laugh at the wrath of waters,--to set one's face against
the wild wind,--to sport with the elements as though they were children
or serfs,--this is the joy of manhood! A joy," he added slowly, "that
few so-called men of to-day can ever feel."

Errington smiled gravely. "Perhaps you are right, sir," he said; "but
perhaps, at the same time, you forget that life has grown very bitter to
all of us during the last hundred years or so. Maybe the world is
getting old and used up, maybe the fault is in ourselves,--but it is
certain that none of us nowadays are particularly happy, except at rare
intervals when--"

At that moment, in a lull of the storm, Thelma's voice pealed upwards
from the saloon. She was singing a French song, and the refrain rang out
clearly--

"Ah! le doux son d'un baiser tendre!"

Errington paused abruptly in his speech, and turning towards a little
closed and covered place on deck which was half cabin, half
smoking-room, and which he kept as his own private sanctum, he unlocked
it, saying--

"Will you come in here, sir? It's not very spacious, but I think it's
just the place for a chat,--especially a private one."

Gueldmar entered, but did not sit down,--Errington shut the door against
the rain and beating spray and also remained standing. After a pause,
during which the _bonde_ seemed struggling with some inward emotion, he
said resolutely--

"Sir Philip, you are a young man, and I am an old one. I would not
willingly offend you--for I like you--yes!" And the old man looked up
frankly: "I like you enough to respect you--which is more than I can say
to many men I have known! But I have a weight on my heart that must be
lifted. You and my child have been much together for many days,--and I
was an old fool not to have foreseen the influence your companionship
might have upon her. I may be mistaken in the idea that has taken hold
of me--some wild words let fall by the poor boy Sigurd this morning,
when he entreated my pardon for his misconduct of yesterday, have
perhaps misled my judgment,--but--by the gods! I cannot put it into
suitable words! I--"

"You think I love your daughter?" said Sir Philip quietly. "You are not
mistaken, Sir! I love her with my whole heart and soul! I want you to
give her to me as my wife."

A change passed over the old farmer's face. He grew deathly pale, and
put out one hand feebly as though to seek some support. Erringto