Neither wife nor child, nor living
relative had Valdemar; the one passion of his heart was the sea. Sir
Philip Errington had engaged him at Christiansund, hearing of him there
as a man to whom the intricacies of the Fjords, and the dangers of
rock-bound coasts, were more familiar than a straight road on dry lake,
and since then the management of the _Eulalie_ had been entirely
entrusted to him. Though an eminently practical sailor, he was half a
mystic, and believed in the wildest legends of his land with more
implicit faith than many so-called Christians believe in their sacred
doctrines. He doffed his red cap respectfully now as Errington and
Lorimer approached, smilingly wishing them "a fair day." Sir Philip
offered him a cigar, and, coming to the point at once, asked abruptly--
"I say, Svensen, are there any pretty girls in Bosekop?"
The pilot drew the newly lit cigar from his mouth, and passed his rough
hand across his forehead in a sort of grave perplexity.
"It is a matter in which I am foolish," he said at last, "for my ways
have always gone far from the ways of women.
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