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"
Lorimer poked his friend secretly in the ribs.
"You've been dreaming, old fellow!" he whispered slyly. "I knew it was a
crammer!"
Errington shook him off good-humoredly.
"Can you tell me," he said, addressing Valdemar again in distinct
accents, "whether there is any place, person, or thing near here called
_Thelma_?"
The pilot started; a look of astonishment and fear came into his eyes;
his hand went instinctively to his red cap, as though in deference to
the name.
"The Froeken Thelma!" he exclaimed, in low tones. "Is it possible that
you have seen her?"
"Ah, George, what do you say now?" cried Errington delightedly. "Yes,
yes, Valdemar; the Froeken Thelma, as you call her. Who is she? . . .
What is she?--and how can there be no pretty girls in Bosekop if such a
beautiful creature as she lives there?"
Valdemar looked troubled and vexed.
"Truly, I thought not of the maiden," he said gravely. "'Tis not for me
to speak of the daughter of Olaf," here his voice sank a little, and his
face grew more and more sombre.


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