_
Errington and Lorimer pulled away across the Fjord in a silence that
lasted for many minutes. Old Gueldmar stood on the edge of his little
pier to watch them out of sight. So, till their boat turned the sharp
corner of the protecting rock, that hid the landing-place from view,
they saw his picturesque figure and gleaming silvery hair outlined
clearly against the background of the sky--a sky now tenderly flushed
with pink like the inside of a delicate shell. When they could no longer
perceive him they still rowed on speaking no word,--the measured,
musical plash of the oars through the smooth, dark olive-green water
alone breaking the stillness around them. There was a curious sort of
hushed breathlessness in the air; fantastic, dream-like lights and
shadows played on the little wrinkling waves; sudden flushes of crimson
came and went in the western horizon, and over the high summits of the
surrounding mountains mysterious shapes, formed of purple and grey mist,
rose up and crept softly downwards, winding in and out deep valleys and
dark ravines, like wandering spirits sent on some secret and sorrowful
errand.
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