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Sigurd still gazed upon him. "And you,--you do not love Thelma?" he
murmured.
Lorimer started, but controlled himself instantly. His frank English
eyes met the feverishly brilliant ones fixed so appealingly upon him.
"Certainly not!" he said calmly, with a serene smile. "What makes you
think of such a thing? Quite wrong, Sigurd,--the spirits have made a
mistake again! Come along,--let us join the others."
But Sigurd would not accompany him. He sprang away like a frightened
animal, in haste, and abruptly plunging into the depths of a wood that
bordered on Olaf Gueldmar's grounds, was soon lost to sight. Lorimer
looked after him in a little perplexity.
"I wonder if he ever gets dangerous?" he thought. "A fellow with such
queer notions might do some serious harm without meaning it. I'll keep
an eye on him!"
And once or twice during that same evening, he felt inclined to speak to
Errington on the subject, but no suitable opportunity presented
itself--and after a while, with his habitual indolence, he partly forgot
the circumstance.


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