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"Mon Dieu! what would become
of my life?"
It was a new suggestion, and he reflected upon it with astonishment. It
opened such a wide vista of impossibilities to his mind.
Meanwhile old Gueldmar was engaged in pouring out wine for the other
young men, talking all the time.
"I tell thee, Thelma mine," he said seriously, "something must be very
wrong with our Sigurd. The poor lad has always been gentle and
tractable, but to-day he was like some wild animal for mischief and
hardihood. I grieve to see it! I fear the time may come when he may no
longer be a safe servant for thee, child!"
"Oh, father!"--and the girl's voice was full of tender anxiety--"surely
not! He is too fond of us to do us any harm--he is so docile and
affectionate!"
"Maybe, maybe!" and the old farmer shook his head doubtfully. "But when
the wits are away the brain is like a ship without ballast--there is no
safe sailing possible. He would not mean any harm, perhaps,--and yet in
his wild moods he might do it, and be sorry for it directly afterwards.


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