Good Books

He fell prone on her body insensible,--and not for
many hours did the people of the place dare to tell him that he was the
father of a living child--a girl, with the great blue eyes and white
skin of her mother. He would scarce look at it--but at last, when roused
a bit, he carried the little thing in his arms to the great Convent at
Arles, and, giving the nuns money, he bade them take it and bring it up
as they would, only giving it the name of Thelma. Then poor Erlandsen
came home--he sought me out:--he said, 'Olaf, I feel that I am going on
my last voyage. Promise you will see to my child--guard her, if you can,
from an evil fate! For me there is no future!' I promised, and strove to
cheer him--but he spoke truly--his ship went down in a storm on the Bay
of Biscay, and all on board were lost. Then it was that I commenced my
journeyings to and fro, to see the little maiden that was growing up in
the Convent at Arles. I watched her for sixteen years--and when she
reached her seventeenth birthday, I married her and brought her to
Norway.


Pages:
348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372