As he reached the house, he stopped short and
uttered a wild exclamation. There,--under the porch hung with sparkling
icicles,--stood Thelma! . . . Thelma,--her face pale and weary, yet
smiling faintly,--Thelma with the glint of her wondrous gold hair
escaping from under her hat, and glittering on the folds of her dark fur
mantle.
"I have come home, Valdemar!" said the sweet, rich, penetrating voice.
"Where is my father?"
As a man distraught, or in some dreadful dream, Valdemar approached
her--the strangeness of his look and manner filled her with sudden
fear,--he caught her hand and pointed to the dark Fjord--to the spot
where gleamed a lurid waving wreath of flames.
"Froeken Thelma--he is _there_!" he gasped in choked, hoarse tones.
"_there_--where the gods have called him!"
With a faint shriek of terror, Thelma's blue eyes turned toward the
shadowy water,--as she looked, a long up-twisting snake of fire appeared
to leap from the perishing _Valkyrie_,--a snake that twined its
glittering coils rapidly round and round on the wind, and as rapidly
sank--down--down--to one glimmering spark which glowed redly like a
floating lamp for a brief space,--and was then quenched for ever! The
ship had vanished! Thelma needed no explanation,--she knew her father's
creed--she understood all.
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