A Hardy Norseman. Lyall Edna

      And with that he began to pace the deck, whistling, as he walked, “The Bridal Song of the Hardanger.”

CHAPTER V.

       Table of Contents

      The event to which we have long eagerly looked forward is seldom all that we have expected, and Frithiof, who for the last two months had been almost hourly rehearsing his arrival in England, felt somewhat depressed and disillusioned when, one chilly Monday morning, he first set foot on English soil. The Southerner, arriving at Folkestone or Dover, with their white cliffs and sunny aspect, gains a cheerful impression as he steps ashore; but the Norwegian leaving behind him his mountains and fjords, and coming straight to that most dingy and unattractive town, Hull, is at great disadvantage.

      A fine, drizzling rain was falling; in the early morning the shabby, dirty houses looked their very worst. Swarms of grimy little children had been turned out of their homes, and were making their way to morning school, and hundreds of busy men and women were hurrying through the streets, all with worn, anxious-looking faces. As he walked to the railway station Frithiof felt almost overpowered by the desolateness of the place. To be a mere unit in this unthinking, unheeding crowd, to be pushed and jostled by the hurrying passengers, who all walked as if their very lives depended on their speed, to hear around him the rapidly spoken foreign language, with its strange north-country accent, all made him feel very keenly that he was indeed a foreigner in a strange land. He was glad to be once more in a familiar-looking train, and actually on his way to London; and soon all these outer impressions faded away in the absorbing consciousness that he was actually on his way to Blanche—that on the very next day he might hope to see her again.

      Fortunately the Tuesday proved to be a lovely, still, autumn day. He did not like to call upon Mr. Morgan till the afternoon, and, indeed, thought that he should scarcely find him at home earlier, so he roamed about London, and looked at his watch about four times an hour, till at length the time came when he could call a hansom and drive to Lancaster Gate.

      There are some houses which the moment you enter them suggest to you the idea of money. The Morgans’ house was one of these; everything was faultlessly arranged; your feet sank into the softest of carpets, you were served by the most obsequious of servants, all that was cheap or common or ordinary was banished from view, and you felt that the chair you sat on was a very superior chair, that all the pictures and ornaments were the very best that could be bought, and that ordinary people who could not boast of a very large income were only admitted into this aggressively superior dwelling on sufferance. With all its grandeur, it was not a house which tempted you to break the tenth commandment; it inspired you with a kind of wonder, and if the guests had truly spoken the thought which most frequently occurred to them, it would have been: “I wonder now what he gave for this? It must have cost a perfect fortune!”

      As to Frithiof, when he was shown into the great empty drawing-room with its luxurious couches and divans and its wonderful collection of the very best upholstery and the most telling works of art, he felt, as strongly as he had felt in the dirty streets of Hull, that he was a stranger and a foreigner. In the whole room there was nothing which suggested to him the presence of Blanche; on the contrary, there was everything which combated the vision of those days at Balholm and of their sweet freedom. He felt stifled, and involuntarily crossed the room and looked from the window at the green grass in Kensington Gardens, and the tall elm-trees with their varying autumn tints.

      Before many minutes had passed, however, his host came into the room, greeting him politely but somewhat stiffly. “Glad to make your acquaintance,” he said, scanning him a little curiously as he spoke. “I heard of you, of course, from my brother. I am sure they are all very much indebted to you for planning their Norwegian tour for them so well.”

      Had he also heard of him from Blanche? Had she indeed prepared the way for him? Or would his request come as a surprise? These were the thoughts which rushed through Frithiof’s mind as he sat opposite the Englishman and noted his regular features, short, neat-looking, gray beard, closely cropped hair, and rather cold eyes.

      Any one watching the two could scarcely have conceived a greater contrast: the young Norwegian, eager, hopeful, bearing in his face the look of one who has all the world before him; the middle-aged Englishman who had bought his experience, and in whose heart enthusiasm, and eager enjoyment of life, and confident belief in those he encountered, had long ceased to exist. Nevertheless, though Mr. Morgan was a hard-headed and a somewhat cold-blooded man, he felt a little sorry for his guest, and reflected to himself that such a fine looking fellow was far more fit for the post at Stavanger than his own son Cyril.

      “It is curious that you should have come to-day,” he remarked, after they had exchanged the usual platitudes about the weather and the voyage and the first impressions of England. “Only to-day the final decision was arrived at about this long-mooted idea of the new branch of our firm at Stavanger. Perhaps you have heard rumors of it?”

      “I have heard nothing at all,” said Frithiof. “My father did not even mention it.”

      “It is scarcely possible that he has heard nothing of the idea,” said Mr. Morgan. “When I saw you I had thought he had sent you over on that very account. However, you have not as yet gone into the business, I understand?”

      “I am to be taken into partnership this autumn,” said Frithiof. “I was of age the other day, and have only waited for that.”

      “Strange,” said Mr. Morgan, “that only this very morning the telegram should have been sent to your father. Had I known you were in England, I would have waited. One can say things better face to face. And yet I don’t know how that could have been either, for there was a sudden chance of getting good promises at Stavanger, and delay was impossible. I shall, of course, write fully to your father by the next mail, and I will tell him that it is with great regret we sever our connection with him.”

      Frithiof was so staggered by this unexpected piece of news that for a minute all else was driven from his mind.

      “He will be very sorry to be no longer your agent,” he said.

      “And I shall be sorry to lose him. Herr Falck has always been most honorable. I have the greatest respect for him. Still, business is business; one can’t afford to sentimentalize in life over old connections. It is certainly best in the interest of our firm to set up a branch of our own with its headquarters at Stavanger. My son will go there very shortly.”

      “The telegram is only just sent, you say?” asked Frithiof.

      “The first thing this morning,” replied Mr. Morgan. “It was decided on last night. By this time your father knows all about it; indeed, I almost wonder we have had no reply from him. You must not let the affair make any breach between us; it is after all, a mere business necessity. I must find out from Mrs. Morgan what free nights we have, and you must come and dine with us. I will write and let you know. Have you any particular business in London? or have you only come for the sake of traveling?”

      “I came to see you, sir,” said Frithiof, his heart beating quickly, though he spoke with his usual directness. “I came to ask your consent to my betrothal with your daughter.”

      “With my daughter!” exclaimed Mr. Morgan. “Betrothal! What, in Heaven’s name, can you be thinking of?”

      “I do not, of course, mean that there was a definite engagement between us,” said Frithiof, speaking all the more steadily because of this repulse. “Of course we could not have thought of that until we had asked your consent. We agreed that I should come over this autumn and speak to you about it; nothing passed at Balholm but just the assurance that we loved each other.”

      “Loved each other!” ejaculated Mr. Morgan, beginning to pace the room with a look of perplexity and annoyance. “What folly will the girl commit next?”

      At this Frithiof also rose to his feet, the angry color rising to his face. “I should never have spoken of my love to your daughter had I not been in a position