Such indeed was the fact,—Thelma had been several days on her journey from Hull, and during that time had eaten so little that her strength had entirely given way. The provisions on board the Black Polly were extremely limited, and consisted of nothing but dried fish, hard bread, and weak tea, without milk or sugar,—and in her condition of health, her system had rebelled against this daily untempting bill of fare. Ulrika's simple but sustaining beverage seemed more than delicious to her palate,—she drained it to the last drop, and, as she returned the cup, a feint color came back to her cheeks and lips.
"Thank you," she said feebly. "You are very good to me! And now I do quite know what I wished to say. It was long ago—there was a queen, named Thelma, and some one—a great warrior, loved her and found her fair. But presently he grew tired of her face—and raised an army against her, and took her throne by force, and crowned himself king of all her land. And the song says that Queen Thelma wandered on the mountains all alone till she died—it was a sad song—but I forget—the end."
And her voice trailed off into broken murmurs, her eyes closed, and she slept. Ulrika watched her musingly and tenderly—wondering what secret trouble weighed on the girl's mind. When Valdemar Svensen presently looked in, she made him a warning sign—and, hushing his footsteps, he went away again. She followed him out into the kitchen, where he had deposited his load of pine-wood, and began to talk to him in low tones. He listened,—the expression of grief and fear deepened on his countenance as he heard.
"Will she die?" he asked anxiously.
"Let us hope not," returned Ulrika, "But there is no doubt she is very ill, and will be worse. What has brought her here, I wonder? Do you know?"
Valdemar shook his head.
"Where is her husband?" went on Ulrika. "He ought to be here. How could he have let her make such a journey at such a time! Why did he not come with her? There must be something wrong!"
Svensen looked, as he felt, completely perplexed and despairing. He could think of no reason for Thelma's unexpected appearance at the Altenfjord—he had forgotten all about the letter that had come from her to her father,—the letter which was still in the house, unopened.
"Well, well! It is very strange!" Ulrika sighed resignedly. "But it is the Lord's will—and we must do our best for her, that's all." And she began to enumerate a list of things she wanted from Bosekop for her patient's sustenance and comfort. "You must fetch all these," she said, "as soon as the day is fairly advanced." She glanced at the clock—it was just four in the morning. "And at the same time, you had better call at the doctor's house."
"He's away," interrupted Valdemar. "Gone to Christiania."