THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. 
271 
lips of that rare tint which lines the conch-shell. Such 
was the Chatelaine of Kaafiord,—as perfect a type of 
Norse beauty as ever my Saga lore had conjured up! 
Frithiof’s Ingleborg herself seemed to stand before me. 
A few minutes afterwards, two little fair-haired maidens, 
like twin snowdrops, stole into the room; and the sweet 
home picture was complete. 
The rest of the day has been a continued fete. 
In vain—after having transacted my business—I 
pleaded the turning of the tide, and our anxiety to 
get away to sea; nothing would serve our kind en¬ 
tertainer but that we should stay to dinner; and his 
was one of those strong energetic wills it is difficult 
to resist. 
In the afternoon, the Hammerfest steamer called in 
from the southward, and by her came two fair sisters 
of our hostess from their father’s home in one of the 
Loffodens which overlook the famous Maelstrom. The 
stories about the violence of the whirlpool Mr. T- 
assures me are ridiculously exaggerated. On ordinary 
occasions the site of the supposed vortex is perfectly 
unruffled, and it is only when a strong weather tide 
is running that any unusual movements in the water 
