He wondered again and again what relationship, if any, this half-crazed being bore to the _bonde_ and his daughter.

That he knew all about them was pretty evident; but how?
Catching sight of the pansies left on the deck bench, Errington took them, and, descending to the saloon, set them on the table in a tumbler of water.
"Thelma's thoughts, the poor little fellow called them," he mused, with a smile.

"A pretty fancy of his, and linked with the crazy imaginings of Ophelia too.

'There's pansies, that's for thoughts,' _she_ said, but Sigurd's idea is different; he believes they are Thelma's own thoughts in flower.

'No rough touch has spoiled their smoothness,' he declared; he's right there, I'm sure.