Chapter 8 - Page 2

hinted of his relations with Elizabeth, and that the latter had
even taken refuge in his house, seemed all only too probable. He knew
both the men who had been speaking; they were respectable folks, and the
one besides had had the news from the aunt herself.

There was hard work that day on board, but his hands were as if they had
been benumbed. It was impossible for him to give any assistance, except
in appearance, when any hauling was to be done;--he did everything
mechanically.

"Are you sick, lad, or longing after your sweetheart?" said the mate to
him in the course of the afternoon. He saw that there was something
wrong with him.

That last, "after your sweetheart," had a wonderfully rousing influence.
He felt himself all at once relieved of his heavy feeling of exhaustion,
and worked now so hard that the perspiration poured down his face,
joining in the hauling song from time to time with a wild, unnatural
energy: he was afraid to leave himself a moment for thought. When the
day was over, however, he took the anchor watch for a comrade, who was
overjoyed at the unexpected prospect of getting a quiet night in his
hammock, and at escaping from his turn of "ship's dog"--that watch
consisting of one man only, whose business it is to keep the ship from
harbour-thieves.

He paced up and down the deck alone in the pitchy darkness, that was
only relieved by a lantern or two out in the harbour, and a light here
and there up in the town--sometimes standing for long minutes together,
with his cheek on his hand, leaning on the railing. He could, without
the slightest scruple, murder young Beck--that he felt.

At two o'clock he crossed over to the boards that were sloped against
the vessel's side, slid down them in the dark to the slip, and from
there made his way ashore. Elizabeth's aunt lived in one of the small
houses above; and he had determined to wake her and have a talk with
her.

Widow Kirstine was a portly, somewhat worn perhaps, but otherwise
strong-looking, old woman, with a good broad face, and thin grey hair
drawn down behind her ears. She was not unused to being disturbed at
night, one of her occupations being to nurse sick people; but she always
grumbled whenever she was. When she held up the candle she had lit, and
recognised Salvé Kristiansen, she thought, from his paleness and general
appearance, that he was drunk.

"Is that you, Salvé?--and a pretty state to be in at this time of
night!" she began, severely, in the doorway, not caring to let him in at
first. "Is that the way you spend your wages?"

"No, mother, it's not. I've come off my watch; I wanted to have a word
with you about