The fire was rekindled, the coffee made, and the conversation was then resumed.
"Would to Heaven our people were safe at home again!" exclaimed Christine. "I am so terrified at the risk they are running to-night."
"And with good reason too," said one of the women. "There is sure to be sorrow among some of us to-morrow, for the firing has been going on at least half-an-hour. But we must comfort ourselves by remembering that storm and sunshine come from the same hand; and if some are sufferers others will be gainers, for no doubt there will be a good deal of prize-money from so large a ship. You, at any rate, can take things easily, my good Stine, for if anything should happen to your old man, your fate won"t be very hard--you will soon have another and a younger husband. Besides, Jan Steffens always gets a double portion of any prize-money, or any treasure that is found, though all the other men risk their lives as much as he does his."
"Oh, come now," cried another, "Christine has twice as much cause of anxiety as we have. We have only _one_ to think of--she has _two_."
"Two!" exclaimed Christine. "What do you mean?"
"Why, have you not first your old husband, and then a young sweetheart in the background? I mean Kjeld Olsen."
While Christine was reflecting what answer to make to this sudden attack, another woman said,
"There is no fear of anything happening to Kjeld Olsen to-night; he was wiser than to put himself into jeopardy, so he remained at home, and let them go without him. Of course he had good reasons for determining to spare his own life--old Jan Steffens may lose his."
Up to this moment Christine had not made any reply to their rude jests, hut her patience was now exhausted, her pale cheeks turned crimson, and rising up she said firmly,
"You have not been speaking the truth. Kjeld is to-night where he always delights to be, in the midst of danger, the boldest among the bold."
"Who is speaking of Kjeld?" asked Skipper Ellen, who had entered the room at that moment. "He is standing down yonder on the sh.o.r.e, and trying hard to persuade Poul Mikkelsen, at any price, to take him over in his boat to the English ship."
"There now, you hear he is at home," cried the woman, who had first mentioned the fact. "It is well you came, Ellen, for Christine would not believe our word."
"Will you come down to the sh.o.r.e?" asked Ellen; "the rain is over, the wind has lulled, and the moon is shining clearly."
"Yes, let us go," said Christine, laying aside the empty coffee-cups.
"Ah! now we shall see what is the matter with poor Kjeld."
"Of course old Jan Steffens did not care to have his company," said the most ill-natured woman. "No doubt he knew pretty well where Kjeld"s thoughts would be wandering to."
"And _I_ say you are quite mistaken," replied Ellen, casting a look of angry scorn on the woman. "It would be a happy thing for you, Birthe, if you had a son, or anyone belonging to you, that resembled Kjeld."
So saying, she took Christine by the arm and went towards the sh.o.r.e, followed by the rest of the women. It had ceased raining, and the wind had abated, but the sea was still much agitated, and the noise of firing was yet to be heard. Kjeld was standing in earnest conversation with an old man, who was leaning on a staff, and who shook his head occasionally as if refusing something.
"What is the matter, Kjeld?" asked Skipper Ellen. "And why have you not gone with the rest of them?"
"Jan Steffens said there were too many in the boats," he answered evasively.
"Ay--and now he insists upon following them," said the old man, "and offers me everything he has to help him to row over yonder. But the weather is too bad. I won"t trust my boat out in such a wild sea."
"What nonsense!" cried Ellen, jeeringly. "Are you afraid of risking your life, Poul?"
"You know better, Ellen," replied the old man. "I have no fear for my life, but if I lose my boat my children will starve."
"That is a serious consideration, to be sure," said Ellen, "but the young man shall go, notwithstanding, and if you won"t accompany him, _I_ will. Come here, Kjeld--when you and I put our strength together I think we shall manage to reach the other side."
Kjeld uttered a cry of joy, shook Ellen"s hand warmly, and exclaimed, "May G.o.d bless and reward you, dear good Ellen; I shall never forget your kindness."
"As to your boat, Poul, you must not be alarmed if we borrow it," said Ellen. "If we are unlucky, and the sea takes us, my boat lies drawn up on the land, newly painted and just put to rights; and in the village yonder I have a small house--you can take both as payment if your boat be lost. But Kjeld _shall_ go as he wishes."
"Don"t attempt to go, Ellen," cried one of the women, "you will only get into trouble."
"With G.o.d"s help I have no fear of that. The lad shall go, if we should cross in one of my fishing-boats."
She forced herself through the circle of women who had gathered around her, and hastened to the sh.o.r.e, where Kjeld had already placed himself in the frail boat. Ellen got into it, and, standing up, seized an oar.
Soon after the boat glided out to sea, and the somewhat hazardous voyage was begun.
"She is a wonderful woman, that Ellen!" exclaimed one of those who were looking on. "A lucky fellow he was who got her for a wife; there"s nothing she can"t turn her hand to; and she can work as well as the best man among them."
As long as it was possible to perceive the boat, it was observed to be making straight for its destination; rowed by vigorous arms, and managed by experienced persons, it seemed sometimes to be swallowed up by the waves, and then it would be seen as if riding over them, and defying them, while it never swerved from its appointed course.
"Come now, Kjeld," cried Ellen, after they had got some distance from the land, "let us two have a little rational conversation. It was partly to find an opportunity for this that I was so willing to go to sea with you to-night. What really is the matter with you, my lad? Why have you been going about latterly with your head drooping in such a melancholy way, and loitering about in idleness, instead of following your occupations cheerfully and diligently?"
"The matter with me!" exclaimed Kjeld, in well-feigned astonishment; "why, nothing, Ellen--you are quite mistaken in supposing that anything is the matter with me."
"Oh, there is no use in your denying that something ails you; I am too old to be easily humbugged. You must speak the honest truth to me, Kjeld; you must be as frank with me as I am with you. You need not fear to speak freely, for no one can overhear you out thus far on the sea--no one, my boy--except myself and He who rules the ocean. You are still silent, Kjeld--then _I_ will speak out. You are sighing and grieving because you love Christine Steffens, and because you think that she loves you; that"s the short and the long of the matter. But have you forgotten that Christine is a married woman? and are you aware that your conduct is bringing her name into people"s mouths--that every creature in the village is talking of you and her, and that the walls of her own house cannot protect her against jeering and insult? I have myself been a witness of this to-night."
"What was said to her, Ellen?" asked Kjeld, in consternation. "Who could speak a syllable in disparagement of Christine?"
"Say, rather, who can prevent it, Kjeld, since you yourself afford such ample room for t.i.ttle-tattle."
"Ah, Ellen! if you only knew how much I love Christine! She has been my thought by day, and my dream by night; and when I have been away on long voyages, I denied myself everything to save all I got for her. I always expected that she would certainly one day be mine--but when I came home this autumn, she was married!"
"It was a pity. There is nothing left for you, therefore, now, but to forget her."
"Forget her! I shall never, never forget her."
"Oh, I have heard such vows before; young folks have always these ideas, but they smile at them when they become older. An honourable man loves a girl when he marries her, or when he intends to marry her."
"And when he cannot marry her?"
"Then he lets her alone, my good lad, and turns his attention to some one else."
"More easily said than done, Ellen."
"You think I do not know what I am speaking about because I am old, and grey, and wrinkled. Is it not so, Kjeld? But remember that old people have been young themselves once, and let me tell you that the misery which you find it so impossible to bear, I have borne, though I am only a woman. Long ago, when I was a little better-looking than I am now, there was one who was always uppermost in my thoughts--one whom I cherished in my secret soul; in short, to whom I was as much attached as you are to Christine. He wooed me, too; he begged me to be his wife, and swore by Him who made yon heavens above that he loved only me."
"And what answer did you give him?"
"I told him that we could not be so imprudent as to marry, for he had little, and I had still less; that I would marry the man who was the landlord of the house in which we resided, to provide a comfortable home for my mother as long as she lived. And I did marry that man. He whom I had refused never knew how much I cared for him; he did not think that I had been really attached to him. But I grieved when he went away. There never was a squall at sea that I did not think with anxiety about him; and many a night have I soaked my pillow with my tears, when I could not go to sleep because the tempest raged so without."
"Do I know the person of whom you are speaking, Ellen?"
"Yes, you do, Kjeld: he is your own father."
"My father!"
"Can you now comprehend why I have always taken such an interest in you, and why I have some right to advise you to let Christine alone? I do not say that you must forget her."