Part 16 (1/2)
When Madam Garvloit had made some excuse next morning to leave the two alone together in her sitting-room, Salve took out of his pocket a small parcel, and opening it deliberately, said, with a certain solemnity--
”Five years ago, Elizabeth, when I was in Boston, I bought these rings.”
He took them out of the paper, and laid them in her hand. ”I have had a good deal to bear since, but you see I have kept them all along notwithstanding.”
She threw her arms round his neck, hid her face upon his breast, and he could feel that she was crying. She tried them on then, both on the same finger, and holding up the hand to show him, said--
”That is the first ring I ever possessed.”
A shadow pa.s.sed across his face, and it flushed slightly; and she only then perceived what connection of ideas her remark might have suggested.
He had three days to spare before he was obliged to be back at Purmurende on board the old brig of which he was now master, and with which, patched and leaky though she was, after his sailor's pride had been overcome, he had grown to be well satisfied enough--more particularly, perhaps, because she was his own. The happiness of these days was not marred by a single further incident to remind him of the past; and it was only on the day that he was to leave that the foul fiend Distrust was again awakened in his unlucky heart.
It was a Sunday, and after the morning service there was to be a sort of popular _fete_ in Amsterdam. At the famous town-hall, where, in Holland's great days, when De Ruyter's and Van Tromp's guns were thundering in the sea outside, the great merchant princes used to sit round the republican council-board, was to be exhibited that day, for the first time, the new picture of the young Dutch hero, Van Spyck, who blew up his s.h.i.+p in the war of 1830 against Belgium.
Salve and Elizabeth joined the stream, and even caught some of the national enthusiasm prevailing in the crowd that was swaying backwards and forwards in the courtyard, where a band was playing the stirring national air, ”Wien Neerlands bloed door de aders vloeit.”
At last they found themselves before the canvas. It represented the young cadet of seventeen years on the gunboat at the supreme moment.
Elizabeth stood with her hands clasped before her silently engrossed, while Salve kept her from being pressed upon behind.
”Look!” she said, turning half round to him, but without taking her eyes off the picture,--”the Belgian captain is inviting him to surrender. He has no choice--they are too many for him. But don't you see the thought he has in his mind?--you can read it in his face. And what a fine fellow he looks, with his handsome uniform, and his epaulets, and his short sword!” she said, in a lower tone, with a revival of her old childish enthusiasm for that kind of show.
Her last words were like a dagger's thrust to Salve. She still had a hankering, then, for all this, and he stood behind her pale with suppressed feeling, while she continued to gaze at the picture and think aloud to him.
”Poor, handsome lad! But he never will surrender--one can easily see that; and so he must go down,” she said, in a subdued voice, involuntarily folding her hands, as if in fancy she went with him; ”and he blows up Belgian and all into the air, Salve,” she said, turning to him with a fine spirited look in her face, and with moistened eyes.
He made no reply; and supposing that, like herself, he was lost in the scene before them, she turned again to the picture. But while, after giving vent to her feelings, she stood there with a smile on her face, thinking that she knew one who would have been quite as capable as Van Spyck of such an exploit--the man, namely, who was then standing behind her--to him the picture had become a hateful thing; and he could have shot Van Spyck through the heart for his uniform's sake.
The whole of the way home he was silent and serious, and it was not until late in the afternoon that he at all recovered his spirits.
As this was to be his last trip for the year, the following spring was fixed for their marriage; and when he took his leave, it was with the gloomy presentiment that he had a dreary winter before him.
Certainly, for the development of a morbid state of mind, no conditions could have been more favourable than the enforced inactivity to which, with many another, he was condemned for the long dark months during which the ice put a stop to navigation. To his restless, energetic nature, such prolonged inaction was little suited under any circ.u.mstances, and in his present condition of mind it was little less than disastrous.
”If she was only here!” he would sometimes inwardly exclaim, as if crying out for help against himself and the thoughts which he felt to be unworthy, but which nevertheless he could not shake off.
He often thought of writing to her, but was so afraid of saying something which he might afterwards regret, that he kept putting it off from time to time, until at last he could restrain himself no longer.
His letter ran as follows:--
”To much esteemed Miss Elizabeth Raklev--
”As concerning the Apollo, she lies in a row of other s.h.i.+ps up in Selvig Sound, and the ice is about a foot thick, and will be late in breaking up this year, they all prophesy: she is well looked after, and has a watchman on board, and storage room has been taken for her rigging in Pettersen's rigging-loft. But as touching her captain, to whom you said in Amsterdam you had given your full and first heart so firmly that it couldn't be moved by any might or power in the world whatsoever--he has thought much and often about this, and would like to hold out and see you again before all his sh.o.r.e cable is chafed away. It seems as if it was holding by its last threads, and these half-sc.r.a.ped through. But if I could see you, it would become so strong again that it could hold against any stream; and you must forgive me for my weakness when you think of those five years; but I won't say that it is your fault, neither make myself out better than I am, for I have confidence in you, Elizabeth, if I have not the same reliance upon myself, and I can't help it if I haven't. When you read this letter, Elizabeth, you must remember the poor sailor who is frozen up here, and not forget it afterwards till we meet again, which I would give half my life-blood or more for, if it was any use, as I am consuming away with impatience up here--I have such a longing to see you again. And now, farewell from my heart, and G.o.d bless you. I will trust you and hope in you till my last hour, come what may. Farewell, my dearest girl, with fond love from
”SALVe KRISTIANSEN.”