Part 18 (2/2)

”What have I done to him?” she repeated. ”What can he believe?--what can he possibly think?” she asked herself, as she stood now like a statue almost, lost in conjecture, until the thought which she had always tried to keep away came up before her in full, heavy, unmistakable clearness.

”He doesn't trust me!” she whispered to herself, in despair. ”He has no faith in me;” and she laid her head--her beautiful head--down upon her arm, just as her own child might have done, in an inconsolable fit of crying. But to her no tears would come, and she seemed to see an abyss of suspicion and distrust before her in which Salve's love for her was going to disappear.

She heard no longer the creaking and the noise on deck--no longer cared about the lurching and the thuds against the head-seas--although she had often to hold on to the berth with all her strength. All the energy of her soul was now occupied with this one awful terror which had taken possession of her. All her defiance was gone. Her only source of courage now was to do anything or everything to keep his love. She felt ready for any sacrifice whatever--ready, without a sigh, to bear the burden of his suspicions all her life through if she might only keep his love. It was she who had made him distrustful, and it was upon her the punishment should fall, if she could not by persistent love bring him back to a healthy condition of mind again.

Her instinct at once suggested to her how she should begin. He should see that she on her side had entire confidence in him--confidence as absolute as the child's there who was sleeping before her. And with a sickly smile upon her lips, she undressed and laid herself down beside little Gjert.

Upon deck Salve had wanted the night-gla.s.s, which was down in the cabin.

The look-out man had fancied that he had caught a glimpse for a moment of a light, in which case, against Salve's calculations, they must be under Jutland. His pride, however, would not allow him to send any one else to fetch the gla.s.s, and he couldn't make up his mind to go down himself. At last it became absolutely necessary, and he went hurriedly down the stair.

When he opened the cabin door he stood still for a moment in surprise, and looked about him. He had expected to find Elizabeth sitting up, with the child on her lap, and looking frightened. In place of that all was quiet, and the lamp was nearly out. He strode on and took the gla.s.s from the wall; and after a couple of attempts, managed to light a match, in spite of the damp, and held it to the barometer. He remained then standing with it in his hand, and listened to hear whether she was asleep or not. Involuntarily he approached the berth, and looked into it.

”Elizabeth,” he whispered, softly, as if he was afraid of waking her.

”Is that you, Salve?” was the reply, in a perfectly calm voice.

”I thought you would be sitting up with the boy in this gale. She rolls so; and I--I haven't been down to see you,” he said.

”I knew I had you on deck, Salve,” she replied. ”The rest we must only leave to G.o.d. You have not had time to come down, poor fellow,” she added, ”you have been so busy.”

”Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, with a sudden pang of pa.s.sionate remorse, and reached over impetuously into the berth to embrace her with his wet clothes.

At that moment a crash was heard, accompanied by a violent trembling of the s.h.i.+p, and loud cries on deck. Something had evidently given way.

With the same movement with which he had intended to embrace her, he lifted her quickly out of the berth, and told her to dress herself and the child, and come up to the top of the cabin stairs. The words were hardly out of his mouth when the vessel heeled over, and didn't right herself again.

”Fore-topmast gone, captain; rigging hanging!” bawled Nils Buvaagen down the stair.

Salve turned to her for a moment with a face full of mute, crus.h.i.+ng self-reproach, and sprang up on deck.

”Keep her away, if she'll answer her helm!” he shouted to the man at the wheel. ”To the axes, men!”

The brig lay over on one side, with her brittle rigging at the mercy of the wind and sea, the waves making a clean breach over her. Salve himself went up and cut away the topmast, which went over the side to leeward; and as the first grey light of dawn appeared, and made the figures of the crew dimly distinguishable, the axes were still being feverishly plied in strong hands among the stays, backstays, and topmast rigging. While the work was going on the fearful rolling caused first the main-topgallant sail to go, and then the topsail, with the yards and all belonging to it. The forestay snapped, the mainsail split, and the lower yards and foremast were damaged. And when at last, after desperate efforts, they had succeeded in freeing the s.h.i.+p from the enc.u.mbrance of the fallen rigging, she lay there more than half a wreck, and scarcely capable of doing more than run before the wind.

They had only the boom-mainsail now, and the forecourse, left; and with these Salve kept her away--it was the only thing now to be done--until the growing light should show them whether they had sea-room, or the dreaded Jutland coast before them. The last, with this westerly gale blowing, would mean pretty nearly for a certainty stranding upon the sandbanks and the vessel becoming a wreck.

When it was clear day, they made out Horn's Reef far down to the south-east; they lay about off Ringkjobing's Fjord, and would require now to do their utmost to clear the coast. With some difficulty they succeeded in rigging up a jury-mast, and managed by that means to keep up a little closer in the wind. But their only chance was that the wind might go down, or s.h.i.+ft a little to the southward, or in the current, which generally takes a northerly direction here, unless it should set them in too much under land.

Salve paced restlessly up and down his dismantled deck, where a great part of the bulwarks and the round-house forward were stove in, whilst the crew relieved each other two and two at the pumps. They had evidently sprung a serious leak, which was the more cause for anxiety that they were returning in ballast, and had no timber cargo to keep them afloat. He had confided their situation to Elizabeth.

”I am afraid we may be obliged to beach her at some convenient spot,” he said, adding, with a slight quiver in his voice, ”we shall lose the brig.”

He laid emphasis upon this, because he didn't wish to tell her the worst--namely, that this convenient spot was not to be found upon the whole coast, and that their lives were unmistakably in danger.

Whatever happened, it seemed sufficient for Elizabeth that he was near her, and there was a look of quiet trust in her face as she turned towards him that went to his heart; he could not bear it, and turned away.

The brig and its possible loss did not occupy much of Elizabeth's thoughts. In the midst of their danger she was absolutely glad at heart at the thought that by her display of implicit confidence she had succeeded in winning a great victory with Salve. After what she had gone through that night, this was everything to her.

There was a fine energetic look of determination in her face, and her eyes were moist with tears as she bent over the child in her lap and whispered--

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