Part 3 (1/2)

”Hush, hus.h.!.+ Henrietta,” said Sarah, chiding her; ”only think if our mother were to see you such a figure.”

Upon this Henrietta began to smooth her unruly hair; but, unable to restrain herself, she whispered with portentous eagerness: ”I was in the market, right down by the quay--don't tell it to mother--and Skipper Worse came rowing--Skipper Worse has arrived from Rio, you know--came rowing in with a six-oared boat and a flag, and behind him sat Lauritz. I did not recognize him till he jumped on sh.o.r.e; he has grown so tall”--raising her hand up. ”He saw me; indeed, I think he is following me here.”

”Oh, Henrietta!” said Sarah, somewhat severely, knitting her eyebrows.

But the graceless Henrietta stuck her tongue out and stole into the pa.s.sage, whence she hoped to reach the workroom un.o.bserved. Sarah's look grew anxious; she could not comprehend her unruly sister. She herself had never been like this. Such a worldly disposition must needs be subdued.

Nevertheless, she sometimes felt touched when Henrietta boiled over with youthful animation, and almost felt a wish to share her high spirits.

There was the old Adam in her, which ought to be suppressed and overcome; but yet--but yet----

Presently she was again disturbed by the appearance of a round, sunburnt, smiling face at the kitchen door. But the smile vanished as Lauritz, looking sheepish and awkward, walked in. He had evidently expected to see some one else.

”Welcome home, Lauritz,” said Sarah, in a friendly voice.

”Thank you,” said Lauritz, in his deepest tones, as he stood rubbing his hands together in the doorway.

”Do you wish to see my mother?”

”Yes; I want to know if I can lodge here.”

”My mother is in the sitting-room.”

Lauritz Seehus was almost like a younger brother to Sarah, for he had boarded at Madame Torvestad's ever since his school days. His own home at Flekkefjord was not a happy one; his father drank, and there was a swarm of small children.

In a few moments Lauritz reappeared, crestfallen and wretched.

”What, Lauritz,” said Sarah, ”are you going away so soon?”

”Yes,” said he, hurrying out, ”I could not manage it.”

As he descended the old well-known kitchen stairs, he thought himself the most unfortunate creature in the world; in fact, he wept--for the first time since his boyhood.

During the whole of the voyage he had dreamt of securing his old attic room again, of being constantly near Henrietta, and of presenting her with all the wonderful things he had brought back in his sea chest. He had dreamt of stealing out with her in a boat, or of gliding with her on a hand sledge on the moonlight winter evenings when Madame Torvestad was at meeting.

All these glorious plans had been carefully cherished and pondered over a hundred times, and pictured down to the smallest detail, as he paced the deck in the long and lonely night watches.

Now, however, it seemed as if there was no more hope or pleasure for him, either in this world or the next.

Sarah seemed to take pity on him. Her mother came out and said:

”You saw Lauritz, Sarah?”

”Yes, mother.”

”Did you speak to him?”

”No; I merely gave him a welcome.”

”Do you think that he is changed?”