Out on Little Torungen meanwhile noteworthy events had occurred, which
were now the talk of the town.
Old Jacob had had a stroke the week before, and had died the same night
the Juno had had her wrestle for life. In the preceding two days of fog
and storm they had heard many signal-guns of distress, and his
granddaughter had during that time kept up the fire alone at night. It
was only as he was drawing his last breath, and she sat by his side and
bent over him, forgetful of aught else, that it was for a while
neglected; and it was this little moment that had caused Salvé such a
_mauvais quart d'heure_ on board the Juno. On the following day, in her
despair, she had attempted a perilous journey over the drift ice to
bring people out to her assistance, and had been taken up by a boat and
brought in by it to Arendal.
The poor girl was far too much occupied with her grief for the loss of
her grandfather to think in the remotest degree of making her story
interesting. But Carl Beck, in his enthusiasm, knew very well how to
give the incident a colouring of romance, and she was very soon exalted
into the heroine of the hour. It was talked of at the Amtmand's--a house
with two handsome daughters, where Lieutenant Beck was a daily
visitor--and it was in everybody's mouth how, all alone out on Torungen
with her dying grandfather, she had been the means of saving the Juno,
and had since risked her life on the ice. Every one could see by a
glance at her that she must have a remarkable character; but as to her
uncommon beauty there prevailed different opinions in feminine circles.
It was, at all events, a pity that she was so forlorn; and the Becks, it
was thought, were now morally bound to look after her.
For the present she had gone to live with her aunt up in one of the
narrow streets at the back of the town, and there came pouring in, with
and without the owners' names, all sorts of friendly advice, with black
dress materials and ornaments from the young men and shop lads; and a
couple of the bustling ladies of the town even came in person to see her
aunt and talk over the girl's future. When Carl Beck, however, gave out
that he looked upon these presents as slights upon himself, they ceased.
He had only been up there once, and then his eldest sister was with him:
but his manner on that occasion had been most attractive, he had
sympathised with such winning sincerity, and at the same time so
unassumingly, in Elizabeth's grief; and when leaving assured her, with
emotion which he made no attempt to conceal, that they owed it to her
that their father was still alive.
When he was gone, his sister had proceeded to the real matter of her
visit. She had come to propose to the aunt that Elizabeth should live
with them for the present with the view of qualifying herself for a
housekeeper's place, as she must not be exposed to the necessity of
going out as a common servant-girl. It was her brother, she added, who
had made this plan for Elizabeth's future.
The offer was a highly desirable one for persons in their position, and
was accepted by the aunt with unmixed satisfaction. Over Elizabeth's
face, however, there passed a momentary cloud. She felt, without knowing
why, a sense of oppression at the prospect of coming into closer contact
with the young lieutenant; but at the same time she would not for a
great deal have refused the offer.