CHAPTER X.

The outer side of Tromö, which lies off the entrance to Arendal, has

only the ordinary barren stone-grey appearance of the rest of the

islands along the coast; a wooden church, with a little belfry like a

sentry-box and serving as a landmark, which lies drearily down by the

sea, and under which on Sundays a pilot-boat or two may be seen lying-to

while service is going on, is the only feature for the eye to rest upon.

The land side of the island, on the contrary, presents a scene all the

richer and livelier for the contrast. The narrow Tromö Sound, with its

swarm of small coasters, lighters, pilot-boats, and vessels of larger

build, suns itself there between fertile or wooded slopes and ridges,

over which are scattered in every direction the red cottages of the

sailor population, skippers' houses, and villas; and in every available

spot, in every creek or bay where there is barely room for a vessel, the

white timbers of ships in course of construction come into view. It is

an idyllic dockyard, a very beautiful and very appropriate approach to

Norway's principal seaport town; and whoever steams up it on a still

summer's day must enjoy a surprise that will not easily be effaced from

his recollection.

At the period of our story, indeed, the picture was far from being so

complete or rich: but even then were becoming manifest the germs of the

bustle and life which now pervade the place.

On one of the most beautiful points of the Sound peeped into view a

small one-storeyed house with two small-paned attic windows projecting

from its steep tiled roof, and with a pine-wood climbing the hillside

behind, which was the property of Captain Beck; and here, until, as he

proposed to do in a couple of years' time, he retired from the sea and

invested his fortune in the shipbuilding yard which he had in view, his

family generally took up their residence during the summer months.

Hither in the early part of this summer, too, they had repaired.

It was no life of idleness, though, which they lived out there: Madam

Beck always made work for everybody, and had her own spinning-wheel in

the sitting-room. Her step-son had his occupation on land, and as much

as he could do, as member of the coast commission. But he used generally

to come over on Saturdays in his pretty sail-boat and remain over

Sunday; and on that day, too, some one or other family of their

acquaintance in the town would make them an object for a pleasure party,

and would usually spend the afternoon with them.

Carl Beck was always in great force on these occasions. His brown face

and frank sailor bearing and good looks would have been sufficient in

themselves to make him a favourite with the ladies. But, in addition to

these claims upon their interest, he had been known to most of the

younger ones among them from his schoolboy days, when he used to come

home on leave as a cadet, and he seemed to enjoy particular confidential

relations with nearly every one of them, or, at all events, to be in

possession of some secret or other which only they two knew. They had

all kinds of jokes and expressions from their younger days which were

unintelligible to the rest; and what is vulgarly called "chaff" formed,

perhaps, the staple of his conversation with them, varied now and then

by a touch of sentiment, which was intended, by chance as it were, to

open up to them for a moment the real deeper nature which they might not

have suspected him of possessing. They used to twit him about his

inclination to stoutness, and he used to joke about it too, and say he

had too good a time of it.

Among the Becks' most frequent visitors out there was postmaster

Forstberg's family, which included, besides the parents, a hobbledehoy

son and their daughter Marie, a fair-haired girl some eighteen years of

age, of quiet manners, and with an uncommonly clever face. Nobody said

that she was pretty, but nearly every one who knew her had the

impression that she was; and there was a certain indefinable harmony and

grace, not only about her perhaps rather small figure, but about

everything she did. But if she was not considered pretty, it was agreed

on all sides that she had great sense; and among her friends she was

always the one they elected to confide in, whenever they had anything on

their minds. That she never confided anything to them in return had,

curiously enough, never struck them; and for that matter, she was too

correct and proper, they imagined, to have any heart affairs herself.

She was a confidential friend of Carl Beck's sisters, and especially of

Mina, who declared that she put her before all the rest of her

acquaintance, and thought in her own heart that she was exactly the

match for her brother.

The only one of the young girls in the circle with whom Carl Beck had

had no youthful acquaintance was Marie Forstberg; and it had been some

time before he discovered that the quiet girl was worth talking to. He

used to be secretly annoyed then that the conversation when she was

present should lapse so easily into empty trifling; her mind was so

clear and true, and she had such a beautiful smile for whatever she

approved. Before her, therefore, he always displayed now the broad,

manly side of his character--which he could do with so much grace--and

the coquetry which was at the bottom of this was not without its effect.

She had always made rather a hero of him in her own mind, and he had

created the flattering impression now that the light and flirting manner

which he adopted towards young ladies, and which had rather qualified

her admiration of him, had been due to his not having before found among

them any one that was worthy of a man's serious attention. He had begun

consequently to occupy a much larger share of her thoughts than she

would herself have been willing to acknowledge; and many of the

confidences of which she was the recipient at this time would, if her

friends had had a little more penetration, have been brought last of all

to her.

Marie Forstberg's attention had very soon been attracted to Elizabeth;

and knowing her history, she tried very often to help her, and put her

in the right way of doing things. At first she found her rather short

and unapproachable, and could get nothing but "yes" or "no" from her;

and there was something almost offensive in the brusque way in which she

would turn with an impatient flush from her mentor when she sometimes

didn't understand what was meant, and would do the thing in her own way.

She wouldn't see at first the various little good turns which the other

did her in her quiet, considerate way; but they were acknowledged at

last with a look that made amends for all her former obtuseness; and in

spite of their different natures and unequal social position, these two

women soon came to feel, if not exactly drawn to one another, mutually

interested in each other. At the same time, as Elizabeth was not blind

to the diplomacy of the house, she had soon perceived that of all the

young ladies who came there, Marie Forstberg was the one who had the

best chance, and who indeed best deserved to be the young lieutenant's

bride; and although she tried to believe that she was merely a resigned

looker-on herself, she seemed to feel every Sunday, when Marie Forstberg

came, that a certain disagreeable impression had grown up in her mind

about her during the week which it took some time to thaw. When it did

thaw, however, which in time it always did, she would feel attracted to

her with redoubled warmth; and though their conversation might be

ostensibly occupied only with such subjects as laying the table or

dishing the dinner, she would contrive to introduce into it anything and

everything concerning the lieutenant which she thought might interest or

recommend him to her friend. Marie Forstberg couldn't help sometimes

fixing her clear blue eyes searchingly upon her, to ascertain if there

was not some object underlying this communicativeness; but Elizabeth

would look so unconscious, as she stood there with her sleeves tucked

up, busy with her work, that she dismissed the idea from her mind.

In this country life, although without a moment to call her own,

Elizabeth felt freer at all events than she had done in the town; and

she had made such rapid progress under Madam Beck's tuition, that the

latter's supervision was in many things no longer required. One part in

particular, the one which she might have been expected to find the most

difficult of all--that of parlour-maid--she filled to perfection; and

her upright figure and expressive face attracted many an admiring glance

on Sundays, when in her becoming striped chintz dress and white apron,

and with her luxuriant hair turned up in the simplest manner, she

carried the tea or coffee things out to the guests in the summer-house.

She could feel that Carl Beck's eyes were never off her as long as she

was in sight, and she seemed to know that it was she whom his eye

wandered in search of first whenever he came home. In a hundred small

ways he made her conscious of the interest which he felt in her; and

whenever there was a commission to be particularly remembered, he never

gave it to his sisters alone, but to her also.

His pretty pleasure-boat--a long, light, sharp-built yawl, with a red

stripe along its black side, and two sloping masts--which he had lately

had built, lay often the whole week through moored in the bay under the

house. He was very particular about the boat, and during his absence it

was to Elizabeth's sole care that she was intrusted. There was always

something or other to be looked after; and when he came home he would

generally subject her, in a jokingly harsh tone, to an examination,

which he called holding a summary court-martial.

Sometimes on Saturdays he would come up the path waving in his hand a

letter covered with post-marks. It would be from his father to his

stepmother; and Madam Beck would generally read it by herself first, and

then it would be read aloud, Elizabeth listening with strained

attention--she was always so afraid that there might be something bad

about Salvé.

One Sunday she remarked that Carl wore in the buttonhole of his uniform

a wild flower which she had thrown away. It might have been the purest

accident; but she knew that he had seen her with it in her hand. The

same day they had wild strawberries at dinner, and there were no

strangers, and he broke out all in a moment, "Yes, I'd sooner ten

thousand times have wild strawberries than garden ones. They have quite

another taste and smell."

It was a natural remark for any one to make. But she thought he had

looked with peculiar earnestness at her as he made it, and afterwards he

had fixed his eyes upon his plate for a long while without raising them.

She felt that the remark had been meant for her, and altogether that day

there was something about him that made her uneasy--he gazed at her so

often.

Madame Beck happened to have just then a long list of household

necessaries required from Arendal, and Carl said that if some one would

go with him in the boat the next morning to help him with the parcels,

he would execute her commissions himself. When Madame Beck suggested

Elizabeth he eagerly assented; but the colour rushed into Elizabeth's

cheeks, and with an angry toss of her head, which she didn't make any

attempt to conceal, she left the room.

As he was standing alone outside some little time after, she came up to

him, and said, looking him straight in the face--

"I don't go into Arendal with you, Herr Beck."

"No?--and why not, Elizabeth?" he asked, with affected indifference, and

trying to meet her look.

"I don't go," she repeated, her voice trembling with pride and

anger--"that is all I have to say;" and she turned from him, and left

him gazing after her, partly in confusion, and partly in admiration of

the magnificently proud way in which she crossed the turf to the house

again.

The expedition was given up; and in spite of Carl's _finesse_, it came

out inadvertently that it was on account of Elizabeth having refused to

go alone in the boat with him, which Madam Beck found very commendable

on her part. Indeed she ought to have known herself, she said, that it

was scarcely proper; but at the same time, she was decidedly of opinion

that the more becoming course for Elizabeth would have been to speak to

her mistress first.

The Pilot and His Wife · 第 10 / 32 章