What had Jenny been about in the dead woman's house? What was she
carrying off beneath her cloak? Why was her heart beating? Why did she
hasten with such trembling steps to her own cabin, without daring to
look back? What did she hide in her own bed, behind the curtain? What
had she been stealing?
When she entered the cabin, the cliffs were growing white. She sank
upon the chair beside the bed. She was very pale; it seemed as if she
felt repentance. Her forehead fell upon the pillow, and at intervals,
with broken words, she murmured to herself, while outside the cabin
moaned the savage sea.
"My poor man! O Heavens, what will he say? He has already so much
trouble. What have I done now? Five children on our hands already!
Their father toils and toils, and yet, as if he had not care enough
already, I must give him this care more. Is that he? No, nothing. I
have done wrong--he would do quite right to beat me. Is that he? No! So
much the better. The door moves as if someone were coming in; but no.
To think that I should feel afraid to see him enter!"
Then she remained absorbed in thought, and shivering with the cold,
unconscious of all outward sounds, of the black cormorants, which
passed shrieking, and of the rage of wind and sea.
All at once the door flew open, a streak of the white light of morning
entered, and the fisherman, dragging his dripping net, appeared upon
the threshold, and cried, with a gay laugh, "Here comes the Navy."
"You!" cried Jenny; and she clasped her husband like a lover, and
pressed her mouth against his rough jacket.
"Here I am, wife," he said, showing in the firelight the good-natured
and contented face which Jenny loved so well.
"I have been unlucky," he continued.
"What kind of weather have you had?"
"Dreadful."
"And the fishing?"
"Bad. But never mind. I have you in my arms again, and I am satisfied.
I have caught nothing at all, I have only torn my net. The deuce was in
the wind to-night. At one moment of the tempest I thought the boat was
foundering, and the cable broke. But what have you been doing all this
time?"
Jenny felt a shiver in the darkness.
"I?" she said, in trouble, "Oh, nothing; just as usual. I have been
sewing. I have been listening to the thunder of the sea, and I was
frightened."
"Yes; the winter is a hard time. But never mind it now."
Then, trembling as if she were going to commit a crime:
"Husband!" she said, "our neighbour is dead. She must have died last
night, soon after you went out. She has left two little children, one
called William and the other Madeline. The boy can hardly toddle, and
the girl can only lisp. The poor, good woman was in dreadful want."
The man looked grave. Throwing into a corner his fur cap, sodden by the
tempest: "The deuce," he said, scratching his head. "We already have
five children; this makes seven. And already in bad weather we have to
go without our supper. What shall we do now? Bah, it is not my fault,
it's God's doing. These are things too deep for me. Why has He taken
away their mother from these mites? These matters are too difficult
to understand. One has to be a scholar to see through them. Such tiny
scraps of children! Wife, go and fetch them. If they are awake, they
must be frightened to be alone with their dead mother. We will bring
them up with ours. They will be brother and sister to our five. When
God sees that we have to feed this little girl and boy besides our own,
He will let us take more fish. As for me, I will drink water. I will
work twice as hard. Enough. Be off and bring them! But what is the
matter? Does it vex you? You are generally quicker than this."
His wife drew back the curtain.
"Look!" she said.
[Illustration]
_The State of the Law Courts._