The Pilot and His Wife

by Jonas Lie

CHAPTER XXI.

In a small house at Tonsberg, at the entrance to the beautiful Christiana fjord, the first summer of their married life passed without a cloud upon its sky. The house and all about it, with its flowers in each window, were a model of neatness and Dutch polish; and with Elizabeth herself as a centre to it all, it was no wonder that Salvé's crew found him indifferent to all weathers when it was a question of getting home.

The charming young skipper's wife, however, during her husband's frequent absences, had attracted the notice of some of the leading families of the town, and had come presently to be if not exactly on intimate terms, at all events on a footing of acquaintanceship with many of them; and Salvé's enjoyment of his home ceased then to be so perfectly unalloyed.

When Elizabeth recounted to him the flattering proofs of appreciation which she received, he listened in silence; and her social successes, instead of giving him pleasure, had a precisely opposite effect. He would not for the world have said a word to express his dislike of her making such acquaintances; and he even, when they went to church together on Sundays, liked her to be as well-dressed as any of these fine friends who now seemed to share his wife with him. But if he said nothing, and was even angry with himself for thinking about the subject, still he did think about it, and with increasing irritation. He could not get the idea out of his head that Elizabeth must now be always contrasting him unfavourably with these people; and as he paced the deck of his brig alone out at sea, he would picture them to himself as constantly in his house, and always talking on the subject which he could least endure—the sacrifice which Elizabeth must have made to become his wife.

When their son Gjert was born in the spring following their marriage, he had been sitting by Elizabeth's bedside unable to tear himself away from her and the cradle, until a small present arrived from one of her friends in the town, who with others had often sent to inquire after her, when he got up and went straight out of the house and paced backwards and forwards with his hands behind his back outside, as she could see through the window, thoroughly out of humour, though when he came in again he was even more affectionate and attentive to her than before.

As she never for a moment imagined that he could think her deep love for him could be in any way affected by the slight surface interest which her new acquaintances afforded her, she looked upon his jealousy of them, of which she had had indications often enough before, as a weakness merely to which he ought to have been superior; and as he said nothing himself on the subject, she also let it pass without comment on her side, but determined at the same time that she would see less of them in future, at all events while he was at home.

It happened however, unluckily, some weeks afterwards, that she had just been talking to some of them when he returned from an expedition to Notterö to hire a crew for his next voyage to Amsterdam, on which she was to accompany him. "Herr Jurgensen and his wife," she said, "had just passed, and she had been talking to them; they were to start for Frederiksvoern on the following day."

"And fancy!" she went on with animation, "Fru Jurgensen knows Marie
Forstberg. So I asked her to remember me to her."

"Marie Forstberg?—who is she?" asked Salvé.

"She who was so kind to me,"—she stopped here, and the colour came and went in her face as she continued—"it was she who married—Beck's son—the lieutenant."

"You ought to have asked Fru Jurgensen to remember me to Beck then at the same time," he said, cuttingly, and went past her into the house without looking her in the face.

Elizabeth followed him, feeling very uncomfortable, and after standing for a moment in indecision, went over to him, and sitting down on his knee, put her arm round his neck, saying—

"You are not angry with me, are you? I didn't think you would mind, or I wouldn't have done it."

"Oh! it's quite immaterial to me, of course, who you send your love to."

"She was my best friend when I was—in Arendal," Elizabeth said, avoiding the mention of Beck's name again.

"I don't doubt you are on the best possible terms with all these people," Salvé said, impatiently, and making a movement as if he would get up from his seat.

It was Elizabeth who rose first.

"Salvé!" she exclaimed, and was about to add more, when he pulled her down to him again, and said in a gentle tone of remorse—

"Forgive me, Elizabeth. I didn't mean what I said. But I do so hate hearing you talk of these people."

Elizabeth burst into tears, protesting against his want of confidence in her; and Salvé, now thoroughly distressed at the result of his want of self-control, overwhelmed her with tenderness in his endeavours to appease her. He succeeded after a while, and the evening was passed in such sunshine as only succeeds to storm.

After a quarrel of the kind, however, there must be always something left behind, and though Salvé was doubly affectionate for many days, afterwards he grew more and more silent, and presently even irritable and moody, and would not go to church on any of the succeeding Sundays while he remained at home.