One lovely moonlight night, when the boats were all at sea, and the town nearly deserted, Peter took his pipe and rambled out for a walk. He was longing for some womanly sympathy, and had gone home with several little matters on his heart to talk over with Margaret. But unfortunately the child had a feverish cold, and how could she patiently listen to fishermen’s squabbles, and calculations of the various “takes,” when her boy was fretful and suffering? So Peter put on his bonnet, and with his pipe in his mouth, rambled over the moor. He had not gone far before he met Suneva Glumm. Under ordinary circumstances he would have 161 let her pass him, but to-night he wanted to talk, and even Suneva was welcome. He suddenly determined “to have it out with her,” and without ceremony he called to her.
“Let me speak to thee, Suneva; I have something to say.”
She turned and faced him: “Well then, say it.”
“What have I done to get so much of thy ill-will? I, that have been friends with thee since I used to lift thee over the counter and give thee a sweet lozenger?”
“Thou did treat poor Jan Vedder so badly.”
“And what is Jan Vedder to thee, that thou must lift his quarrel?”
“He was my friend, then.”
“And thy lover, perhaps. I have heard that he loved thee before he ever saw my Margaret when she was at school in Edinburgh.”
“Thou hast heard lies then; but if he had loved me and if I had been his wife, Jan had been a good man this day; good and loving. Yes, indeed!”
“Art thou sure he is dead?”