Louisa had gone to the stern, but came running back, with her eyes starting out of her head.
“Oh, Inger Johanne! Some one is groaning in the cabin!”
“What nonsense!”
“No, no, it’s true, it’s true.” Louisa was almost beside herself. “Some one is groaning and sighing, I tell you.”
We listened and yes,—think of it! A queer, heavy sound did come from the locked cabin, a strange sound, as if from the bottom of the sea, it seemed to us.
I thought Louisa had gone out of her senses, she was so afraid; for imagine! she wanted to jump overboard.
“It is the spirits,” she whispered. “I’d rather jump into the sea—I will jump, I will.”
I was afraid enough, but it was all very exciting, too. I kept hold of Louisa’s dress.
“Don’t be so stupid as to jump overboard,” I said.
But at that instant fear overwhelmed me, too. Everything was so still, so unspeakably quiet, only the sound of the waves washing against the island, spurting up a little, then falling back; the wide silent sky over us, the town far, far away.