Stine had spoken with great emotion, but in a suppressed tone, and had drawn her Jochen out to the blackthorn hedge that divided the sandy little garden from the sandy village-street. Jochen had a vague perception that as a man and a husband, and moreover sole innkeeper of Wiessow, he must say something, so he replied: "You'll see, Stine, we sha'n't carry it through."
"Jochen, I wouldn't have believed you were so bad," exclaimed Stine, as, sobbing violently and pressing both red hands over her eyes, she turned away from her husband and went back to the house.
Jochen was left standing by the hedge, and raised his arms; but the spy-glass was resting quietly in its place, and, in consideration of his wickedness, he did not venture to take down the care-dispeller. So he let his arms fall again and thrust his hands into his pockets. Thank God, here was his pipe! It now had many idle hours, for Stine could not bear smoking, and if she should see him now when she was so angry, she probably would not make friends again.
Jochen let the pipe slide back into his pocket, and gazed at the sparkling sea like one who, without any optical instrument, still sees only too distinctly the spot where just now a majestic ship went down with all on board.
"Good-morning, Prebrow," said a voice close beside him.
Jochen slowly turned his blue eyes from the distant horizon towards the gentleman who, with the collar of his coat turned up over his ears, had just passed along by the hedge with hasty strides.
"Good-morning, Herr In--"
"St--" said the gentleman, stopping and putting his finger on his lips.
Jochen nodded.
"To-night!" continued the gentleman; "I tell you, because, after everything has gone on well, until now, somebody might at the last moment get some suspicion, and inquire of you. Of course you don't know me."