"But there shall be an end of this! Salvé and I shall no longer make a desert of each other's life!" and she rose from her chair in great agitation.
"What are you saying, Elizabeth?" asked her aunt, whom she had unconsciously awakened.
"Nothing, dear aunt," she answered, and bent over the invalid with a cup of broth, which she had been keeping warm over the night-light.
"You look so—so happy, Elizabeth."
"It is because you have slept so well, aunt; and if you drink this you will go to sleep again."
There was a quiet smile on her lips now, and her whole bearing was changed. The burden of years was taken off her heart. At last the chilling, heavy, bewildering fog which had enclosed her whole life, making every footstep, every thought, every joy uncertain, had lifted, and she could clearly see her way.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Salvé had been lucky; he had piloted an English bark into Hesnaes, and his services had been liberally acknowledged. He had, as usual, looked forward with dread to coming home again; but when he found his wife not there, and heard the reason, he had set off at once for Arendal to see after her.
She received him out in the passage.
"Good morning, Salvé," she said, shaking hands with him. "I have been anxious about you, as you may suppose, and have been expecting you. You mustn't make a noise—come this way," and she showed him into the room at the side. "Where is Gjert?"