"So—that is what they are saying, is it?" she cried at last. Her first fear was over; but anger had succeeded to it, and she rose now from her seat with arms akimbo and flashing eyes. She was not a woman to offend lightly.
"So they have fastened that lie upon Elizabeth, have they!—it's a shame for them, so it is! And you, Salvé, can soil your lips with it? Let me just tell you, then, for your pains, that the Becks' house is as respectable a one as any in Arendal; and it isn't you, and such as you, that can take its character away. Never fear but Elizabeth shall hear every word of your precious story—ay, and the captain, and the lieutenant, and Madam Beck, too; and you'll be hunted from the Juno like a dripping cur. So you thought that Elizabeth was to be beholden to the lieutenant for a character—?"
"Dear mother Kirstine!" Salvé cried, interrupting her in the full torrent of her indignation, "I didn't think about it—I couldn't think. Only, I heard Anders of the Crag down on the slip this morning say it all so confidently.
"Anders of the Crag? So it was from him you heard it?—the pitiful, wheedling rascal! That is his gratitude, I suppose, for my being with his wife last week!—I shall know where to find him. But the receiver in the like is no better than the stealer," she resumed, indignantly; "and I'd have you know, it was just Beck's own daughter who came here and offered Elizabeth a respectable place in a respectable house, and it was to me she talked, my lad," pointing self-consciously with quivering forefinger at her own bosom; "so Elizabeth has not begged herself in there at all. You didn't need to desert your watch to bring such tales here; and Elizabeth shall hear of it—that she shall," she repeated, excitedly, striking one hand into the other with a loud smack—"she shall hear what fine faith you have in her."
"Dear mother Kirstine! I didn't mean any harm," he said, entreatingly, feeling as if a weight had been taken off his heart—"only please don't tell Elizabeth."
"You may depend upon it I will."
"Mother Kirstine!" he said, in a low voice, and looking down, "I brought a dress with me for her that I had bought in Boston. And then I heard all this, and I couldn't contain myself." He said nothing about the rings.
"So!" rejoined the old woman after a pause, during which she had examined him through her half-closed eyes, and in a somewhat milder tone; "so you brought a dress for her! and at the same time you come running up here in the middle of the night to tell me that she has become a common baggage for the lieutenant,"—and her anger rose again.
"But, Mother Kirstine, I don't believe a word of it."
"It wasn't to tell me that, I suppose, you came up here in such haste, my lad."