At last they saw the lights of a group of cottages. The largest of these belonged to Ib Mathisen; and into this Salvé and his wife were conducted, while the crew were distributed among the others.
Ib's wife, a robust-looking woman of fifty or thereabouts, with a bold, straightforward expression in her tanned countenance, was standing over by the fire with her sleeves tucked up baking, when they came in. She examined the incomers steadily for a moment without raising herself from her stooping position; but at the sight of Elizabeth and the child she exclaimed in a tone of compassion that was better than any more formal welcome, "The poor woman and her child have been cast ashore, Ib?" and set about caring for their wants at once, her grown-up daughter helping her to draw a bench to the fire for them, and putting a kettle on to make something warm for them to drink. This was evidently not her first experience of the kind; and before long they had all put on dry clothes, and Elizabeth and the child were in a warm bed. As she went about she put questions in a low voice to her husband; and Salvé, who was sitting with his cheek in his hand staring into the fire, heard her say—
"Perhaps he was the owner of the vessel himself?"
"Yes, she was all the property we possessed," Salvé answered, quietly. "But we are none the less grateful to your husband for rescuing us, and we have unfortunately very little to thank him with for venturing his life out on the banks in such weather."
"So you've been at that game again, Ib," said the wife, turning to her husband reproachfully, but not seeming altogether sincere in her reproach.
Turning to Salvé then she said a little curtly, "For the like of that we take no payment," adding in a milder tone, "We have two sons ourselves who ply to Norway—there's a bad coast there too."
Salvé was pale and worn out with over-exertion, and after taking a mouthful of food he lay down to rest. But he could not sleep, and towards morning he was lying awake listening to the dull booming of the distant sea. Elizabeth was tossing about feverishly and talking in her sleep. Her brain was evidently busy with the terrors of the previous night, and from occasional words it seemed as if he had a share in her thoughts. He lay and listened, though there was not much to be made out of her disjointed utterances. She grew more restless, and began to talk more excitedly—
"Never! never!" she said, vehemently; "he shall never hear a word about the brig," and she went on then in a confidential whisper—
"Shall he, Gjert? He shall find us in our berth, or else he will think we are afraid."
Salvé kissed her forehead tenderly, but with a sigh. There had been a motive then, after all, at the bottom of that display of confidence which had occasioned him such pangs of self-reproach.