It was evening.
Ragnhild came to me and begged me to keep awake again; there was dreadful trouble up at the house. Ragnhild herself was greatly upset, and dared not sit anywhere now in the half-dark but upon my knees. It was always so with her; emotion made her frightened and tender—frightened and tender, yes.
“But can you be away like this? Is there any one in your place in the kitchen?” I asked.
“Yes. Cook's going to listen for the bell. You know, I side with the Captain,” she declared. “I've sided with him all along.”
“Oh, that's only because he's a man.”
“No, it's not.”
“You'd much better side with Fruen.”
“You only say that because she's a woman,” answered Ragnhild in her turn. “But you don't know all I do. Fruen's so unreasonable. We didn't care a bit about her, she said, and left her all to herself, whatever might happen. Did you ever hear such a thing, when I'd just gone after her. And then there's another dreadful thing....”
“I don't want to hear any more,” I said.