"I have just made you some fresh; the first was beginning to be bitter," she makes excuse. "Wait a moment."
The captain is about to reply, but a fit of coughing interrupts him.
"Papa barks as Hector does at the full moon," Freddy remarks, merrily.
Katrine frowns. Why does Freddy seem so thoroughly spoiled to-day?
"I told you just now that it is very wrong in you to speak in that way of your father."
"Let him do it; papa knows what he means," the captain replies, turning to his little son sitting beside him rather than to his wife. "You're fond enough of papa,--love him pretty well,--eh, my boy?"
"Oh, don't I?" says Freddy, nestling close to his father; "don't I?" That any one could doubt this fact evidently amazes him. The captain talks and plays merrily with the boy, never addressing a single word to Katrine.
Breakfast is over. For an hour Katrine has been sitting in her room, some sewing which has dropped from her hands lying in her lap, listening and waiting for his step,--in vain. Another quarter of an hour glides by: her heart throbs louder and louder, and tears fill her eyes. Suddenly she tosses her work aside, rises, and with head erect, looking neither to the right nor to the left, walks with firm, rapid steps along the corridor to the captain's room. At the door she pauses,--pauses for one short moment,--then boldly turns the latch and enters. Is he there? Yes, he is standing at the window, looking out upon the quiet, white landscape. Rather surprised, he looks back over his shoulder at his wife, for he knows it is she: he could recognize her step among a thousand.
"Do you want anything?" he asks, dryly.
"N--no."