A moment later the woman turned at a slight sound behind her. A man was clambering down the slope; she recognized him, surely, as the young workman who had shown her the sea here some weeks ago. Hastily she dried her eyes and went toward him; she had not thanked him yet.
"I saw you sitting there," said he, "and I thought, if I might be so bold ... I've my boat close by here, a good boat, though not much to look at. And if you'd honour me so far. I'd be very glad to take you for a sail."
Had it been any other day, she might not have accepted. But, just now, she felt so grateful for any little crumb of kindness that she could not refuse. And she did not wish that this young workman, who looked so modest and kind, should think she declined because he had only a common, workaday fishing-boat to offer her, and was himself but a common man in his working clothes. Though it was Sunday, Sven was wearing his heavy sea-boots and rough clothes, with a sou'wester that suited him well; it looked like the steel helmet of some old sea-king.
So they pushed off from land, and he hoisted the sail, and the heavy south wind filled it, sending the boat heeling to one side. Sven put the rudder hard over, heading due west, and the little vessel flew out across the bay toward the open sea.
Fru Rhånge had at first no thought of any pleasure to herself in going out for a sail to-day. She had not thought there was anything in the world that could make her forget the weight of sorrow that burdened her now. But when they had been sailing a little while, she could not help feeling easier; fresher in body and stronger in mind to bear her trouble.
The sky was clear, save for a few little flecks of white cloud. But there was yet enough moisture in the lower air to soften the light and tinge the dry, bare surface of rocks and reefs and islets with shades of grayish red and blue. They seemed, too, now to rise more boldly and strongly from the water, standing out with a certain majesty against the rest. The clefts seemed deep and black, the slopes steep and terrible and perilous; the distances seemed more marked, with ridge upon ridge in a succession of ever softer and more heavenly hues.
And after a little while there came into the young wife's eyes a look of quiet, earnest questioning, and she laid her folded hands in her lap as if in worship of all the beauty spread about her.
She was filled with a single thought—that she was learning to know one of God's miracles. She was learning to know the sea. She had never known before what it was to be so near the sea, to feel its breath in one's ears, to watch the play of expression in its face, to nestle close to its breast and be lulled to calm and peace.
Sven Elversson put the helm over, and they ran across to the north, in between the reefs, sailing close in under rugged cliffs, by little red fisher-huts set among ancient pear trees heavy with red-brown fruit, with glimpses of meadow between the rocks, greener, more brilliantly, livingly green than in the kindliest spring.
He led her from sound to sound, meeting white steamers, heavy, deep-laden barges, and lighter craft that glided over the water like huge sailing butterflies.