'Will you come down to the shore?' asked Ellen; 'the rain is over, the wind has lulled, and the moon is shining clearly.'
'Yes, let us go,' said Christine, laying aside the empty coffee-cups.
'Ah! now we shall see what is the matter with poor Kjeld.'
'Of course old Jan Steffens did not care to have his company,' said the most ill-natured woman. 'No doubt he knew pretty well where Kjeld's thoughts would be wandering to.'
'And I say you are quite mistaken,' replied Ellen, casting a look of angry scorn on the woman. 'It would be a happy thing for you, Birthe, if you had a son, or anyone belonging to you, that resembled Kjeld.'
So saying, she took Christine by the arm and went towards the shore, followed by the rest of the women. It had ceased raining, and the wind had abated, but the sea was still much agitated, and the noise of firing was yet to be heard. Kjeld was standing in earnest conversation with an old man, who was leaning on a staff, and who shook his head occasionally as if refusing something.
'What is the matter, Kjeld?' asked Skipper Ellen. 'And why have you not gone with the rest of them?'
'Jan Steffens said there were too many in the boats,' he answered evasively.
'Ay--and now he insists upon following them,' said the old man, 'and offers me everything he has to help him to row over yonder. But the weather is too bad. I won't trust my boat out in such a wild sea.'
'What nonsense!' cried Ellen, jeeringly. 'Are you afraid of risking your life, Poul?'