ecklessness, and from the tone of Salve's
voice she knew that he was in a savagely defiant mood, and that she, for
some reason or other, was the cause of it. Her expression gradually
changed to one of deeper and deeper anxiety of soul.

"But what have I done to him?" she exclaimed impetuously, and buried her
face in the bedclothes.

"What have I done to him?" she repeated. "What can he believe?--what can
he possibly think?" she asked herself, as she stood now like a statue
almost, lost in conjecture, until the thought which she had always tried
to keep away came up before her in full, heavy, unmistakable clearness.

"He doesn't trust me!" she whispered to herself, in despair. "He has no
faith in me;" and she laid her head--her beautiful head--down upon her
arm, just as her own child might have done, in an inconsolable fit of
crying. But to her no tears would come, and she seemed to see an abyss
of suspicion and distrust before her in which Salve's love for her was
going to disappear.

She heard no longer the creaking and the noise on deck--no longer cared
about the lurching and the thuds against the head-seas--although she had
often to hold on to the berth with all her strength. All the energy of
her soul was now occupied with this one awful terror which had taken
possession of her. All her defiance was gone. Her only source of courage
now was to do anything or everything to keep his love. She felt ready
for any sacrifice whatever--ready, without a sigh, to bear the burden of
his suspicions all her life through if she might only keep his love. It
was she who had made him distrustful, and it was upon her the punishment
should fall, if she could not by persistent love bring him back to a
healthy condition of mind again.

Her instinct at once suggested to her how she should begin. He should
see that she on her side had entire confidence in him--confidence as
absolute as the child's there who was sleeping before her. And with a
sickly smile upon her lips, she undressed and laid herself down beside
little Gjert.

Upon deck Salve had wanted the night-glass, which was down in the cabin.
The look-out man had fancied that he had caught a glimpse for a moment
of a light, in which case, against Salve's calculations, they must be
under Jutland. His pride, however, would not allow him to send any one
else to fetch the glass, and he couldn't make up his mind to go down
himself. At last it became absolutely necessary, and he wen