energy: he was afraid to leave himself a moment for thought. When the
day was over, however, he took the anchor watch for a comrade, who was
overjoyed at the unexpected prospect of getting a quiet night in his
hammock, and at escaping from his turn of "ship's dog"--that watch
consisting of one man only, whose business it is to keep the ship from
harbour-thieves.

He paced up and down the deck alone in the pitchy darkness, that was
only relieved by a lantern or two out in the harbour, and a light here
and there up in the town--sometimes standing for long minutes together,
with his cheek on his hand, leaning on the railing. He could, without
the slightest scruple, murder young Beck--that he felt.

At two o'clock he crossed over to the boards that were sloped against
the vessel's side, slid down them in the dark to the slip, and from
there made his way ashore. Elizabeth's aunt lived in one of the small
houses above; and he had determined to wake her and have a talk with
her.

Widow Kirstine was a portly, somewhat worn perhaps, but otherwise
strong-looking, old woman, with a good broad face, and thin grey hair
drawn down behind her ears. She was not unused to being disturbed at
night, one of her occupations being to nurse sick people; but she always
grumbled whenever she was. When she held up the candle she had lit, and
recognised Salvé Kristiansen, she thought, from his paleness and general
appearance, that he was drunk.

"Is that you, Salvé?--and a pretty state to be in at this time of
night!" she began, severely, in the doorway, not caring to let him in at
first. "Is that the way you spend your wages?"