Suddenly Josef, the dog, started up in his corner, and barked. He was a
large mastiff, with a dangerous temper, who was chained up at night in
the rough lean-to that was built against the side of the cabin. He
barked again furiously, dragging at his chain with all his might, and
quivering in every nerve of his body. The woman lighted a torch at the
dying embers on the hearth, and unfastening the dog, waited to see what
would happen. He dashed forward furiously a few steps, then suddenly
stopped, sniffed the air, made one or two uncertain darts hither and
thither, and stood still, evidently puzzled. She called to him to
encourage him, but he dropped his tail and returned to his shed, where
he curled himself up in a comfortable corner, like a dog that was not
going to be troubled by womanish fancies. The woman went round the
cabin, and the pig-stye, and the patch of meagre gooseberry-bushes,
throwing the uncertain torch-light on every dark hole or corner; but no
one was to be seen. She was none the less convinced that someone had
approached the cottage, for the dog was not likely to have been deceived
as well as herself; so she kept the light burning, called Josef to lie
down at the foot of the bed, barred the door, and went to sleep.

The sun was high the next morning when the fisherman returned. He stood
in the stream of light in the open doorway, in his blue, knitted jersey
and jack-boots; and with the beaming smile which overspread his whole
countenance, and his big, powerful limbs, he might well have been taken
for an impersonation of the sun shining in his strength.

It was as great a pleasure to him to greet his Louise now, as it had
been in the days of their early courtship; for he had courted her twice,
his sunny boyhood's lovemaking having been overclouded by the advent of
a stranger from the mainland, who, with his smooth tongue and
new-fangled ways, had gained such an influence over Louise during a four