Old man Henriksen proved that he was not too old to
work when circumstances required it.
And Tidemand was unceasing in his efforts. His rye was at last dwindling;
he sold heavily at advancing prices now winter was approaching; his losses
were diminishing. He had to take back still more of his old employees; he
was shipping tar; to-morrow a new cargo was to sail.
He had finished the preparations, made out the papers, taken out his
insurance; it was all done. Before he turned to something else he lit a
cigar and reflected. It was about four in the afternoon. He went over to
the window and looked out. While he stood there a gentle knock was heard;
his wife entered. She asked if she disturbed him; it was only a small
matter of business....
She wore a heavy veil.
Tidemand threw away his cigar. He had not seen her for weeks, long, weary
weeks; one evening he had thought he recognised her in a lady whose walk
was somewhat similar to hers; he had followed this lady a long time before
he discovered that he was mistaken. He had never objected to her coming,
and she knew it; still, she did not come. She had probably forgotten both
him and the children; it looked that way.
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