It was no other than our man Anders.

He fixed his dull, glassy eyes upon me as he struggled, apparently hindered from saving himself by something down at his feet, which I could not see.

He looked as if he wanted to tell me something.
The vision only lasted a moment; but a torturing almost unbearable feeling, that in the same moment some misfortune was befalling us at home, drove me from the room to wander restlessly in the fields for the rest of the day.
When I came back they asked me what had been the matter, that I had so suddenly turned deadly pale and hurried from the room.
A fortnight later there came a sad letter from home.

My father's yacht, the _Hope_, which, after the custom of those days, was not insured, and was loaded for the most part with fish, which my father had bought at his own cost, had been wrecked on the way from Bergen in a storm on Stadt Sea.

The ship had sprung a leak, and late in the afternoon had to be run ashore.