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 Salve Kristiansen, she thought, from his paleness and general appearance, that he was drunk.
"Is that you, Salve ?--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 ?" "No, mother, it's not.

I've come off my watch; I wanted to have a word with you about Elizabeth." His tone was so strangely low and sorrowful, that the old woman saw that there must be something unusual the matter; and she opened the door.
"About Elizabeth, you say ?" "Yes--where is she stopping now ?" "Where is she stopping ?--why, with the Becks, of course.