egation--"

"It would, perhaps, be scarcely worth while," said Rachel, "to go too
much into details."

"No, that was not my intention. I wish to bring forward the importance
of sincerity. I will tell them plainly that I have my doubts, and that
God is to be found in truthfulness, and not in mere forms; and I wish
especially to examine the position of those of my own calling, who even
more than others are fettered by forms and ceremonies."

"It may cost you your future; and in any case you will make many
enemies."

"But perhaps I may make one friend."

"You shall have my friendship," said she, giving him her hand, "if you
find any support in that. You can count upon me, even if all others turn
their backs upon you."

"Thank you," said he, with solemnity, as he let go her hand. He left the
garden hastily, but without going through the house; he took a side
path, and went through the little wicket gate.

Rachel stood gazing after him as he went down the avenue. At last she
had met a man who dared to state his convictions. This was more than
ever Jacob Worse would have the courage to do.

CHAPTER X.

Jacob Worse's mother was regarded as quite a character in the town. When
her husband died, he was about as insolvent as a man could be. For
several years he had only kept his business going by means of unlimited
credit, but up to the very last he managed to keep one of the gayest
houses in the town. Nothing was left but a mass of bills and liabilities
when he was gone. People shook their heads, and went one and all to the
widow to condole with her. There were both friends and enemies among
them, but all alike were creditors. Some were for selling her up at
once, and others wished to keep the business going, while one wished to
buy the horses privately. The "Boston-parti"[A] to which the deceased
belonged, agreed to give the widow a monthly allowance. For a few days
Mrs. Worse was quite bewildered and broken down by the ruin she had so
little expected. She had never had the slightest knowledge of her
husband's affairs, but she was quite convinced that he was very rich. On
the evening after the funeral she was sitting alone with her son Jacob,
who was a boy of about seven or eight, when a little wizened,
grey-haired man came into the room, who, after respectfully wishing Mrs.
Worse good evening, laid on the table some account-books and papers. The
old man was well known to Mrs. Worse: it was Mr. Peter Samuelsen