he was afraid that the unhealthy atmosphere would be injurious to
his health.

He hurried out of West End and up to the house, as fast as his cassock,
and having to pick his way among the dirty puddles, would allow; but he
came too late. The Consul had already been dead half an hour, and so
Pastor Martens turned and went back to the town. It was very hot walking
in the long black garment, and already well past dinner-time.

Madame Rasmussen came running to meet him. "My dear Mr. Martens, dinner.
Why, it's half-past two! Why, how exhausted you look!"

"Let us rejoice, Madame Rasmussen," answered the clergyman, with a bland
smile, "when we are thought worthy to endure trials."

He was indeed a heavenly man, was the pastor. How pious and amiable he
looked as he sat at table! No one could ever have suspected that he wore
a wig.

Madame Rasmussen sat down to embroider some cushions to put in the
window, for the chaplain could not bear the slightest draught.

CHAPTER XXII.

Consul Garman's death caused a great sensation in the town. The
wonderful escape of the ship was already material enough for several
weeks' gossip; and now there came this death, with all its immediate
circumstances and possible consequences. The whole town was fairly
buzzing with stories and gossip.

The business men gave each other a knowing wink. The old man at
Sandsgaard had been a hard nut to crack, but now they would have more
elbow-room, and Morten was not so dangerous.

The preparations for the funeral were on the grandest scale. The body
was to be taken from Sandsgaard and laid in the church, where Dean
Sparre was to deliver a discourse, while the chaplain was to conduct the
funeral service at the cemetery.

All the different guilds were to follow with their banners, and the town
band was busy practising till late at night. A regular committee of
management was formed, and there was almost as much stir as if it was
the 17th of May.[B]

[Footnote B: Anniversary of the declaration of the
Norwegian Independence in 1814.]

Jacob Worse did not take any part in all this. He truly regretted the
Consul, who had always been almost like a father to him.

Mrs. Worse was more annoyed than sorry. "It was too bad, it was really
too bad," she grumbled, "of the Consul to go and die!" She was sure that
he would have arranged the match, such a sensible man as he was; but now
that there were nothing but a lot of women in the house--