pt standing. When the old gentleman got to this
point he would pause, drink a glass of the wine, and look thoughtfully
in the large mirror. He then shook his head and continued his
wanderings.

No change took place in Miss Cordsen. The well-starched cap-strings and
the odour of dry lavender still followed her wherever she went; while
all the secrets of the family lay carefully preserved, together with her
own, to both of which the closely pressed mouth, with its innumerable
wrinkles, formed a lock of the safest description.

CHAPTER XXV.

Thus passed six years. According to Martens's prediction, Dean Sparre
had been made a bishop. His predecessor in office had been a strict and
haughty prelate, and there was, therefore, no little disturbance in the
camp when he departed. But from the moment Dean Sparre mounted the
vacant seat, all friction ceased, and everything went on evenly and
smoothly. It was like covering the hammers of an old piano with new
felt. The hitherto sharp tone gives place to a soft and agreeable sound;
and after Dean Sparre's patent felt had been introduced into the
mechanism, it all worked silently and noiselessly, and gave the greatest
pleasure to all parties concerned.

The bishop did not forget his young friend, Inspector Johnsen, of whom
he had always had such "good hopes." He obtained for Johnsen a
chaplaincy in his cathedral town; and some people were so mischievous as
to assert that the bishop's "good hopes" were now fulfilled, for Pastor
Johnsen was shortly after engaged to Miss Barbara Sparre.

A great change had taken place in the _ci-devant_ school inspector. When
the turning-point was once reached, he set to work in his new line in
real earnest, as was only to be expected from one of his energetic
character. He never dabbled any more in advanced philosophy, and had but
little to do with grand society; on the contrary, he grew to be a
clergyman to whom the women were particularly attracted. His sermons
were always severe, very severe; and those who cared to listen closely,
might remark that he never repeated the prayer for the arms of the
country by land and by sea.

Down at Mrs. Worse's shop, in the dark corner of the lane, trade went on
regularly and well. Little Pitter Nilken had arrived at that stage of
shriveldom, at which both fruits and people cannot hold out much longer
without a change. He still managed to swing himself over the counter as
lightly as a cork when the e