come southwards again; they thought
that when he met his old friends, his equanimity would be restored.
But he did not come, and the country was full of reports about the
infatuated preacher, who wandered singing from hut to hut through the
snow, leading a band of haggard men and women with dishevelled hair,
who wept and tore their clothes.

The elders then begged Madame Torvestad to write to him, and the next
day she delivered to them a sealed letter. This was contrary to
rules, but the circumstances were unusual, and no objection was
raised. In the autumn the letter was despatched, and in the spring it
was reported that Hans Nilsen was wending his way southwards.

It was Sarah, however, who had written the letter. It was done at her
mother's request.

CHAPTER IX

For several years the fortunes of Garman and Worse prospered. Jacob
Worse's money ran like a stream of fresh blood in the business,
spreading itself through the limbs and invigorating the whole body,
and the firm soon recovered its own renown, both at home and abroad.

The Consul's brow grew calm and unclouded, and his step was vigorous
and youthful, as he mounted the great staircase to superintend the
foreign workmen, who had come from Copenhagen to decorate the
reception-rooms upstairs.

Christian Frederik was expected home in the spring; his education
abroad was completed, and he had spent the last winter in Paris.

The Consul was delighted to have his son at home again, especially
now that he could show him how prosperous the firm was and how the
business flourished.

There was only one thing which troubled him, namely, Worse.

The Consul, in his heart, cursed the Haugians more than ever. It had
happened as he feared--they had spoiled Skipper Worse as far as he
was concerned.

His sisters-in-law, Birgitte and Mette, were of the same opinion. It
was true that, after his marriage, Worse often visited Sandsgaard,
and tried to show that he had not altered. But it was of no use; he
could no longer adapt himself to the tone which prevailed there, and
it was painfully apparent on both sides that the good old times had
departed for ever.

On one occasion only had Sarah been to Sandsgaard, when the Consul
gave a grand dinner in honour of the newly married pair. With
downcast eyes she sat by his side in the brilliant dining-room,
surrounded by grand ladies and gentlemen, whom she knew by sight in
the streets or at church.

Jests, laughter,