now became evident to him that
both he and the Brethren had hitherto manifested insufficient
austerity in life and doctrine.

He had, therefore, responded to the call, and had journeyed
southwards. His feelings when he read Sarah's letter were those of
pity for her, and for all the Brethren in that part, who were
wandering blindly in their sins and self-righteousness. But on his
way south, travelling through friendly districts, among people who
had known him of old and who received him with kindness, it could not
but happen that his asperity should be mitigated; and as he passed
through Sandsgaard, he stopped, overcome by memories which the sight
of the familiar bay and of the church towers of the neighbouring town
had revived.

Hans Nilsen searched his heart anew, but found nothing which should
not be there. Sarah was as a sister or a brother to him; she was
another man's wife, and he hoped that she might be happy.

Before he went on he happened to look over the hedge, and, amidst the
trees, he discovered Consul Garman, pacing up and down.

Fennefos recognized him, and his feelings were roused again by the
sight of the old man, so unconcerned in his sins, surrounded by
riches, and absorbed in worldly contemplation, whilst he was drawing
near the depths of hell with open eyes.

He seized his staff and went on. They should soon feel in the town
that Hans Nilsen Fennefos had come back.

In the mean time, the last gleam of the twilight faded away, and the
sky paled along the horizon, the spreading boughs of the beech trees
swayed to and fro in the cold wind, and Consul Garman re-entered his
house.

The garden lay in repose, the tree tops waved overhead, and, in the
struggle for life, either forced themselves upwards or perished,
stunted by the shade and drip of their companions.

Above and below branches stretched out, ever encroaching on the
narrow space around the pavilion, where the pond was growing smaller
year by year.

CHAPTER X

A long table was spread in the low, old-fashioned room of Sivert
Jespersen. Although the table-cloth and the napkins were of fine
damask, the knives were of a common sort, and the forks of steel.
Here and there, at long intervals, stood a bottle of Medoc; besides
this there was nothing but water, salt, and bread upon the table.

The host, however, was afraid that even this might appear too
sumptuous. In ordinary life an oil-cloth covered his dining-table,
and he was