Jacob Worse stood
and fidgeted about.

"Come now, you will not refuse," said she, holding out her hand, and
looking at him with an expression of kindness.

But Worse still held back, and said, half in jest: "I am sorry to
seem so obstinate; but I think that you too, Madame Torvestad, are
also a little obstinate in your refusal to give house room to this
poor lad. Come, let us make a bargain. I will attend your meeting if
you will allow Lauritz to lodge with you. Will you say 'done,' Madame
Torvestad?"

"I would willingly do more than that, Captain Worse, if it would tend
to satisfy you," said she, offering him her hand.

Then, turning to Lauritz, she added, in her usual tone: "Mind, I do
this for the captain's sake. I trust that you will so conduct
yourself that I may not have to repent of it. You can have your old
room; it is quite ready for you."

Saying this, she left the room.

But the captain and Lauritz paid another visit to the cupboard. This
exhilarated Worse, and when he saw with what unbounded glee Lauritz
rushed off towards the wharf, in order to bring up his sea chest,
containing all his treasures, he forgot for a moment how dearly he
had paid for his young friend's little loft in the attic.

CHAPTER III

Hans Nilsen Fennefos came of a family that had long since become
followers of Hauge, on the occasion of one of his visitations to
their neighbourhood. From his earliest childhood he had heard of the
beloved teacher; his mother used to sing the hymns he had written,
and Fennefos himself was named after him.

There was, therefore, much that might seem likely to make him a
disciple; but the boy had a headstrong and passionate disposition,
and up to his twentieth year his wild and thoughtless life was a
source of grief to his mother.

One night, however, it happened that he came home late from a dance,
and as he crept up to his bedroom, he heard his mother singing, as
she laid awake:

"Commit thou all thy goings,
Thy sorrows all confide,
To Him who rules the heavens,
The ever-faithful Guide.
For He who stills the tempest,
And calms the rolling sea,
Will lead thy footsteps safely,
And smooth a way for thee."

It was a hymn lately introduced into the neighbourhood, and one which
his mother, as he knew, prized greatly; but hitherto he had never
taken any special notice of it.

At the sound of his mother's voice, the recollections of the dance
an