and his father, Endre Egeland, were proud of him. Erik
Pontoppidan himself, however, took it very composedly.

Except Lauritz, no one looked at Henrietta, who felt very much
ashamed, and crept behind her two friends. Madame Torvestad now
struck up a hymn, in which all the company joined. To Jacob Worse's
ear, all these voices in the low room, the subdued tones of the
women, and the rough bass of the men, sounded weird and unpleasing.

They sang so very slowly that it seemed as if the hymn would never
finish, especially as Sivert Jespersen, in a manner peculiar to him,
threw in certain shakes and quavers at the end of each verse.

One of the elders had delivered an address at the meeting, and, as
she did not happen to be present, Madame Torvestad inquired whether
any one could tell her something of what he had said. She turned
towards Fennefos, as did several others; but he sat unmoved, with his
lips firmly closed, and looking as if he would not utter a word that
evening.

"According to my poor opinion," said Sivert Jespersen, "the old man
spoke well and simply; it was on the work of the Spirit, as little
Erik remembered so well. He took for his subject Luther's words on
the article, which says: 'I believe that of my own strength and
wisdom I can neither believe in Christ nor come to Him;' and he
showed clearly, at least in my opinion, both from Scripture and from
our daily experience, our miserable shortcomings in the spiritual as
well as in the temporal life, so long as we put our trust only 'in
the arm of flesh and in our own feeble judgment.'"

At this point Nicolai Egeland, who was not very highly gifted in a
spiritual sense, exclaimed: "Lord, I believe; help thou mine
unbelief!"

He knew, in fact, no more than five or six texts, and these he
brought in as they occurred to him, often quite inappropriately; but
the Brethren knew his sincerity, and were lenient with him. He was
not one of those servants to whom many talents had been entrusted.

One of the women sighed, and said: "Yes, that is true, indeed, Sivert
Jespersen; we should not trust to our own wisdom in spiritual
things."

Madame Torvestad now took up the conversation, as she sat turning
over the leaves of sundry small books, which lay on the table by her
side, just opposite to where Sarah was seated.

Some of these were tracts, and some, books of hymns; and as she met
with any passage that struck her, she wove it into her conversation
in such