and walked slowly towards the Parsonage. She was met by the old servant who was upset by the bustle of the day, and who had been quite unhappy at her long absence; she had a string of questions as to the preparation of the food and the setting out of the festive table. Miss Ragnhild gave her directions in a short, decided tone, and then went into the sitting room, where she sat down at the window, with a book, an English novel which she took hap-hazard out of the bookcase.
After reading for a quarter of an hour, she looked at the clock in the corner. It was three o'clock. She laid down her book, got up, and busied herself about the room, stood a moment looking at the parrot, which had gone to sleep in its cage, and at last sat down at the grand piano, where she began to play one of Chopin's preludes.
Again she looked at the clock. Ten minutes past three.
Then she once more struck a few chords, but broke off suddenly, rose and took up a newspaper from the heavy, round mahogany table in the middle of the room, and sat down by the window again. She remained sitting, with the paper unfolded on her knee, her chin resting in her slender, white hand, her glance wandering slowly over the big empty courtyard, and the thatched roofs of the stables—until the clock at last struck half-past three. Then she rose and went into her room to dress.
