will not succeed, and that I will not put up with your interruptions."
Anders Jörgen rose from his seat by the alcove in consternation and wished to make peace, but Emanuel's blood was up, and it was not easy to stop him. "I know you very well by hearsay, weaver Hansen," he continued with quivering lips. "Provst Tönnesen has told me a good deal about you, and I tell you that you had better take care. Neither the Provst nor I intend to tolerate your attempt to sow discord or dissension among the congregation any longer. As to what concerns myself, I warn you that my patience has limits, and that I will not put up with your continued efforts to thwart me in my work. I know that I have struggled to the best of my ability to form friendly relations with the congregation, and I have tried to win both parties, to smooth out their mutual difficulties. But if you are bent upon war—well, then, I am ready for you! We shall see who is the strongest!"
There was a dead silence in the room after his words. Even the weaver sat a moment holding his head as if he had had a blow. But soon the same distorted, irritating leer passed over his contracted countenance. It almost looked as if the young priest's anger was downright pleasing to him.
After a moment's silence he said in his slow imperturbable manner—
