saw that, according to his usual custom, he had been wandering among the hills, on the look out for solitary girls.
He decided to appear as if he did not see him. But Johansen raised his hat, and shouted:
"A lovely evening, Mr Hansted; it's perfect summer weather."
The next morning a heavy thunder cloud rested over Veilby Parsonage. When Emanuel, somewhat later than usual, came down to breakfast, he found neither the Provst nor Miss Ragnhild. The old lame servant who came in from the kitchen poured out his tea in silence, and pushed it towards him with a face in which he read his doom. The Provst was wandering restlessly up and down the chestnut avenue. Heavy clouds of tobacco rose rapidly from his pipe, and lost themselves among the trees, showing more plainly than words, his state of mind. Provst Tönnesen only puffed like that under great mental excitement. Miss Ragnhild had merely told him at breakfast about the curate's appearance at the Meeting House; but in the early morning, while he was still in his room, which adjoined the kitchen, he had caught scraps of conversation between the cook and a rag-dealer who was
