him, too, Ragnhild, as he is to be our daily companion."
The young lady's brow contracted.
"It would be as well not to decide too hastily on a first impression," she said, shortly. "The most important point is, whether he has the right qualities for the post—we must find that out."
"Of course, of course," exclaimed the Provst, and continued his walk. "There I quite agree with you—quite! Hm. Hallo!" he interrupted himself, as he looked at his watch, "I see it is getting late, it is time for me to get to work."
He kissed his daughter, bid her good-night, and went into his own room.
Hardly was his door closed, before the one from the kitchen opened, and the smoke dried face of the old lame maid appeared. Finding that the young lady was alone, she crept into the room and discovering an errand by the stove, turned her head and looked anxiously at Ragnhild, with a knowing and inquisitive glance. At last she hobbled along in her stocking feet to the table where the young lady was sitting.
"Well," she said, in a whisper, slyly screwing up her eyes, "and what does my young lady think of him?"
"Of whom?" asked Ragnhild, lifting her head quickly, and looking stiffly at the old servant.
"Why, him of course—the curate!"
A lightning glance shot from Miss Ragnhild's steely grey eyes which threatened a smart storm.
