“No! no!” she cried; “father must not know anything about it!  Oh, heavens! what have I done?” she murmured, holding her hand before her eyes.

A bland smile passed over his face as he took her arm in his.  “You are still a little discomposed, child, but it will soon pass away.”  He then led her to Mrs. Garman’s room.

“Could not we wait till to-morrow?  My head is so painful,” entreated Madeleine.

“We will only just show ourselves to your aunt,” said he, quietly but decidedly, as he opened the door.

They found Mrs. Garman in her room, sitting comfortably in her armchair.  Before her she had a tray, on which stood a bottle of water and a small straw-covered flask of curacoa.  On a plate was some chicken, which had been cut into small pieces and neatly arranged round the edge, and in the middle was a little shape of asparagus butter, garnished with some chopped parsley.

When Madeleine and the pastor entered the room, she was just in the act of holding a piece of chicken on a fork and dipping it into the butter, but when she saw them she put down her fork with an air of indifference, and said, “I hope, Madeleine, you will not forget to thank the Lord for thus changing your obstinate heart; and for you, Mr. Martens, I will hope and pray that you will never have to repent the step you have taken.”

For a moment Madeleine’s eyes seemed to flash, but Mr. Martens hastened to observe, “My dear Madeleine is quite overcome.  Would you not rather go to your room?  We shall meet again to-morrow.”

Madeline felt really thankful for his suggestion, and gave him a feeble smile as he followed her to the door.

When the pastor had gone, Mrs. Garman could not help thinking how differently people behave as soon as they are engaged.  She suspected that she would not find the chaplain’s society so agreeable for the future.

Pastor Martens was so overjoyed that he could scarcely take his usual midday nap.  Later in the day it began to clear up; it was only a sea-fog which had come up during the night, as is frequently the case in the spring.  Everything appeared radiant and bright to Martens as he came along the street from the jeweller’s, where he had been to order the ring, but he took care not to show his feelings; it would not do to look too pleased on the day before the funeral of his intended’s uncle.

In the market-place he met Mr. Johnsen.

“You are coming to the funeral to-morrow?” said Martens, insensibly leading the conversation into the direction of his own thoughts.

“No,” answered Johnsen, drily; “I have to give an address at the Mission Bazaar.”

“What, between twelve and two?  Why, the whole town will be following the funeral.”

“It is for the women, my address,” said the inspector, as he continued his way.

“Well,” thought Martens, “he is indeed changed!  Prayer-meetings, missions, Bible-readings—­quite a different kind of work!” said the chaplain mysteriously to himself.  His feelings were almost too much for him.