The next day it rained in torrents.  Morten drove into the town immediately after breakfast.  Madeleine lay in bed with a fever.  Rachel went in to see her, but she found her in such a curious state that she wished to send for the doctor.  Miss Cordsen, however, was of opinion that it would be better to let her have perfect rest, and that with time she would soon come round.  Rachel would all the same have sent for the doctor, if she had not forgotten it almost before she got downstairs; she was so taken up with her own thoughts.  Would another day pass without his coming?

A carriage drove up to the door.  Mrs. Garman, who had just finished a little private breakfast in her own room, put down her paper and said, “Is it possible?  Can it be visitors in this weather?”

Rachel felt that she was blushing.  She had recognized his voice in the hall, and to conceal her emotion, she sat down at the piano and aimlessly struck a few chords.

The door opened and in came Dean Sparre, followed by Mr. Johnsen.  Rachel turned round on the music-stool, bringing her hand down with a crash on some of the bass notes of the piano.  Her eye never wandered from Johnsen, as if she expected every moment that he would begin to speak, and give some explanation as to why he came in such company.

Dean Sparre gave a cordial greeting to the ladies, at the same time mildly reproaching Rachel for not having paid them a visit at the deanery.  He had a great many messages for her from his “little girls.”

Mrs. Garman became reconciled as soon as she saw who were the visitors.  There was nothing she enjoyed more than a gossip with clergymen.

The conversation first turned upon the disagreeable weather, but Rachel’s eyes never once moved from the inspector.  He did not look in her direction; his face was pale, and his lips closely pressed together.

“We particularly wished, my young friend and I,” at last began the dean, “to pay this visit at your house together.  There are many things that can be explained, and many misunderstandings which can be avoided, if one only has an opportunity of talking a matter thoroughly over.”

The dean paused and looked at Mr. Johnsen, who made a momentary effort to speak, in which he signally failed.

“It would be most unfortunate,” continued the dean, “if a few ill-considered remarks should leave an impression on our congregation that there was any want of agreement, or rather, I should say, difference of opinion, among those who have to work together in the service of the Church.”

Rachel had left her seat, and was now standing before Mr. Johnsen.  “Is that your opinion?”

“My dear Rachel!” interrupted Mrs. Garman.  Rachel’s eccentricities really exceeded all bounds.

“Is that your opinion?” repeated Rachel, with the severity of a judge condemning a criminal.

Johnsen raised his head nervously and looked at her.  “Allow me to explain, Miss Garman,” he began.  But he could not withstand the penetrating glance of those clear blue eyes, and hung down his head, and stopped in the middle of his sentence.  Rachel turned round, and without saying another word left the room.