Meilby was in difficulties with his dress—his braces had given way—and Egholm was sucking an abrasion on the back of his hand. Nevertheless, each felt a sense of relief, as they walked briskly over the cobblestones, talking loudly and emphatically.

“If the Lord had sent a rain of fire upon their heads ... I was looking for it all the time. I can’t understand that He didn’t. Can you, now?”

Meilby answered, with a self-satisfied smile:

“Wasn’t wanted, that’s about it. He sent me instead.”

“Yes; that’s true. Thanks, Meilby—thanks for your help,” said Egholm, pressing the other’s arm. “But what was it all about, really? I was so excited at the time.... I mean, what was behind it all?”

“Ha ha, yes, what was behind it all! Metha Madsen was behind it all—Metha and her brat. Karlsen’s it was, and they’ve been trying to make out it was mine.”

“Terrible, terrible!”

“No; it’s not. I’m going away, and I’ll be out of it all. The old Angel in his little shop, he fixed it all up, for her to say it was me. Wouldn’t have done for his dear little son, you know, and an Evangelist into the bargain. Kid was born at ten o’clock, and it wasn’t stillborn either.”

“But you could declare on oath....”

“Well, you know, that’s a ticklish business. On oath.... No; I did the only thing there was to be done—came along every evening to the meetings, and glared at them, and threatened to kick up a scandal. But it’s not so easy to make a speech in a crowd like that. Anyhow, I managed it all right this time, didn’t I?”

“Splendidly. And now—you’re going away?”

“To-morrow. First thing to-morrow morning,” whispered Meilby hoarsely. “Come up with me now. I shan’t go to bed to-night.”

“Why, it’s all empty!” said Egholm dismally, looking round the place. There was a travelling trunk in the middle of the studio floor, and that was all.

“Every rag and stick cleared out,” said Meilby triumphantly.

“But you promised me—you promised me for certain....”

“Oh, I’ve fixed it up for you all right. Never meant to do you in, you know. That I swear. Not from the first evening. Here—here’s the pawnticket for some neat little things—that’s yours. I’ve sold the rest. Eh? Oh, don’t mention it, not at all.”

Egholm read the legend on the ticket—for a matter of a few kroner he could buy the camera thing outright. He was delighted; he was touched.

“None of your sneaking Angel ways about me,” said Meilby simply.

“And what are you going to do over there when you get there?”

“How should I know? Don’t even know where America is. If I hadn’t got my ticket, I’d never find the way. But I’ve got it all right, thank the Lord! Here, you can see. Looks like business, doesn’t it, what? But it’s a long way, that’s true. Wonder if there’s women there....”

Egholm staggered off homewards.

If only he could go with Meilby. Get away out of this hole, with its hypocrites and scoundrels, its patent-shoed prophets and broadcloth deacons, away to America....

Yes; Egholm felt he must go. Not to America, of course—that was beyond him. But go somewhere. Just a few miles away. Knarreby, for instance, or somewhere thereabout. Meilby’s camera would keep him above water, wherever he chose to commit himself to the waves—himself, that is. As for his family, well, he could always send some money home.

Anna was still up when he got back. He sat down and commenced telling her about the meeting. Also, that he was going away. He grew excited again, but she did not seem to take in all he was saying. There was something strange about her this evening....

“I knew it all along,” was all she said.

She was still moving about when he rolled himself in the bedclothes and laid his weary head on the pillow. But suddenly a fresh quiver of raw pain went through her. She staggered to the bed and dropped.

“Oh ... Egholm, it’s coming. You’ll have to—go and fetch her now. You know where she lives....”

Beyond her pain and fear, she felt for one brief moment a blessed sense that this was her hour; she was to be the centre of importance for once. It was a victory.

Her husband, on his part, felt no share in anything victorious. He roused her quickly to her senses.

“It’ll have to keep till to-morrow,” he said in an offended tone. “You surely don’t mean to send me running about now in the middle of the night?”

But it would not keep till to-morrow....

---

Egholm suffered considerably that night. A couple of women whom he did not remember to have seen before came up to assist the midwife, and took possession of the place, relegating him—the master—to the status of a slave. One handed him a bucket, indicating simply that it was to be emptied in the dustbin in the yard. He was not accustomed to such errands, but went down the dark stairs meekly. He had barely returned, when, shaken as he was, they bade him run at full speed to the chemist’s. He looked round helplessly for Hedvig and Sivert, but the children had already been safely lodged with Eriksens’ down below, out of the way. Egholm went. He took it like a man. True, he wept, but he did not scream aloud, as did his wife over her part.

Later on, towards morning, he was ordered to find some tape. As the simplest way of searching, he took his wife’s workbox and tipped it upside down. He found no tape, but he found some crumpled letters, which interested him as soon as he perceived the signature was his own.

Egholm’s features writhed themselves into expressions of disgust as he read the tender words, the ardent longing, with which he had once written to a certain “dearest Anna.”

There were even some verses dedicated to that same Anna—“Dove of my heart....”

The verses in themselves were chiefly in praise of HelsingØr, HelsingØr.... As through a mist Egholm saw the two women who had played any part in his life—Clara Steen, from HelsingØr, and Anna, from Aalborg. Once, the two had been as one in his mind—it was at the time he wrote those letters. The verses to HelsingØr, dedicated to Anna, were proof of it. And now—ah, now ... Clara, a silken-soft, delicious dream, and Anna, a heavy, sighing, hollow-eyed reality.

Clara—what of Clara now? No; she was forgotten. All that Egholm remembered was the picture of her on the wall of her father’s office. But he remembered that only too well. Though it was long now since he had seen it of nights....

Egholm, the weary, his night’s rest broken, his hopes trampled under the butcher-boots of Karlsen Junior, his past for years back a ravening hunt for work; Egholm, the miserable, sank down on a chair and buried his face in the litter from the workbox, with the letters under it.

There was a bitterness in his mouth almost of physical disgust....

As it grew light he stole out of the house. The women were making coffee, with a great deal of fussing about. He seemed to remember they had come in once during the night, and showed him a child. He had expected it, and showed no surprise....

The walk out along the frosted roads did him good.

That money for the camera must be found. Ten kroner—after all, it was not a million. And he must have them....

He came back home warm and cheerful, to find the house in an atmosphere of rejoicing that fitted well with his mood.

Anna lay there in bed with a splendidly clean nightdress on, and a face younger by years.

“Did you ever see such a blessing of things?” she said, pointing round the room. “What do you think that is? Butter! And there’s soup. Sit down, you poor thing. Hedvig, make haste and dish up a plate of soup. And Mother’s sent ten kroner. Don’t say the day of miracles is past!”

“Why, that’ll pay for the journey!” Egholm exclaimed, with emotion.

“Journey? What journey?”

“Er—well, you remember.... We said before....”

“Oh no!” cried Anna, trembling. “You mustn’t, Egholm. You mustn’t. God’s everywhere. He can help you here as well. I haven’t been able to be much to you lately, I know, but only wait a little, and you shall see. With God’s help, I’ll be up and about again in four days from now. I can generally manage with four, you know.—Yes, I know you always say the gipsies and that sort don’t need to stay in bed at all, but then they’re more like animals than human beings—heathen, at any rate. Don’t go away now, Egholm; you see how I’ll work—oh, you wait and see. And make money, and you’ll get work, too, all right.”

“Never, in this beastly place.”

“Yes, you will. Listen. Last night, when it was over, and the women had gone, I lay thinking of the lovely boy the Lord had sent me. I felt such a relief, and it was all so good and nice. It was about four, I think. And just as I was dropping off again, I saw a man with two bright eyes standing there by the cradle....”

“A spirit, you mean?” said Egholm, with a gasp.

“Yes, yes.—Be careful, you’re spilling the soup. I lay there quite quiet, and looked at him, and he looked at me. I dared hardly breathe, for fear he should vanish again. His eyes were ever so big—and I can’t tell you what a gentle look in them.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He nodded several times, and then he said: ‘That boy is sent to help you.’ Oh, you can’t think how lovely it was. When I woke up I could feel I had been crying.”

“When you woke up—why, then, it was only a dream.” Egholm was deeply disappointed.

“Dream? No; I wasn’t asleep, only just dozing, I tell you. He stood there as plain and alive as you are now.”

But Egholm went on with his soup. And he had his way. He was to go off that very day. Sivert was despatched to the pawnbroker’s for the camera, and while he waited, Egholm was as gentle as could be. His wife could not remember having seen him so kind, not for years past. He took one of the snowdrops from the bedside—Hedvig, with her usual readiness, had stolen them from Eriksens’ garden for her mother—and put it in his buttonhole.

“Good-bye, dear, and take care of yourself,” said Egholm, and kissed his wife on both cheeks.

Anna was touched at so much gentleness. The tears flowed from her eyes.