"I will tell no one, Jan. Thou art safe here; be at perfect rest about
that matter."

Of course the minister thought Jan had committed some crime. It was
natural for every one to suspect Jan of doing wrong. But the fact
that he had been sent so obviously to save him was, in the doctor's
mind, an evidence of the divine interest in the youth which he was
glad to share. He had been appointed his preserver, and already he
loved him. He fully trusted Hamish, but he thought it well to say to
him:

"We will speak to no one of our row to the Troll Rock, Hamish."

"Does Hamish ever talk, master?"

"No, thou art a wise man; but here there is more to guide than I yet
understand."

"Look nor word of mine shall hinder it."

For four days the doctor stayed near Jan, and never left his house. "I
will be quiet and let the news find me," he thought. It came into the
manse kitchen in various forms. Hamish received every version of the
story with that grave shake of the head which fits so admirably every
requirement of sympathy. "It was all a great pity," was his most
lengthy comment; but then Hamish never exceeded half a dozen words on
any subject.

On the fourth evening, which was Saturday, Peter Fae sent this message
to the minister: "Wilt thou come down to my store for the good of a
wretched soul?" It was then getting late, and Peter stood in his
shop-door alone. He pointed to Michael Snorro, who sat in a corner on
some seal-skins in a stupor of grief.

"He hath neither eaten nor slept since. It is pitiful. Thou knowest he
never had too much sense--"

"I know very clever men who are fools, besides Michael Snorro. Go thy
ways home. I will do what I can for him--only, it had been kinder, had
thou sent for me ere this."

He went to Snorro and sat down beside him. "Thou wilt let me speak to
thee, Snorro. I come in God's name. Is it Jan?"

"Yes, it is Jan. My Jan, my Jan, my friend! the only one that ever
loved me. Jan! Jan! Jan!" He said the last words in an intense
whisper. It seemed as if his heart would break with each.

"Is Jan's loss all thy grief, Snorro?"

"Nay, there is more. Has thou found it out?"

"I think so. Speak to me."

"I dare not speak it."

"It is as sinful to think it. I am thy true friend. I come to comfort
thee. Speak to me, Snorro."

Then he lifted his face. It was overspread by an expression of the
greatest awe and sorrow:

"It is also my Lord Christ. He hath deceived me. He said to me,