me at night in the garden, either they
are lying, or Satan has blinded them. I can see this--unhappy man that
I am--that I have no one to turn to for help here on earth. Will He
who is in heaven be silent also, then must I bow to His inscrutable
will." He bowed his head with a deep sigh.

Some of those present began to weep, and a murmur arose that he might
possibly be innocent. But this was only the effect of the momentary
sympathy called out by his attitude. My own heart indeed spoke for
him. But the judge's heart may not dare to dictate to his brain or to
his conscience. My conviction forced me to declare that the rector had
killed Niels Bruus, but certainly without any premeditation or
intention to do so. It is true that Niels Bruus had often been heard
to declare that he would "get even with the rector when the latter
least expected it." But it is not known that he had fulfilled his
threat in any way. Every man clings to life and honor as long as he
can. Therefore the rector persists in his denial. My poor, dear Mette!
She is lost to me for this life at least, just as I had learned to
love her so dearly.

I have had a hard fight to fight to-day. As I sat alone, pondering
over this terrible affair in which it is my sad lot to have to give
judgment, the door opened and the rector's daughter--I may no longer
call her my betrothed--rushed in and threw herself at my feet. I
raised her up, clasped her in my arms and we wept together in silence.
I was first to control myself. "I know what you would say, dear heart.
You want me to save your father. Alas, God help us poor mortals, I
cannot do it! Tell me, dearest one, tell me truly, do you yourself
believe your father to be innocent?"

She crossed her hands on her heart and sobbed, "I do not know!" Then
she burst into tears again. "But he did not bury him in the garden,"
she continued after a few moments. "The man may have died in the wood
from the blow. That may have happened----"

"But, dearest heart," I said, "Jen Larsen and the girl saw your father
in the garden that night."

She shook her head slowly and answered, "The evil one blinded their
eyes." She wept bitterly again.

"Tell me, beloved," she began again, after a while, "tell me frankly
this much. If God sends us no further enlightenment in this
unfortunate affair, what sentence must you give?"

She gazed anxiously at me, her lips trembling.

"If I did not believe," I began slowly, "that anyone else in m