trees don't fall at the first blow of the axe,—but that sometimes happens to the young; and that you will feel! You spoke yesterday, Mr Hansted! To-day it is my turn!"
When the Provst threw open the drawing-room door a few minutes later, Miss Ragnhild was just coming in from the dining-room with a large china bowl full of yellow flowers in her hands.
She was dressed in a loose morning gown of broad striped stuff with a cord round the waist, long ends, and tassels. On her head she had a flat, soft, grey felt hat, the only trimming on which was a white veil hanging down her back. She was pale, as usual, but the flowers threw a rich glow over the lower part of her face, as if it was a bowl of sunshine she carried.
"Whatever has happened?" she asked, alarmed at the sight of her father's heated appearance, and stopping by the heavy mahogany table in the middle of the room.
"You may well ask that! Upon my word I think the world is out of joint just now! People are bewitched—quite mad."
"But what on earth is the matter?"
"Oh, it's nothing more nor less than that
