said of the dark old monkish church—and its musty cellar-like smell and mouldy arches had often been derided in the weaver's Meeting House—in any case it produced a softening effect on the rough voices of the singers.
After two hymns had been sung, Johansen withdrew to his high pew, and the Provst walked down from the altar and mounted the pulpit steps, which creaked under his weight.
At this moment a carriage was heard to stop at the gate; and just as the Provst began his prayer the church door was opened by an elderly man in black, carrying a white linen driving coat over his arm.
The sight of this person roused as much movement in the church as if the Almighty himself had appeared among them. Even the weaver, who had taken up his place against the middle pillar so that every one should see him, almost lost his self-command; his otherwise self-contained and clever little cat's face suddenly took an expression of open-mouthed astonishment.
At the first bench which the stranger approached, seven or eight men rose as stiff as statues to make way for him. But he motioned them to keep their seats with a friendly smile and a wave of the hand, and quietly sat down in the corner of the already crowded seat, next to a burly peasant.
The only person in the church who was unaware of the stranger's presence, or the stir created by
