"How sorely my soul is afflicted to see you thus, Froeken! I am amazed--I am distressed! Such language from your lips! oh fie, fie! And has it come to this! And must I resign the hope I had of saving your poor soul?
and must I withdraw my spiritual protection from you ?" This he asked with a suggestive sneer of his prim mouth,--and then continued, "I must--alas, I must! My conscience will not permit me to do more than pray for you! And as is my duty, I shall, in a spirit of forbearance and charity, speak warningly to Sir Philip concerning--" But Thelma did not permit him to finish his sentence.

She sprang forward like a young leopardess, and with a magnificent outward sweep of her arm motioned him down the garden path.
"Out of my sight,--_coward_!" she cried, and then stood waiting for him to obey her, her whole frame vibrating with indignation like a harp struck too roughly.

She looked so terribly beautiful, and there was such a suggestive power in that extended bare white arm of hers, that the minister, though quaking from head to heel with disappointment and resentment, judged it prudent to leave her.
"Certainly, I will take my departure, Froeken!" he said meekly, while his teeth glimmered wolfishly through his pale lips, in a snarl more than a smile.

"It is best you should be alone to recover yourself--from this--this undue excitement! I shall not repeat my--my--offer; but I am sure your good sense will--in time--show you how very unjust and hasty you have been in this matter--and--and you will be sorry! Yes, indeed! I am quite sure you will be sorry! I wish you good day, Froeken Thelma!" She made him no reply, and he turned from the house and left her, strolling down the flower-bordered path as though he were in the best of all possible moods with himself and the universe.

But, in truth, he muttered a heavy oath under his breath--an oath that was by no means in keeping with his godly and peaceful disposition.