He gave me his hand with his eyes averted.  I staggered from the prison, hardly conscious of what I was doing.  I would have ridden home without seeing his daughter had she not met me by the prison door.  She must have seen the truth in my face, for she paled and caught at my arm.  She gazed at me with her soul in her eyes, but could not speak.  “Flee!  Save your father in flight!” was all I could say.

I set spurs to my horse and rode home somehow.

To-morrow, then!

The sentence is spoken.

The accused was calmer than the judge.  All those present, except his bitter enemy, were affected almost to tears.  Some whispered that the punishment was too severe.

May God be a milder judge to me than I, poor sinner, am forced to be to my fellow men.

She has been here.  She found me ill in bed.  There is no escape possible.  He will not flee.  Everything was arranged and the jailer was ready to help.  But he refuses, he longs for death.  God be merciful to the poor girl.  How will she survive the terrible day?  I am ill in body and soul, I can neither aid nor comfort her.  There is no word from the brother.

I feel that I am near death myself, as near perhaps as he is, whom I sent to his doom.  Farewell, my own beloved bride....  What will she do? she is so strangely calm—­the calm of wordless despair.  Her brother has not yet come, and to-morrow—­on the Ravenshill——!

Here the diary of Erik Soerensen stopped suddenly.  What followed can be learned from the written and witnessed statements of the pastor of Aalsoe, the neighboring parish to Veilbye.

II

It was during the seventeenth year of my term of office that the terrible event happened in the neighborhood which filled all who heard of it with shock and horror, and brought shame and disgrace upon our holy calling.  The venerable Soeren Quist, Rector of Veilbye, killed his servant in a fit of rage and buried the body in his garden.

He was found guilty at the official trial, through the testimony of many witnesses, as well as through his own confession.  He was condemned to death, and the sentence was carried out in the presence of several thousand people on the little hill known as Ravenshill, here in the field of Aalsoe.

The condemned man had asked that I might visit him in his prison.  I must state that I have never given the holy sacrament to a better prepared or more truly repentant Christian.  He was calm to the last, full of remorse for his great sin.  On the field of death he spoke to the people in words of great wisdom and power, preaching to the text from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, chap. ii., verse 6:  “He hath despised the priest in the indignation of his anger.”  He spoke of his violence and of its terrible results, and of his deep remorse.  He exhorted his hearers to let his sin and his fate be an example to them, and a warning not to give way to anger.  Then he commended his soul to the Lord, removed his upper garments, bound up his eyes with his own hand, then folded his hands in prayer.  When I had spoken the words, “Brother, be of good cheer.  This day shalt thou be with thy Saviour in Paradise,” his head fell by the ax.