Then we all entered the house.  My beloved had revived again.  She fell on my neck and implored me, in the name of God, to help her father in his terrible need.  She begged me by the memory of our mutual love to let her follow him to prison, to which I consented.  I myself accompanied him to Grenaa, but with a mournful heart.  None of us spoke a word on the sad journey.  I parted from them in deep distress.  The corpse was laid in a coffin and will be buried decently to-morrow in Veilbye churchyard.

To-morrow I must give a formal hearing to the witnesses.  God be merciful to me, unfortunate man!

Would that I had never obtained this position for which I—­fool that I am—­strove so hard.

As the venerable man of God was brought before me, fettered hand and foot, I felt as Pilate must have felt as they brought Christ before him.  It was to me as if my beloved—­God grant her comfort, she lies ill in Grenaa—­had whispered to me, “Do nothing against that good man!”

Oh, if he only were innocent, but I see no hope!

The three first witnesses repeated their testimony under oath, word for word.  Then came statements by the rector’s two farm hands and the dairy maid.  The men had been in the kitchen on the fatal day, and as the windows were open they had heard the quarrel between the rector and Niels.  As the widow had stated, these men had also heard the rector say, “I will strike you dead at my feet!” They further testified that the rector was very quick-tempered, and that when angered he did not hesitate to strike out with whatever came into his hand.  He had struck a former hand once with a heavy maul.

The girl testified that on the night Jens Larsen claimed to have seen the rector in the garden, she had lain awake and heard the creaking of the garden door.  When she looked out of the window she had seen the rector in his dressing gown and nightcap go into the garden.  She could not see what he was doing there.  But she heard the door creak again about an hour later.

When the witnesses had been heard, I asked the unfortunate man whether he would make a confession, or else, if he had anything to say in his own defense.  He crossed his hands over his breast and said, “So help me God, I will tell the truth.  I have nothing more to say than what I have said already.  I struck the dead man with my spade.  He fell down, but jumped up in a moment and ran away from the garden out into the woods.  What may have happened to him there, or how he came to be buried in my garden, this I do not know.  When Jens Larsen and my servant testify that they saw 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.