She stopped, started at the deadly pallor which overspread the face of the man who still stood motionless before her. His features remained firm and inflexible as ever, no feeling betrayed itself there, but every drop of blood seemed to have forsaken those features, whose fixed expression had something unearthly in it. He did not see the anxious questioning look of the girl, her sudden silence seemed first to restore him to consciousness. With an abrupt movement he drew himself up, and passed his hand over his brow.
"One must acknowledge that you stand bravely by your countrymen," said he. His voice sounded dull and heavy, as if every word were produced by a strong effort.
"So would you if you had an opportunity for doing so," returned Frida, with perfect assurance. "You would cast the whole weight of your name and position into the scale against such undertakings, and certainly you could do far more than an unknown clergyman, whose own duties leave him so little time, and who has already so much distress and misery to alleviate in his own parish. Mr. Sandow," with suddenly awakening confidence, she drew a step nearer to him, "really I did not mean to affront you by those heedless words. It is quite possible that report has wronged the man, or that Pastor Hagen has been deceived. You do not believe it, I can see from your emotion, and you must know him best?"
He was certainly agitated, this man whose hand so convulsively grasped the back of the bench, as if he would crush the carved wood with his fingers, so agitated that some moments passed before he regained full control over his voice.
"We have fallen upon a very disagreeable topic," said he at last turning away. "I should never have believed that the timid, quiet child, who during the week spent in my house, scarcely dared to raise her eyes or open her lips, would blaze out so passionately when strangers' interests were concerned. Why have you never shown this side before?"
"I dared not. I feared so much"--
Frida said no more, but her eyes which were raised half confidently, half timidly to his, expressed what the lips could not, and she was understood.
"Whom did you fear? Was it me?"
"Yes," she replied with a deep breath. "I feared you dreadfully till this moment."
"But you should not fear me, child!" In Sandow's voice was a tone silent for many years and grown quite strange, but which spoke of rising warmth and softness. "No doubt I seem cold and stern to you, and so I am in the business world, but towards the young guest who has sought shelter in my house I would not be so. Do not for the future avoid me as you have done. You must not be afraid of me?"