This done, he hurried across to the church. On the way he stopped, felt in his pocket, and beckoning to a lad near, whispered:
“I left my pocket-book on the writing-table in my room. Run in and fetch it for me.”
The boy ran off to obey, and passing through the hall noticed the coat lying on the floor. He stopped to pick it up, and caught sight of the letter. He glanced through it, hardly knowing what he was doing, and finally left everything as he had found it.
When he reached the church with the pocket-book, he was evidently ill at ease; those who remarked it put it down to embarrassment at attracting attention.
Sera Ketill’s sermon was not so effective today as usual. Possibly his delivery was in part responsible. The priest seemed curiously absent; once or twice he even came to a standstill, and had to cast about for words.
It was the custom for none to leave the church till the priest and his family had left. Sera Ketill seemed in a remarkable hurry today. He strode across to the house at once, and quickly.
Coat and letter lay where he had left them, but had evidently been moved. Ketill smiled. He picked up the letter, slipped it into the envelope, and put it back in the pocket. He had barely finished when Ørlygur and Alma entered.
Ørlygur had noticed nothing, but Alma thought it strange to find her husband there in the hall, after he had made such haste to leave the church, doing something with his father’s coat.
Her heart beat fast, and she turned to Ørlygur.
“Another time, father, when you hang your overcoat up like that, be sure there is nothing in the pockets.”