The pastor made no answer. He had not heard the last few words; for what Peder said of being underground had plunged him into a reverie about Peder’s funeral sermon, which he should, of course, have to preach. He was pondering how he should at once do justice to Peder’s virtues and mark his own disapprobation of the countenance Peder gave to the superstitions of the region in which he lived. He must keep in view the love and respect in which the old man was held by everybody, and yet he must bear witness against the great fault above mentioned. He composed two or three paragraphs in his imagination which he thought would do, and then committed them to memory. He was roused from this employment by a loud laugh from the man whose funeral he was meditating, and saw that Peder was enjoying life at present as much as the youngest, with a glass of punch in his hand, and a group of old men and women round him recalling the jests of fifty years ago.
“How goes it, Rolf?” said his master, who, having done his duty in the dancing-room, was now making his way to the card-tables, in another apartment, to see how his guests there were entertained. Thinking that Rolf looked very absent, as he stood, in the pause of the dance, in silence by Erica’s side, Erlingsen clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “How goes it? Make your friends merry.”
Rolf bowed and smiled, and his master passed on.
“How goes it?” repeated Rolf to Erica, as he looked earnestly into her face. “Is all going on well, Erica?”
“Certainly. I suppose so. Why not?” she replied. “If you see anything wrong,—anything omitted, be sure and tell me. Madame Erlingsen would be very sorry. Is there anything forgotten, Rolf?”
“I think you have forgotten what the day is: that is all. Nobody that looked at you, love, would fancy it to be your own day. You look anything but merry. Hardly a smile from you to-night! And that is a great omission.”
“O, Rolf, there is something so much better than merriment!”
“Yes, love; but where is it? Not in your heart to-night, Erica.”
“Yes, indeed, Rolf.”
“You look as dull,—as sad,—you and Hund, as if—”