“For the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did; by the which we draw nigh unto God.”
Egholm sighed, and passed his hand over his face. Alas, he noted to his shame how his thoughts had strayed from the Bible’s lofty theme.
What could it be for a commandment, that was disannulled for the weakness and unprofitableness thereof, he wondered. H’m, it would say farther on, no doubt. And he read on, but it did not appear to say. Then he went back and began again, reading slowly, in a whisper, the same verses over again. And of a sudden, his heart contracted violently, forcing a spout of blood to his temples. What—what was this? Was it the tithe that was abolished?
He read it through again and again.
“Anna”—he dared not trust his own senses now—“Anna, come here and look at this. Quick—read from there to there.” He stood as if about to strike; there were red spots on his pale face. Anna trembled with fear, and fell to reading about Melchisedec, the Levites, and the rest, without understanding a word of it all.
“Well, why don’t you speak, woman?” broke in Egholm, when she had been reading a few seconds. “Are you asleep?—or, perhaps it doesn’t interest you? Eh? Now, then, what is it you’re reading?—what do you make of it? Eh?”
“Yes, yes, I see,” stammered Fru Egholm, her eyes flitting to another part altogether in her confusion—“something about the Tabernacle....”
“Is the tithe abolished?—that’s what I want to know,” said Egholm insistently. “Does it say there, or does it not, that the tithe is weak and unprofitable?”
“Why, yes—but that’s what I’ve always said,” answered she, with marvellous presence of mind. “Was it only that you wanted me to see?”
Egholm looked her up and down contemptuously.