Meanwhile, old Karlsen was reciting a pretty parable about the wolf that took upon itself sheep’s clothing, that it might deceive the unwary—ay, even the shepherd himself, that he might open the door of the fold and let that monster enter in, with kindly words: “Enter, poor strayed sheep, and be refreshed with the grass of this pleasant fold.” But then one day the shepherd looked into the eyes of that wolf in sheep’s clothing, and lo! they were eyes of fire. And another day he looked at its teeth, and lo! they were the teeth of a wolf. But the monster believed itself still safe and unsuspected—even until to-night. “And so it comes here amongst us at this moment, and says to the sheep: ‘Follow me. I know a place where the grass is richer and more pleasant; make haste and leave that evil shepherd, who shears you of your fleece. I will lead you; I will be your shepherd!’”
When the Angel had finished, Egholm rose, pale and ill at ease, and begged leave to speak. But his seat was so far back, and his voice so weak, that those on the platform might be excused for overlooking him. All heard, however, when young Karlsen called out the number of a hymn, and though Egholm repeated his request in a slightly louder voice, the congregation began singing:
“‘Up, ye Christians, up and doing,
Warriors of the Lord, to arms!
Lo, the foeman’s host pursuing,
All the power of war’s alarms.
Draw and smite
For the right,
Hell is arming ’gainst the Light.
Follow in your leader’s train,
Trusting in his strength to win,
Satan hopes the day to gain,
Up, and smite the host of sin!
Here at hand
Still doth stand
One who can all powers command!’”
Egholm had lost patience. As the hymn concluded, he sprang up and roared across the hall:
“Look here, do you mean to say I’m Satan?”
There was a stir as all in the hall turned round. Fru Westergaard’s chair rocked suddenly, and a bench crashed down, but after that followed a moment of icy silence, cleft immediately by Karlsen’s angel trumpet:
“Guilty conscience, Egholm?”
A new silence, Egholm stammering and gurgling, but finding no appropriate answer. Then the Evangelist let loose a shower of insulting laughter. Strangely enough, this had the effect of bringing Egholm to his senses.
“I was the first to ask; it’s your place to answer. D’you mean to say I’m Satan?”