Jorgen felt overcome by a holy， childlike feeling， like that which possessed him， when，as a boy， he stood in the splendid Spanish cathedral. But here the feeling was different， forhe felt conscious of being one of the conGREgation.
After the sermon followed Holy Communion. He partook of the bread and wine， and it sohappened that he knelt by the side of Miss Clara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heavenand the Holy Sacrament that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose from his knees， andthen he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.
She left Skagen and went to Norway two days later. He remained behind， and madehimself useful on the farm and at the fishery. He went out fishing， and in those days fish weremore plentiful and larger than they are now. The shoals of the mackerel glittered in the darknights， and indicated where they were swimming; the gurnards snarled， and the crabs gaveforth pitiful yells when they were chased， for fish are not so mute as people say.
Every Sunday Jorgen went to church; and when his eyes rested on the picture of theVirgin Mary over the altar as he sat there， they often glided away to the spot where they hadknelt side by side.
Autumn came， and brought rain and snow with it; the water rose up right into the townof Skagen， the sand could not suck it all in， one had to wade through it or go by boat. Thestorms threw vessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow-storm and sand-storms; the sand flew up to the houses， blocking the entrances， so that people had tocreep up through the chimneys; that was nothing at all remarkable here. It was pleasant andcheerful indoors， where peat fuel and fragments of wood from the wrecks blazed and crackledupon the hearth. Merchant Bronne read aloud， from an old chronicle， about Prince Hamlet ofDenmark， who had come over from England， landed near Bovbjerg， and fought a battle;close by Ramme was his grave， only a few miles from the place where the eel-breeder lived;hundreds of barrow rose there from the heath， forming as it were an enormous churchyard.Merchant Bronne had himself been at Hamlet's grave; they spoke about old times， andabout their neighbours， the English and the Scotch， and Jorgen sang the air of “The King ofEngland's Son，” and of his splendid ship and its outfit.
“In the hour of peril when most men fear，He clasped the bride that he held so dear，Andproved himself the son of a King;Of his courage and valour let us sing.”
This verse Jorgen sang with so much feeling that his eyes beamed， and they were blackand sparkling since his infancy.
there was wealth， comfort， and happiness even among the domestic animals， for theywere all well cared for， and well kept. The kitchen looked bright with its copper and tinutensils， and white plates， and from the rafters hung hams， beef， and winter stores inplenty. This can still be seen in many rich farms on the west coast of Jutland： plenty to eat anddrink， clean， prettily decorated rooms， active minds， cheerful tempers， and hospitalitycan be found there， as in an Arab's tent.
Jorgen had never spent such a happy time since the famous burial feast， and yet MissClara was absent， except in the thoughts and memory of all.
In April a ship was to start for Norway， and Jorgen was to sail in it. He was full of life andspirits， and looked so sturdy and well that Dame Bronne said it did her good to see him.
“And it does one good to look at you also， old wife，” said the merchant. “Jorgen hasbrought fresh life into our winter evenings， and into you too， mother. You look younger thanever this year， and seem well and cheerful. But then you were once the prettiest girl inViborg， and that is saying a GREat deal， for I have always found the Viborg girls the prettiestof any.”
Jorgen said nothing， but he thought of a certain maiden of Skagen， whom he was soonto visit. the ship set sail for Christiansand in Norway， and as the wind was favourable it soonarrived there.
One morning merchant Bronne went out to the lighthouse， which stands a little way outof Old Skagen， not far from “GREnen.” The light was out， and the sun was already high in theheavens， when he mounted the tower. The sand-banks extend a whole mile from the shore，beneath the water， outside these banks; many ships could be seen that day， and with theaid of his telescope the old man thought he descried his own ship， the Karen Bronne. Yes!certainly， there she was， sailing homewards with Clara and Jorgen on board.
Clara sat on deck， and saw the sand-hills gradually appearing in the distance; the churchand lighthouse looked like a heron and a swan rising from the blue waters. If the wind held goodthey might reach home in about an hour. So near they were to home and all its joys—so nearto death and all its terrors! A plank in the ship gave way， and the water rushed in; the crewflew to the pumps， and did their best to stop the leak. A signal of distress was hoisted， butthey were still fully a mile from the shore. Some fishing boats were in sight， but they were toofar off to be of any use. The wind blew towards the land， the tide was in their favour， but itwas all useless; the ship could not be saved.
Jorgen threw his right arm round Clara， andpressed her to him. With what a look she gazed upinto his face， as with a prayer to God for help hebreasted the waves， which rushed over the sinkingship! She uttered a cry， but she felt safe andcertain that he would not leave her to sink. And inthis hour of terror and danger Jorgen felt as theking's son did， as told in the old song：
“In the hour of peril when most men fear，Heclasped the bride that he held so dear.”