The procession! now they are come! There they are!" The multitude moved onward in one vast wave, and the provost with his men found it difficult to keep a space clear for the entrance of the train. Upon a large kerb stone, in the vicinity of the drawbridge beside the southern gate of the castle, stood a strongly-built man, in a coarse pilgrim's cloak, with muscle shells on the cape over his broad shoulders, and with his broad-brimmed hat, half slouched over a pair of round sun-burnt cheeks. At his side stood an old fisherman, and a pretty little fishermaiden in a north Zealand costume, from the district of Gilleleie. The pilgrim was Morten the cook, who, with his betrothed and her father, had just landed from a fishing yawl, on a remote spot under the sand-stone cliff. The day preceding, Morten had been set on shore at Gilleleie, from a foreign vessel, with a red sail, which had suffered damage at sea, and had been compelled to put in under the Kohl for repairs; of which he talked in a mysterious manner. Although, as a party to the archbishop's flight from Sjoeborg, he had been outlawed by the king, he had not only succeeded in quieting the fears of old Jeppe, the fisherman, and his daughter, at his re-appearance in the country, but had even prevailed on them to accompany him hither, where he meant to show them, he said, that, by his pilgrimage, he had obtained peace both with God and man, and that he now, with a bran new and clean conscience, could dare to face the king on his bridal day. "Come hither. Father Jeppe! Come little Karen! let me lift thee up here!" said Morten, jumping down from the stone--"now ye can see all the finery and splendour. _I_ shall do most wisely in keeping within my pilgrim's skin at first, on account of my bit of a head and neck." "Alack, yes! for the Lord's sake, dearest Morten!" whispered the fishermaiden, anxiously, patting his cheek while she suffered his strong arm to lift her, like a puppet, upon the kerb stone; "hide thyself behind my back and my father's! I shall die of fear, if the king sees thee!" "Trouble not thyself about anything, and look cheerfully at the fine doings, little sweetheart," whispered the blithe pilgrim; "he hath but seen me once in his life and hardly knows me; to-day he hath also something else to think of than of hanging his dear faithful subjects." "He is a scoundrel who says he hath ever done _that!_" exclaimed old Jeppe, the fisherman, with repressed vehemence. "Should he cause _thee_ now to be hanged, thou knave! thou hast, doubtless, honestly deserved it. If thou canst not speak and clear thyself like an honest fellow and as thou gavest me hand and word thou wouldst ere thou left the country, then didst thou journey to Rome like a fool, and art come home like a simpleton." "Come, come, Father Jeppe!" continued Morten, "let's see the finery in peace! Whether I am to be hanged or no can be settled time enough to-morrow; there is no need to hurry the matter."