The beggar crossed himself.  “Gracious lady,” he muttered, “may you never want!”

Christian hurried on; the rustling of leaves soon carried the words away.  She did not feel inclined to go in, and crossing the bridge began to climb the hill.  There was a gentle breeze, drifting the clouds across the sun; lizards darted out over the walls, looked at her, and whisked away.

The sunshine, dappling through the tops of trees, gashed down on a torrent.  The earth smelt sweet, the vineyards round the white farms glistened; everything seemed to leap and dance with sap and life; it was a moment of Spring in midsummer.  Christian walked on, wondering at her own happiness.

‘Am I heartless?’ she thought.  ’I am going to leave him—­I am going into life; I shall have to fight now, there’ll be no looking back.’

The path broke away and wound down to the level of the torrent; on the other side it rose again, and was lost among trees.  The woods were dank; she hastened home.

In her room she began to pack, sorting and tearing up old letters.  ’Only one thing matters,’ she thought; ’singleness of heart; to see your way, and keep to it with all your might.’

She looked up and saw Barbi standing before her with towels in her hands, and a scared face.

“Are you going a journey, gnadiges Fraulein?”

“I am going away to be married, Barbi,” said Christian at last; “don’t speak of it to any one, please.”

Barbi leant a little forward with the towels clasped to the blue cotton bosom of her dress.

“No, no!  I will not speak.  But, dear Fraulein, that is a big matter; have you well thought?”

“Thought, Barbi?  Have I not!”

“But, dear Fraulein, will you be rich?”

“No!  I shall be as poor as you.”

“Ach! dear God! that is terrible.  Katrina, my sister, she is married; she tells me all her life; she tells me it is very hard, and but for the money in her stocking it would be harder.  Dear Fraulein, think again!  And is he good?  Sometimes they are not good.”

“He is good,” said Christian, rising; “it is all settled!” and she kissed Barbi on the cheek.

“You are crying, liebes Fraulein!  Think yet again, perhaps it is not quite all settled; it is not possible that a maiden should not a way out leave?”

Christian smiled.  “I don’t do things that way, Barbi.”

Barbi hung the towels on the horse, and crossed herself.

Mr. Treffry’s gaze was fixed on a tortoise-shell butterfly fluttering round the ceiling.  The insect seemed to fascinate him, as things which move quickly always fascinate the helpless.  Christian came softly in.

“Couldn’t stay in bed, Chris,” he called out with an air of guilt.  “The heat was something awful.  The doctor piped off in a huff, just because o’ this.”  He motioned towards a jug of claret-cup and a pipe on the table by his elbow.  “I was only looking at ’em.”